#a literal always changing amalgamation

[martyryo]

Happy late women's day 😼

#artists on tumblr #digital art #illustration #fight club #fight club 1999 #marla singer #the only woman ever #one day I'll realize I'm in love with her but I'm slow #in my mind cats adore her #she feeds her leftovers to strays #kinda an excuese to bring back the half blind cat from like november #also I need to figure out my artstyle cause omg #a literal always changing amalgamation #cause like I tried to reuse the artstyle from the previous post but I think trying too hard with it cancels its style #I'll draw the three of them in my different styles to understand what separates them from one another #awjsh2vw #also yesterday I finished my internship and the guys where I worked at gifted me a 1 meter shark plushie as a thanks I was screaming #(context it was a toys shop but I did graphics for them) #payday for real

[birdantlers]

A heartfelt and grievously expanded-upon update to this—please, please read the whole thing if you can. reblogs much appreciated.

(DISCLAIMER, for all who are saying reasons like abusive parents/legal stuff/toxic ex/triggering memories/page got deleted/job/stalkers/bullying/[[insert any other shitty life thing]], This is not concerning that—personal safety & health ALWAYS comes first, and is worth more than any media ever could be. This is my biggest reason for defending that autonomy. I would be a hypocrite to say I hadn’t deleted triggering posts of mine or ones that got me in trouble with my family.)

it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it

...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..

Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.

I wanted to attach this video because it condenses my point very well. A TLDR of sorts. Please watch the whole thing, it genuinely changed the entire way I think about art as a concept.

(2nd vid is "Subjectivity in Art")

“The moment your art touches an audience, the ownership shifts in an irreversible way. [They're] not having an art experience with you and your intentions. They're having an art experience with the art object.

“You can't just burn your past; it's not even your past to burn anymore. It's other people's history as well. Whether or not you like it, that art is already bonded to somebody's soul, and if you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it.”

The digital age makes it very easy to distance or detach yourself from the impact your work has—be it art, fanfic, videos, even memes. Online content is as important to people now as any other media, if not more. But it's also by far the easiest, fastest, and most effective form of it to erase from public access. Media so unbelievably important to people and in general. Yes, you—with the 2010s purple sparkle dog speedpaint. I still think about that speedpaint all the time, because it was the first time i learned that you could draw on a computer, and I thought it was cool as hell. I still do.

I do wish there was a stronger culture of preservation and consideration for this, because every time I see people talk about snuffing their stuff because it doesn't personally resonate with them anymore, I just think ...what about all the people it did?

I've seen lots of people saying "get over it, it doesn't even matter," but it fucking does. It does matter. Even if I didn’t make it, even if I don’t have to deal with being the one who made it, even if I'm naturally inclined to be distressed by it—It still matters. And there’s nothing you could ever say to suddenly make it not matter, because there’s nothing you could ever say to make it not matter to me.

Don't devalue the act of creation. Don't dismiss something you made. It's out there, in people's thoughts and hearts and souls, and that is real. Even if you don't know it. Especially if you don't know it. Especially in a world where physical media is being snuffed out, the internet is constantly dying without any physical remains to recover, social isolation is rampant, and simply because independently produced content online is still media.

Fanfiction can hold equal or greater significance to someone as a book, but you can’t unpublish a book. Authors don’t have a button that can vaporize every copy of their work across all time, but fanfiction authors do. I’m not counting people who download fics either—when you buy a book, that transaction is over. But online, you have the power of unending transaction that can be terminated instantly at your will. The process of publishing fanfic vs. publishing a book may be different, but people’s connection to the art is the same intensity.

So yeah. I do get depressed about the Internet being a constant Alexandria, but the times I get the most depressed is when I click someone's page and see that all their work is gone because they're ‘curating a new aesthetic’ for their page or some shit. Or weeding out all the "ugly" art. Or just went on whatever the hell 'thrill deleting' is, because they just get a kick out of it.

Fuck it—yeah! It upsets me! I’m not wrong to say that. I’m saying it!

Under the cut, because it got long as shit! Also don’t worry the ending is way sappier and more ‘beauty of human nature’ vibe so it’s not all doom and gloom lol

What if that was someone's favorite art of that character. What if someone read that 'cringe oneshot' on the worst day of their life. What if that Warriors meme vid is still burned into a college student’s mind despite being gone for 10 years. What if it's actually not just you and the ones and zeros you rent out to the world—secure in knowing the original will always be on your computer for you to do whatever you want with it.

I really, deeply wish there was more of a general awareness of this, because even though social media can be used like a diary, that’s functionally the opposite of what it is. It’s social media. When you post, it’s no longer in a vacuum, even though you can’t see the real humans that content touches—often deeply.

Media is history. You shouldn’t burn that history just because you personally believe it isn’t worth saving.

Because it’s no longer just your personal opinion. It’s no longer just your personal work. it’s. history. Memory of media is not a suitable replacement for the media itself. If it was, we wouldn’t save anything at all. Nostalgia is an agent of that. The definition of nostalgia is grief for moments of the past that are inaccessible, and the biggest balm for that pain is accessing a physical reminder of those moments. That opinion of yours is no longer personal. It’s weighed against uncountable people across all time that your thing is ALSO personal to. People who would, and will mourn its absence.

How many times have you joined an older fandom only to discover that some of its most popular works are gone? How many times have you routed through random blogs looking for scraps people hopefully reblogged? how many times have you used Wayback machine desperately praying that a fan fiction or a YouTube video will be there? How many times do you look up crunchy old vines or YouTube videos or anime AMV‘s? How many times do you remember old fanfic.net sex that impacted you in middle school, only to shake your head and go ‘probably no point even looking.’

i mourn the absence. No, people can’t and shouldn’t have their agency over what they post revoked, but they should be conscious of that weight. If you’re reading this and getting extremely annoyed, and you’re not in the pink text above,,,, good.

I honestly do hope it gets under your skin. I hope it sits with you. I hope you feel it every time you hit that button, and whether or not you do hit that button—if you hesitate, if you remember this, even spitefully, I’ve done my job. I am howling into the void. And I may not want an answer, but I do want my anguish to be heard and remembered. Because it isn’t me just being melodramatic.

I know I sound that way writing so much, but if my favorite writing YouTuber can drop trow this week and go, "yeah, sorry, all my video essays from less than a year ago that you listen to in the car all the time? I'm "rebranding" my content so i deleted them. besides, my personal views don't really agree align with the analyses i did, or the techniques i taught in them anyway. Sorry if some of the literal tens of thousands of you used them, but I don't want to feel shackled to having youtuber "classics" tied to me”

….then i guess I'm just going to have to sound dramatic! That fucking sucks! Hours of work and knowledge gone! This was a new channel too. It’s very likely there’s no archive of any kind, because who would think someone who worked hard enough to write, record, and edit hour-long videos, would just turn around and nuke it all? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I did just start a new screenwriting class a few weeks ago, so I’ll tell you at least one person is REALLY missing those fucking videos right now. Because a lot of them were about specifically screenwriting, which I know jack shit about. and that specific person’s pace, editing, and style of breaking down information was the best suited style I found that I could focus on and absorb. There’s no replacement for that. No alternative for his individual perspective. his jokes. his opinions.

No, they may not resonate with him now, but in this decision, he’s put up a big middle finger to everyone who might have. And he has like 100k subscribers! Those are confirmed supporters! Imagine how many silent and untethered observers are feeling this loss right now. Imagine how many will not have it in the future.

If he never posted them at all, we wouldn’t know we had it. It wouldn’t be a loss. But we did. We did have it. Until he decided that no, we didn’t, because he just happens to be the one out of millions of individuals holding the button to burn it in a hundredth of a second.

His personal work, the attachment I had to it, and the ways that it helped me are now just ripped away. I am one person out of millions, literal MILLIONS of people who saw and liked this content before it vanished. The soul has been ripped, the access severed, and by CJ’s (and my) definition, the art is functionally dead. Not for the YouTuber or anyone else lucky enough to save a link or download, but everyone else. From this point until the end of time, even if people even two weeks from now don’t know it. Even if someone who stumbles upon his channel today, doesn’t know it.

We only mourn the concept of Alexandria because we had some kind of scope for what was inside. Yes, maybe you got self-conscious and deleted your 12 year old deviant art account. Do you know who else is doing that?? THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of other twenty somethings who ALSO feel self-conscious about their old socials. Art. Fanfic. One direction fan videos. anything.

Suddenly, an unquantifiable amount of information from your age group—an entire age group in 2012, is. gone. And we will NEVER know what’s been erased from that history. We will NEVER know what could have been significant to us ten years from now. Twenty years from now. A hundred years. A thousand.

You could have deleted a fanfic that would have been someone else’s new go-to panic attack distraction tomorrow. You could have deleted a video someone used to laugh at with their friend who died yesterday. When you delete something, you risk tearing a hole in unknowable personal histories.

The Internet isn’t just a big library of Alexandria. It’s a library containing libraries. And those libraries have their own libraries in those libraries have their own as well. libraries inside libraries, inside libraries, ad infinitum. To conceive the amount of destroyed history on the Internet is crushing.

And I just can’t help but I ask myself how in gods name people can choose to contribute to that, instead of reposting everything to trash heap alts titled “hall of shame” or some shit.

You can offload to alts. Put up disclaimers. Make password locked blogs, or dropboxes, or anonymous imgur dumps. Anonymous reuploads. Orphan fics. Make a playlist or linktree of unlisted videos. Cut off the watermarks. Delete all references to it on your main. Make a dedicated unlisted playlist. make a google drive. Make new portfolio sites. Delete any questions you get about it. Change pen names. Pretend it never existed.

Give a heads up.

Something.

But don’t. kill. the media.

The knowledge that our stuff is going to forever be tied to us is a cross we have to bear, but the responsibility that comes with putting it out there in the first place, can’t be ignored.

Anyway. I'm not trying to start conflict. This is not a bash on anyone, nor a call for witch hunts. Or anon hate, or blocks and unfollows or anything of that nature. I'm not wishing ramifications or hate of any kind on anyone who does wants to do any of this.

I'm also not guilt tripping— I am not saying that you should feel bad. I AM saying why it makes me feel bad. That’s not guilting, it’s a dialogue. One I personally feel is long overdue.

It's me yelling into the void: please consider the real people on the other side of the screen before you hit that button. Realize and know that whatever you're about to erase from history could be the most important thing in the world to someone.

Art is an experience. It's why we revisit it. If art and history simply lived in the matter and code of media, we would only need to look at it once. We wouldn’t put things in museums. We wouldn’t build libraries. We wouldn’t look up vine compilations.

If you're able, consider (and I do mean consider, this is not a call to action) not destroying that. And don’t shrug it off as some pretentious asshole venting on Tumblr. You only need to look in the notes and tags to see that it isn’t just me. it’s never just me, or you, or the pixels.

And even if you do shrug it off, then at least recognize that what you make matters. Whatever you think about it, if it’s out there, that's not your discretion anymore. If a tree falls in the woods and even one person is around to see it, it fucking mattered. Because it happened. Don’t mulch your tree rings if you don’t have to. Because if enough people do it, a whole forest is gone. Media is history, no matter whether you think it’s worth putting in a museum, or only has 30 notes.

Thousands of years ago, a child named onfim doodled on his homework. They’re crude, and everyone has the wrong amount of fingers, and they’re also priceless archaeological artifacts recognizable throughout the world.

the only thing separating Onfim’s doodles and your MS paint Pokémon doodles is time. The only thing separating your old MS paint Pokémon doodles from being a priceless artifacts, thousands of years in the future is time. Your creations are already priceless artifacts. No matter what you do, don't ever, ever deny that. It isn’t blowing up your own ass, it’s artistic and anthropological fact.

The mundane and the supposedly unworthy are often the first things lost to time, and that’s why they’re so precious. That’s why artists who were before their time are scorned first only to be celebrated later. Do you think they knew that was going to happen?? What if they nuked it? Many probably did! But now that’s happening exponentially and instantaneously everywhere, WITHOUT the artist having to destroy their only copy—which makes it way easier and more dismissable.

Sometimes, If you’re revolutionary enough, people will make an effort to preserve your work, but recognized and thoroughly recorded work is rare compared to unrecognized and thoroughly recorded work.

Sometimes something is beloved enough that it would be impossible for it not to go down in history, but even then it isnt a guarantee, and it’s rare. But if van Gogh burned all of his paintings in a fit of despair before his death, we would have no van Gogh. Because he wasn’t respected as an artist in his time, but that wasn’t what defined the worth of his art. The people after him did, because his art was still there for them.

If you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it. If you belittle your art, you belittle the very real relationships and emotions and revisitations people have with the media. You defy the inherent worth and weight of a creation. you created. That's effort. It's passion. No matter how flippant or unskilled or worthless you think it is, it matters. Because at the end of the day, you could have chosen to make nothing at all, and you didn't.

•

Muting notifs

#artists on tumblr #Artistic #digital art #art history #anthropology #humanity #art discussion #art theory #skit yells

[spoopyblues214]

Hello! How are you? I hope you are doing well Idk if you are open for request, if not you can ignore this one :)

I’d like to ask for a rottmnt x reader hc with a reader does kisses the back of the boys hand a lot, like those gentlemen-y acts but as a sign of thank you, appreciation, courting as well… maybe reader and the boys have mutual crushes and that’s their way of showing affection / desire to kissing them before actually being more courageous into asking to kissing them? Lol hope that makes e sense

Hope you have a good day

This seems absolutely adorable omg yes

Requests are open! Send an ask if interested :>

°•.•°

Raph

When you kiss the back of Raphs hand saying goodbye it first catches him off guard

He finds it endearingly silly how you take his large hand in yours to do so, the contrast adorable in his eyes

After the next few times it flusters him, feeling your soft skin on his rough hands from all his years of fighting. He starts looking away to try and hide his wobbly smile.

You get more courageous and start doing it for any little greeting, like seeing him just when entering a room, even if you already saw him when you first got to the lair.

He becomes rather forgetful, needing to refocus on what he had been doing.

He finds himself often looking at his hands where you most recently kissed him, swearing that he could feel the ghost of your lips on his skin and feeling giddy.

One night when leaving you kissed his hand as usual, but you lingered, purposely looking up at him. He glanced at you since you were taking longer and finally it clicked for him.

The next time you're over, before you could reach for his hand he's picked you up in one arm, still offering his free hand to you. You giggle and kiss the back of his hand, and afterwards he kisses your lips, his fingers lacing through your hair.

Leo

The first time you kiss him across the knuckles he freezes for a moment and then asks, "uh, why so formal?"

Your reply of 'just cause' has him over thinking it until the next time you come over, though it still doesn't click

The second time, he takes your hand and does it back, never one to be outdone on grandeur, and he always greets you the same since then

Each time he tries to come up with a different greeting to say. "Hola mi estrella," "ciao, bello/bella," "hi there, hot stuff!"

Even if your usual reaction is to just laugh at him, he still loves getting any reaction out of you.

All his attempts to fluster you seem like they never even phase you, while when you kiss his hand he's fighting off a wobbly smile.

With this dance going on for so long, finally you meet his greeting with, "surprised you haven't gotten the hint and just kissed me already."

He can't save himself this time and actually sputters, which has you laughing at him again. He huffs and pulls you into a dip, saying "you literally asked for it," before kissing you.

Donnie

The first time you kiss his hand he is flabbergasted. Jaw dropped, almost looking disgusted but really he's just confused. You go to apologize and he shakes his head, stuttering out, "ah, um, it's fine."

The second time you're slower with it so he can pull away if he wants, and he doesn't, so you go through with kissing his knuckles and are only a little surprised when he does the same.

Is he doing it as a part of masking? Is he doing it to hide his blushing face? Is he doing it in an attempt to return politeness? Perhaps an amalgamation of all this and more.

He is in his lab corkboard and red stringing about these incidents now every time after you kiss his hand, trying to math out every little detail and why the sudden change.

Both of you are pining oblivious shy idiots honestly- reading social cues is already hard enough but with the two of you fumbling no one is getting anywhere any time soon.

Thankfully, or maybe not so, Mikey and Leo make a plan and bring Donnies theory board out into the lair on a night you're visiting.

Donnie is plotting murder while you're stuck not knowing how to react because it's just so romantic that he was trying so hard to figure it out.

You grab his hand and kiss his knuckles again, only to reach out with your other palm and place it on his cheek as you kiss him. His murderous intentions get put on the back burner.

