#this is mostly unedited

[moonlayl]

Hi, Muslim buddy! I'm a big Fitz fan and he's a popular character among the fans, so I was shocked when I found out that you disliked him. I'm curious: why exactly do you dislike him? I've seen a few of your posts about him but it's not exactly clear. I'm also not up to date with the show at all, so have you always disliked him or is it just recently?

Just to be clear, this is not a hate ask! We can have different opinions about a show, it's okay! I'm just curious about your reasoning. 💕

Salam!

First, I want to assure you your ask didn't come off as hateful at all, don't worry!

I tend to tag any fitz negative post as #anti leopold fitz so that fitz fans can easily block it and avoid any negative content about a character they like. You can block it too if you want!

Second, I want to give you a little warning. This will get very long, I apologize, however, please read all of it if you wish to reply/have a discussion. This goes to anyone reading this. I don't want to repeat myself several time (I will link other posts me and others have made that go into more detail)

As to why i dislike Fitz....there's a lot. (more under the cut)

During the earlier seasons (s1-2) I liked him, though certain scenes and things about his character bothered me. The same could be said about the majority of the other characters so I didn't think much of it. He could be funny, I liked the fitzsimmons friendship (for the most part) and he was a cool side character.

In s3 and s4, his character began to change more and more, and I found myself slowly starting to dislike him. There was suddenly more scenes where his words/actions bothered me.

Those seasons are also the ones where fitzsimmons actually got together, and I'm not a fan of the way that ship was handled, mostly due to what it did to Simmons' character. That played a role as well in me beginning to dislike him.

It wasn't until s5 though, specifically after the episode 5x14 "The Devil Complex" that i truly started disliking his character, and it just got worse from there.

I want to be clear that I don't judge or have a problem with anyone who likes his character. I don't think it's somehow 'immoral' if you like Fitz. I just simply don't, here's some reasons as to why:

Cutting open Daisy, threatening an injured, disabled Yoyo, and shooting Mack.

This is the biggest reason. In 5x14, Fitz programs robots to threaten Yoyo, shoot Mack, hold Simmons at gunpoint, and then he personally knocks out Daisy, restrains her, and cuts into her neck. He risks paralyzing her, forces her powers back onto her as she screams in pain and pleads for him to stop (he does this without giving her painkillers, without being certified to give that sort of procedure in the first place, and without the appropriate tools and space required for a surgery. She could have been permanently paralyzed from the neck down.) He throws around disgusting rhetoric, and the show tries to get us to sympathize with him. We get a scene with him and simmons. We get a scene of simmons crying to deke. We don't get a scene about daisy or mack's feelings in the aftermath.

"Fitz was having a psychic split" "he wasn't himself" "it was the doctor, not him!"

ignoring the fact that he was fully himself by the time it got to actually going through with the procedure (he realized he was the doctor all along, before getting to the 'cutting daisy' part) AND ignoring the show not letting him receive help yet him never struggling in that way again somehow (which all seems like bad writing to me) Fitz AFTERWARDS, stated that he didn't regret his actions.

Not only does he say that, but when Daisy is reasonably upset and traumatized, he attempts to dismiss her feelings, proceeds to try and guilt trip her, shift the blame to her, and throw back her previous trauma in her face.

Daisy: we don't turn on our own here

Fitz: do you want me to recount all the times YOU did?

A) Daisy hardly ever turned on them (a few instances could count but implying they do is awful, considering the circumstances she was in. Leaving shield does NOT count as a 'betrayal' or 'turning your back'. This is the SECOND time Fitz blames her for something that is ridiculously unfair. especially because HE is the one at fault here. He is so unapologetic to her.)

The following is taken from a wonderful post made by @stilltryingtowrite: 

When a perpetrator of violence is confronted they will often deny or minimize the harm of their wrongdoing, attack their victim’s credibility, and reverse the victim and offender roles to make themselves out to be the victim. More info here.

So lets break down that scene in 5x15 when Daisy confronts Fitz after violating her consent in 5x14..

You can read the rest here but basically Fitz does the following things:

1. Denies and minimizes the harm of his wrongdoing 2. Attacks Daisy’s credibility as a victim 3. And tries to make her out to be the one in the wrong, while he simply did “what he had to do”

Another post, this one by me, that goes more into why Fitz implying Daisy turned on them is ridiculous. here

B) "Didn't have a choice" those are Fitz's words. he "didn't have a choice except to do what he did" That's just plain wrong and untrue.

he could've talked to her. he could have asked her. He could have explained how dire the situation was. He could have at least TRIED instead of immediately resorting to traumatizing her and and forcing her powers on her without her consent.

posts that go more into this that i highly recommend people read: 

here by @geraltcirilla and @ryder616 

and here by me 

It doesn't end there. Afterwards, Daisy (reasonably) locks him up. he's a danger to the team. He's a danger to himself. Who knew what he might do next "without meaning to", and despite having hurt her and traumatized her and almost gotten her and his other friends injured, he agrees that she's somehow a "hard*ss" for being upset. For locking him up after he committed multiple crimes that could've resulted in her paralyzed for life.

And the majority of the fandom agreed with that statement. saw so many fans say stuff like "Daisy was acting like such a b**ch this season!"

Fitz repeatedly being selfish and careless with people's lives.

there have been numerous instances in the show where Fitz makes a terrible decision (that he knows is terrible) that could result in others' deaths, and he goes through with them every time, and is mostly unapologetic.

1) possibly the biggest one. S7 finale. This man quite literally, plans on having 7 billion people die, uncaring, because "it was an alternate timeline" and therefore wouldn't be HIS timeline. Nevermind that it was HIM who brought that danger to this alternate timeline in the first place. 

posts: here by me, @stilltryingtowrite and @samanthaswishes

2) him and Simmons both getting their team members (and Simmons herself) killed in s7 several times. They programmed Enoch to kill anyone who tried to remove a chip from Simmons, without informing anyone, and then they erased Simmons' memories, meaning she also didn't know about the 'program to kill'. Enoch too, didn't know. Daisy, Deke, and Simmons all died from that. If there hadn't been a time loop, they could've permanently been dead. The reason for the programming of the chip was so stupid and made no sense.

Most would disagree with me, but a while back I made a post about why every possible reasoning for the chip's existence was stupid. here it is.

3) voting to let Piper kill herself. This is a post i made before:

Remember that part in the 100th aos episode when they thought one member of the team needed to die to save the day, and they were all tripping over  themselves to try to be the one that will be sacrificed so that the others didn’t have to, except for fitz who immediately was like “let piper kill herself. She feels guilty enough to accept her fate” and then he got married that same ep. that was messed up. 

LITERALLY. Everyone was like "let me be the one to die, so no one else has to!" (with the exception of Deke, who also kind of sucks) but Fitz is just like "Let Piper do it!" who DOES that?

He’s just perfectly willing to volunteer someone else to die, that’s just unacceptable. 

4) In order to save Simmons in s3, he has no regards to anyone else, and risks Daisy's life without her consent. She would've agreed regardless but he just jumped into the portal after KNOWING Daisy was feeling certain side effects from the portal and after she'd fainted and had a nose bleed. She could've died and there was no apology.

5) He helps Hydra open a portal to Hive. It results it countless inhumans dying, Lincoln dying, and even others dying, all because Fitz didn't want to lose Jemma. he aided a Nazi organization that was planning on bringing some sort of ancient monster from another planet. He knew this and still did what they asked.

6) He fixes the gravitonium machine for Ruby, knowing it was gravitonium that causes the entire WORLD to be destroyed. Again, just for Simmons. (so many times, he chooses one person's life, over the entire world.)

post by @samanthaswishes here

Fitz mistreating Simmons, and the Fitzsimmons relationship being misogynistic (imo)

So here’s me summarizing while also linking posts that go into more details about all the things wrong with he fs relationship (which contributes to me disliking his character)

blaming jemma for having the audacity to care for another man before they were even in a relationship: by me

general issues about simmons never getting to be her own character due to fitz and fs relationship: by anon

fitz getting angry at the idea of living with simmons: by me

the entirety of fitzsimmons being her acting like a mother/caretaker for him, instead of an actual partner: by me

fitz talking trash about simmons when she's not there

why fs relationship is bad, why it's unfair to simmons, and fitz' jealousy knowing no bounds: by me

Fitz being completely insensitive and ignorant to others' suffering.

there have been numerous instances in the show where he’s just...insensitive to others’ suffering. 

1. (this one is understandable, but when you add it up with everything else, it shows a clear pattern) In s1, After Ward is revealed to be hydra, revealed to have killed several people (a man being questioned, Victoria Hand, two police officers, Keonig) and after he’d just KIDNAPPED Skye, threatened her, and locked her up, Fitz tells Skye, TO HER FACE, that he doesn’t buy it. That there is no way Ward could’ve done that. Despite Skye herself having just been kidnapped and traumatized and literally told by Ward himself. 

It’s not until Ward hurts HIM specifically, that he actually believes it, and by then it’s too late. 

It’s just really terrible, in my opinion, to look a victim of someone directly in the eye, and say you don’t believe it or that there must have been a mistake, etc...

2. Immediately after Simmons gets back from being kidnapped on an alien planet for 6 months, Fitz takes her to a fancy restaurant for a date, without telling her. She immediately starts crying for a variety of reasons and he comforts her (which is good), but the idea of taking her to a date right after she went through a horrible ordeal and when it’s still VERY fresh, and she’s still not sleeping well, and still coping with everything, is highly insensitive, and was clearly something to just make himself better rather than her. 

Maybe he thought that would cheer her up? Except it was still insensitive on his part. 

3. While I pointed this out in the fitzsimmons section, it bears repeating. 

When Simmons is upset, because a man she admitted she loved was in literal danger on an alien planet, Fitz goes on about his suffering and “the universe splitting them apart” despite it being not the time nor place. He goes as far as to contemplate whether he should save an innocent man’s life or not. In that scene, you can see how exhausted and emotionally drained Jemma is, but he goes on and on, saying things that do nothing except make her feel guilty because...she dared have feelings for someone else? That entire scene was just him letting out all his frustrations and anger and hurt (which, understandable) on her, even though she was the one going through a rough time and his words only made her feel much worse and unfairly blame herself for things outside of her control. It’s as if he was using her as an emotional punching bag (that, is not as understandable). 

