Billy reads that bread can cause his toenails to fall out at the cuticle, and interdimensional space monsters aside, this is scary news. The worst news. The most devastating news he’s ever received, for a lot of reasons.
Mainly because he loves his toenails.
If they fall out Steve will have nothing to paint when he gets high, and at the rate Billy’s consuming wheat, like. Two slices with avocado in the morning, and a turkey sub for lunch, and maybe flap-jacks or french toast or monkey bread for dinner, if he’s feeling down, Billy slaps his newspaper onto the coffee table hard enough that Steve looks over at him from the desk.
“What’s wrong,” Steve wonders, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.
“We’ve gotta throw out all the bread,” Billy says, mentally rifling through all the sandals he’ll have to get rid of when his toenails wash down the shower drain. “And the muffins, too. No more cranberry muffins–”
“What are you talking about?”
“Bread can cause toenails to fall out at the cuticle.”
“Where does it say that?”
“Right here,” Billy spits, reaching for the newspaper to find the article before Steve makes it across the living room. “On page eleven. Susan Harforth at the Hawkins Sun says that recent studies show–”
The ancient couch nearly collapses under both their weight. “What studies? Who’s conducting these studies?”
“I don’t know. How the fuck should I know, maybe the government, or something. Martha Stewart.” Billy lets Steve cuddle in close, trying not to get distracted by the scent of his shampoo. “The point is–”
“I don’t think you should believe everything you read in the papers, baby.”
Billy frowns. “But–”
“It’s fear mongering. They’re waging an all out war against Sarah Lee and English Muffins, and my favorite Sunday morning snack, apparently. And for what? To chase some ever changing beauty standard?”
Billy fiddles with the edge of his newspaper, wondering how Steve earned a Masters in art therapy and got so fucking smart.
“But the other stuff is true,” Billy opens the newspaper again, like, “Listen to this: recent studies show that high intake of gluten can lead to sluggish afternoons, extended weight gain, and heart disease.” Billy pauses so the effect can sink through all that hair. “I eat so much bread.”
“It makes you happy.”
“Yeah, but it also makes me wanna take four hour naps on the weekend and lay in a patch of sunlight so I can bake into a little fat, toenail-less muffin–” Billy peeks over the lip of the paper, squawking to find Steve laughing at him.
“It’s not funny, Steve.” Billy says harshly, even though it’s kind of funny.
“Baby, life is hard.” Steve says.
Which makes Billy want to bear his teeth. “What, since you married me?”
“Oh, for sure.”
Billy throws the newspaper at him, grumbling when Steve pulls Billy into the warm little landing of his chest.
“You know the best part of my week is Sunday morning, when we have those fresh muffins over cartoons and handjobs?”
“You’re fucking gross.”
Steve kisses the top of his head. “It’s all the gluten, perverting my mind.”
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emergency meeting: that same kind of beyond human otherworldliness but it acts like youre already married in a long term relationship and your fear of it your like hey what are you doing in my house of it is treated like you’re just being a cold spouse like boohoo what did i do wrong let me make it up to you my love, while its rendering your mind with like fractals
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quickies are actually so hot just like oh.. you can't possibly wait you have to cum in me real quick right now? send me out with your cum inside me like nothing happened?
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