Mikey

He's curious first but uncharacteristically he freezes stock still when your lips meet his skin. After you wave goodbye he's melting, almost falling to the floor.

The second time you do it you're greeted with a large smile, and Mikey asks giddily, "are you gonna be doing that every time now?" You answer yes.

He's looking smug as he holds out his hand for you ahead of time now, which always makes you laugh, which always makes him smile wider.

He's dancing around the lair. His brothers are rolling their eyes. He's like a teen girl losing their mind over a boy band just from your goodbyes.

On day he asks if he can have another. "Hmm, I don't know 'angelo, what's in it for me?" He plays along and offers a kiss to your knuckles in return. You take this deal, and he knows he's won with how much you blush.

He does this a few more times, just to absolutely 100 percent make sure and totally not just because he likes seeing you blush. It's the same song and dance prior every time, too.

The next time he's smiling so wide you know he's planning something. When he asks for another, you open your mouth with a similar protest to before, and he cuts you off. "I know, I know, a kiss for a kiss. I want both of mine first, though."

You raise an eyebrow, but shrug, taking both his hands to kiss the tops of each. After this he takes one of your hands in his, but the other is under your chin, and he kisses your lips.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #rottmnt x reader #raph x reader #leo x reader #donnie x reader #mikey x reader #headcanon #spoopywriting

[vulpisnocturna]

Maybe this is little too late but what about 23 with Itachi?

Not too late at all!

23)  Free use kink. Character and Reader have agreed that Character can have sex with Reader anytime they want, even if Reader is otherwise occupied, not in the mood, etc. It's a big turn-on for Character to be able to use Reader for pleasure at literally any time, any place.

NSFW - MDNI

Warnings: consensual somnophilia, fingering, vaginal sex, praise kink, creampie, Itachi’s not blind af

Itachi was not the type of man to have many lewd dreams. Most of the time, he had nightmares. Sometimes, he had nightmares disguised as memories of a peaceful time, and those were the worst type of dreams, because he would wake with a heavy heart and a lump in his throat, and a crushing emptiness inside him that could never be filled.

However, he was a man with a tight leash on his emotions, and he almost never lost control. He almost never had any type of lewd dream. But he had that night, and he’d woken up impossibly hard and straining to feel you, any part of you, to reach over and make you feel good, to hear those sounds that pleased him to no end.

And because you had made it clear that you wanted him to touch you whenever he wished, even when you were busy, even when you slept, he did just that. He moved silently, as he always did, but with the added care of not wanting you to wake up straightaway. This was a game, and Itachi’s life lacked entertainment. So he made up for it by posing a challenge to himself. Would he be able to make you cum without waking you up?

He ghosted his fingertips over your waist and hip as you slept on your side, hiking up his shirt that you always wore to bed and slipping the duvet off of you to gaze upon you. Even in the darkness, Itachi could make out your features with his sharingan, and his fingers could feel the softness of your skin, and the swift change when the air and his touch made it pebble with goosebumps.

To him, you were a marvel of nature. Some kind of amalgam of everything that was beautiful and pure in that wretched world, something that made living worth all the suffering that he endured. Someone that made him want to live, to make amends, to heal with the same hands that had torn so much apart.

And with those same hands, the fact that he could make you experience bliss and make you so lost within your pleasure that you could not think made him feel good about himself.

Being with you, pleasuring you, loving you, it was all he could do to let his vulnerabilities, his truth, slip through the walls he had built when he had taken the mission that had destroyed so many lives.

And so he touched you in all the places that made you sigh and squirm, he kissed above your collarbones, skimmed over your pebbled nipples, traced your inner thigh. Instinctively, perhaps, your legs parted for him, and he gently traced between your thighs, a slight smirk stretching his lips at the dampness of the fabric of your panties.

He had always found you so pliant. And you were, even as you slept, and Itachi slipped his hand under your panties, his fingers parting your skin so his middle could gently circle your clit. Softly, lazily, a subtle caress that made your lips part and your back arch a little, a soft moan pouring out of your mouth and making Itachi’s cock twitch in his trousers. He placed featherlight kisses on your neck, his tongue darting to trace the pulsing artery as his fingers easily slipped inside you, curling inward.

‘That’s my sweet girl’ he whispered, a sense of self-satisfaction washing over him as you whimpered and started gently rolling your hips into his hand, still asleep, possibly dreaming of him.

He rubbed along the parts of you that made you mewl and moan for him, peppering your throat with kisses and licks and the occasional small suck. He liked marking your skin. Liked seeing you wear the marks of his love, and perhaps, he liked making it known you were his. It was selfish and possessive, but Itachi felt that way nonetheless, and judging by the way you sometimes asked him to do it yourself, and how you moaned for him when he did, he could surmise you did not mind.

He coaxed moan after moan from you, straining against the fabric of his comfortable trousers when you slurred his name in your sleep, letting him know that he was at the forefront of your mind even as you slept, ignoring that your dreams were reality.

‘My pretty girl. You are so close, I can tell. I can always tell from the sounds you make and the way you tighten around my fingers. You’re doing so well. Just a little more and I will fuck you just like you want me to- and you will wake to find me buried inside you, and you will look so sweet as you realise what is happening’ he murmured, his other hand now palming his cock, relieving some of the tightness he felt as he waited for you to cum. He wanted you to do so whilst you slept.

And Itachi had a knack for getting what he wanted in bed. Because what he wanted was always you. You were the priority, his sole focus, and everything he did was for you: every touch, every lick, every kiss and bite and push of his fingers, every part of his body was consumed with the idea of making you come undone. Consumed with seeing the effect he had on you. That in it of itself was bliss for him.

And when you asked him to be rougher than he would have if you hadn’t, even then it was about you. He was unrestrained and sought his own pleasure too, but he made you scream and cum more times than you could count, just because he could.

Just because, just like that very moment, you would pant and sigh and moan and cry as your orgasm washed over you, even as you slept through it. And Itachi had won.

He praised you again in a hushed voice, slipping his fingers out and sucking them clean, moaning quietly at the taste of you. He wanted to bury his face between your legs, but he could not wait anymore. His dream had left him wanting with a burning passion, and he needed to feel you around his cock.

He gently turned you on your stomach, slipping your soaked panties down your legs and spreading your thighs, taking off his clothes and looking up at your face as he guided his cock inside your cunt. It was the best thing Itachi could ever hope to feel: wet, tight, warm, perfect around him. He groaned, bracing himself on his forearms and hiking your shirt up to suck on one of your nipples, tearing a little gasp fom you as he buried himself to the base of his cock.

‘Mh-‘tachi’ you moaned, louder, your voice slurred only by pleasure now as your eyes set on him.

‘Hello, my love. You feel perfect. You have been so sweet for me. Keep making those sounds’ he said, not giving you the time to conjure a reply as he kissed you passionately, gripping your thigh and your jaw and tracing your lower lip with his tongue. You melted in his arms, your fingers curling on the skin of his back, drawing him closer, holding him as if you couldn’t get enough of him.

Itachi groaned, his forehead against yours, his thrusts getting rougher and deeper. You let out a whine, your back arching, your nails sinking in his shoulder blades.

Itachi liked the feeling. The pain only made him lose control more, and he liked knowing he was making you so aggressive and rough when he fucked you. So he continued at that pace, his necklace dangling against your chin with every push of his hips against you.

‘Itachi- so close…’ you moaned, holding onto his biceps, your legs high up around his waist. Itachi was getting closer and closer too, so he straightened up, giving you a lust-laden look before he lifted your legs on his shoulders, moaning at the feeling of depth that position granted him.

You must have enjoyed it too, because your head thrashed from side to side, your chest heaving with every pant and gasp, your hands fisting and clutching the sheets for dear life.

‘That’s it. You’re taking me so well, mh? Are you going to cum for me, my love?’ he pressed, watching you, entranced, as you bit down on your bottom lip and clamped around him, throbbing with your orgasm, making him moan at the feeling. His head hung back towards the ceiling, his eyelids growing heavy with bliss as he got rougher, keeping his eyes open so he would not miss a single thing, from the way your mouth was agape, to your scrunched up eyes and messy hair around your beautiful face.

‘Good girl. You feel like heaven-‘ he breathed, his voice strained as he gave a few more thrusts before he came inside you, just as he loved doing. One day, he thought, you would stop taking your contraception and he would create a family with you.

#itachi #itachi x you #itachi x reader #uchiha itachi #itachi uchiha #itachi x y/n #itachi smut #itachi imagines #itachi uchiha smut #itachi uchiha imagines

[blazinghotfoggynights]

I am so happy for episode 7x4. Why? It has already led to lines of communication about romantic and queer journeys that are not typical.

I see Team!Tuck and Team!Buddie have some members that are not happy with the other and think the other team is delusional or doesn't make sense. Only the members of that show's crew know what is going to happen. For all we know, Buck could meet a third party, fall in love, leave the 118, and go off to happily ever after.

(I so don't want that. But what can a girl do?)

I want to say that as someone who probably has just a teeny bit more of life experience than many people on here and other social media, no I am not sharing my age, I have seen, and experienced, a lot. Remember I mentioned lines of communication opening? They are open now because people are inspired and feel empowered to share their thoughts and experiences.

To Team!Tuck, yes, Team!Buddie is still quite a possibility. How? Did you know you can be so in love with someone you have no idea you are in love with them? Sounds crazy, right? But it can happen. It took many years for me to see that I was head over heels for my best friend. I never considered it. I never looked at him that way. We were just really close and besties.

It took someone asking me if I were stuck on a deserted island and could only have one person there with me, who I would choose. I said his name instead of my then boyfriend's name. I didn’t even think about it. It was reflexive.

The person was staring at me smiling and watching me as I realized what I’d said and then a montage of our friendship played in my mind.

“Oh my god.” That was me.

“Finally figured it out?” That was the other person.

When I thought about it, I compared men to him all the time. The qualities I was most attracted to in my partners up to that point were qualities they shared with him. But it was at that moment, many years into our friendship, that I realized that had been happening.

This leads me to Team!Buddie. Team!Tuck is valid and could very well be endgame. If the writers make Eddie a completely hetero man with no flexibility, Buddie will not happen. However, they have offered a character who is literally an amalgamation of Buck and Eddie as a possible love interest. It is funny to me, because when I look at the Tommy character I see the lovechild of Eddie Diaz and Evan Buckley. Buck picked a man who mirrors him physically but shares a lot with Eddie including military background, quick wit, snarkiness, the willingness to say screw the rules when needed, hobbies, etc.

If Buck knows with no uncertainty that Eddie is not, and will never be, an option, wouldn’t it make sense that a man who is so much like Eddie would catch Buck’s eye?

I will also say that it is not impossible for someone who truly believes they are 100% heterosexual their entire lives to realize one day that may not be the case. How do they realize it? They look at someone of the same sex and have an epiphany.

As a young one who was new to this world, I fell for the rhetoric that sexuality is static and does not change. You were either straight or gay. There was nothing else.

This older, wiser version of me knows the only things you can count on in life are change, surprise, and unpredictability. She is also grateful for those who worked hard to explain that sexuality is a spectrum and give those who never quite found a space a label that finally fit.

She is extremely grateful for the brave people who who have the courage to live out loud and raise their voices in pride so others know maybe one day they can do the same.

I will always have my fingers crossed for Buddie endgame. I’m talking big wedding, tears being shed, vows so sweet everyone requires insulin. You get the picture.

However, I also want to see the two characters who never have happiness or a partner who truly supports them find what Hen/Karen and Athena/Bobby have. If that is with other people, so be it.

One more time, I am going to say major respect for ABC and the show writers for flipping off that network that can go to hell and giving this arc life and to Oliver and Lou for doing what is bound to piss off a lot of people who won't be shy about vocalizing their narrowmindedness.

#911 abc #911 on abc #9 1 1 buddie #buddie #buddie 911 #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #eddie diaz x evan buckley #evan buckley x eddie diaz #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck/tommy #tommy/buck #911 tuck #oliver stark #ryan guzman

[lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit]

Yeah could I get a fuckin' uhhh, scenario (romantic) with Rocky and Mordecai (separate) with a gn reader? (If you're still taking requests, that is)

Basically the reader is a musician/singer who writes their own songs; usually the songs are about anything and everything, but not often about romance of any sort. Then, one day, the reader starts singing more and more love songs. The song is actually about them, but the reader keeps the lyrics juusst vague enough for plausible deniability. How would the boys react to discovering this?

Fuck kinda headcanon? /ref

Anon later specified that they meant headcanons, but I read it as scenario anyway. So Mordecai's are Oddly Specific Headcanons, I guess. We gotta stop amalgamating drinks

MORDECAI

He likes to believe he is nobody's fool. (And he is...Most of the time.) Being subtle doesn't work with him, either be upfront or you're wasting his time.

Y/N, however, seems to be able to play him like a fiddle. The creative musician always caught his eye when he was out running errands (either literal ones or ones that ended in death). It got to a point that he would sometimes go out of his way to pass by them or even stop by to listen to them, just for a moment. Something about their music, be it light-hearted, eerie, haunting or just plain sad; appealed to him. It helps that they were good at what they do.

Over time, they started to recognize him. This worried him at first, until it was shown that all they would do is give him an acknowledging nod and proceed to ignore him. Then they started trying to catch him after a number, going so far as to end a sidewalk performance just to try and catch him before he vanished into the crowd. Their music, likewise, changed; with a "feline made of shadow" being the main focus of a few concept songs.

This built up into "a cat with emeralds for eyes". Never in the same song, mind you. Say what you will about Y/N but they know that Mordecai is a bright son of a bitch and he'd catch that easily. How many black cats with green eyes are their in Saint Louis, they may not know; and gotta play it safe so they don't out themself.

The spaced-out alternating songs about a black cat and a green-eyed cat become their daily song routine, Mordecai notices. Barely a week goes by before they're mentioned. It's nice that Y/N has found a love beyond music, he supposes.

To this day, he kicks himself for not catching on early. However Asa thinks it's both heartwarming and hilarious that he somehow pulled a cat by being the most oblivious and avoidant feline possible.

(AKA 'Y/N and the Bitch They Pulled by being...Musical?')

ROCKY

Y/N and Rocky sometimes would perform together during his (admittedly rare) time off from the Lackadaisy gig. They wrote the music and sang, he'd play along on his violin if he came by, the performance was enhanced.

Y/N was with someone at the time, but it was more like a fling than anything truly serious. They and their S/O were mostly in it for the thrill of living with someone more than anything else. When the S/O broke it off, there were no complaints. They were happy to be a free runner for a little while.

They moved closer to the Lackadaisy when crowds were really picking up there. This also brought them closer to Rocky, who always seemed to be hanging around there for one reason or another. The duo started playing together as a result and Y/N got closer to Rocky and those damn blue eyes that they were so infatuated with.

So naturally, they wrote a song about them. But they went out of their way to never name-drop the owner of those nor even their fur colour or texture. They dare not even call him a "silver" cat in the song lest it tip him off as to who they're singing about.

Turns out, Rocky is completely oblivious regardless. They slip up at one point with a line about fine grey fur and he just punctuates it with a violin stroke, a wink and a grin.

Hold on. They are being subtle about their affection for him...Right?

Turns out Rocky is a lot brighter than he ever lets on. Not a lot of cats have blue eyes and grey fur, after all. He thinks it's funny, but Y/N burns alive with embarrassment and picks apart their wording to be even more vague.

It becomes a game for them. Y/N edits their songs to be vague, Rocky tries to catch them admitting how they feel about him. When he starts pausing in his playing to listen, Y/N feels like they're winning.

They both win, in the end...But Rocky decides to court them by being as vague as they were with him. Ivy calls them the most obnoxious secretive lovers she's ever seen, and they're both fine with that.

Being vague is a game to them. If you don't know how to play, then you're not part of the game.

#🖋 mod ille #Headcanon Home Brew #Lackadaisy #Mordecai Heller #Rocky RIckaby #headcanon #lackadaisy #lackadaisy reader insert #lackadaisy x reader

[blueberrymuffinmassacre]

So The Amazing Digital Circus has latched onto my brain like a particularly stubborn tick so now I gotta share a theory of mine from the Pilot.

Considering it's all, indeed, digital and the mental health of its occupants ties to their stability, I bet their avatars are near direct reflections of themselves and their issues/flaws, albeit with a filter to fit the Fun, Child Friendly Aesthetic of the Circus.