Worse, s6 makes it clear he still held a grudge against her, even though she’s the one who suffered. She’s the one who lost someone she cared about. She’s the one who grieved. She’s the one who had to deal with that. 

4. When Daisy leaves shield, after having been brainwashed, forced to hurt people she cares about, forced to go through withdrawal, forced to watch her boyfriend literally die for her (she’d spent months seeing his very last moments in her head so she even knew the exact second he died and how it happened), and after the government had decided people like her needed to be monitered and forced to sign accords that would take away some of her rights, Fitz makes it all about him. 

She’s sitting in front of him, injured, and suicidal, and clearly not doing well, and all he can do is berate her, yell at her, accuse of her of “turning her back” and “not caring”. 

He never apologizes. She’s literally yelled at, and treated like crap, while going through the worst period of her life and being in a terrible place, physically, emotionally, and mentally, and all he can do is think about himself and how he personally doesn’t like change. Talk about being a terrible friend.

Contrast that to her comforting him and standing by him at the end of s4, when he was freaking out about his actions in the framework, and... well... he was clearly being unfair to her. 

5. This one, isn’t as big of a deal because it was just something that slipped out, but like... saying “maybe getting your arms chopped off wasn’t all bad” (or something very very similar) to Yoyo, literally a few days after her surgery and after she was mutilated is just...wrong. 

It was clear he immediately recognized that he shouldn’t have said that, but holy crap, COME ON MAN!This is just moments after he was broken out of his cell (which he was placed in, for harming several other teammates.)

6. The way he treated Deke. Everyone else had clear reasons to distrust/dislike Deke at first. Fitz didn’t, yet even upon discovering Deke was HIS grandson, he tells Deke he wished someone else was his godson, and spends the rest of the season treating him like complete and utter garbage. 

I mean, I have issues with Deke’s character, but what in the hell was Fitz’s problem?? It’s not like Fitz himself was better than Deke. 

7. I’ve said before, but basically throwing the rest of the team in s7 to the wolves, and then having the audacity to go “you guys didn’t do things according to plan!” when they didn’t even know the plan. Also “no, we shouldn’t help save all of humanity in another timeline from a problem we personally brought to them and that would kill them, making their death and destruction on us, because then it would reduce our chances of success by a few percentages” 

How is this guy even real??? 

So there you have it, this was very long, but these are the reasons (with examples) of why i dislike Fitz. This isn’t to make anyone agree, and I’’’ repeat what I said earlier: I have no problems at all with fans who like Fitz. I just personally don’t. 

#arabianflowers #anti leopold fitz #anti fitzsimmons #aos critical #aos #agents of shield #standwithquake #this is mostly unedited #sorry #aos meta #layl.meta #layl.inbox

[pencap]

someone once told me there is no demon more frightening     than a good man     who has gone to war.

someone once told me      the only things we get to choose      are a hero's death      or a villain's life.

so they said. so they said. so they say.

but no one ever told me      what happens when a good man       goes to war      and becomes the demon.

but no one ever told me      you can die a hero     and be resurrected     to a villain's afterlife.

- by sylvie (j.p.)

#spilled ink #poems on tumblr #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #writeblr #poetics #so the answer to #does this format still work????????? #is unfortunately a no #alas here it is again #this one i'm spitting out almost unedited #it's short and mostly a complete thought #this is pretty un-subtly bucky barnes right?? #pencap drafts

[definitelynotshouting]

woe, out of context scarian kisses be upon ye

Scar pauses. Pulls back to examine him, eyes flitting across his face; they backtrack several times, searching, an intense light growing inside them as Scar finds whatever he must be looking for. Grian endures it with reddening cheeks and a galloping heart that slowly sinks into his stomach the longer Scar studies him.

Grian opens his mouth– to say what, he's unsure, but something's got to give– when Scar finally stops, eyes round, and says, "Oh."

Then: "Oh, Grian."

And that's far too much to handle tonight. "Right," Grian says miserably, getting an elbow underneath him, "right, I'm just going to go then–"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Scar cries, lurching forward to grab Grian's wrist. "Hang on a second, I didn't even say anything!"

"You didn't have to, Scar, I can– I can read it in your face." Grian tugs at his wrist, but Scar doesn't let go; only tightens his fingers, dragging Grian back down toward the mattress. "Scar–"

"Grian." Scar matches him tone for tone. Then he smiles, sudden and blinding. "Can you hold still for a minute? Everything's fine, just trust me!"

"Trust you?" Grian snaps without thinking– then balks as a flicker of hurt darts across Scar's face. Ice fills the pit of his stomach, cold and stinging. "Sorry, I– I didn't mean to say that, I'm sorry," Grian stumbles out, frantic. Anything to erase that expression from Scar's face, that perilous stillness. "That's– that was rude. I didn't mean it."

Scar takes a deep, careful breath, eyes closing. "Yeah, it was rude," he says after a beat, "but I wasn't being very clear, and you're distressed. So I'm sorry too."

Grian's insides curdle. "Stop– Scar. I'm not distressed, you're making me sound like a damsel."

When Scar opens his eyes again, only a hint of that previous distance remains; instead they're brimming with warm exasperation, and a lot more patience than Grian deserves. "G," Scar says, far too gentle, "relax. Please. It's okay. Everything's okay right now, I'm not mad, I– I'm not upset." Another smile tilts the corners of his mouth; Grian's lungs flutter. "Quite the opposite, actually, if you'd sit still enough to listen."

Grian stares at him, throat drying out. "What do you mean?" he manages.

Scar eyes him for a moment, then carefully lets go of Grian's wrist. The warmth dissipates immediately; Grian misses it with a longing he does his best to hide.

It must not be enough, though, because Scar makes an aborted little sound in the back of his throat, and raises his hand to cup Grian's cheek.

Grian freezes like a startled rabbit, pulse thrumming in his ears. The foreign weight of Scar's hand radiates heat outward, spreading molasses slow through his skin and igniting beneath his skin. He stares, useless, at Scar's arm before trailing his gaze back up to meet his face.

The smile on Scar's lips has taken a wry turn. "I like it too, Grian," he says, and there's so much compassion in his voice that Grian nearly flinches. "I like spending time with you, and I especially like spending time with you here." He raises his eyebrows with a meaningful arch, glancing briefly down at the mattress they're sitting on.

"In your bed," Grian says anyway, flat as he can make it. The phrase nearly cracks against his teeth.

"Well when you put it like that–"

"Scar."

"So maybe I like cuddling you," Scar says mildly. "Is that such a huge crime?"

Grian opens his mouth to retort, but no sound scrapes out. He snaps his jaw shut instead, staring at Scar with huge eyes.

He can't hope. It's stupid to hope; they've been friends for years, only friends, and Scar has never– Grian can't think of a single time he might've once–

But Scar is giving him that look again. The soft one. The one filled with so much warmth it threatens to scald Grian's frostbitten fingertips if he reaches too close. His hands itch– he wants to hold Scar's hand, tap his fingers against his pulsepoint and listen to it tick; press his thumb into the hinge of Scar's jaw and lean forward, so he can–

"Can I kiss you?" Scar asks, quiet and tender, a spark of hope catching in his voice, and Grian's mind blanks.

"I– what?" Grian asks eventually, very faint.

It's Scar's turn to go red. "I mean– I'm not reading this wrong, right? Because you kinda just admitted to... liking me? Romantically? Unless I have completely misinterpreted that, in which case that is, um, very misfortunate for me, actually."

"No, I– you want to. Really?" Grian ignores the mispronunciation; instead, that little kernel of hope that Grian's been stubbornly trying to stamp out kicks back to life, fluttering around in his throat. "You're not joking, are you?"

"Grian, I would never joke about this," Scar says solemnly, and against all odds, Grian believes him.

Slowly, uncomprehending, Grian nods. "Yeah," he says, and it comes out hesitant, breathy, barely on the outskirts of sound. "I– yes. Please."

Scar's smile turns into a grin, self-satisfied and smug. "Well, since you asked so nicely," he says, and–

And his hold firms against Grian's cheek; his fingers tangle in the back of Grian's hair; his hand is guiding Grian forward, gentle but insistent, and Scar is leaning down–

It's not what Grian expects, actually– not that he was expecting much of anything. Scar's lips press soft against his own, a steady pressure that tingles onto Grian's tongue. Slowly, his lips part, urging Grian's open, and with that same, gentle insistence, he coaxes Grian into a slow, heady kiss, lips closing over his cupid's bow before opening again, sliding down to catch his lower lip next. Grian shudders into it, following Scar's rhythm; his head is tilted, just slightly, enough to deepen the angle and deepen the kiss.

Their lips slide against each other, and Scar's right hand comes up to frame Grian's face, winding through his hair and pulling him closer. Grian fumbles to cling back, hands fluttering until they find purchase on his shoulders; after a moment of hesitation, he loops them around Scar's neck, sinking his own fingers into the long hair cascading down his back. Scar melts into it, a soft noise slipping from his throat, humming against Grian's lips. It shoots straight into his stomach– Grian pushes closer, something hungry and desperate opening inside of him, clamoring to swallow Scar whole.

His head is spinning; when Scar sweeps a thumb across his cheek, Grian mentally chases the sensation, every point of contact between them a steady burn. He is fire, sparking and crackling, and Scar is the tinder– coaxing him into a proper flame, teeth tugging at his lower lip to make him hiss. Grian follows each sensation blindly, etching it into his nervous system; maybe if he keeps it here, hollows out his bones to makes a home for it, this memory will never, ever leave him.

It ends too soon; Scar pulls back eventually, but not very far. He tips his forehead to touch Grian's, their noses brushing; warm air fans over Grian's face, intimate and paralyzing. Grian doesn't quite pant, but he does end up needing a moment to catch his breath before he can speak.

"Wow," is what he eventually lands on. "Okay. You've been holding out on me, mister."

"Not my fault you never said anything," Scar murmurs, tapping his thumb against Grian's cheekbone. He leans back in, pressing another soft, sweet kiss to Grian's lips before pulling away again. "I've been gone on you for ages."

Grian sucks in a deep, shuddering breath; something beneath his sternum is beginning to crack, letting out soft, incredulous light. "You're telling me," he says, "that we could've been doing this from the start."

"Well, not the start," Scar says, clearly amused. "But pretty close to it."

"I hate you." Grian's voice is petulant.

"You love me."

"Kiss me again," Grian demands, in lieu of responding to that just yet.

"Jeez." Scar's eyes are twinkling in the low light. He slowly trails one hand down to Grian's shoulder, rubbing up and down his upper arm and leaving goosebumps. "Let a guy take a breather for a second. Patience is a virtue, y'know."

"I have never been patient even once in my life, Scar, and you know it."

Scar pauses, considering him with lidded eyes. "No," he says finally, but it's layered with fondness. "I guess not." He presses a quick, teasing kiss against Grian's nose; Grian wrinkles it, then musters his courage and dives in for another kiss. When he pulls back, Scar is beaming at him. "Good thing I like you anyway."

"Only because you have terrible taste," Grian informs him, before reeling him back in and kissing him again for quite some time.

#scarian #goodtimeswithscar #grian #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #mcyt #kissing #romance #DONT LOOK AT ME WKDNSKD I JUST WANTED TO WRITE MORE KISSES #this is mostly unedited sorry for the quality gang but tumblr gets sweatpants and ao3 is black tie #an edited version of this MIGHT appear in a fic i am planning to write that im affectionately calling ''the heated blanket fic'' #but yknow. we will see. we will see #sorry to any non scarian folks following me bc of the one gtws post. ''unending scarian blast'' yknow how it is #shouting speaks #my snippets #txt

[kitnita]

jake oettinger postgame   —   DAL vs VGK;   game 4   —   04.29.24

[ah, you know ty very well. how hard is it to stay focused throughout everything he’s been through?] yeah, it’s … you know, there’s no one in here that deserves that more than him, and, you know — i live with him, so, i get to see … i’ve been through, you know, everything that he’s gone through this year, and, just, the way that he carries himself, and — you know, there’s no one that puts the team more in first than him and he works his butt off and never has a bad attitude and has just stayed ready for when he got his name called, and played great tonight and, you know, showed that he can step in and, and be a great piece to this team. so, you know, there’s not a lot of people that are gonna be happier for him than me, that’s for sure. 

[i was gonna say, the body language that he shows, just when he’s out there – first one on the ice – i mean, he does all the little things you’re supposed to do to show that you’re a big member of the team, even when he goes, whatever, six, eight games without playing.] exactly. and you’d never know … you know, some guys, you know, carry the way that they’re playing on the ice on their face and you’d never know with him. he’s just, you know — puts the team first, wants what’s best for the team, and, you know, he knows when his number’s called he’s gonna step up. and he’s done that. and, uh, like i said, just so happy for him. and there’s tons of guys in our organization who’re like that, you know, just — everyone wants to win, and you know, not everyone’s going to have the exact role that they want but, you know, if you win the championship at the end of the day it doesn’t matter. 

[just for color, here — you and ty share a house, a condo?] he lives at my house. me and my fiancée’s house, yeah. yep. [does he pay rent?]  uh, we’re still working through that (laughs) yeah. he’s, uh, he’s been on dish duty, so, that’s kinda how he’s paying for his rent right now. [let’s say, maybe give him a little break off — get a goal, you know, goal’s count.] yeah, for sure. for sure, yeah, exactly.  [and, just for color, what type of jersey does your brother wear?] he wears delly’s jersey. yeah, i know — second favorite player, yeah.

#hockey #stars #dallas stars #jake oettinger #ty dellandrea #i am feeling next level unhinged about this just For The Record #remember last year when ty lived w otter & his then gf in their apartment and when he moved out they all talked about missing that?? #now otter and his fiancee have a house & ty lives with them again :) #otter's little brother wears a delly jersey :) #i hope that hockey news instagram that posted their quotes about being a trio w the throuple watch caption is still monitoring this #please talk to me about this btw #i have so many thoughts i cannot even contain all of them in my tags #full transcription of this exchange is below the cut btw!! #mostly so i can have record of it here but also so everyone else can bask in its full unedited glory ...... oh my god. #z:edit

[yarnacle]

its too late at night im having too many gay thoughts about these idiots so. here we are i guess.

It's Ian. No one else is going to fucking caress him. For all the informality of the company's content and general atmosphere, with this video concept especially, he's still their boss. And no one is going to want to, or have the guts to just fucking stroke his face like that. Even as he laughs and asks 'What is this?' he knows what's happening, knows who those hands belong to.

Two fingers drag down the right side of his face, and he feels the chalk that's left behind. It's going to stay for the rest of the video, and there's something to be said about that, he thinks. Something symbolic, something romantic, or even something funny, the last thought being slapped into his head when Ian's hand collides with his face.

It doesn't hurt that much, and immediately after he cracks a joke.

"This person thinks they're hilarious."

And they are, he wants to add. They're ridiculously funny, with a dark, somewhat skewed sense of humour to match his own, and they're brilliant and kind and so many other things, but right now they're making it easy for him.

"Who would caress my face and slap me outta nowhere?"

He, and everyone else in the room, and everyone who's going to watch the video, knows.

"Feels like an Ian move to me- Did you just boop me?"

Ian's locking it in, making sure that it's clear that, yeah, in case you couldn't figure it out already, it's me motherfucker.

"That's the only one you truly needed to get right."

Anthony laughs. He's not wrong - It wouldn't matter if he got everyone else dead wrong [even Angela, after hearing her speak and feeling her entire cast]. So long as he got Ian right, then it would be fine. There's probably also something to be said about how sweet that would be, but after having all the fucking braincells knocked out of his skull from the second person, he's not very poetic.

All that matters is that he guessed Ian correctly, and can still feel the two stripes of chalk on his cheek. [All that matters is that now there's a phantom warmth ghosting across his face, a replication of the gentle, almost loving strokes a distraction from the slight sting from everyone else's hands.]

#i actually have no idea if this makes sense and if its coherent. im too tired to reread it so. here we are! 1st rpf w/ fully stolen dialogue #smosh #anthony padilla #ian hecox #ianthony #implied??? idk they implied it p heavily enough themselves w/ that fuckin 'my boyfriend' title so idk anymore lolsies #fanfiction #smosh fanfiction #rpf #very veyr reluctantly #my writing #i can do better i promise [mostly lying almost all my writing is done unedited and at ungodly hours] #sighs. if any of my irls or ppl from my main blog find this its over for me the bullying will never cease. #thanks for listening to my tags ramble ill be going to bed now im too mentally ill to also be physically ill

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Billy tries to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible when he enters the living room, easing down into a seat on the sofa with a plate packed full of finger food in his hands.

He's been steadily picking at the spread in the kitchen all afternoon — he isn't even really hungry anymore, but it's at least something to keep him occupied. He tries not to think about how he's eating out of boredom as he pops a mini quiche in his mouth.

As if having a sixth sense, Eddie turns around in his seat on the floor. Spreads a smile and crawls toward the sofa, leaning his elbows in Billy’s lap as he gazes up at him like he’s some ethereal being.

“Hey, blondie,” he lilts. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Billy snorts.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing your game?”

“We’re having an intermission,” Eddie huffs. Leans further into Billy’s lap and wraps his arms around his waist. “Besides, I miss you.”

“Miss me? Munson, we sleep in the same bed every night.”

“And?”

“And you’re a fuckin’ dork,” Billy chuckles.

Eddie pouts. Hides his face in the front of Billy’s hoodie, and the blond has to fight every urge he has to suck his stomach in, lest Eddie pout even harder.

It’s taken some getting used to, the changes in his body. Especially after he quit smoking.

Had he known he would develop a permanent case of the munchies, he might’ve just stayed his course. Maybe he’d still have abs.

Maybe he’d still feel sexy.

Regardless, here Eddie is, smushing his face into his stomach like he’s a pillow. Billy takes a bite out of a chocolate-covered strawberry and sets his plate on the brunet’s back. Eddie doesn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah, well, you’re gorgeous,” Eddie says like it’s an insult. “And smart, and sweet, and funny, and—“

“Jesus, I get it, you like me. You can stop now.”

Eddie shakes his head. Presses a kiss to Billy’s stomach, which has the blond’s face blossoming red, and rubs up and down at his sides.

“I adore you. Wanna snuggle with you all day everyday and never do anything else.”

“Not even play D&D?”

“Nope.”

From behind him, Grant and Jeff both scoff, and Billy spreads a smile. Cards his hand through Eddie’s hair.

“I don’t think the guys like that idea.”

“Tough shit. How am I expected to function when you come in here looking all pretty ‘n stuff?”

Billy chuckles. Eddie grins at the sound.

“I’m wearing pajamas,” Billy points out. “And my hair’s not even done.”

“I know,” Eddie sighs dreamily.

“Mm, well, if you’re cuddling me all the time, when does my other boyfriend get a chance? Doesn’t sound very fair to me.”

“I don’t see this other boyfriend that you speak of. Plus, I’m calling dibs for the rest of time, so he’s outta luck.”

“You’re telling me you’re never gonna cuddle with Stevie again? Just me, forever?”

Eddie ponders the question for a long moment, and Billy chuckles again.

“Damn,” he muses. “You really do like me that much, huh?”

“I do,” Eddie admits. “I would miss being Stevie’s little spoon, though.”

Gareth snorts, clapping his hand on the coffee table.

“Wait, you’re the little spoon? Big bad Munson is Steve Harrington’s little spoon,” he cackles. “That’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

Billy grabs his plate again just in time for Eddie to sit up and swivel around enough to cast a glare at his friend. It makes Gareth laugh even harder.

“Dude, you’ve literally heard me call him my princess and shit before, but you’re choosing to make fun of me over this?”

“I always thought that was you poking fun at his masculinity or something.”

Eddie shakes his head and clicks his tongue.

“Stevie is my pretty princess,” he lilts. Glances up at Billy and chews his lip. “And Billy bear is my little babycakes. He’s the baby, actually.”

Billy’s face flushes red all the way down his neck.

“I am not,” he huffs.