Pomni is a classic rendition of a Jester. A Court Fool. Her eyes are incredibly expressive and even change to scribbles, hollow circles, or pure black depending on her mental state.

She likely views her life as a joke, or views herself as the punchline of a joke. She's a Fool. Whether this is due to perceived incompetence, an inability to "grow up", or simply considers herself to be lesser than her peers.

I do however use the above picture on purpose. She's an absolute nervous wreck 99% of the time, but stops while being chased by a monster and is stunned by her own reflection. That isn't a look of fear or confusion, it's awe. Something about her avatar struck a cord with her and seemed right. I personally subscribe to the theory of her being transgender and experiencing a small bout of gender euphoria amidst the horrors thanks to a post made by one demilypyro.

Jax is a Cartoon Rabbit. Not really terribly much to say about the design itself other than it being very rubber-hose animation in its proportions and the seeming default smug expression.

Jax is an asshole. He plays pranks in bad faith, is incredibly snarky and dry even to someone in distress, and doesn't seem to overly care about the others well being.

"I'm fine with doing whatever, as long as I get to see funny things happen to people." It makes sense his avatar would take a similar look to another wise-cracking cartoon rabbit we all know. He also seems the most content to actually be in the Circus itself. Considering it can let him do all manner of things to others, from the lethal to the physically impossible, he might consider it better than reality.

Ragatha is literally just raggedy ann. A patchwork doll.

She seems to be the most outwardly kind of the individuals in the circus, showing patience and understanding with Pomni even when in distress, though she clearly has a limit to said patience.

I think it's safe to assume Ragatha has been through a lot of shit for her avatar to make her seem patchwork. Which is to say, damaged multiple times and repaired each time, leaving clear marks of the repairs like scars.

Zooble is a mess of individual parts slammed together in an approximation of a humanoid shape. Like someone took dozens of pieces from all sorts of toys and put them together into an amalgam.

Gooseworx has stated they have no idea what they're even suppose to be. This can and likely does include gender, but probably includes their entire identity as a whole. Or rather, their lack of one.

For whatever reason, be it alienation, isolation, or any number of potential causes; Zooble doesn't know who they are or what they want to be. No ambitions, no dreams, no real self identity. This makes their avatar manifest as a mess that also doesn't know what it wants to be, so is a little bit of everything.

Gangle is most insubstantial, their body almost entirely a ribbon. The key part of their avatar is the mask: Comedy and Tragedy. And it seems in the few instances it's not broken, they always try to wear the comedy mask over top the tragedy mask.

Gangle's behavior makes me think she's the youngest of the individuals, at least mentally. As for the masks, something about her circumstances in life made her feel the need to put on a facade of joy. Maybe to live up to expectations, or to hide her true feelings to avoid worrying others. As an avatar, this seems to have become literal: She seems to only be happy with the mask on and discontent at best with it off/broken.

Kinger is a White King Chess Piece.

He's a forgetful paranoiac who, according to the characters, has been present in the Circus for the longest amount of time. He seems to forget where people are and what he's doing quite a bit.

In a moment of lucidity near the end, he goes in depth about how the food they eat is just simulated, and how they provide the sensation of eating despite not being real. It's also worth mentioning the ground floor of the circus is a Chess Board.

I believe Kinger is/was at least partially in charge of creating the Circus. His avatar is a walking symbol of authority, a reflection on his standing within the digital space rather than his current mental state. Perhaps the avatar was more fitting when he first entered the Circus, aware of its intricacies and rules, but has long since forgotten such things.

We don't see Kaufmo while he's uh. Normal. But we do see pictures of what he did look like: A Clown.

From the dialogue of other characters like Ragatha and Gangle, he seemed to actually try and play the role of clown during his time in the Circus, even if he wasn't terribly funny.

Kaufmo likely found himself to be a clown in reality. Maybe he was a clown in the literal sense. Or maybe he just saw himself as a funny, quirky guy to be around even if he was none of those things.

Finally, we have what happens when someone goes completely plum insane.

The Avatars are based on mental scans of the individual made to fit the aesthetic of the circus. an Abstraction is what happens when said software tries to read a mind that has no logic or reasoning left. There's nothing to find, no basis of personality, no base to work with. So in confusion the avatar becomes a glitched mess, trying and failing to find a shape within the madness to settle into.

Kinger seems to be insane, yet they're stable, because there is still an individual underneath the neurosis. There's nothing left of Kaufmo at this point: Just a cyclone of emotions inside a broken human mind.

That's the theory, anyway. It's a fucking pilot I could be entirely wrong.

#The amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc theory #Long Post

[lazysunjade]

story inspiration tag | on sunlit tides

tagged by: @catamano

rules: write up a blurb or make a visual collage of the people or characters (from books, TV shows, movies, etc.) that inspired your story and/or OC, either visually, personality wise, or just a general vibe

the story of OST wasn't based on much of anything. I got inspired by Island Living when the EP was released to do a story in Sulani with mermaids, and naturally, every mermaid needs a pirate. I repurposed older sims (who were going to be part of a different sim story based on The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen) into Naida and Ven and thus On Sunlit Tides was born. The name being wordplay of PotC: On Stranger Tides and the Sims 3 island world Sunlit Tides.

Ven's character is an amalgamation, but he is primarily based on Spike Spiegel from Cowboy Bebop. There's a line in the anime where Spike mentions that one eye can only see the past. Whether this is actually literal or simply metaphorical isn't made clear to viewers, but I was always struck by it, and thought the mechanism was particularly fascinating for a character to actually suffer constantly see the world through two entirely different lenses simultaneously. Ven also has many of Spike's lackadaisical mannerisms, while also having a similar backstory. In Spike's case, he's ex-yakuza, in Ven's, it's ex-military. Emrys is Ven's equivalent of Vicious; a partner/brother-figure from his past he now deeply despises and knows he will have to inevitably face. The two characters follow similar paths and have nearly paralleled resolutions, as well as other minor commonalities such as personal philosophies, aliases, etc.

To a lesser extent, Ven also incorporates certain elements of both Jack Sparrow and Howl, with the scene where Naida first uses her magic being directly influenced by the Howl/Sophie hair color changing scene. The overall OST aesthetic (quite obviously) borrows heavily from Pirates of the Caribbean (with Artrice being my interpretation of Tia Dalma) and League of Legend's Bilgewater. Naida has less tangible inspirations, though her magic and overall connection to the moon (as well as aspects of her appearance) were influence by Yue from ATLA.

#jade babbles #tag game #2 of 4 lmao #these are fun to make

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

there are some concepts for aliens and monsters in pop culture that aren’t even “I can see how someone would find this sexy” and are just “this character is just the amalgam of a bunch of kinks”

my favourite one for this is Venom (AKA The Symbiote) from Marvel comics. its literally living clothing that covers you in black latex and turns you into a buff alien with fat tits and a foot-long tongue

also, in Eddie’s case, the inherent eroticism of wearing your boyfriend 👌👌👌

I personally fantasise a lot about the possibility of being bonded with a symbiote, it’s just an avenue for so much

the symbiote finds you one night, its tired and helpless in its unbonded form, and latches onto you in the hopes of at least feeding before moving on. perhaps it drips from the ceiling, splashing over your chest as you doze in bed just before sleep. then, as it covers you and you awaken to feel it spreading over you, the symbiote starts to feel a connection. it covers your entire body from the chest down now, and it feels so strange but so good as it wraps around your lower regions. it extends from the back of your head and over your face, and then the bonding is complete as you feel a throb of pleasure ripple through your body, your newly fanged maw opening to let out a sigh of satisfaction. you and the symbiote both realise that this is more than just a one-time thing, you two are compatible. how else would this arrangement feel so natural, so effortless?

you get up to check yourselves out in the mirror. you’ve grown by about a foot and a half, and are covered in tight muscle. your face is little but a mouth with knife-like teeth and devious white eyes. opening your mouth, your tongue is a long, dextrous limb that drips with alien slime - useful if you ever wanted a third in your relationship, perhaps.

for now though, your new body is still vague, unformed. intuitively, you start to experiment with its versatility. it’s easy as flexing a muscle to, for example, create yourself a thick cock from your groin. it extends out, pink and fleshy next to your otherwise uniform skin, feeling like an extension of your human genitals, ready to be used. a thought and a flex later, and it shifts to gain a large, bulbous knot at its base. another flex, and it splits into two separate cocks, perfect for penetrating both holes of a human at once. you keep experimenting, inverting the cocks into a tight cunt which you briefly finger with your clawed hand (you both shiver with pleasure, your skin rippling with a sigh) and even creating various tentacles and stranger things.

turning your attention away from this area, you find it easy to shift any aspect of your appearance. fingers turn to claws, horns of any shape or size extend from your head, tentacles from your back, or anything you could desire.

once your body is perfect, the bond is truly complete. you know you could change back into your human form any time you like, but your true form is always just a thought away.

.

#monsterfucker confessions

[elly99]

To The Future

Contains swearing.

Noon on a Friday, a gentle rain outside, the splash of tires as cars drive by. An amalgamation of black and brown hair splayed on the sheets, hands interlocked, eyes fixed on the ceiling, skin caressed by the cool breeze.

"Would you time travel, Min?"

"Um, yeah? I guess?"

"Like, if it was the first time anyone had ever time traveled. Like, you were the first to ever do it, not knowing the consequences, just that it would work. Would you do it?"

"Well... when you put it that way, it sounds kinda scary. I don't think I would. Would you?"

"I definitely wouldn't, no. I've always thought that even if one day humanity does find a way to travel in time, we just shouldn't do it. There's no way of knowing what would happen."

"But what if we did know what would happen and it was safe?"

"Seems unlikely."

"Ok, Ms. physics major. But what if you just don't know what we will eventually know, huh?"

The girl takes her eyes off the ceiling and looks over at the other.

"Well, if I know anything, it's that I love you," she says, kissing her girlfriend's cheek. The latter smiles, too shy to make eye contact just yet. Instead she squeezes her hand a little harder.

"I love you, too, my nerd."

"Who are you talking to up there, babe? I'm right here," her gaze implores the other to turn.

A soft, "Hi," is all Minji can manage when she eventually does turn to meet the girl's eyes.

"Hi, sweetie," she replies with a victorious smile. "Why are you being so shy? It's adorable."

"It's just... you're so..." She looks up, taking shelter once again in the dimly lit ceiling.

"I'm...?"

"Beautiful. I get a little lost in your eyes."

"Why don't you say it to my face so I can get lost in yours, too?"

Minji glances over once again. When their eyes meet she bursts out giggling and quickly buries her face in her girlfriend's shoulder.

"Fuck it. I can't do this." They both continue laughing.

"You're like a cute little puppy, Min," she says while patting the other's head. "I love you."

There is no reply. Only a soft kiss under the chin.

"Ok, so you wouldn't time travel if you were the first to do it. But let's say you could and it was proven safe. Where would you go? Or when, I should say."

"Like, I could go anywhere? Or I could only experience it through my perspective?"

"Yeah, let's say it's just from your perspective. Would you go to your past or future?"

"Hmm. I don't think I would go to the future. Knowing what would happen... I think it would make me change the way I live now and I don't really want that."

"So you'd relive something in the past?"

"Maybe, yeah. How long could I stay, though?"

"Mmm, let's be flexible. Enough to relive an 'experience'. Whatever that might be."

"Then I would go back to the day that you said 'I love you' for the first time."

"Oh, why? Do I not say it the same way anymore? Are you sick of me? Are you breaking up with me?" she pouts, asking mockingly.

"Shut up, bro. No. It's just cuz you said it first and it made me so happy. More than happy."

She takes time to think. There didn't seem to be any adequate words.

"Elated? Like, I felt so free. So relieved. It was the ultimate reassurance that you felt the same way. And that I belonged with you. It felt like home, where I always want to be." She squeals at her own words.

"You're such a sweetheart, Min."

"No, you are! I even remember how you looked when you said it. You were kinda shocked."

"Yeah, I was. I was scared I said it too early."

"You looked so cute. I couldn't help but kiss you."

"And that was our first kiss."

"It was."

They both turn to look at each other, smiling knowingly.

"Yeah, I would relive that moment, too. If there was only one moment I could ever relive, it would be that one. I say 'I love you' first and you kiss me first. We make a good team."

"Lucky we're dating, then."

"Literally. I got so lucky with you, Min." Now it's her turn to look up. Silence dominates the room for a few seconds. "You're absolutely incredible. Everything about you. Everything you do. I'm just some girl..."

"Oh, fuck off. What are you talking about, babe?" She grips the girl's hands tight in mock anger. "You're not just 'some girl'. You're my best friend. My everything. You're perfect for me. We're both lucky to have found each other. Who says you're not absolutely amazing yourself?"

"Like, the whole world if they found out about us."

"Well, they wouldn't know you like I do. If they got to know you, they would see just how amazing you are. And if not, that's not my problem. Nor should it be yours." Minji shifts to lie down on top of her girlfriend. "I love you, baby. You're perfect." The way her smile shone made it seem like it hadn't been raining all morning. Nothing could have been more reassuring.

"I love you, too, cutie. Thank you for loving me so well." The girl pulls Minji down towards her for their first proper kiss of the day. An amalgamation of black and brown hair splayed on the sheets, hands wrapping around, eyes closed, skin caressed by the warmth of the other.

"Woah, are you trying to wife me up or something, bro?"

"Maybe," the girl says with a wink.

"Is this you proposing?" Minji fakes a gasp.

"Nothing official yet."

"Were you planning on asking me eventually? When were you gonna ask?" she inquires after a small pause, her tone playful but subtly serious.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe whenever you decide to go public with us. I mean, I wouldn't want to get in the way of your career and stuff. You've got everything going for you right now. So whenever you're not as busy. But with the direction NewJeans is headed that may not be for some time. So I don't know. It was just a feeling, anyway. And we're still so young. So no serious plans. I just know I want you in my life. So yeah, in that sense I did kinda have a plan, but..."

"You're rambling, baby." She leans in to kiss the girl's neck. "You're really cute when you're flustered."

Now right next to her ear, Minji is able to just whisper.

"And don't worry, you're never in the way, my love. You're walking beside me and holding my hand. My life partner."

"You're right. I'll always be there to hold your hand," the other smiles contentedly. "Well, what about you? When were you planning to ask me, huh?"

"Mmmmm, 지금?" Minji replies with a smirk.

"Oh, fuck you! You can't do me like that, Min!" The girl has both hands over her face, laughing and blushing uncontrollably.

"Will you be my wifey~?"

"Oh my god! Why do I like the sound of that so much?" she asks through muffling fingers.

"Is that a 'yes'?"

Profuse nodding. And a loving smile in return.

"Yo, this is wild. How did we get here from time travel? What even made you think about it in the first place?" Minji asks, prying her lover's hands away from her face.

"Oh, that shirt Hanni gave you just popped into my head for some reason. The Back to the Future one."

"Holy shit, bro."

The bedroom resonates again with the sound of laughter.

#minji x reader #minji #minji new jeans #kim minji x reader #newjeans x reader

[thesmpisonfire]

Wait can you elaborate more on the phantom cell thing and how that plays into his relationship with f!pac? That sounds so interesting!!

This one goes for you nonnies!!