“Yes huh, you’re baby girl, baby doll— you love that shit. We wouldn’t say any of it if you didn’t.”

There’s a polite chuckle from around the room and Billy scoffs.

Eddie notably softens. He rubs at Billy’s thighs, leaning forward to press another kiss to his stomach and humming pleasantly when his lips make contact.

“The nicknames just mean that we love you,” he coos.

“Guess I just think you both have weird taste,” Billy murmurs, then huffs a laugh to himself. “If I nicknamed myself, it’d probably be something like lardass.”

Eddie makes a shocked noise of offense and furrows his brows.

“Hey, no one talks about my boyfriend like that.”

“No? What’re you gonna do about it?”

“I’m gonna tell on you.” Billy’s smirk falters and Eddie hums triumphantly. “I’m gonna tell Steve. He’ll baby you about it and pull out some old family recipe he’s got locked away just to make you eat your words.”

Billy presses his lips together. Thinks about the last time he made a self-deprecating comment in front of Steve. Thinks about how it was definitely a handful of pounds ago.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

He pushes his fingers into Eddie’s hair. The brunet leans into his touch, but spreads this sickening little grin. All teeth and no remorse.

“Then I guess you better take it back,” he lilts. Billy locks his jaw shut. Eddie clicks his tongue and pokes teasingly at his side. “There’s no downside for me, I like a little extra fluff. Nobody likes thin pancakes.”

“Pancakes?”

“Mhmm,” Eddie hums. “You’re like a stack of ‘em.”

Billy quirks a brow.

“How so?”

“I fuckin’ love pancakes.” Eddie flattens his palm against Billy’s side and rubs gently back and forth. “Plus, y’know, they’re soft and warm. Pillow-like.”

A little smile quirks at the corners of Billy’s mouth. Some part of him wants to take offense, but he can’t. Not when big brown eyes are gazing up at him so fondly. He scratches softly at Eddie’s scalp and has him all but purring, eyes slipping shut as he melts under the touch.

“You’ve never had crêpes?” Billy asks.

Eddie’s eyes crack open.

“What?”

“Crêpes,” Billy repeats. Chuckles when Eddie looks at him like he’s growing a second head. “Thin pancakes? They’re Stevie’s favorite, I’m surprised you didn’t notice. He always orders them when we go to the diner downtown.”

Eddie sits up straighter. Thinks hard for a moment, like his whole world is crashing down.

“Is that what those things are?”

“What did you think they were?”

“I dunno— not pancakes.” Eddie pouts when he’s laughed at, but still fixes Billy with a serious look. “Brushing past the fact that you just ruined my whole analogy, I maintain that you’re perfect just the way you are.” That little grin comes back full-fledged in a matter of seconds. “Besides, crêpes always have filling, don’t they?”

It’s Billy’s turn to pout while Eddie snickers at him.

“Whatever. Just don’t tell Steve.”

“Why, you scared he’s gonna put pounds on you?” Eddie pinches his side and earns a huff. “You still haven’t taken back what you said.”

“‘Cause I don’t want to. Don’t see why you’re so hung up on it.”

This time, Eddie looks… disappointed. It hurts Billy deep in his chest, like he swallowed a shard of tortilla chip that refuses to go down smoothly.

“If someone was talking shit about Steve right in front of you, what would you do?” Eddie asks.

“I’d rock their shit.”

“Why?”

Billy shrugs.

“I dunno, it’d piss me off.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because it’s Steve,” Billy huffs. “I don’t— I don’t like the idea of anyone talking shit about him. That’s my boyfriend.”

Eddie nods. Tilts his head to the side and slowly begins to rub up and down at Billy’s waist, similar to how he had been earlier.

“Then why is this any different? I still get to be upset when I hear someone talking shit about you, even if it’s you who’s doing the shit-talking.”

Billy’s mouth opens, but then promptly closes again. Is this the same guy who was comparing him to pancakes a minute ago?

A moment passes. Then another. Eddie just stares up at him expectantly, and Billy says nothing. It’s a stand-off. A battle of will. Billy’s fixing to cave when the front door opens and the tension is suddenly broken, yet somehow doubles at the same time.

“Intermission?” Steve asks.

He hangs his keys up and shrugs out of his coat once the door is shut behind him, already wearing an easy smile.

“Unofficially,” Gareth grumbles.

Eddie shoots him a glare, but is quick to soften when Steve leans over the back of the sofa and drapes his arms around Billy’s shoulders.

“Hey, baby,” Steve greets. Ignores the knowing giggle from around the room in favor of pressing a kiss into Billy’s curls. “Thought you’d still be asleep when I got back.”

More kisses land in his hair as Billy purses his lips.

“It’s almost six.”

“Mhmm,” Steve hums.

In an instant, Eddie gets this look on his face, and Billy’s stomach drops. He opens his mouth, but Steve is too quick.

“Have you just been eating junk?” He asks, gesturing to Billy’s plate.

The blond glances at his little collection of nibbled-at finger food. Tries not to think about how many plates of it he’s had already.

“Yeah, just… snacking,” he says timidly.

Steve tsks. Billy almost flinches at the sound.

“Well, that won’t do.” Steve nabs the plate from Billy’s hand and pops a cube of cheddar in his mouth. “Tell me what you want, bubs, and I’ll make it.”

Billy feels like he’s on fire.

“Lasagna?”

A sheepish smile finds its way onto his face when his chin is tilted up, and Steve plants a kiss directly on his lips.

“Coming right up.”

Then the brunet vanishes from behind the couch, padding into the kitchen to root around for a casserole dish before he’s even taken his shoes off.

On the floor, Eddie bites back on a giggle.

“I didn’t even have to tell him,” he whispers amusedly. Leans completely into Billy’s lap and hugs his torso again, half smothering himself in Billy’s stomach. “Hope you’re hungry, Bill, ‘cause it’s pancake time.”

For emphasis, he gives Billy’s side a squeeze, which has him huffing irritatedly.

“No, we’re having lasagna,” Steve calls. There’s a clatter as he moves about the kitchen. “We can have pancakes tomorrow night.”

Eddie gives in to the giggles, shoulders shaking as he hides his face in the front of Billy’s hoodie.

Finally accepting defeat, Billy sighs. Cards his fingers through Eddie’s hair while he laughs, trying to find it in himself to be upset about what’s to come.

But his mouth is already watering before the oven is even done preheating.

#harringroveson #billy hargrove #steve harrington #eddie munson #background corroded coffin guys #chubby billy hargrove #fluff #tw weight #tw insecurity #body image #internalized fatphobia #Billy is so Garfield coded #hey look at that Steve is actually IN a harringroveson fic of mine #weird right? #ficlet #my wriitng #mostly unedited #soon to be on ao3 when I have time

[therosehost]

ShuririWeek: D1

Fluff + "Don't Go"

cw: allusions to nsfw content

Shuri doesn't hear the humming at first. She's too frustrated.

She isn't Queen, nor is she the heir anymore, but the Elders hold her hostage in meetings and at inane ceremonies for hours as if she still were. It grinds at her skin like sandpaper.

Especially because Shuri knows why they do it. They care. They've watched Shuri grow from a glimmer in her mother's eye to a white-draped shadow by her casket. The elders care for her, Shuri knows this. But that doesn't make the overbearing attitudes any less irritating.

Today's latest antics had involved them - particularly Elder M'Kathu - insisting that every member of the council attend the Prayer of the Hymned Beetle. Shuri had wanted to throw her chair out the window with herself inside.

That biannual prayer had started in the river tribe as a joke ceremony. It was just an excuse for people to be off from work and drink themselves to incompetence.

It had never been taken seriously, that is, until Elder M'Kathu got it into his head that Shuri singing the Hymned Beetle's lament would somehow make her happier.

HA!

By the time Shuri escapes (just barely) and returns home, she's still wallowing in incredulous anger. She doesn't hear the humming, but when she yanks the bedroom door open she definitely sees the dancing.

Riri, as usual, is beautiful. And she's even more so as the golden silks she currently wears make her glitter in the setting sun.

Positioned in the center of the small garden's inner courtyard, Riri's prayer forms are uncertain. Sometimes her knees don't bend all the way they're supposed to. And at one point her arm doesn't extend to the full ninety degree angle the instructions scrolls describe.

But that doesn't matter because of why her beautiful talented dedicated genius girlfriend is praying. Or rather, to whom.

Shuri knows the prayer that slips low and careful from Riri's lips. She knows every note and syllable. It is her mother's funeral hymn. The Honor of Ramonda's is a celebration of her mother's birth and life, and a bitter bemoan of her death. There's a promise there at the end, humming with a grief that Shuri knows in her heart will last all her life.

She had poured her soul into creating a prayer dedicated to her mother. When Riri sings it, Shuri almost wants to cry.

It's beautiful. Her girlfriend is beautiful. Her girlfriend singing the prayer is beautiful.

Shuri moves forward, past the door where she's stopped in her tracks, and stops only a foot away. Riri's robes swirl around her, a red whirlpool of gauze that stops short when Shuri comes into sight.

Riri watches Shuri with wide eyes, lips parted to express her surprise.

"Your form is all wrong," Shuri says and then wants to shove a fist in her mouth. Damnit.

Riri puts her hands on her hips and laughs, her blouse rising up at the movement. "How are you this awkward?" The skin of Riri's stomach peaks out. Shuri stares. The blessed oils make the skin glisten. Shuri bets if she steps closer she could smell the spiced lotuses.

"I'm not being awkward." It's a distracted mumble instead of the annoyed tut she intended but Shuri can't bring herself to care. She wants to lick Riri.

Riri narrows her eyes, crosses her arms under her breasts, and gives a fox like grin when Shuri licks her lips. "Oh, you not?'" she laughs again. "Then what would you call it?"

Shuri pouts. "Giving constructive criticism, of course".

"Criticism." Riri says the word slowly as if tasting the letters. "I think I've heard of that before but I'm not real familiar. Why don't you stop hovering over there and come show me."

It sounds like an invitation to fight or fuck. Shuri is willing to do either or both of it means she can touch her girlfriend. But-

Shuri shakes her head and moves back towards the threshold. "I want to let you finish though."

"I thought my form was shit?" Riri raises an eyebrow.

"It was, but that doesn't mean I don't want to see you pray." Shuri's words are a lovesick trill.

Riri snorts but presses a hand against her own cheek like she does when she's trying to stop blushing "Nah, see, now my feelings hurt. It was supposed to be a surprise but I don't even want to do it anymore."

"Ok, I apologize. I take it back. Finish the prayer."

Riri hums, rocks back and forth from heel to toe, and then reaches for the towel on the stone bench behind her. Shuri flails.

"You have completely mesmerized me and I want to watch you dance forever," She almost gets on her knees. "Please please please finish."

Riri clucks her tongue, watching Shuri with a sly smile as she backs away. "Naaaah, I lost the motivation. Maybe I'll go hire an instructor instead."

Shuri huffs, rushes forward, and catches Riri around the waist. It startles a laugh out of Riri and Shuri huffs again. "Don't go. I'll help you. We'll pray to my mother together. Just, please, dance for me." She makes her voice as soft as her heart feels.

Riri cups Shuri's cheeks, rubbing a thumb under her eye and kissing her. It's a light brush against the lips really, but it's enough to send Shuri's heart into a frenzy in her chest.

"If you're so desperate," Riri says, her voice is sultry, smile teasing, "then I guess I'll entertain you a bit."

"Yes. I am very desperate." Shuri nods firmly.

Riri wiggles out of her hold with a groan. "Don't do that. I feel guilty for being mean when you get all earnest and shit."

"I like to when you're mean to me though."

Riri groans again and throws the towel she'd dropped at Shuri's head. "Shut up and help me already." Her plush lips form a pout around the words.

Shuri laughs and catches the towel. "Anything you want, my love."

"Uggggggggh. Please stop!"

a/n: this is rushed as shit and mostly unedited. but, ya know, fuck it. i really wanted to participate in shuririweek at least one day so here it is!

@shuririweek

#shuririweek2024 #shuririweek #princess shuri #riri williams #shuriri #bpwf #:::rose be writing::: #mostly unedited and rushed like hell

[levmada]

sequel to this post

[@dressycobra7 :3]

➥ c/w: gn!reader, some angst, oral (m!receiving), praise, subby Levi canonverse, established relationship, handjob, finger sucking?, turned into smut somehow

➥ wc: 1.8k

The boy appeared to you and Levi later to apologize profusely like that was the reason he'd been born. You didn't have the heart to turn him away, and filed inside the small recovery room behind him, with its half-exposed brick walls. The curtains were shut, but enough light penetrated. Levi looked too tired to stop him, and it took an arduous amount of time to get through, but his answer was short, to the effect of, If you're not court-marshaled, don't do it again. A slightly upper angle and I would've bled out. Then where would we be?

You're still thinking about that as you stock the closet with some of his clothes. Mandatory bedrest for at least a week, and after that, take it slow. Levi practically shriveled up when someone said 'wheelchair', and he preferred if hospital germs didn't get into his quarters.

You'll have his squad up there every day doing routine cleaning, "trouble" which Levi didn't need to exert his mind over. He's busy being stubborn.

You turn around when you hear porcelain clink. He's leaned over the dresser next to the bed, trying to take the tea.

"Levi," you scold.

"We don't need Hange to tell me my arms are in fine working condition," he grumbles, leaning back as you come over.

He's right, though. No one would even notice any arm wound because the bandages and plaster wrapping around his lower leg are bordering-on gaudy. It's propped up on a fat pillow, also white, the same as his soft-looking boxers and collared shirt (of which many buttons hang loose). In the glowing late afternoon, he looks ethereal, not quite of-this-world. A dove which is angry and stubborn and trapped.

"Still," you say quietly.

"I'm fine... I don't need anything."

Mikasa and Sasha had picked flowers, which you set in a watered glass jar atop the dresser. White again.

You watch him sip, and go over when he's done, laid propped up against pillows. A wooden bench at the side; you sat for hours while he slept through the day (the whole incident happened this morning). You sit on it now.

"I know... But why not want?" you repeat, quietly looking down at your hands.

"Who are we to want anything?"

You sharply look. "Why are you talking like this?"

He just watches you, shrewdly, but with a weakness not indicative of him. It might be exhaustion talking...

"We could always die. Titans could get in—"

"I'd kill them."

"Not like this..."

You said the wrong thing—the wrongest thing. His lips press into a thin line, barely-concealed contempt and clean daggers for eyes. The way he looks, like he believes if he tensed up enough, then he'd turn invisible and leave this argument in the dust.

You gesture slightly. "Because I would protect you. Even if I wasn't one of your comrades, or a soldier."

His lip twists in a unique disgust, which is the most you can see, his head turned towards the wall. Over his stomach, his hand tightens into a fist. "If you weren't, you'd die. Then I'd be dead anyway."

You swallow. You want to yell, and cry.

"I don't want that, either way. You didn't deserve to... see me like that. That seems to be why I'm talking like this."

The anger has left him. Delicately, you stand and seat yourself on the edge of the bed by his waist. "I've seen you be lots of things. 'Weak' is okay too. And I'm okay with seeing you like that as many time as I must, which is once so far."

He scoffs softly through his nose.

You lean forward more, and walk your fingers through his hair. Blacker than night, soft. There's a little piece you tuck behind his ear. His eyes flutter, letting out a deep breath. You can almost see the goosebumps.

"I know we'll die, and I know we belong to something much bigger, but can't I love you anyway?"

His breathing hitches a little, and his eyes open. It's a wonder what he's thinking, if he's even thinking about it, his adam's apple bobbing.

"Do whatever you want. I'm fine, if it's possible I can be with you."

It's your heart's turn to flutter, and just as soon, lean over awkwardly, your head resting on his chest and your arms around him (at least as much as they can be). You hear his heartbeat. The slowing, smooth rhythm of his choppy breathing carrying your upper half. His arm slips around your waist, content to rest his lips in your hair. As the time passes, he's more and more comfortable to hold you to tame the fear his anger betrayed. By that time, your arm's fallen asleep; you rub his side.

As tempting as it is to go down to the mess crowded for dinner, and contend with questions, you stay, just appreciating existing next to him.

"Your back," he mutters. You've been bent over a while.

"Mm." He's officially being ignored.

His hand slips over yours on his side, stopping you. His face doesn't give anything away, maybe purposefully so, and so you smile.

Leaning up, a fond kiss to his cheek. "You're cute when you make that face. Is your leg feeling okay?"

He clicks his tongue mildly with his head turned out, just showing you his cheek and one blue-grey eye. "'m fine," he says quietly.

Curious eyes search. Maybe he's downplaying something, but not lying. With nothing you'd rather do, you kiss down his jaw now, to the tender, pale column of his neck. His chest lifts suddenly against yours.

His question sounds like an afterthought. "What're you doing?"

"'m loving you," you lift your lips to say. (A little embarrassing to say out loud.)

"Yeah." His lips are still in your hair, but are stirring.

You remember he has your hand when he starts bringing them down. All across your upper half, you feel him breathing, and it's a little deeper.

You switch sides, putting you at an awkward angle to kiss him. He starts to move over towards the wall, but you stop him with a firm hum fast enough, and sit up. No walking, Moblit had told him firmly. What you kind of wish he'd said now is no moving his legs. For now you ignore it pushing snugly against the front of his boxers, but there's a wisp of a giggle in your chest.

You shift the pillow carefully, and he follows, until there's enough room for you there beside him. The mattress is only half-decent, but it's warm from his body.

He looks annoyed that you're smirking, if only he could come off the slightest bit intimidating blushing so hard like this. Pink warmth creeps down his neck and disappears beneath his open, rumpled collar.

"Tch." He just captures the nape of your neck and pulls your lips against his—a little slowly that comes with tiredness, but that much more passionately.

While you play with his lips, giving him away to you, your palm roams between his thighs. You pause there. Right as he shivers with his lip trapped between your teeth, you pull away and leer over him. "Don't move, baby. Move and I'll stop."

His eyes narrow in a bratty display.

"I mean it." You smile. "Even a touch" You stroke through his clothes slow and firm, immediately bringing a dreaming-like quality to his eyes. He almost can't look at you, especially as he huffs and it throbs under you.

"Baby?" You lick your thumb.

"I won't move." He huffs again, harsher this time. "Ugh, I won't fucking move, but you can't just—"

Your free hand, your thumb, falls against his jaw and stops his soft lips from flapping, so now a whole new quality of lust emerges in his expression. You're freeing his cock from his shorts as he instantly takes you in, so soft and sweet and giving. The heat that immediately consumes your thumb is melting, almost too intense to handle.

"Good boy, letting me."

His eyes flutter as you find where wetness has drooled from the tip of his stiff cock, spreading it around in your palm. It's easy to hold him, how he was made for you, and even easier to touch him to attract his hips, and the beginning of whispered whines he always always tries to suppress.

He hasn't forgotten, though. At the moment you send him a warning look, he relaxes, and his eyes are closed. You didn't notice him take hold of your wrist, holding just to hold, and gripping the front of his shirt with the other hand, since you're not close enough.

"Good boy," you murmur again. A moan vibrates round your thumb, his cock straining in your fist. "That's my good boy..."

It seems all the squirming he doesn't do has to go towards suckling and nipping your thumb instead. You watch his brows furrowed in deep focus as you build up your firm strokes. It's getting just as wet. He can't last.

You smile to yourself as your pumps rise to his tip, firm but quick flicks of your wrist. His back bows against the bed, the moan in his throat breaking apart into a whine. That aside, he stays perfectly still, so you let it slide.

"Does it feel that good when I touch you? Going to come, sweetheart?"

"Mm," his voice comes firm and tightly-wound. His eyes open into slight slits, see you watching shamelessly, and shut again. "Mm!"

Just as he throbs and tenses up. You bend over gripping down low, abruptly tearing your hand away from his mouth to sink his cock inside yours; pinning his hips, rubbing his heavy balls in your grasp.

"F-Fuck, fuckfuck!" He takes sudden, almost too-tight hold of your hair, gasping, and tearing the sheet, and shuddering. He moans all through it, broken whispers of your name, almost hummed at the top of his throat at the quietest, and always eagerly throbbing in the hot suction of your mouth. You take everything in deep swallows.