Okay so the whole cell being a phantom thing is more in dept in the promised big hc post im making that i havent touched in weeks. Sorry bout that

BUT. The thing is: Cell is part phantom since a part of his soul is dead from Hunger Games. The fact he grew up there and had to rely on cannibalism very early literally killed a part of his soul and so, he's partially an undead creature, more specifically a phantom due to the fact his soul is dead, not the body, and the dead part is constantly trying to rot the still alive part as so Cellbo can fully turn into am amalgamation of human and phantom

But, as for that time period, he had claws for nails and his teeth were sharp, plus the tinted purple in his face and hands and his animalistic eyes. And, ofc, the wings that grew on his back and tore his skin open when they first did. He was kicked out from Hunger Games a couple months after this happened, since he was out of control from the organizers, and so sent to Alcatraz. They forced him to always hide his wings or else they'd damage them so they were always tucked in his jumpsuit, growing malnourished and deformed. Cell had shame in their appearance, and so no one in the prison ever saw them, since they often were too focused with teeth and claws and knife tearing them apart

Enters Pac

And Cell kinda sees his chance of redemption on him and Mike. He and Pac end up having a thing, kinda dating in a way, and Cell really trusted Pac. It was a BIG hit to be betrayed over and over, and so he reach his limit and cornered Pac, the price being his leg

But yk i cant make this moment any normal. Pac let him do it, Cell quietly told him to obey and be a good prey and ofc he did. And ofc Cell praised him for it. And for a moment things seemed like never changed, even if Cell was sinking his teeth in Pac's leg while Pac held him hand for comfort. Cell let his jumpsuit fall from his shoulders and let Pac see his wings as his personal way to show how important this was for him

And then he hid the wings again as the guards arrived to take Pac to the infirmary and Cell to be locked in the solitary

Pac stayed a long time in the infirmary, and here i showcase yall my chaotic neutral redemption of f!felps, as at this point the fact he was blessed by Watchers meant he never interfered with anything, amused to watch how things developed, and not stopping Cell from going to the infirmary late at night to Pac, where Pac couldn't run and Cell could whisper to him sweet things to completely destroy Pac's already frail psyche. Where Cell could show Pac his wings and let him touch them as Cell told them how special it was to show them and how special Pac was for that, and Pac loved them, even if they weren't even close to healthy

After the prison, Cellbit got rid of the wings. As a partly undead creature, health potions burned and contained his phantom features, and so Cellbit begged Felps to push his wings into his back, using health potions and a knife, and so they did, leaving Cellbit with a mangled back for weeks but without wings. Sometimes, specially lately as he has been more deranged, they try to sprout again, and sometimes they even make some tears in his skin, but never enough to pop out again

#celltw #personal hcs #cellbit #tw cannibalism #literally dead dove btw #tw light gore

[th3w00ds]

Natemare Headcanons

Natemare is sort of a fucked up amalgamation of fear itself, a siren and the spirit of a child

Originally, before he had a name, Natemare came into existence millennia ago as fear itself. He was the physical embodiment of the feeling of fear, and he formed when humans first began to feel fear. So, the main part of him is ancient

As old as humanity at least

The second part of him, the siren part of him, basically he saw that Sirens existed and was like “Oh shit that’s cool, I want to have those powers,” and sort of… like, absorbed one? Like absorbed their powers and spirit (he did have permission) and they became part of him

The child spirit is a relatively recent addition

Before Natemare met the child, he didn’t really have a name. Fear was enough for him. Although he did take on the name Nate when posing as a human, but he didn’t really consider that to be his real name

Also before he met the kid, he didn’t have the tear streaks

Those are markings, not makeup

One day, he felt a near overwhelming feeling of fear, one that he sensed coming from somewhere nearby. He went to go check it out, and came across a child, no older than 13. He was sobbing, and backed away as soon as he saw him. He noticed that their skin was completely gray, and that they were floating above the ground. A spirit then

He asked the child how he was and what he was doing, and finally the child responded. He said that he didn’t know where he was or what he was doing, and said that he was scared, so scared

Fear offered to take that feeling of being scared away from the child. The child accepted, and suddenly the child felt no fear anymore. Fear asked the child if they felt better, and they nodded. They did. They wanted to stay with Fear, because Fear helped him to feel safe when they had no idea what was going on

There was only one way that Fear could do that, and he told the child. The child did not seem to mind; they just seemed happy to be able to stay with Fear in some form. Fear slowly approached the young spirit, and touched their arm. A pulse of power came from Fear’s hand, and in the blink of an eye, the child spirit was gone

Well, not gone. They were a part of Fear now. The kid- Marian- was a part of Fear now. Their tears were now his own, and the markings on Fear’s- no, he needed a new name to match his current state, having two spirits and one ancient manifestation of fear in one body was a lot- Natemare. That sounded good. Marian’s tears were now Natemare’s, both literally and figuratively, as were his memories

There were so many moments of sorrow and pain and fear that it almost brought Natemare to his knees

Natemare, due to having the spirit of a child within him, can act quite childish at times

The spirit of the siren is basically gone now, they’ve moved on

Natemare can control fear, give people nightmares, control smoke and can control others with his songs

He had always been a bit… sadistic, and now he gained a more “insane” and childish attitude towards his torture and murder of humans

Not that he can’t be serious, he is a lot

When he kidnapped Matthew Patrick, he honestly just intended to scare him, then to let him go

Natemare kind of forgot how potent his songs were when a scared and confused human was hearing them

He loves ravens, thinks they’re cool

Treats most things with disdain

After all, he is Fear Itself

Loves the attention he gets when he’s done with a show

If you manage to get close to him (which few have done), he’ll be very protective of you

The effects his songs have changes depending on what he wants them to do

For example, if he was singing, let’s say, Mangled, and he wanted anyone who heard it to fall asleep by the end of it, they would

Most would fall asleep during or just after the chorus, considering that’s when his songs are most powerful

Night owl

Can go a long time without sleep, probably months if he wanted, but since he likes it + it soothes him, he sleeps anyway

#natewantstobattle #nwtb #natewantstobtl #nathan sharp #natewantstobattle egos #nwtb egos #natemare #natemare nwtb

[deoidesign]

Two things

Any tips for line work?

Any tips for drawing eyes?

You’ve got a killer style for that and I struggle for things like that, so was wondering what you do for that and have any advice for a young artist? Also Steve is gender goals and me and him have the same haircut which makes me happy. Comics with an older queer character are nice, makes me happy to see someone like me get to get older like that :]

This ended up really long, sorry...

"Style" is really just an amalgamation of every decision an artist makes. When you're starting to learn, your brain is processing a LOT on the technical and fundamental side. In time, these will become tools for you to use as you please.

Your style is in you already, I assure you. It's the clothes you love, your favorite color, the season that makes you comfy... Art is a form of communication, and the first person you have to learn to communicate with is yourself. It's a lifelong process of growth, self love, and personal expression. It's nothing to rush!

these are from 2011, 2016, and 2023!

(13, 18, and 25 years old)

You can see how my skills have evolved, but my tastes are rather much the same. I've still got an absolute ton to learn.

When it comes to lineart, if you find yourself regularly struggling with "losing energy from the sketch", then making your lineart thicker might be a solution; thicker lines are a lot more forgiving!

This is a common issue many artists struggle with. It happens because the sketch has multiple lines, so the brain gets to choose which one it likes most. When you do lineart that choice isn't up to the brain, so it's not tricking itself to seeing all its favorite lines anymore.

Lineart can also help you define depth. Generally speaking, thicker lines tend to be on closer objects, and further away objects have thinner lines. You'll also lose more and more detail (and sometimes edges) the further away an object gets.

It can also define light in your lines. solid blacks can block out entire sections of shadow. Another option is hatching, and another is stippling. It doesn't have to define light, though, many styles define their light through various other shading methods.

My biggest tip for lineart is to practice "line confidence." fill a sketchbook page with lines that span the entire length of the page, evenly distanced, as straight as you can, without lifting the pen. Do this every day. Fill a page with ellipses, fill a page with circles. Do this every day. Eventually, you'll learn to 1: draw with your entire arm, which will save you a lot of quite literal pain in the future, and 2: you'll be able to draw the right line the first time more often, which will save you time and frustration!

I didn't have an example offhand so I did this to show what I mean, but I highly suggest doing this on paper in ink and not on the computer, if you can.

When it comes to eyes, definitely look lots to real people, and also pay attention to how artists stylize them! There's generally 4 main things to keep in mind:

1: the top lid. This one is major for defining the expression, so it changes a lot depending on context.

2: the bottom lid! this one doesn't move nearly as much.

Each lid has a vertex, and changing where the relative high and low points are on them between characters can change a lot about what the eyes are saying.

3: the sclera (whites of the eyes), iris (color of the eyes), and pupil (the hole we see out of)! These change an absolute TON based on style.

4: the eyelid!

and here's me just moving each of the elements around! it changes a lot about what the eye is saying as you change each element, play around with them! try not to always go with your first choices.

There's a lot more to eyes than this, and a lot more to lineart as well... but I hope this is something of a starting point! Getting better about art is about learning to think and study everything you see. I genuinely see the world differently than I did 10 years ago, and I'm much happier for it (and a much better artist!)

And when it comes to writing stories about queer characters who get to be older and still happy, I hope to someday see you making stories that bring someone the same sense of comfort you had reading my work. I hope it someday becomes normalized, mundane even. And I know it starts with people like you deciding it's important! We're here, we've always been here, and we're not going anywhere.

Best of luck on your artistic journey, I wish you a long lifetime of growing closer to yourself through your art.

#asks #writing rambles #art tips #long post #sorry omg this one was so long.

[goddness-lunafreya]

Meet my Tav/OC!

Philrath, the Half-Dragon

Hello everyone, while I'm writing the next chapter, I thought I'd show a little bit of Philrath, the OC who co-stars in the story, and my Tav in the game!

Race and Appearance: Philrath is a White Half-Dragon, children of dragons with humanoid races, usually humans and elves. Unlike Dragonborns, Half-Dragons are literally children of dragons, inheriting characteristics from them, but also from their parent's non-dragon races. They usually end up being an amalgamation of the two breeds, with certain characteristics. They are hybrids, just like animals in the real world, and are therefore infertile. Philrath has an elven body, white hair, with turquoise blue highlights. His skin is fair, with freckles on his face. He has white horns, with slight bluish tips on his head. She has white scales on her face, and on the rest of her body, in places such as: Back, Shoulders and Legs. Her eyes are yellow with these draconic pupils, which have a certain glow in the dark. I like to imagine that she would have fangs, very small, even though this doesn't exist in the game, it's a characteristic that I like to think about.

Class, Alignment and Combat:

Philrath was initially born in my game as a ranger, but I chose to leave her secondary class as a bard, and that ended up being canonical in my story. So, she is a bard who seeks to bring joy to people, with songs, or with actions. Still, the patrol class is not there for nothing. She is very connected to nature, not as much as a druid, but she understands it in a way that benefits her. She uses Speak to Animals a lot to get advantages and to help the poor animals, protecting them from people's evil. She also uses her ranged attacks to help the team, always giving buffs to her companions (cough cough, Astarion, cough), healing them when needed and being deadly when necessary. Philrath as a Half-Dragon transforms into one, being small at first, but growing as he matures and expands his powers, understanding them better. This in gameplay is well... Overpower, but I always dosed it to only use it when it was NECESSARY (hello, Cazador???), so as not to ruin the gameplay. And in history this was cool, it was as if she was afraid to use her powers, and let them emerge as the journey became more difficult. In the end, for her group, she turned into a deadly white dragon, which freezes everyone in its path.

Her Alignment changed A LOT, as my perception changed. At first she was definitely Lawful-Good, trying to be a good person. However, in act 1 she performed very... Chaotic acts. In act 2 I would already put her in Neutral-Good, and in 3 she is certainly a Chaotical-Good or even Neutral-Neutral. My explanation for this was two: The Journey and its Dragon Side. Baldur's Gate's journey is not an easy one, and she has made chaotic and desperate decisions for the good of herself and the group, yet never evil ones. She helped the Tieflings, saved the Nightsong, helped Halsin, was always respectful to Jaheira and let very few die. For her companions, she is a hero, but Philrath doesn't see herself that way. She killed the hunter Guur, she killed all the goblins, she was always aggressive when necessary. But still, she forced Ketheric to seek to be better, not facing him in the end. But as many know, White Dragons are Chaotical-Evil, and she may have gotten that from her father, in part, which explains her impulsiveness in combat.

(She judging Astarion AND the Hunter Gur)

Personality and Romance:

Philrath is someone kind despite the problems I mentioned above, she understands that she can be dangerous, and that's why she prefers to stay away than to get attached, but at the same time, she is afraid of abandonment. She grew up without her biological parents, always seeing herself as strange. Even though she had a great adoptive father, these problems persist with her to this day. That's why she has her motto: "The Group stays together". Philrath never abandoned any of them, he always gave them the chance to improve and stay with it. She never judged, she doesn't see herself in such a position, after all, she doesn't think she's worthy. As a bard, she likes to make people happy, even if the reason is sad. It's a way for her to make people ignore her different appearance, deep down she hates how she looks, but she loves being who she is. She loves flying like a dragon, loves the powers, the feeling of strength. But she hates being different from other elves, being seen as a monster and a freak. Hence her identification with those who suffer, how would she judge someone, when she is judged all the time? Maybe it was the identification that hooked her. She saw herself in Astarion when he revealed himself to be a vampire, when he declared his fears, when he showed his marks and scars. His words (sometimes false) were comforting. As a Demisexual, she is attracted to the self, not the form. And the Astarion being was interesting. She would love to write more about the relationship, but then it would be fic (more than I've already done in this post). Who knows, maybe I won't do it in my fanfic. She stayed with Astarion until the end, but had a light kiss with Wyll in a moment of excitement during a dance. And she decided to start a relationship with Halsin. I always imagined the "Teddy Bear" as her teacher in transformation, it's cute, right? But she loves Astarion, and always will. A Half-Dragon and a Vampire is a couple odd enough to appeal to me!

(They look so cute in these clothes...)

What do I expect from Philrath in fanfic? I hope to be able to explore my Headcanons and address what the story of someone so unique would be like. A Half-Dragon would certainly have issues that Tav normally doesn't have in the game, some of which I mentioned above. In the end, I hope to be able to write everything in "Icy Serenade", my fanfic that focuses on Philrath and all the backstory power. I know, it's all silly and trippy. But this character became part of me, playing her was fun, and in the end she had a place in my heart that I didn't expect. It's crazy how such an INCREDIBLE game makes us get attached to the model we create... Philrath ended up having a lot of me, I'm Demisexual, I identified with the story of several characters in the game, and I was simply moved by see her, or rather they, as Non-Binary. Yes, I used "she" out of language and name custom, but Philrath is Non-Binary! She is Philrath! And it's okay to be called She, They or even "Astarion's Husband". She never saw herself as a real woman, just as she never saw herself as an elf or a dragon. She can be both, or neither. It can be "she", "he" or "they".

Disclaimer:

This race is obtainable in the game via MOD! It exists in d&d 5e, but it is not normally playable. The MOD(which is not mine!!) is based on an expansion of this race, with extra things and an expansion of its mythology. These clothes are from MOD too, I can share them all in the comments, for anyone who wants them. And yes, a lot of things up there are FIC/HC, after all, Tav is the character made for us to play with our imagination and create his story. And everything is fine! We all create this ourselves when we play games like this. And I had to add these details to make sense of a Half-Dragon out of nowhere in the game. But remember that the game itself places us as Dragonborn in the dialogues, since this limitation exists.

(There's no way we... She's so expressive!)

Thank you all!!

Thank you for reading what I wrote and will write, it is gratifying to put what I think here. It has been an environment that has done me a lot of good in the last few days.

I hope to meet everyone's Tav/Durge/OC too! Knowing your Headcanons, your stories, your fics, let's all think and create things together. Expanding this wonderful universe that is this Game and RPG. Finally, I hope everyone is safe.

And what did you think of Philrath? Or the Half-Dragons? I simply fell in love with them. I'd love to hear opinions.

See you soon, with more fics and random subjects. Tchau! (Bye Bye!)

(BONUS: Her looking at Halsin like that is hilarious)

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #fanfic #baldur's gate oc #bg3 tav #tav #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate spoilers #original character #my ocs #my tav #meet my ocs #meet my tav #Philrath #tav bg3 #bg3 oc #headcanon #bg3 headcanons #thank you for reading #icy serenade

[whateveriwant]

Easy Peasy

College AU

Summary: Friday night at the frat house means it’s time for a party. Besides booze, beer pong, and bro-nanigans, the brothers have something else up their sleeves to help get the party going.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: ~13.2k (ummmm?)

Warnings: language, alcohol, sickness, slight injury, Captain kink, size kink-ish (muscles kink???), 18+ content

A/N: Hello! This has been a long time coming! About 2 years ago, I put out a fic called Oopsy Daisy. That fic was such a labor of love and is honestly one of my personal favorites. Well now, over 2 years later, I've come bearing this: a sequel! While I didn't originally intend to make a sequel for Oopsy Daisy, you all have the lovely @shythingstudentdragon to thank for this follow-up! They requested "A college au where Steve is showing off to reader. It starts with a push up contest between him Sam and Bucky, before he starts flexing for her and showing her what he can lift. Finally, it gets back to his room where reader questions if he can bench press her, which he does with ease." I changed the order of the events slightly, so I hope that’s ok. And one last thing to note: While technically a sequel, this fic works completely as a standalone (though I encourage you to read both ;p). As always, I hope you all enjoy!