When finally, his hips are threatening to squirm to shy away and his cock softening, you pull off. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand as he melts into the sheets. He has half of his bright red face hiding under his arm, catching his breath.

"Fuck, I don't know how you expected me to stay still. Come here." He lowers his arm.

"For the mess." You smile sweetly.

"Come here."

"You're not doing anything." But you do, and let him give you a kiss. He looks extremely unhappy about that, but for once, it looks like he'll listen when you say.

Levi masterlist | main masterlist

#mostly unedited :s #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x y/n smut #levi ackerman oneshot #levi ackerman smut #aot smut #levi smut #captain levi x reader #captain levi x you

[razrogue]

imitation is the sincerest form of flattery (Ascended Astarion, His Majesty)

“So the thief has come to grovel before me?”

Astarion stared at the cat, stretched across the burgundy velvet pillow situated in the corner of the room. When they had arrived at the tavern, it had insisted on having the biggest pillow placed near the sunniest window. The sun loved its features it had proclaimed but the dreary shadow lands had dampened its style.

“Thief?” Astarion tutted at the smooth cat laying leisurely before him, barely giving him so much as a glance.

His Majesty stretched and yawned before finally deciding to sit up and give Astarion a modicum of respect. Whether he would retain it during their conversation was another matter entirely.

“I heard you chatting with the short one.” His Majesty leaned his head slightly, pointing towards the person seated near the fireplace.

“I’ve inspired you so that you’ve taken to speaking like me,” the cat retorted as it licked one of its paws. “Allowing them to speak to you, much like I’m doing now.”

Astarion crossed his arms and glared at the cat. He’d stolen a lot of things from a lot of people but never anything from a damn cat. He was insulted at the insinuation.

“I beg your pardon??” 

“You’d do well to remember where you hear such things in the future.” And with a final yawn, His Majesty began kneading the pillow to return to his nap. The conversation was over as far as it was concerned. 

“You’re dismissed,” he said as he curled back up, his tail wrapping around him.

“Don’t you take that tone with me. Remember who fetches your milk, feline.”

Astarion was left standing there in silence, irked that a cat had just scolded him. His Majesty had already closed his eyes and gone back to dozing in the sun beaming across his pillow.

#Astarion Ancunin #Astarion #Ascended Astarion #Ascendant Astarion #His Majesty #BG3 #Baldur's Gate 3 #BG3 spoilers #razrogue writes #saw a funny post and had to write this lol #also mostly unedited cause i'm off to bed now LMAO

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: you fall asleep on isaac's shoulder while he's working.

WARNINGS: none!!! :D

COMMENTS: ASGHFDHSAGD THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR IKEVAMP!!!!! i literally adore isaac sosososososo much he is so cute :((( I HOPE I WROTE HIM WELL!!!! :D

OH YEA tagging @dove-da-birb because i think you said you wante dto be tagged ahgsdhas

The weight of their head on Isaac’s shoulder snaps him out of the concentrated trance he’d found himself in. He turns his head, slowly and with bated breath, and feels his cheeks flush bright red at the sight that greets him. Sure enough, they’d fallen asleep on him. He should probably wake them up, he thinks, but as they breathe softly and their chest rises and falls and he watches, he’s not thinking much at all.

He couldn’t understand why they’d insisted on accompanying him for his late-night research session when they had other things to do. There was no reason to do so since he’d gotten by completely fine on his own, but they hadn’t backed down. Isaac was notoriously weak to them anyways—anyone in the mansion knew he would have said yes no matter what. They had a way of making him feel calm, like his existence wasn’t torture, like he didn’t constantly make mistakes and misunderstand the people around him.

They were quite the paradox. They laid themselves out to him like an open book, and yet he couldn’t read much of the words. Over the weeks they’d known each other, he’d learned how, but most of the pages were filled with jumbled words he didn’t understand and beautiful pictures he couldn’t interpret. And yet they were never a cruel teacher. They were the most patient person he’d ever met, guiding his hands across the gold-lined pages and helping him sound out the words that lead him through the paths of their heart. Sometimes, the words he found helped him find the way through his own heart. It was undoubtedly a beautiful thing, and although it was void of the equations he’d depended on his whole life, Isaac found himself less frightened by the day.

They would never hurt him. They treated him far too gently for that. Always there with a kind word and a nod when he began to ramble, always there to tell his housemates to knock it off with their teasing but often teasing him themselves, always there to hold his hand and ask him if he needed a hug at the end of the day. They prepared him tea on nights when he couldn’t sleep, too focused on his research and knowing he’d pass out at his desk and wake up with a blanket draped across his shoulders. There would be a little note scribbled out resting on top of his stack of papers, signed with their name and letting him know that they’d be bringing him breakfast in the late morning.

He wishes he had the courage to do the same for them. It was one of the many things about them he found adorable and one of the many things he would never admit to thinking about them.

“Do you think of me the way I think of you?” he murmurs to them, although they are fast asleep. Of course, they do not answer.

The ticking of the watch he fixed just for them echoes in the silence he leaves.

“If I asked you to stay...if I was selfish enough to ask that of you...would you comply? Would you fulfill my wish?” Isaac’s voice is impossibly softer, the yearning in his aching heart betrayed by the wobbling of his words.

They don't belong here. He knows this. They belong back in their world, where they have a family and friends and a life. He isn’t a natural part of who they are, even if he wishes he could grow to be. He wants to be part of what they want so badly, but that’s not possible. He’d only hurt them. And even if they say they trust him over and over, he does not trust himself. They are precious to him, someone he wants to protect more than anything—and to lose them now would destroy him.

His eyes flick back to his forgotten work, and he sighs. Raking his hand through his hair, he picks back up his pen and starts to write again. Their head on his shoulder burns through his shirt. He can feel their warmth. His hand shakes as it scribbles out an equation, and his cheeks still burn a fiery red. He’s gnawing on his bottom lip and bouncing his leg so fiercely he almost bangs his knee on the wood, but he doesn’t stop.

Do they have any idea how serious this is? Isaac could lose control of his hunger at any moment and hurt them just like he did before. His eyes flicker to their hand, and even though the bandages are gone, he still feels that stab of guilt. How do they feel safe enough with him to fall asleep near him? Even if it wasn’t on purpose, they should have left the second they were feeling tired. They should have bid him goodnight and patted his shoulder like they always did when they said goodbye and left him to his own devices. And yet they did not, because they are the strangest phenomenon he’s ever witnessed.

He loves them. He loves them like they strung up all the stars he loves to study in the sky, he loves them like they’re the only person he’ll ever know this well, he loves them like they’re the only person who would ever care for him even though they’d insist they’re not. He loves them like they’re everything and he knows there’s no way he could tell them that. He’s not good with words. He’s not good with affection.

And he is certainly not good with love.

Isaac turns back to them in what he wholeheartedly believes is a moment of weakness because they smell so nice and they look so at peace and—

They whisper his name.

A soft “Isaac” leaves their lips, and he stiffens at the sound. His face burns hotter now, his leg bounces more, his heart is pounding in his ears and his blood is rushing through his veins and—

He whips his head back towards his paper, intent on focusing on his work, only to see loopy scribbles of their name on his notes.

Gah, he needs to control himself.

Even when he wasn’t thinking, his body still yearned for them. How traitorous his hands were.

#this is mostly unedited because i was excited #if you see typos no you dont!!!!! #auburn's fics <3 #isaac newton x reader #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp isaac x reader #ikevamp x reader #isaac newton fluff

[silverandbluephoenix]

society loves disabled people until they're visibly disabled. They love the success stories. Look at them! They're disabled and they can do it! Why can't you? This man is autistic and he masks so well! This woman is in a wheelchair and she still supports herself full time. Why can't you?

Oh, you're disabled? Don't use it as an excuse! Put yourself out there! Work harder! You just need to apply yourself. Oh and you better not be lazy. You better not want to just survive. You better not be a drain on our taxes.

You just need to do better! Work harder! Wreck your body, destroy your mental health! Social life? If you can have one of those you can work! After all you don't really need that. Or free time. Or happiness.

Just lose weight. Just drink more water. Just try this new diet! Live your best life (just as long as you have a job because that's what's most important) Get out there and smell the fucking roses!

Just make sure you don't look actually disabled. After all, no one wants to see that. And you can't be fat, because that's even worse. Don't be an eyesore.

Dont complain, don't be whiny. No one wants to hear about your struggles, god why are you always talking about your disability? Like we get it already. Just shut up about it and work harder.

But no! We support disabled people! After all, we have a poster with a guy in a wheelchair saying you can do it! And you better be able to do it.

#disability #chronic illness #chronic fatigue #disabled #Give me a break #This is such a product of capitalism too #Like you're only a good person if you're productive #“Productive member of society” #Gives me a bad taste in my mouth tbh #Anywayyyy #Unedited #Please don't pay much attention to this I'm mostly ranting

[rivrdin]

unedited, unnamed horses by Dressage Center Edelweiss & Heritage Farm

#ts4 #ts4 simblr #ts4 equestrian #current household #unedited #ch: unnamed 3 #ch: unnamed 4 #trs: pasture #mostly just reshade testing #they'll get names once i get their riders named :'D #unnmaed wip sims are my life right now #*unnamed even

[blueflyingturtleontheway]

So, I've heard some voices here and there lamenting how little Gabe content - especially new Gabe content - there was and you know what? I completely agree, so I thought why not, I can try to add my little droplet into this tiny sea of Gabe appreciation we have here on tumblr.

Summary: Elena visits Gabe in his house for the first time and learns something new about his past.

Word count: 1937

AN: just some friendly fluff really, headcanon heavy, from Elena's POV but Gabe centric

"Oh, watch out, the first step is-" Gabe turned around just in time to catch Elena when she started to fall backwards. "-loose."

"Thanks for the warning." Elena shot him a glare when she regained her balance. In response Gabe only sent her an unapologetic grin and pulled her up on the next step.

"Everyone's so used to it by now that we keep forgetting to fix it with my dad," he explained as they finally reached the first floor.