Your heart thumps in time with the music, the heavy bassline resonating through your skin, shaking the very foundation of the house. The track is absolute garbage – some dubstep/techno/house music amalgamation you couldn’t be paid to listen to if given the choice. Under normal circumstances, you'd rather tear your own ears off than listen any longer.

Although it's truly God-awful, right now, it's all just background noise. No, you haven't a care for the monstrosity pounding away at your eardrums, not when your attention is directed miles and miles away.

You twine your fingers behind Steve’s head, keeping him firmly attached to you as your tongues dip into each other’s mouth. Something shatters in the distance, followed by the sound of drunken cheering, but you also pay it no mind. In this moment, it might as well just be you and Steve tucked away in your own little bubble – a small slice of heaven reserved just for you two.

Well… if only that were actually the case.

Just as you start to grind against Steve’s lap, his hands tighten on your hips, halting your movements. “Not now, dollface,” Steve breathes against your mouth.

“What? Why?” you practically whine between kisses. You try to rock your hips again, but are met by an even stronger resistance from Steve’s hands.

“We’re in the middle of the living room,” he grunts as he combats your movements, his fingers digging into the elastic material of your leggings.

Exasperated, you pull back from him and huff, “So? Steve, we have done way worse things on this very couch.”

“Yeah, but not when a rager was going on around us.”

At that, you quirk an amused brow, a specific memory from a few weeks back replaying in your mind. “Y’sure about that?” you smirk.

Steve takes a moment to think before he rolls his eyes, remembering the night in question. “Okay, I was blasted then, so that doesn’t count," he says. "But now I’m basically sober and definitely not in the mood to put on a show for the whole house to see.”

Retracting your hands from behind his neck, you gesture at the party around you. “Steve, look around.” You turn your head side to side, seeing dozens of students half-drunk off their asses as they aimlessly mill about. “Literally no one cares. They’re all focused on their own things and couldn't give a single shit about us.” You turn back to face him. “Maybe we just gotta get a few more beers in you before you stop caring as well,” you gibe, poking him in the pec.

Steve grabs your hand to stop you. “Let’s just wait a little longer until the party dies down, alright? And then we can have a little fun,” he teases. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before relinquishing it, dropping his palms back to your waist.

You all but pout as you regard him – that steadfast look on his face that tells you his mind is made up. As much as you adore Steve, you hate that he can be such a hard-ass sometimes. You just want to have a good time with your man right now. Is that so bad? Apparently, it is to Steve since you know you'd have a difficult time trying to convince him to see things your way.

Damn him. Maybe if the damn captain of the damn football team wasn’t so used to getting his way on the field, he’d be more open to persuasion off the field as well.

You sigh. Well… come to think of it, there is one thing that renders Steve practically dumb with compliancy. While he doesn't prefer you to whip it out in public, you figure there's no harm in trying it out now. After all, a little teasing never hurt anybody, right?

With your mind made up, carefully, you tuck your face into the side of his neck, releasing slow, even breaths as you pretend you’re relenting to his wishes. But then, ever so delicately, you start nuzzling the underside of his jaw, peppering kisses along the smooth skin.

“Baby…,” Steve warns you, a slight edge to his voice as his fingers curl tighter into your flesh.

“I’m just kissing you,” you mumble against his neck. “Oh, am I not allowed to kiss you now?” your question is thick with sarcasm.

“You—” he starts to reprimand, but as your tongue darts out to taste his skin, he lets out a shaky breath. “Just… don’t try anything funny,” he sighs and softens his hold on you slightly.

“I won’t, I won’t,” you lie.

With a green light, you suck several faint bruises along his neck, feeling Steve gradually relax as the seconds tick by. He makes a choked noise as you hit that spot just under his ear, and it takes all you have not to laugh as you see how hypnotized he is by your ministrations. Amusing as it is, you haven't even started the real fun yet.

Slowly, you rake a hand down his chest, letting your fingertips graze the hard planes of muscle through his t-shirt. Steve shudders and tenses at your touch, his heartbeat picking up as you steadily descend. As he goes to still your wandering hand, you grin and start rocking your hips again, forcing him to keep both hands on your waist to inhibit your movements.

Trailing your mouth upwards, you tease his earlobe with your teeth, nipping carefully before soothing the flesh with your tongue. You moan softly under your breath, practically purring directly into his ear, and when you feel him shudder again, you finally whisper the nickname you know has a debilitating effect on Steve.

“Captain.”

Steve groans. “No, no, no, no,” he rushes the words out. “Don’t start with—”

“This is a party, Captain,” you cut him off, "and I want to have fun now. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at parties? Have fun? Not wait until after when everyone’s gone?” you let your faux pout seep into your voice, the sound nearly whiny with need.

“Dollface,” Steve grunts, struggling to simultaneously maintain his composure and get you to stop moving. “It’s just a few more hours. You can wait—”

“Please, Captain” you husk. “Let’s have some fun now. I feel like I’ve barely seen you because of practice. You’ve been so busy lately.” Your hand crawls down his stomach, teasing the waistband of his shorts.

“Oh, please don't remind me of that," he begs. "I know I've been a bit preoccupied, but—”

“I just wanna enjoy this time with you now…,” plucking at the elastic of his shorts, you croon, “Captain.”

Steve groans again. “Baby, you gotta stop with the ‘Cap—’”

“Captain, please,” you pretend to beg out of desperation. With your lips against his ear, you let out a series of breathy moans, your voice ascending in pitch with each, “Please, please, plea—”

“That better be apple juice in your cup, Parker!” The barking voice suddenly snaps you from your mischief.

Your words halt as your eyes flit over Steve’s shoulder, observing Sam cross his arms as he glares at something behind you. Craning your neck back, you see Peter chatting with a group of friends, red solo cup in hand. His eyes go wide at Sam’s accusation. Carefully, he places the beverage on the TV stand before putting his hands up in surrender. He backs around the corner – hands up the entire time – until he’s out of the room.

Just as quickly as you were distracted, you redirect your attention to Steve. You go to speak again, but before you can, Steve claps a large hand over your mouth to silence you.

Steve’s expression turns stony as he’s pulled from the near-trance you had him in. “Baby, I’m only gonna say this once so you better listen closely. You need to stop before—” his caution is interrupted as a drunken Scott bumps into the back of the couch, slurring an apology to the furniture as he stumbles away.

Steve watches Scott’s movements for a moment before looking back to you. He continues, “Before it’s too late. You might just do something you’ll regret.” He raises a brow in warning.

Slowly, he withdraws his hand to allow you to speak again. With your mouth uncovered, you lick your lips deliberately, letting your tongue make a lazy pass from corner to corner.

You smirk and narrow your eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that almost sounded like a threat, Rogers.”

Steve purses his lips, giving you a similarly skeptical look. “Who said it wasn’t?”

Amused, you lean forward and drape your arms around his shoulders. “Well, baby, I’ve told you before that I like a little danger.” You nip at his bottom lip, gently tugging at it with your teeth. “So you’re only threatening me with a good time, Captain.”

A hint of a smile pulls at Steve’s lips as he rolls his eyes. “You are something else sometimes. Can’t you go one day without trying to pull some shit?” he admonishes, gently pinching your hip. “Must you always be such a tease?”

“Must you always be such a bore?” you retort and force an obviously fake reproachful look on your face.

Steve’s eyes darken almost imperceptibly at your words. His fingers tighten around your waist, gently divoting your flesh. “Oh, you’ve done it now, dollface. You want danger? I’ll give you da—” His eyes suddenly go wide as they focus on something over your shoulder. “Shit!” Steve unceremoniously lifts you from his lap, all but tossing you onto the empty cushion beside him as he lunges off the couch.

You gape as he dashes to the TV stand – Peter’s abandoned drink having been spilled onto the console, the liquid spreading rapidly. With no time to think, Steve’s reflexes take over and he lifts the impressive flatscreen off the table, protecting it from the expanding pool.

“Lang, what the fuck?!” Steve snaps at Scott standing beside him.

Scott teeters on his feet for a moment before he puts a hand on the wall to balance himself. “W-what?” he hiccups, totally unaware of his clumsy mishap.

Steve lets out a displeased breath and shakes his head. “Dude, just… go lay down before you pass out or something.”

Scott blinks in confusion for a few seconds. He looks between Steve and the puddle like he's trying to make sense of the scene, his face creasing as he thinks. Eventually, something must click in his inebriated brain because he nods. “‘Kay,” he agrees, then stumbles away to hopefully take Steve’s advice.

Steve sighs heavily before shifting on his feet, getting a better grip on the appliance in his hands. He mumbles something, though you don't catch it as you remain seated on the couch, enraptured by the sight before you.

Steve's back strains against his fitted shirt, the muscles shifting as he moves every now and then. He turns to the side slightly and mumbles something else, but again, you don't register his words – instead, watching on as he unintentionally flexes the cords of his arm.

Suddenly, your mouth feels incredibly dry. Not only did getting tossed around like a ragdoll stir something in your belly, but watching Steve lift that TV with ease – witnessing his strength on full display – makes your stomach flip in excitement.

You swallow thickly as the vein running along his bicep pulses against the skin, feeling a pressure similarly throb in your core. You know Steve is strong – for goodness’ sake, just look at him! – but seeing that strength firsthand does something unexplainable to you.

You wonder what it would be like if Steve showed you just how strong he really is. If he threw you around without a care in the world; manhandled you however he wanted; gripped you so fiercely, he left bruises on your hips as he dragged and pulled you onto his coc—

The sound of Steve yelling your name pulls you from your wandering thoughts.

“Huh? W-what?” You bring yourself back to the moment with a shake of your head.

“I asked if you could get something to clean this up.” He nods towards the spill.

“Oh. Y-yeah. Sure,” you mutter.

You run to the kitchen and grab a handful of paper towels before returning to the living room. Dutifully, you sop up the spilled beverage – something that definitely wasn’t apple juice just as Sam had suspected.

As you clean, you chance a peek from the corner of your eye, watching as Steve appears to be completely unfazed by the heavy load in his arm. You try to be covert as you ogle him with your peripheral vision, pretending to be totally focused on your task at hand.

Steve catches you anyway.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

At his question, your attention is drawn up to Steve’s face, seeing him giving you a perplexed look. His brows knit more tightly together when you don't immediately respond, your hand paused mid-wipe as you think of what to say.

While you could be honest and say you were nearly drooling at the sight of his biceps bulging, you know Steve would never let you live that down, especially given the shenanigans you just pulled on the couch. Steve would have a field day if he knew he got you all tongue-tied like you frequently do to him. You don’t want to give him that satisfaction.

“What do you mean? I’m-I’m not looking at you,” you mutter, opting for good ol' denial.

He scoffs, unconvinced. “Yeah, you are. Pretty obviously, too.”

Damn it. Looks like that won’t work.

“I… I…,” you stutter as you scramble to think of an explanation. After a few moments of scatterbrained thinking – bingo! – an idea comes to mind. “I was just remembering how Sam once told me you think with your muscles and m—, well… your muscles before your mind. I guess he was right,” you chuckle.

“Oh, come on," Steve grumbles. "Would you have had a better idea than to lift the damn thing? What was I supposed to do? Whip out my emergency ShamWow I just happen to carry with me?” he asks rhetorically. “Or better yet, power slurp whatever drink that was before it spread to the TV?”

You turn to face him more directly, a smile inching your mouth up. “I mean… you do have a talented tongue, Steve. So that wouldn’t have been out of the question.”

Steve simply rolls his eyes before nodding at the puddle again. “Just finish cleaning, please.”

You give him a mock salute. “Aye, aye, Captain,” you say in a gruff voice, earning you a snort from Steve.

Having narrowly avoided being exposed, you soak up the rest of the drink in a hurry, only stopping to sneak one or two more peeks at Steve during the time. Afterwards, once you’ve discarded the dirtied towels, Steve drags you back to the couch you occupied earlier, plopping you down beside him.

"So… how ya been? How's practice been going?" you question, deciding to pass the time with something other than tonsil hockey.

"Ugh, let's not talk about that," Steve groans. He takes your hand and begins to fiddle with your fingers. "How about we talk about you instead."

As you let Steve play with your fingers, you shrug noncommittally. "Alright, shoot."

“Okay…,” he begins as he thinks of a topic to discuss. After a beat, he asks, “What was the real reason you were looking so intently at me?”

You blanch at his question. “I-I told you,” you insist. “I was remembering when Sam—”

“No, no, no,” Steve cuts your fake explanation short. “I said the real reason.”

Steve sets his jaw and locks his fingers with yours as he waits for your response. Under the weight of his gaze, you start to squirm and babble nonsense as you try to think of another explanation that sounds convincing. As you scour your brain for something – anything – to say, unfortunately, you end up coming short, a heavy sigh falling from your lips at the realization you can’t claw your way out of this.

Since Steve seems to be dead set on finding out the truth, you figure it's only a matter of time before he catches on, no matter how much you try to tell him otherwise. Hoping that maybe he'll take a little pity on you and not poke too much fun if you're upfront, you decide to be truthful.

"Okay, so… maybe I was, um… admiring your muscles not because of what Sam said, but because of my own volition."

"Why…?" Steve prods.

"Because… I like how they look?" your voice pitches up at the end, turning a would-be statement into a question. When Steve gives you a look saying “Go on”, you sigh, but ultimately yield. “Okay, I really like how they look,” you elaborate only just so.

“So, you were distracted and all fuzzy-brained because you were checking me out?” Steve arches a brow.

You sigh once more and drop your head in defeat. “Yes,” you nod.

A few seconds of silence pass as Steve lets your words sink in. Then, a sudden, boisterous laugh bubbles out of his throat, making you snap your head back up at him.

“I knew it!” he chortles. “I just wanted to hear it from your mouth.”

You scoff and roughly pull your hand out of his. “Well… congrats," you say in as monotone of a voice as you can muster. "You got what you wanted. You happy now?”

Steve retakes your hand to briefly kiss the back of it. “Ecstatic,” he beams.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Don’t get too used to it, Rogers,” you grumble and wave him off. “It’s like I said earlier, I haven’t seen you much the past couple of weeks, so I’m having to readjust a little. You’re a lot to process,” you snark.

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say,” Steve concedes, the sarcasm obvious in his tone. He grins widely as he settles back into the couch. “But I must admit, it’s nice being on the other side for once. I’m just so irresistible that you couldn’t help but be distracted by me,” he jokes, pretending to toss long hair over his shoulder.

“Alright, don’t get ahead of yourself, Narcissus.” You elbow him in the ribs.

Steve laughs and rubs his side for a moment, pretending to soothe his ribs after your assault. But then all of a sudden, he jolts forward in his seat, his face rapidly shifting into a serious expression. “Oh, what’s this?” he exaggerates his voice and movements, slipping into almost a caricature of himself. He stands and rounds the coffee table set before the couch, theatrically pointing at one of the legs. “I think this leg looks a little wobbly. Wouldn’t you agree, dollface?”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “What are you doi—”

Before you finish your question, Steve lifts the table several feet off the ground, jostling around the empty beer cans and various pieces of garbage lying atop. Carefully, he examines the leg in question, the muscles of his arms tensing and contracting as he turns it every which way.

“No, I think it’s okay actually,” he muses, setting the furniture back down with a smirk.

You can't help but chuckle at his antics. “You are such an idiot.”

“Hey,” he faux chastises, “I think the correct term is ‘himbo’, thank you very much.”

You nearly choke on your spit as you laugh. You didn't expect that to come out of his mouth. “I stand corrected. You are a huge idiot,” you guffaw.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Steve puts his hands on his hips and pushes his chest forward, power posing before you.

Shaking your head incredulously, you chuckle again, unable to keep a smile off of your face. “If you keep this shit up, I’ll just leave early. I've got a test on Tuesday I can be studying for,” you warn. Maybe if you threaten him a little – even though you don't really mean it – you can get him to stop acting like a dumbass.

Steve lifts his arm and bends his elbow at a 90 degree angle. “Well, the door’s that way,” he tells you, flexing his bicep as he points unnaturally at the door. “Or… is it that way?” He switches directions, mirroring the pose with the other arm. “I’m not sure. I think I might’ve had too much to drink tonight."

Though a small part of you wants to stop and admire Steve's physique, all you can do at the moment is laugh at how ridiculous he looks as he tries to show off. Steve, on the other hand, schools his own expression in order to play up his act and not break character.