The stairs led to a narrow corridor, with the same room placement as the bakery beneath it. Two doors on the right, one on the left and a wide opening to the living room at the end. In a few brisk steps Gabe opened the door on the left and invited Elena in with a courteous gesture.

"Welcome to my humble abode, your highness."

Her highness graced him with a nod and slipped by him, into the small room. Elena gave it a quick one over. It was indeed small - in fact, there probably wasn't much more space than what each guard got at the barracks - and the decor wasn't much fancier either. Cream colored walls, a thin bed by the window, a wardrobe opposite of it, one wall taken up by a bookshelf and a small cabinet by another made up basically all the furnishing of the room.

"Humble is a good word." She nodded solemnly, earning herself an eye roll from her friend. They both chuckled.

"Hey, it's your room that's out of the norm, you know?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Elena retorted, thinking about how three or even four such rooms would fit into hers. She walked over to the cabinet and picked up some trinket. "But it's nice to finally see where you grew up."

Gabe couldn't stop a fond smile sneaking onto his lips when he noticed the badge she was examining.

"Yeah and I didn't really get to change much here in the past five years. For example this thing I got back when-"

"Gabriel!" He was interrupted by his mother's voice from the bakery.

"I'll tell you in a moment," he sighed. "Make yourself at home!" He added from the doors and quickly ran downstairs to his parents.

Elena took another look around the room. It wasn't entirely empty, she had to admit that, and the poster of Antonio Agama on the inner side of the door confirmed that Gabe didn't change the decor much since he moved out.

She moved to the bookshelf and moved her hand across the titles - though there weren't that many of them to count. The lower shelves were taken up by some boxes and bags and what could've been a neatly packaged tent. Then finally a whole shelf dedicated to the whole collection of Antonio Agama's books. Elena chuckled to herself when she read some of the more dramatic titles and noticed even one that wasn't in Avaloran. On the next shelf, between other various travel books and biographies, was only one book by señor Agama, titled simply 'The Gecko's Tale'. Driven by a hunch she took it out and couldn't help but laugh when she read the blurb on the back. Although that explained how the whole kingdom found out that she's a bit adventurous too.

Finally her gaze got to the plant on top of the mantle. Hidden so deep in the room, it extended its ivy like stalks towards the sun, climbing a string helpfully hung between the bookshelf and the window.

Down on the windowsill two other plants looked out on the little cobbled square behind the house. Elena leaned in to smell the orchid and noticed something half hidden behind the pot. Slowly, so as not to accidentally damage the plant, she reached for trinket and retrieved it into the light. It turned out to be a wooden doll, painted to resemble a familiar navy and maroon uniform...

"Is this you?" She turned to Gabe as soon as he entered the room and showed him the figurine with a wide smile.

Gabe stopped for a moment. Furrowed his brows as he tried to see what Elena was even holding, and then furrowed his brows even more when he recognised it.

"Of course not," he grumbled, closing the small distance between them. "It's just an old thing anyway."

"It does look a bit like you though." She jumped away from him at the last moment.

Gabe gasped. Elen giggled and moved her hand away when he tried to reach her.

"Why would I even have a figurine of myself?"

For a moment they circled each other, like two lions judging if it's worthy to fight the opponent for a steak, except the steak was now wooden and 15 centimetres high. They both hunched subconsciously and made their steps in the fencing manner.

"I don't know, why does Esteban have a whole wall of his own portraits?" A sly grin slid on her face. "But I see you've decided to match his collection."

"Oh now you've done it." Gabe shook his head to hide his smile and in the split of a second was right by her. Feigning to go right for the prize, he swiped her legs out from under her.

Elena waved her hands in the air giving Gabe just the opportunity he was waiting for. He swiftly yanked the figurine from her hands, giving her the last push to fall backwards completely. He turned his head with a victorious grin, just in time to see her legs rising at the height of his knees. And suddenly the ground was much closer than before.

He folded his arms to his chest, protecting the figurine with his body and rolled on the floor. Though he didn't have to roll far, of which he was promptly reminded by his head crushing into the cupboard.

He groaned loudly and let his body fall limply to the floor.

His pained complaint was answered by Elena's laughter from the bed.

"I'm getting too old for this," he mumbled and Elena's laughter only got louder.

Finally he sat up and lifted the figurine to his face. He carefully examined it for any cracks or splinters, checked if the joints in the limbs didn't fall out and most importantly if the head was still on firm. Finally when he made sure the trinket didn't get damaged, he let out a relieved sigh.

"You're lucky it's still whole," he grumbled, rising to his feet.

"Hey, I was being careful." Elena now sat up too and sent him a playful smirk. "All the way until you decided to trip me like that."

Gabe rolled his eyes again and huffed in pretended annoyance.

"So if it's not a limited edition General Nuñez action figure," Elena continued. "What is it?"

Gabe sat down next to her and thought of an answer for a moment. He changed the position of the little soldier's arms and reached for a pin to put into his hand as a sword.

"It's really just an old toy," he said finally. "But you know, it has sentimental value."

He finally passed Elena the figurine, so she could take a look at it herself. It wasn't as old as she thought at first. The paint was faded, but still held onto the uneven surface of the wood and as she moved her fingers across it, she realized that it must've been all whittled by hand, by someone who put great care in it, but wasn't a professional.

Still the amount of details was impressive, especially in the construction of the thing. She moved the tiny soldier into the proper fencing position and to her delight found out that it fits flawlessly, the wire on the joints creaked quietly, as if it had been waiting for an opportunity to shine for ages.

She glanced between the figurine and Gabe on her left for comparison. The uniform, despite the familiar colours, was a tad different, it resembles more what she remembered from her childhood, than the uniform Gabe was wearing at the moment.

"I got it from my first fencing teacher," he continued.

"The same one who threw coconuts at you driving training?" Elena raised a brow, earning herself a chuckle.

"Yeah, the same one." A sad smile reached the corners of his eyes as old memories resurfaced in his memory. "He was a tough man and always talked about how big an annoyance I am, but -" he gestured to the figurine and shrugged.

"Well, that explains why it looks like you," Elena bumped him with her shoulder. "I'm sure he could've already seen that you'll be a great guard."

"Oh, I don't think he even wanted me to be a guard," Gabe laughed again. "But you know, the situation was a bit different." He pondered something for a moment before continuing. "And to be fair, I didn't even realize that it was supposed to be a guard at the time, I was pretty sure he just came up with the design by himself. I only really connected the dots a few years ago, when I found this old thing again."

Elena nodded silently and put a comforting hand on his arm. She could see that this topic wasn't easy for him.

"Though maybe what you said was the point." He straightened suddenly and his gaze went back to the figurine. "Maybe he wasn't completely against me joining the guard, just... joining the right one."

His smile became wider and it was like his whole face lit up. Elena raised the little soldier's arms to make it cheer. They both laughed at how expressive this piece of wood was.

"So where is your coach now?" Elena asked, caressing the wooden toy one more time.

He only sighed at first and for a moment his gaze became clouded again, before he shook his head to cast the memories away.

"I wish I knew," he sent her a sad smile. "One day he just... disappeared. A few trinkets and one letter is all the proof I have that he wasn't just my hallucination."

Elena's lips twitched in a matching sad smile, but before she could say anything, they both heard a voice from downstairs, calling the unmistakable word 'dinner!'

Gabe clapped his hands on his knees and sprung up to his feet.

"Ah, just in time", he extended his hand to Elena. "I think eating is a much more fun topic than discussing the weird things I did in my childhood."

Elena examined his face for a moment more, but gave up on asking all the questions that pushed to the tip of her tongue. She sent him a smile instead and accepted his hand.

"Oh, you mean you did more weird things?" She made the little figurine gasp.

"I feel like I shouldn't have started this topic," Gabe laughed.

"Oh no, you won't escape now." She poked him in the chest and put the little soldier in his hand. "I gotta know all the crazy stories."

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you something," Gabe raised his hands in defeat. "But you can't mention it to my parents, please, they'll never stop until they tell you my whole life story."

Elena made a theatrical gesture of tapping her lips in thought as she backed out of the room.

"I'll consider it," she sent him a wide grin and in a second turned and ran towards the stairs.

"Hey- wait!" Gabe called out, running right after her to save what was left of his reputation.

#my post #blue's writing #eoa #elena of avalor #gabriel nunez #gabe nunez #gabriel nuñez #gabe nuñez #elena castillo flores #gabe and elena #elena castillo flores & gabriel nuñez #elena and gabe #uuuuh #fanfiction #this is. completely unedited and written mostly in the middle of the night #so i just hope it makes sense XD #but i really wanted to write something and hey a great motivator came so why not seize the occasion #(probably because youre busy blue and should be sleeping instead but do you ever listen to yourself? no) #another day of wondering 'would they fucking say thay' #was this fic prompted by one scene of gabe fondly rolling his eyes at elena that i saw in an amv #maybe #anyway i hope this ficlet reaches the person who inspired it and i hope it brings you some joy :> #i may or may not continue it one day or at keast clean it up a bit and transfer it to ao3 #my accounts been dead there for quite some time now #and back to the fic you guys have NO idea how proud i am od myself that its almost 2K #yes thats a lot for me #i considered whether im able to write those 74 more words but nope i gotta sleep #bonus: blanca and roberto downstairs hearing all the noise in gabes room and the sound of something heavy (gabe) hitting the floor #'remind me is our son 13 or 23' *fond exasperated sigh* #maybe i shouldve added to the note that this fic basically has no context huh

[sparring-spirals]

Imogen says that. until Everything Went Down (until Otohan) (until her powers not only failed her but doomed everyone around her) her markings kind of. made her feel good.

Imogen says that: Sure, they were terrible at first, but when she realized she could use her powers to defend, (like she defended Laudna)-

"They felt like proof. That I was stronger than I thought I was."

(The powers and the markings are synonymous, for Imogen. They are physical evidence of her powers, an external manifestation of powers that, so often, plague her in ways that are invisible. The voices, the headaches, the overhearing, the nightmares, the ever-present anxiety all of them bring. Are invisible.

The electricity arcing off of her fingertips in defense. Are not.

The markings webbing their way up her arms. Are not.

She looks at her marks and thinks of her powers, and that is both a blessing and a curse.