"But you can leave whenever you want, especially if you’ve got stuff to do," he finally declares. "Though… you might want to stay for the show. I’ve heard it's quite an experience," he baits you.

Your eyes feel like they're about to pop out of your skull from how hard you're stifling the need to roll them. But, you decide to humor him. You cross your arms and lean into the couch. "And what show is that, Steve?" you ask.

He smirks and drops his voice an octave. "The gun show."

Steve swiftly raises both arms to put his muscles on full display, switching back and forth to flex each arm in turn. He leans side to side to give each bicep a loud, sloppy kiss, prompting an ungodly cackle to erupt from your mouth as you watch.

He gives you an intense look as he turns his attention back to you, keeping his voice at a low baritone to really sell his macho man act. “Welcome to the gun show, baby. You're in for a treat,” he croons. “It looks like you’ve got yourself a front row seat, so you better strap in and hold on tight before—”

"Man, what the hell are you doing?" Sam’s voice comes out of nowhere, interrupting the scene playing out before you.

Steve is quickly snapped from his tomfoolery as he's caught red-handed by Sam, his friend just so happening to wander into the room during the peacocking.

Steve drops his hands back down by his sides and returns his voice to its normal timbre. "I, uh, I was just… um…," he trails off, not having an excuse for his actions.

"Look, we get it," Sam says boredly. "The gym rat’s got muscles and wants to show them off. But this ain’t a Men’s Health magazine, so cut the shit, man,” he chides as he rounds the couch, coming to stand before Steve.

Steve shakes his head and goes to speak, likely to clarify that he was just fucking around for your amusement, but not before Sam adds, “I mean, it’s not like you see me parading around here showing off all of this," he gestures up and down at himself.

Steve’s mouth snaps closed, his expression twisting into a mix of amusement and incredulity. “Uh… well… maybe that’s because you haven’t worked out in two months,” he tries not to chuckle as he speaks.

Sam’s brows shoot up to his hairline. “Excuse me?” he asks, stunned. “I’ll have you know, I do 100 squats every. single. morning,” he states matter-of-factly, punctuating the words for emphasis. “And I know I can definitely outlift you, head quarterback or not.”

Steve snorts and reaches over to pat Sam on the shoulder. “Sure ya can, man. Sure ya can,” he encourages as if speaking to a child.

“Man, fuck you. Don’t patronize me,” Sam spits, stepping back out of arm’s reach. “Newsflash, Dorito Man. Strength doesn’t have to be confined to just your upper half.” He makes an upside down triangle in the air, mocking the shape of Steve’s body. “Ever heard of lifting with your legs, huh? You see these thighs?” He pats his quads. “They’re like tree trunks. Solid. Strong. A.K.A. can absolutely outlift your little slim-hipped ass.”

Steve’s mouth pops open at the boldness of Sam’s declaration. He goes to retort, but before he can, you speak first.

“Yeah, baby, I’m with Sam on this one. He’s got some pretty nice thighs… and ass for that matter. I think he can take you,” you smirk, fighting the urge to laugh as Steve’s face contorts with more shock.

While Steve had originally been worried about “putting on a show for the whole house to see”, for the past several minutes, he’s been doing just that. You’ve been getting a kick out of it – as well as a few other feelings – so you’re not ready to let the show come to an end just yet. And what better way to do that than by inciting a little brotherly competition between the two frat members.

“Thank you, sweetness,” Sam says smugly before sending Steve a shit-eating grin. “See, Rogers? Even your girl agrees with me.”

Steve looks at you in disbelief, putting his hands on his hips. “Whose side are you on?” he accuses.

You shrug nonchalantly as you sink deeper into the couch. “I just call ‘em like I see ‘em, baby,” you further egg him on, hoping to ignite that competitive nature in Steve.

As Steve’s eyes darken ever so slightly, you know you’ve done it.

“Alright, Tree Trunks,” Steve looks at Sam, voice devoid of humor. “Let’s see if you can take me.”

Sam cracks his knuckles and his neck, rolling his shoulders to warm up. “Oh, it’s on, Dorito Man.”

They settle on the living room furniture as the events for their impromptu strongman competition. Taking turns, they lift various objects around the room: the end table, the armchair, even going so far as to ask you to stand from the sofa so they can have a hand at that. And when they both miserably attempt to solo lift the three-seater, you can’t help the ugly laugh that watching their struggle elicits from you.

During the course of the theatrics, a crowd of onlookers gradually appears, watching on as the two idiots manhandle every object in sight. At some point, Natasha and Bucky also join the group of spectators.

“What are they doing?” Natasha asks, sidling up beside you along the wall.

“Trying to determine who’s stronger,” you snicker. This dick-measuring contest has been going better than expected, and you’re thoroughly amused by that fact.

You and Natasha exchange knowing looks before shaking your heads and rolling your eyes in sync. “Men,” you both mutter under your breaths.

“Well, remind me to call them when I need help moving. I won’t have to hire a service that way,” Natasha jokes.

“Hey, what about me?” Bucky questions her, sounding a little wounded that she didn’t mention his name. While Bucky may not be as burly as Sam or Steve, he could probably be of some assistance when helping his girlfriend move.

“Don’t worry, babe, you’ll be there, too,” she reassures him with a gentle rub to his bicep. When Bucky smiles and goes to thank her, she elaborates, “After all, your truck can hold a lot more than my Bug.”

Bucky’s face falls at her statement, realizing she means to use his truck rather than him for labor.

She continues before he gets a chance to voice his dejection. “But… that sucker’s gonna have to be deep cleaned at least twice before I put my stuff anywhere near it,” she winces, thinking about the filthy state of his vehicle.

While you’ve, thankfully, never had to endure a ride in Bucky’s truck, you’ve heard enough horror stories to last a lifetime. You’d be willing to bet that some yet undiscovered species of insect has made home in the pickup.

Bucky raises a finger in objection and opens his mouth to speak, looking as if he’s going to argue with Natasha’s statement. But, after a second of self-reflection, he closes his mouth and lets his hand fall back to his side, nodding in defeat as he knows she makes a valid point.

Natasha gives Bucky one more reassuring pat before turning back to you. “So… think they’re gonna be done anytime soon?” She indicates the still ongoing competition. “Because some of us want to use the living room not as a home gym.”

You shrug. "Beats me. I was just thinking of making some popcorn.” Dinner and a show. That’d be pretty nice.

Natasha lets out a deep sigh and leans against the wall, deciding to patiently wait for the men to finish up. She stands with you for several minutes, tapping her foot the whole time. But, as Sam and Steve try and fail to lift the sofa for a third time in a row – causing you to seriously consider making that popcorn – Natasha finally decides she’s had enough.

“Well, guys, congratulations. You did it,” she says, directing everyone’s attention towards her. “You proved you’re both equally as strong as each other… and equally as dumb,” she deadpans as she nods at the couch. “It looks like you’ve come to an impasse so, unless you want to move to the kitchen so you can try lifting the fridge,” she rolls her eyes, “I think there’s only one way to decide the winner of this… whatever it is.”

Steve and Sam look at each other – both slightly sweaty and out of breath from their deadlocked battle. After a moment of sizing each other up, Steve waves for Natasha to continue, telling them what she has in mind.

“A push-up contest,” she states plainly, drawing a few cheers from the crowd. “Whoever does the most push-ups in 60 seconds wins.”

As people start whooping in encouragement – numerous "Hell yeahs" and "Do its" being tossed around – Sam and Steve finally take note of the sheer size of the crowd they've attracted. They’d been so invested in their competition that they didn’t even notice how a majority of the party-goers had gathered around the scene, watching the two men go head-to-head.

With a crowd that size, the stakes of their competition has increased tenfold. Now, instead of one of them simply having to concede to the other, they'd have to lose in front of several dozens of people.

Talk about a blow to the ego.

The reluctance is obvious on both men’s faces as they eye the group of spectators. They start mumbling various excuses as to why they're unsure about Natasha's idea, trying to dissipate the crowd’s desires to avoid further embarrassing themselves. As they continue to show their hesitation, Natasha takes the opportunity to speak again.

"Like I said…," she draws their attention to her once more, "…there's always the fridge." She smirks and cocks her head to the side, raising a brow in challenge as she waits for their response.

Natasha knows it's an impossible task, but she also knows the two frat members are too stubborn to end their competition in a stalemate. Thus, whether they move to some other room of the house or take part in the contest Natasha proposed, no matter what, the living room will soon be freed up for her use. Win-win for her either way.

The crowd starts cheering even louder, making Steve and Sam more and more uncomfortable as they fidget in their spots. As the noise crescendos into a frenzied cacophony, both men finally put their hands up in surrender.

“Alright, fine. A push-up contest to determine the winner,” Sam relents. “But… uh…," he looks around the crowd, his eyes widening in delight as his gaze suddenly focuses on Bucky. "Buck, you’re joining us, too.” He waves Bucky over with two fingers.

“What?” Bucky blinks in confusion at the command. “I don’t want to be involved. Don’t drag me into this.” He shakes his head firmly.

“C’mon, man. You can… act as the control,” Sam says, seemingly making up the excuse on the spot.

Bucky gives Sam a confused look and raises his palms to the ceiling. “What is that supposed to mean?” He looks around the room exasperatedly, as if he’ll find the answer written on the walls.

“He wants to juxtapose his strength to yours,” MJ pipes up, her and Peter having entered the room just as the contest was announced. “So, win or lose, he'll still look good in comparison.”

Bucky sends an accusatory look at Sam. “Screw you! No, I’m not doing that,” he pouts and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Look, you do this and I’ll call off the debt from when something bit me in your truck,” Sam narrows his eyes, tempting Bucky to take the offer.

Bucky cringes as he remembers the incident in question. He slowly uncrosses his arms, letting a none too pleased look overtake his face. “Okay, fine,” he grits and reluctantly walks over to join the two men in their contest.

The crowd backs up to allow ample space for the competition. The men lower themselves and plant their hands on the ground, waiting as Natasha readies everyone for the countdown.

“On my mark,” she begins.

Steve suddenly looks up from his place on the floor, catching your eye as you stand before him.

"Get set."

You wink and give him a thumbs up, mouthing, “You got this."

"Go!"

Right out of the gate, Sam and Steve start pounding out push-ups, already leaving Bucky behind in the dust. Per Natasha's orders, you're Steve's spotter, counting out loud along with each of his movements. The crowd grows rambunctious as the seconds quickly tick by, watching and listening as the counts climb higher and higher.

"Eighteen, 19, 20…," you keep time with Steve, barely able to hear the sound of your own voice above the din.

"Seventeen, 18, 19…," Wanda counts beside you as she spots for Sam.

Though he stands only a couple of feet away, you can only just discern Clint counting, “Seven, eight, nine…,” for Bucky – the wall of sound surrounding you too noisy to be able to think through, let alone hear.

But none of those distractions matter anyway as your attention is focused on Steve and Steve alone.

Sweat glistens his hairline as numerous droplets slide down his temples and the bridge of his nose, dripping onto the wood floor below. You watch over and over again how he extends his arms to raise up, only to rapidly descend as he lowers himself once more, his chest nearly brushing the floor with each bend of his elbows. The harder and further Steve pushes himself, the more his muscles strain against the fabric of his shirt, his biceps threatening to tear right through his sleeves.

As you watch on, an unbidden warmth starts to slowly spread in your belly, growing hotter and needier by the second. The adrenaline and endurance and excitement of the scene almost reminds you of something you know all too well, and it nearly distracts you from the task at hand.

You're forced to press your thighs together as you continue to spot Steve, feebly attempting to quell the throbbing in your core. It's all but totally unsuccessful. But, thankfully, someone saves you from the torture of having to watch this display of virility any longer than necessary.

"Ten…," Natasha starts counting down, alerting everyone that the competition is about to come to a close.

It seems to kick the men into overdrive, encouraging them to give strong last-ditch efforts to try coming out on top. They push themselves more and more, their faces becoming flushed and ruddy from exertion, their breaths coming out in harsh puffs.

"Seven…."

As the clock winds down and the men give it their all, Steve’s panting quickly turns to grunting, his muscles on fire as they protest what he’s subjecting them to.

The sound of his groans shoots straight to your core, making you choke on your words, your count faltering for a beat. You dig your nails into your palms, trying to get yourself to focus.

"Three…."

The crowd goes into an uproar in the final seconds. The sound of their cheering is nearly deafening, filling up every square inch of the frat house, almost drowning out the sound of Natasha finally yelling, "Stop!"

At her command, the participants drop to the ground like flies, heaving like they just ran a marathon. While you weren't even one amongst the now-exhausted competitors, you feel similarly winded to them, several shallow breaths falling from your mouth.

Wearily, Steve and Sam rise off the ground to sit back on their heels, leaving Bucky to lie face-down on the floor alone. Dripping in sweat and panting heavily, Steve looks at you for assurance. The sight of him makes you bite your lip, a small voice in your head telling you to jump on him right then and there.

You fight the urge to pounce, though, and instead flash him a thumbs up in response. While it was difficult to concentrate with all of the activity around you – as well as the inner buzzing you were experiencing – with the number you ended on, you figure you know who the winner is.

"Well, I think we all know who won," Natasha agrees with the internal remark you just made. "But, to make it official, let's have our spotters call out the final tallies," she announces, gesturing for the crowd to calm down and give you all the metaphorical mic.

"Bucky's final count was 19," Clint states, drawing a few "Awws" from the crowd.

Sam reaches over and claps Bucky's prone form on the back – Bucky not even having the energy to wave him off or grumble some kind of angry remark for being strong-armed into this competition.

"Sam's was 46," Wanda declares, being met with several "Whoops" from the party-goers.

As all eyes then turn to you, it seems like a hush rapidly takes over the crowd, the party silent for the first time this evening. You look over the spectators in turn before facing Steve once again. Ever so slowly, a smile grows on your face as you gaze directly into his eyes.

"Steve did…," you pause for dramatic effect, drawing out the palpable tension in the atmosphere, "…53."

A similarly wide grin spreads on Steve's face – the winner of this ridiculous but impressive competition. With the cocksure smile still plastered on, he raises his hands in victory, ready to welcome the inevitable flood of congratulations he's about to receive; ready to bask in the praise about to rain down on him; ready to—

"Sixty-eight," a voice calls from the corner.

All heads immediately snap towards the voice in question, seeing MJ leaning against the wall nonchalantly. "Peter did 68," she states again, nodding at Peter who stands beside her – looking slightly breathless and a faint flushed, but otherwise normal.

Your jaw drops in shock. You'd been so distracted by the commotion that you hadn't even noticed Peter was also participating just a few feet away. Apparently, Sam and Steve didn't notice either as their mouths also slacken in astonishment.

Peter shrugs and looks bashfully around the crowd. "I-I started a little late," he says, sounding almost embarrassed for not having done more.

Natasha smiles and shakes her head. "It’s okay, Peter, you did great,” she reassures him. “So, like I said, I think we have a clear winner on our hands." She brings one hand up to her mouth to mime holding a microphone while the other extends towards Peter. “Your winner, ladies and gentlemen: Peter Parker!”

The crowd once again erupts into cheers as dozens of people suddenly swarm Peter to congratulate him. While everyone else celebrates, Steve and Sam appear to be less than pleased that the underclassman won – both sulking and grumbling under their breaths.

“What’s that, gentlemen? Have something to say?” Natasha asks them, cupping her ear in a dramatic manner.

Sam raises a shoulder as if he's unbothered – though, that doesn’t keep the pettiness from seeping into his voice. “Just don’t think it was very fair,” he mumbles.

Natasha raises a skeptical brow at his words, putting a hand on her hip. “And why’s that? He did the competition, didn’t he? Did more push-ups than both of you? In less time, might I add,” she emphasizes, a smirk slanting her lips. “So how is that unfair?”

“Well, uh, we… we were… we were tired from all of the earlier lifting we did,” Steve offers, giving an excuse for why they’d been bested by the freshman.

“Yeah,” Sam nods vigorously. “I-I think I threw my back out trying to lift the couch. Ooh, ouch,” he hisses, contorting his face into a pained expression as he rubs at his lower back. “Yeah, that’s gonna be sore tomorrow.”

Natasha simply raises her brows as if to say, “You can do better than that.” At her sardonic expression, the men begin to spout more excuses for their loss. Natasha purses her lips and nods exaggeratedly as they talk, her motions drenched in sarcasm. After a solid minute of terrible justifications, the men eventually fade to a quiet lull, seeing she remains unconvinced.

“Mm-hm. Yeah. Of course,” Natasha says, continuing to nod along as if they're still speaking. When the men simply look at her in silence, only then does she stop the charade and let her expression return to normal. "Oh, are you finished? I don't want to interrupt you or anything."

Sam and Steve give her a guilty look before nodding gently, telling her they’re done with the bullshit.

"We can’t all be winners. You guys lost. Just accept it," she states, somehow managing to not roll her eyes as she speaks. "And while you might wanna sit on the floor and pout all night, I'd suggest getting up before you get trampled by the stampede." She gestures at the rowdy party-goers still floundering about, clumsily bumping into one another. She then turns to you and points to Bucky still splayed out on the floor. "Pumpkin, a hand?"

You nod and make your way over to help her. As you go about trying to pick up Bucky, you see Sam and Steve shoot each other disgruntled looks – brows furrowed and mouths downturned as they come to terms with what just happened. When Steve turns that grumpy look to you, you find that all you can do is hold his gaze in response.

Should you comfort him or give him some tough love like Natasha? Soothe him or scoff? Honestly, you’re not sure what to say in this moment, so you decide to say nothing at all, opting for a simple shrug instead.

You'll deal with Steve later. Right now, the only thing you're concerned with is how you're going to peel Bucky's limp, sweaty body off the living room floor.

~~~~~

“There you are! I was wondering where you wandered off to.”

You smile as you find Steve in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he nurses a beer. After you and Natasha successfully got Bucky off the ground and over to the couch to recover, you’d found that Steve had slinked away somewhere. You've been searching the house for him the past 20 minutes, only to just now stumble upon him in the kitchen.

You expect he's been taking the time to decompress and mellow out, but as you near him, your smile falls when you get a closer look at his expression – looking as crabby and brooding as ever.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, tilting your head as you look him over.

Steve shrugs a shoulder and brings the bottle up to his lips, ignoring your question in favor of taking another swig of his beer.

You narrow your eyes and study him more closely. You haven’t seen Steve this annoyed since a certain bucket incident all that time ago – though, that same scenario is obviously not the cause of his current chagrin.

Well, given the unexpected turn of events from the night, you figure that likely has something to do with his demeanor. But that alone seems a bit petty if you’re being honest. Sure, Steve might understandably be a bit upset about losing the competition, but you highly doubt he’d throw a whole hissy fit because of it, and especially not almost half an hour after the fact.

Come to think of it, Steve’s been acting a little off all night. Could there be a reason for that besides losing a dumb, drunken competition? You wonder if perhaps there is.

“This isn’t just about the push-up contest, is it?” you ask in a delicate tone, trying to carefully broach the topic.

He shrugs again and takes another heavy gulp of his drink – not directly answering you, but nevertheless all but confirming your suspicions. There is something deeper at play that’s souring Steve’s mood.

You sigh and lean a hip against the counter beside him. “You wanna talk about it? You seem pretty upset,” you note, watching as he downs the rest of the beer.

He shakes his head as he pushes off the counter with a grunt. He discards the empty bottle before reaching into the fridge for a new one, popping off the cap and coming to lean back against the counter again.

“Y’sure? We can talk. I’m all ears,” you offer once more.

Unlike after ‘The Incident’ where Steve was left to silently stew in his thoughts all afternoon, you’d rather him get whatever this is off his chest here and now before it has a chance to boil over later.

Steve shakes his head again before tipping it back, guzzling the new beer in his hand. As he gulps and gulps and gulps without coming up for air – seemingly going to finish the bottle in one breath – you suddenly reach for the drink, pulling it from his hand and earning you a disgruntled look.

“What the hell?” Steve finally speaks, his empty hand outstretched.

“That’s enough of that,” you say before bringing the bottle up to your own lips, downing the remainder of the beer. Once you’ve finished, you set the bottle down with a grimace, the bitter taste of the cheap liquor coating your tongue. “Now, talk to me. What’s the matter? What’s going on?”

Steve blows out an exasperated breath and tosses both hands up in the air. “Shit, I don’t know. It’s… it’s just a lot of things, I guess.”

Okay, he’s willing to talk. That’s a good thing; that means you’re making some progress. You nod for him to continue, encouraging him to speak his mind.

He lets out another breath and shakes his head before beginning. “This whole week's been shit, really,” he sighs, his chin dipping to watch as he traces his palm with his thumb. “First, Coach has been on my ass relentlessly. All ‘Pick up the slack, Rogers. We’re only as strong as our weakest link’. And then tonight, I just wanted to kick back and forget about all that shit, only to get showed up by some punk freshman in a fucking push-up contest.”

“Hey,” you say, the sharpness in your tone drawing Steve’s eyes back up to you. “Don’t blame Peter. This isn’t his fault.”

Steve tucks his chin again as he nods guiltily. “No, yeah. You’re right, you’re right,” he agrees. “It’s just… I’ve been getting berated all week in front of my team, and so now to embarrass myself in front of the whole house, it’s…,” he trails off with a sigh, his eyes falling shut. “It’s a lot.”

A frown overtakes your face as you regard his sulking form. So that’s what this all stems from. Not just some ridiculous competition, but a much deeper-seated feeling of inadequacy. That explains a lot. The way he avoided talking about practice, the gloomy or otherwise abnormal behavior he’s had all night, the showboating he did to try to overcompensate… It all makes sense now.

“Baby, look at me.” You bring your hand up to his cheek, encouraging him to lift his head and open his eyes.

He takes a moment, but eventually, he relents, carefully bringing his attention back to you. You smile when his gaze once again connects with yours and you rub your thumb over his cheekbone.

“You… are incredible,” you say slowly; deliberately. “You are smart. Strong. Kind. You’re a damn great leader if I’ve ever seen one,” you emphasize, drawing a small, amused huff out of him. “You are worth so much more than what a contest, or Coach Phillips, or anyone says of you, alright? Fuck all of ‘em,” you gesture vaguely towards the doorway, indicating not only the party going on a room over, but anyone else who’d criticize Steve.

You bring your hand down to rest over his heart. “You. Are. Incredible. And you should never forget that.”

As you press your palm against the center of his chest, you see Steve slowly process your words, the sincerity in your voice hopefully having its intended effect on him. To your delight, a small smile gradually brightens his face, replacing that somber look he just had.

“Thank you, baby.” He takes your hand from his chest to place a kiss across your knuckles, then drops your intertwined hands down to your sides. “But I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

His rejection surprises you, making you blink in confusion. “Wha—”

“Even if I tried to ignore what everyone thinks of me, I can’t help that there’s still one person whose opinion I care about,” he says, some vaguely playful expression on his face.

You let the tension leave your body as you realize Steve isn’t completely disregarding everything you’d just said to him. That would’ve been discouraging to have your words tossed aside like they were useless.

And his latest statement in conjunction with the look on his face. Does he mean…? Is he really about to say…?

“You,” he admits, confirming your suspicions.

“Me?” Your brow quirks in question.

“Mm-hm,” he nods. “You’re right that it doesn’t matter what those drunks or that drill sergeant thinks. But you… well, your opinion matters greatly to me. I think sometimes it’s even more important than my opinion of myself,” he chuckles.

You smile with him and squeeze his hand a little tighter in yours. “I’m flattered. It’s nice that someone holds me in such high esteem,” you say, partially joking and partially earnest. While you know he’s being a bit hyperbolic when he says your opinion is the only one that matters to him, it’s still endearing to know that he thinks so highly of you.

“So… what do you think of me? Honestly,” Steve probes.

You tilt your head in slight perplexity. “I just told you. You’re incredible, and smart, and—”

“Well, those are just facts,” he jokes, a smirk curving the side of his mouth. “What do you think of me?”

You take a moment to search your brain, trying to come up with a succinct answer to appease him. “I… think you’re pretty great,” you remark.

“Just 'great'?” He raises a taunting brow. He steps closer to you and wraps his arms around your lower back, enveloping you within his embrace. “Just a step up above ‘good’? That’s all?”

You roll your eyes in jest. While you’re glad he’s obviously in a much better mood than he was just a few minutes ago, his cheekiness leaves something to be desired. Still, you'll humor him for a bit.

“I think you’re absolutely amazing.”

“‘Amazing’?" He winces in faux pain. "Ouch, you wound me."

You sigh and shake your head, biting the insides of your cheeks to keep from smiling too widely. He’s really milking this for everything he can, isn’t he?

Bringing your hands up to his chest, you rest your palms across his pecs, leaning into him slightly. “Steve, I think you are the sweetest, strongest, sexiest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

“‘Knowing’ as in a… Biblical sense?” he grins devilishly.

You can't help the derisive tsk that involuntarily leaves your mouth. "Uh… I was thinking more of a general sense, but… sure. We can go with that," you chuckle, shaking your head in feigned admonishment. "Hmm, but… now that you mention it,” you start walking your index and middle fingers along his chest, dancing on the planes of muscle. “You know what, Captain?"

The sound of his nickname makes Steve squeeze you a little tighter in his arms, his pupils dilating marginally. “What?”

“Of all the men I’ve ever 'known'," you emphasize, telling him you're still talking about that kind of 'knowing', "by far, you have got the absolute biggest… thickest… most gorgeous-looking co—”

“Bleeeegh!”

Yours and Steve's attentions are rapidly drawn towards the sink, finding Scott bent over the counter puking his guts up.

"Bluuuuh! Blaaargh!" he vomits, the sound violent and entirely unpleasant.

You and Steve untangle yourselves from each other as the moment’s now unfortunately been ruined. You grimace as Scott continues to blow chunks just a few feet away, counting your blessings that you’re too far to be able to see or smell anything that’s coming up out of him. When he pauses for a moment to catch his breath, you call out to him to check up on how he's doing.

"Scott, are y—"

"BLEEEEGH!"

"—ou okay?"

Even as he continues to hurl, Scott manages to put a thumb up in the air, signaling that he's alright. Or… as alright as can be expected.

When there's another cease in the vomiting, Steve carefully approaches Scott at the sink. As Steve reaches the basin and looks down, he retches, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. His Adam's apple bobs as he pushes back a gag, forcing himself to hold his breath as he gently pats Scott on the back.

"You good, man?" Steve asks him, looking upwards at the ceiling instead of at the mess below.

Scott nods like his head is made of lead, his movements slow and heavy. "I-I think so," he slurs, the alcohol lacing every drop of his blood.

"Okay. Good." Steve nods, trying to sound pleased. "Now, why don't you—?"

"BLUUUUH!"

"Oh, come on!" Steve jumps back to avoid the splash zone. "I can't. I can't do this. I’m a sympathy vo—" he heaves, nearly joining Scott in the dramatics by spewing his guts across the kitchen tile. He takes a few deep breaths to collect himself before looking to you. “Dollface, can you…?”

“Me?” Your eyes go wide at the unspoken question. “No, no, no. He’s one of your brothers. And as such, you should take care of him.”

At that moment, some poor, unsuspecting underclassman walks into the kitchen, making Steve's eyes immediately light up.

"Luis, c’mere. I’ve got a job for you,” Steve waves him over, swallowing back another gag. When Luis is within arm’s reach, Steve grabs him by the collar and shoves him beside Scott. “Watch Scott and make sure he finishes up here. Then, go make him lie down. Okay?"

Luis nods vigorously. “Yeah, man, whatever you say. You know, one time back in highschool, I looked after this one sick kid. A week before, I was practicing my trick shots on my hoop in my yard. I’m normally more of a point guard, but I had just gotten some new Jordans and didn’t wanna crease ‘em, you know? My sister saw me and was like, ‘Wow, nice J’s, Luis. I think Daniel has a cousin with a pair just like them.’ Daniel had been my sister’s boyfriend at the time, but they broke up after he cheated with this girl who had a mole the size of a nickel on her—”

“Yeah, that’s great,” Steve cuts him off with a clap to his shoulder. He swiftly grabs your hand and ushers you towards the door. "Make sure you put him on his side!" he adds as he pulls you after him, taking you far away from the disgusting scene still playing out in the kitchen.

Your arm nearly feels like it’s going to be ripped out of its socket as Steve whisks you up the stairs towards his room. Once you’re pulled inside, Steve kicks the door shut behind you, muting the sound of the party still going on below.

Finally secluded from the chaos and mess of the night, you let out an airy breath as you turn around to face him. It’s just you and him now, and you’ll be damned if anything else tries to get in the way of you finally having a good time with Steve.

You take a step closer to him, hoping to backpedal to when you'd been interrupted in the kitchen. “Now… where were we?” you muse, letting your hands drift up his arms, across his shoulders, behind his neck.

Steve mirrors your sentiment by placing his hands on your hips. Luckily for you, he seems to be on the same page of picking up right where you last left off.

“Ah, I think I remember,” you say. “We were right… about… here.” You tug him down to you, connecting your mouths in a heated kiss, your tongue instantly lashing against his, tasting the alcohol still lingering on his taste buds.

“Mmm, mmm,” Steve mumbles against your lips, his fingers tightening on your waist. He pulls back a smidge, breaking the kiss but still keeping his hold on you. “I don’t think we were quite there yet, actually,” he teases. “I believe you were saying something about me having the biggest, thickest… what exactly?”

You roll your eyes and sigh, letting your hands come down to his shoulders. If he wants to continue to be a goof, then two can play at that game.

“Heart, Steve. You have the biggest, thickest, juiciest heart of anyone I’ve ever met," you smile innocently, knowing you both know that wasn't what you'd originally meant to say.

"Whoa, slow your roll there, Hannibal. Don’t go whipping out the steak knife just yet," he laughs. "But is there anything else about me that's particularly well endowed?"

"There is," you nod, still grinning. "That wonderful brain of yours, Steve." You touch his temple lightly, earning you an amused snort. "And don’t forget your big, bright smile, your larger than life charisma, your out of this world leadership skills—”

“Okay, now you’re just giving me a big head.”

“—and… I guess… your muscles aren’t too shabby either,” you say with mock indifference, squeezing his impressive biceps beneath your fingers.

“Oh, what’s this now?” he asks, voice piquing with his curiosity. “Weren’t you the one that was shamelessly ogling me earlier in the night? Practically objectifying me in front of everyone?”

You pull your brows together as if deep in thought, pursing your lips as you pretend to reflect for a second. “No, I don’t recall doing that.” You shake your head.

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Okay, sure,” he says sarcastically. “But weren’t you the one who, once upon a time, remarked that I could probably ‘throw you around like you weigh nothing’?” He raises a daring brow, reminding you of your words from long ago.

“No, I don’t recall that either,” you lie and shake your head again. “But, if I had said something like that, I’d also note that you’ve yet to prove it to me. I’ve experienced an utter lack of manhandling in our time together,” you faux pout, donning your best ‘wounded puppy’ look. “Maybe you’re not as strong as I thought you were.”

Steve all but groans as he shakes his head incredulously, his expression rapidly clearing of all humor. “What, do you want me to suplex you? Would that do it for ya?” He pulls you closer to him, nodding to his bed over in the corner.

Seeing the way his demeanor switches from silly to sober has you quickly putting a hand up in defense. “Okay, no, I don't actually want to get tossed around like the ol' pigskin,” you snap from your feigned sadness, shifting away from him slightly. Despite how you might joke, that doesn’t sound very fun. It sounds more like a recipe for disaster.

"Then what? What do you want me to do?" Steve releases you and places his hands on his hips. His face reads entirely serious as he stares you down expectantly.

Uh-oh. Now you've done it. You just had to go running your mouth. Now that you've brought it up, you know Steve won't simply let it go; he never does. You've just lit a fire under Steve's ass, and it won't be extinguished until he thinks he's finally proven how strong he is.

"I… I don't know…," you murmur under your breath. You’ve never really thought it through before, and being put on the spot now doesn’t help.

"You want me to rip a phonebook in half? Crush a watermelon with my bare hands?” he offers, taking a step in your direction.

“No, I— Well…” you stop and consider. Can he really do that? Is that even possible?

“Then something else? Cagefighting? Mud wrestling?” He takes another step, another few inches closer.

You step back. “Steve, I don’t know—”

“Then what?” He's right in front of you, practically breathing on you. “What?”

“Bench press,” you say, blurting out the first random thing that comes to mind.

He halts. “Bench press?” he repeats as if he didn't hear you correctly, his brows pinching together. Honestly, you don't blame him for being confused. Where did that come from?

You nod, albeit stiffly.

Steve's eyes rove your form for a moment, his head tilting inquisitively. "You mean you? You want me to bench press you?" he clarifies.

You swallow a sudden lump in your throat. “Mm-hm,” you confirm, though it doesn't sound confident at all.

Seriously, where did that idea come from? Bench pressing? You don't know where or how you got that in your head. Maybe it was because of the competition from earlier, or maybe it was something you overheard someone say, or hell, maybe it's a secret, unconscious desire of yours that Freud would love to psychoanalyze…

Either way, as soon as the words left your mouth, you immediately regretted them.

The second guessing only worsens as you watch Steve lower himself with zero hesitation, drawing his knees up as his back and feet rest against the carpet. You stay firmly rooted to your spot as he gets himself situated on the ground, the uncertainty curdling in your gut.

This is a fucking terrible idea. This is a rush to the ER waiting to happen. This is your fault if – no, when – things go badly.

You’re such an idiot. Why’d you have to spew the first dumb idea that entered your thick skull? Or rather, why’d you have to poke the bear in the first place?

Though you know you won’t be able to sway his mind entirely, maybe you can still suggest something a little less precarious. But what? What should you say? What would be an equal challenge that not only proves Steve's strength, but doesn't involve you cracking your head open as you inevitably tumble to the—

“Well?” Steve prompts, stopping your train of thought.

Fuck. Too late. You're out of time.

He stares up at you, eager to proceed. “What are you waiting for?”

It looks like your bed is made. Now you have to lie in it.

Cautiously, you take small steps as you round Steve, eyeing him as he lays by your feet. Are you really going to do this? Are you really this crazy? This stupid?

Just as the tips of your shoes come to his flank, you find yourself stopping. It's like you're completely frozen – unable to move or even speak.

What's the matter with you? Why are you so scared? You trust Steve, right? He wouldn't let anything happen to you, correct? So really, what do you have to worry about?

A vision of you riding in the back of an ambulance flashes across your mind, and you're quick to whisk it away. Oof.

“C’mon, I don’t bite,” Steve gibes, either not noticing or not caring about your unease. “That is, not unless you—”

“Alright, alright,” you cut him off before he gets a chance to finish the cliché. This was your idea anyway; you might as well get it over with.

You go to lower yourself, but before getting too far, you pause once more. “Just… don’t drop me. Please,” you beg, sending him an anxious look.

“I’ll try not to,” he says genuinely, though that smirk on his face gives his words a teasing edge.

Releasing a pointed breath, you carefully lower yourself into a crab position, your torso hovering over the expanse of Steve’s shoulders. Steve brings his hands up to your body – one high up between your shoulder blades and the other to your upper thighs.

“You ready?” he asks from below you.

Staring up at the wood-paneled ceiling, you nod once, feeling your palms start to sweat as they rest against the shag carpet.

“Okay, on the count of three,” he tells you.

You hold your breath, your heart practically beating out of your chest.

“One… two…”

You yelp as Steve suddenly lifts you into the air, completely ignoring the last number in favor of catching you off guard. He laughs at the surprised noise you make, his hands firmly planted on your body, perfectly confident as they hold you high.

“See? All fine,” he snarks as he begins to lower you to his chest. “Easy peasy.”

You swallow raggedly, your stomach flipping. “Alright, don’t get too coc—” you yelp again as Steve lifts you once more in the air, only to lower you back down not a moment later.

“I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t quite hear you,” Steve’s devilish grin bleeds into his voice.

Your nerves fray as shock and fear course through you, the adrenaline streaming through your veins. You want to snap at Steve for toying with you so, for purposefully frightening you, but instead find you can't say anything at all, your lips parted in silent disbelief.

That… wasn't too bad. Of course, you could've done without those initial scares since you didn't find them as funny as he did. But as you catch your breath now, you feel the anxiety slaking away from your body, being replaced by something else entirely. Something akin to warmth. Excitement. Thrill.

Maybe you'll enjoy this more than you thought.

“Again,” you chirp, a grin cresting your mouth. “Keep going!” you urge and reach down to tap Steve’s thigh in encouragement.

“Whoa, careful!” Steve’s hold on you quivers for a moment as your fingers brush a little higher than you expected. “I don’t wanna drop you.”

“You won’t, just keep going!” You give him one more slightly lower tap before bringing your hand back up. Crossing your arms over your chest and extending your legs into a straight line, you wait for Steve to proceed, practically giddy with anticipation.

With an amused ‘hmph’ at your eagerness, Steve obliges and continues with his reps – this time, raising and lowering you in quick succession, not bothering to snark in between.

He maintains a brisk pace as he effortlessly lifts you again and again, showing no sign of slowing down or tiring out. In fact, the only indication that Steve is exerting any real energy is the sound of his breathing – a solitary harsh breath pushed out every time you’re raised up, followed by a deep inhale during your descent.

It's hard to contain your excitement as you let him show off. Why were you so apprehensive about this before? This is exhilarating, damn near electrifying. This might be the most fun you've ever had.

As you hear his breathing start to rasp more, you try to remain as still as possible, wanting to ease his task so you can draw this out for every second available. That, in turn, ends up being a feat all on its own – your legs trembling as you keep them upright, your abdomen tensing in time with his pants, your thighs clenching as his touch gradually inches higher and higher.

A shiver runs through you as Steve’s fingers suddenly curl around your inner thigh, his grip readjusting so he has a better hold on you. The heat of his palm seeps through the thin barrier separating your skin from his, and you feel a similar warmth bloom in your core, his caress igniting something deep within.

Blood pounds in your ears as your focus centers on his hold, his hand wandering dangerously high. You gasp as his fingers suddenly brush the apex of your thighs and your breathing picks up the pace to match Steve's.

You're unsure if he even registers the placement of his hand – those thick digits pressed firmly against you, practically cupping your most intimate area – but fuck if it doesn't feel good. If he does notice how he's touching you, if he feels the way your panties slicken, he makes no move to stop. He just goes on and on and on and on, and it's almost too much to bear.

Your throat constricts as a knot forms in your belly. As much as you're enjoying yourself, you feel like you should say something. You're getting feverishly worked up, and you're not quite sure that's a good thing. The sounds, the sensations, even the smells you're experiencing… It's nearly overwhelming your circuits.

Perhaps you should tell him to stop; tell him you need a break; tell him that if he continues to touch you like that any longer, if he doesn't move his hand away right now, you're afraid you're gonna c—

"Hey, man, do you still have those— Christ!"

Startled, Steve's hold on you slips, Sam's sudden arrival surprising you both. You teeter in the air for a moment before the ground is rapidly coming up to meet you, your head narrowly missing Steve's bed as you tumble. The carpet absorbs little of the impact as you come crashing back down to earth, your hip taking the brunt of the fall. You groan and roll onto your back as Steve quickly sits up, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Damn," Sam says, averting his eyes from you two. "You guys could at least put a sock on the door or something. This room is half mine, you know." The corners of his mouth downturn in disgust, his gaze directed to the upper corner of the bedroom.

"That's not— We weren't—" Steve mutters.

"I don't wanna know," Sam declares with a sweeping hand motion. He sighs deeply through his nose like he's trying to muster up courage. Then carefully, as if he's afraid to look, he peeks back at you two. He relaxes when he realizes you're both decent, and turns to face you more fully. "I just wanted to see if you still have those waxing strips from last year," he says.

Steve's brow furrows in confusion. "I— Why?" That's an odd request.

At the question, a mischievous smirk curves the president's mouth. He leans against the doorway, crossing one arm over the other. "A certain someone might be passed out drunk on the stairs right now, and that someone might wake up with one less eyebrow tomorrow morning."

You can't help the snort that catches in your nose. Oh, that is evil. Hilarious, but evil.

Steve, on the other hand, doesn't seem to find it nearly as amusing. After all, he's had a first-hand encounter with those sticky bastards. "Who?" he asks.

"Don't worry about it," Sam supplies.

"Who?"

Sam rolls his eyes, but relents to Steve's insistence to know. "Let's just say they'll be languishing for weeks to come." His eyes twinkle wickedly.

Steve sighs and shakes his head. For a second, you think he isn't going to be an accomplice to Sam's scheme, especially since he knows how painful those strips are. But after a beat, he says, "Bucky had them last. Go check with him."

Satisfied, Sam nods and quickly backs out of the room. As he pulls the door behind him, he adds, "Make sure you guys air out the room this time. I don't wanna be smelling your funk after you're done."

"We weren't—" Steve tries to explain again, but is cut off by the snap of the door closing.

He sighs again, annoyed, and then turns to you. His eyes narrow as he takes in your disheveled figure, his focus zeroing in on the hand cradling your hip. Sam's interruption apparently made him forget all about dropping you on your ass because his eyes go wide as he finally remembers.

He springs into action, crawling over to you to ghost his fingers over your side. "Shit! Are you alright? Does it hurt?" He touches a particularly tender spot, making him retract his hands as you hiss.

Despite a lingering throb, honestly, it's not too bad. It's definitely not as horrific as you had imagined beforehand. It'll probably just be a minor bruise that'll greet you tomorrow, nothing too serious.

"I've had worse," you say, shifting to lean on the opposite hip.

Steve shakes his head, drawing his lips into a thin line. "Let me get you some ice." He's on his feet in an instant, rapidly making his way to the door.

"No, it's okay," you try to reassure him. You feel fine. You don't need him to go out of his way to fetch you anything.

Unfortunately, your words seem to go in one ear and out the other.

"We should have some in the freezer," Steve notes, more to himself than you. He's just about reached the door when you call out to him.

"Steve," you stress, making him stop dead in his tracks.

As he turns back to face you, you see the concern etched in his brows, the lines framing either side of his mouth. He's worried for you, and it's clear in his tense expression.

"I'm fine," you promise. For emphasis, you sit up a bit, hardly even feeling the dull pain that hammers in your side.

You can tell he doesn't quite believe you, though – his body still poised to run out the door – so you repeat yourself, a little firmer. "I'm fine. Really." You smile tenderly, affectionately, and emit the truth through your eyes.

That seems to do the trick.

Cautiously, Steve takes a small step towards you. "You sure?" he checks one more time.

You nod. "Positive."

Steve breathes a relieved sigh as he returns to you, kneeling beside you on the carpet. "I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't mean to drop you."

Looking into his eyes, you see how remorse streaks his irises, the emotion running deep and wholly earnest. The sight tugs on your heart.

"It's okay. I know," you tell him gently.

You know he would never mean to hurt you, and you know he feels awful for unintentionally doing so. But you're not upset with him; not even a little. Even though you did get a little banged up in this instance, it was technically your fault for suggesting it in the first place. So really, you're not mad.

"Besides," you begin, lounging back down on the rug, "I actually had a lot of fun." Well… right up until the end that is. But that's besides the point.

Steve cocks an intrigued brow, slightly wary of your words. "Really?"

You bite the edge of your lip and nod. "Yeah. While I was a little nervous at first, by the end, I just… I don't know, I…" you trail off, diverting your eyes from his as the memories flash in your mind.

That free feeling as you were suspended in the air, weightless but grounded at the same time; that comforting reassurance of his hands on you, strong and sturdy against your body; that delicious warmth burning in your stomach, hot and hopelessly needy.

You press your thighs together.

"I really liked it," you conclude, meeting his gaze again.

Steve's eyes flit down to your legs before rising once more to your face. A knowing smirk pulls at his lip. "I'll bet," he taunts, a dimple forming in his cheek. He leans closer. "So, does this mean you're convinced? Was that enough manhandling to satisfy you?" he reminds you of the reason you got into this predicament in the first place.

"Mmm…," you hum, feigning timidity that you both know is a ruse. After a beat, you shrug. "I suppose."

"You 'suppose'?" His smirk deepens at your poor attempt to seem indifferent. He huffs and sits back. "Well, I'd be happy to do it again… and again… and again. As long as it takes until you're satisfied," his intonation hints at a double meaning behind his words.

At his innuendo, you quickly shake your head in dissent, and Steve's smile immediately falls.

"As much as I had fun and wouldn't mind trying again in the future," you say, telling him this isn't the last time, "I think, at least for the time being," you husk and bat your lashes, "it'd be better if you’re on top."

Now it's your turn to smirk as you let your own double entendre sink in. It doesn't take Steve long to get it, and when he does, his mouth similarly curls at the corners.

Steve seems to be right in line with you as he extends his hand to help you to your feet. Glad to see his enthusiasm, you reach for him, excitement tingling in your fingertips.

Your hand grazes his, but before you can grab on, Steve reaches past you to plunge his arm under the bed.

Your face twists in confusion. "What the hell?" you gasp as you watch him root around under his bed, apparently in search of something.

After a moment, Steve pulls his arm back out, a discarded gym sock clenched in his grasp. He stands and makes his way to the door. "Sam told us to put a sock on the door, so I’m grabbing the one for 'special time'," he explains. Quickly, he ties the fabric around the outside handle, closing and locking the door once finished.

You roll your eyes as he turns back to face you. You thought that only happened in movies.

"Hey, just be glad I didn’t grab Sam’s ‘special time’ sock," Steve says, reapproaching you. "That has an entirely different purpose."

Before you have time to cringe at the thought, Steve lifts you around the waist and tosses you on the bed, knocking the wind from you. He crawls up after you and covers your body with his, eyes smoldering as he nestles between your legs.

"Me on top, huh?" he repeats your words back to you. Brazenly, he lowers his hips so they rest snug against yours, rocking gently so that fire is quickly stoked inside you again.

The action makes your voice catch in your throat. Rendered mute, you find all you can do is nod in response, watching as he grins and dips his head closer.

With his lips a hair’s breadth away, fingers sliding up your sides, Steve whispers, "Sounds easy enough to me."

__________

A/N: You know what else is easy, Steve? *points both thumbs at self* This girl…

Anyway, I'd love to know what you thought! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

#steve rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x you #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers smut #marvel #mcu #oneshot #female reader

[the-irreverend]

I am totally gonna get crucified for this…

As I’ve read posts discussing Toriel and Asgore’s morality, I’ve kept thinking back to one thing that Toriel did which always rubbed me the wrong way, something that I feel doesn’t get enough attention in the fandom. And that was the time they physically abused Frisk before they left the Ruins.

Now before you put me on trial for heresy, there are a few things I’ve gotta make absolutely clear.

Is Toriel’s endangerment/abuse of Frisk as bad as Asgore’s attempt to murder them (and the other murders he committed)?

I don’t think so. 

Does this mean Toriel is some hard-wired abuser that would eagerly hurt and manipulate every kid that they encountered?

ABSOLUTELY. NOT.

Is Toriel using a fireball to save Frisk’s life from Asgore an act of domestic violence against their ex-husband?

Dude, go to fucking hell and take your slander with you.

I’m not gonna be one of those yahoos who think that Toriel is worse than or is as bad as Asgore because I think that’s a PATHETIC FALSE EQUIVALENCY. Context is critical, but with that said, the context certainly doesn’t help Toriel’s case here. 

Aside from being literally the textbook definition of physical abuse, there’s literally nothing about this situation that in any way excuses the violence that Toriel committed against Frisk, literally nothing that prevented her from taking a different course of action.

And she didn’t just hit them; SHE DID IT WITH EFFING FIRE MAGIC. I can’t even begin to imagine what that must feel like for Frisk, not just the physical pain but the emotional or psychological harm that would come from this. And while she certainly didn’t want to kill Frisk, it doesn’t change the fact that she put them at severe risk of dying.

And when you keep this in mind when looking at incidents like the one where she just straight up fires Alphys for unintentionally creating the amalgamates (after Asgore forgave and even hugged her), it does make her look a tad self-righteous and even a little hypocritical. I’m not saying Alphys didn’t deserve to be held accountable; I’m saying that maybe Toriel wasn’t the right person to do that. Besides, I don’t recall her taking accountability for her own actions either.

In the end, all I’m saying is that even though Toriel isn’t remotely pure evil, she’s anything but pure of heart.

But that’s the best thing about Undertale: no one is.

(Except for Papyrus. He is perfect.)

P.S. If you have your own thoughts to share on this subject, by all means go ahead.

#toriel #asgore #frisk #undertale #deltarune #utdr #papyrus #alphys #toriel dreemurr #frisk dreemurr #undertale toriel #undertale asgore #ut toriel #ut asgore #ut frisk #undertale frisk #undertale alphys #frisk undertale #irreveRANTS