Proof, or evidence.)

Imogen did not see her markings- her powers- as a gift, until she found how they could be used in service to others. To help others. Her powers would always be some kind of curse to her, of course they were. But seeing the way they could defend and protect others, seeing the way she could take this curse and wring some good out of it.

That made it worth it, maybe. That made it good.

That made her feel stronger, maybe.

I just. Imogen looks at her marks and thinks of her powers. And thinks of the ways these hands (these abilities) can be used in service for others, in protection of others, in ways to hold on tight and protect things she loves, people she loves. And for a while (for two years, at least), it was enough that she could look down and- they made her feel kind of good. She's so much stronger than she ever imagined she could be- not because of the powers alone, but because its her wielding them, that even with all of the awfulness that comes along with it, she knows how she's been using them, how she's been able to do good. She's so much stronger than she could have dreamed, (in all her nightmares).

And then.

And then-

The problem was not the strength. Otohan whispered that too, of power in her, a spark, a fire, a raging storm. Otohan brought it out, eventually.

The problem was not a lack of power.

The problem was- the defense. The protection. Otohan chased her down- all of them down, for that power raging inside of her. Cut down her friends, one by one, to make a point, to get to her. To get to that storm. To claw it out.

Otohan looked at Laudna, and said to Imogen- "Is she your favorite?"

Otohan killed Laudna, and Imogen let out every ounce of that power she had manifesting in her and levelled a city and it-

did nothing. It did nothing.

Otohan hunted her down- hunted all of them down, and ripped through them for the power that arcs up Imogen's arms and none of it was enough to protect, in the end.

Imogen looks at her markings and thinks of her powers, and if they make her feel strong it is a curse, now, its another layer of guilt, its another condemnation.

Imogen's markings made her feel strong because they could help others, serve others, protect others.

How- uniquely awful, then. To look down and see a death sentence on those you love, instead.

To see all that power.

And see a blast radius, instead of a shield.

#critical role #c3e34 #imogen temult #character meta #speculation #imogen meta #my meta #ive got 3 min left on the loading so while ive passed this over for typos its mostly unedited. ive got So Many Feelings About This Scene #orhhgggh its about the PROTECTION and the power was a consequence of that. what an awful twist to habe that contorted where the power #IS there. but its now the cause. its the problem. you're right. you' #re strong. but thats why the people you love are being hurt. #(and you are. not strong enough to protect them.) #GOD screw otohan trully #otohan thull #reread this after sobering up and. yknow what. not bad. definitely prosey and long winded but coherent enough. points to me. #THERE WAS A TYPO ON THE LAST LINE. alas. fixed now.

[daddyplasmius]

hand on my stupid heart flashbacks

this is a No One Knows AU & Full Hazmat AU where Danny ended up in the Ghost Zone & didn't go back into the human world initially because he thought he was dead. by the time he realized he is, in fact, at least half alive, he'd already been missing for at least 2 weeks. will probs never finish homsh sorry. i wrote this a couple years ago in a haze & just haven't been able to finish it because i can't replicate the style, which i find is what i love about this fic the most. it wouldn't be the same without it. posting the flashback introsーwhich are meant to be read between chapters/the actual plot, starting after chapter 1ーcuz fuck it. excuse typos & shit, i never properly edited it, as i forgot it existed immediately after i wrote it original description of homsh: Danny Fenton has officially been missing for over a year. Maddie & Jack Fenton refuse to give up on their son. Sick and tired of the police running them in circles, and the case getting colder by the day, the Fentons turn to their last resortーPhantom. 800~ words (full unfinished fic is 20k~)

-

When Danny woke up surrounded by thick, green fog, and couldn’t breathe without swallowing heavy air that was more like water than anything, he was sure he was dead. The portal glowed behind him, illuminating the pitch darkness around him in soft, yellow, warm light.

He almost went back.

Almost.

He was dead. His parents were ghost hunters. They had drilled into his head from the moment he was born that he could never, ever panic in death. That he would accept it. That he would not be scared. So he would be prepared to be brave in the face of death and would not become a ghost.

He panicked. He did not accept it. He was terrified. And so he woke up in the Ghost Zone.

-

Danny went back through the portal when he saw some ectopuses acting… strange. Like they had an idea in their heads. Like they had a plan.

Which was weird, with animal ghosts. He had only been in the Ghost Zoneーmom and dad called it that, he rememberedーfor a couple weeks. Or, he had already been there for two weeks. Or maybe time worked differently and he was there five minutes, or four years orー

The ectopuses went through the portal and, despite everything, Danny went after them.

While he was busy reeling at being home, the ectopuses immediately attacked dad. Danny was horrified. Jack was overwhelmed. Danny stepped in, in a moment fueled by sheer adrenaline and stupidity, snatching a Fenton Thermos™ off a shelf and releasing his shaky invisibility. The ectopuses didn’t stand a chance. And when they were safely in the Thermos, he slowly turned around to dad, ready for the confrontation. Ready for the “what happened to you?” and the “where have you been?” and the “we’ve missed you”.

Dad scrambled to shoot at him.

Danny fled.

His parents didn’t recognize him.

-

The Lunch Lady attacked when Danny was mourning Halloween.

He’d waited all year. He made a costume that summer. He wouldn’t get to go trick or treating with Sam and Tucker this year. Or any year. For the rest of his lifeーor existence. Whatever.

The Lunch Lady appeared in the school and demanded in straight fury, “Who changed the menu?”

Everyone pointed at Sam.

Danny hadn’t known just how powerful ghosts could be. His parents never told him the specifics. Just that they were dangerous.

This ghost grew and her aura hit him like a hurricane, almost physically pushing him back. It was so strong that the students in the Casper High cafeteria seemed to feel it too.

The Lunch Lady was a much harder opponent than the ectopuses. She levitated meat. She used it as a weapon, and seemed to bring it back to life. She created weird meat creatures that grew sharp teeth and claws out of bones. They were mindless, attacking everything that got too close to the ghost. Danny would have run away without hesitation, if Sam hadn’t been in the crossfire.

Danny fought the Lunch Lady. It was a long struggle, but he caught her in the thermos after over an hour. When he turned to Sam and Tuckerーboth of whom he had to save due to Tucker trying to jump into the fightーall three of them bloody and bruised, he cringed. But a part of him hoped. Desperately.

Surely they would know him on sight.

“Wh-what are you?” Sam gasped at him finally.

Danny flinched as if she had struck him. “J-just… your friendly neighbourhood phantom.”

-

Danny didn’t know what possessed him. Oh. Pun not intended.

He just barely caught the Fentons leaving in the GAV, dragging suitcases behind them. He couldn’t help himself. What on Earth were they doing?

They were going to Vlad Master’s mansion for their college reunion.

It was a whole thing. But something was off. Besides all the adults reminiscing about the 80’s.

Danny sensed ghosts immediately but he couldn’t see anything. Unfortunately for him, Vlad could also sense him. It was two days of Danny staying invisible, and Vladーthe halfa? Is that what Danny is?ーtrying to kill Jack. Somehow, Danny managed to fight off Vlad, not turn back, and without the Fentons getting hurt. His secret intact.

VladーPlasmius, also learned about Phantom. And Vlad hated him. The manーghostーwhatever, seemed to only care about one thingーpossession. Of money. Of things. Of people. He was more ghost than Danny had ever seen. Vlad’s obsession was overwhelming.

Danny couldn’t believe someone so much like himself could be so disturbing.

#danny phantom #danny phantom au #danny phantom fanfiction #you know that gif of the wailing emoji dissolving? :Why:? #yeah that's what i do every time i remember i never finished HOMSH while i still had the style in my brain #feel free to steal this idea. please steal this idea. please write it i wanna see this idea so bad but im already writing another 100k+ fic #if y'all want me to post the full fic i can but. it is not finished & most likely never will be. sorry again #i won't lie. the haze i was in was a depressed one. i was. not in a good place At All when i wrote HOMSH #like the only part i remember actually writing was the panic attack scene & that's just barely #i reread the whole fic in the middle of the night months later while listening to Implode Alright by Built by Snow on repeat #yeah i cried. this one is funny but mostly it's just. mourning. grief. the works. it's a vent fic & also a. kind of. wishful fic #like. don't you just wish death wasn't so permanent. don't you wish you could tell them everything you wish you could #don't you wish you could just see them again #i'm actually writing this into a bigger ventier series currently called Let Grief Do Its Work #cuz i rewatched LUCIDS again recently & remembered what HOMSH was originally about. why i was writing it #i'm not calling it HOMSH cuz. HOMSHie is my baby. it's its own thing & i don't wanna ruin the vibes #reluctantly admitting i call an unfinished fanfic i don't remember writing... HOMSHie baby... in my head #yeah i have a cute nickname for my fic. what of it #it's 5am & i think i'll throw up if i think any more about posting unfinished unedited pieces of a fic so i'm going for it. cowabunga #go into the world. get your 2 notes you beautiful animal #*passes out*

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Eddie’s never this late.

He’s usually pretty washy when it comes to being places on time — always either twenty minutes early or twenty minutes late, never anything between — but Gareth’s legs are actually getting sore from standing at this point.

He glances at his watch every so often, looking up and down the street for any sign of the van approaching. A couple of times, he’s considered walking to the nearest pay phone about a block or so away.

But no fucking way he’s leaving his drum kit on the curb unattended.

As if Eddie would pick up the phone anyway.

The owner of the music store has come out twice now to check in on him. Offered to have one of his guys load the stuff up for him, but Gareth declined as graciously as he could while trying to hide his festering irritation.

He saved up for months to be able to afford all of this new equipment, he absolutely cannot pay to have it delivered.

It irks him even more the closer that Eddie gets to being almost an hour late.

Just when he’s about completely fed up, having downed the entire bottle of water that Harold was generous enough to gift him, a vehicle turns down the street. For a moment, Gareth is overwhelmed by a blend of relief and rage, stepping up to the edge of the curb, but those feelings quickly fade.

Rather than the van, it’s a truck.

Gareth’s heart drops, and as it gets closer, he hopes to god that it’s still Eddie behind the wheel. When the truck pulls up to the curb, his hopes vanish.

The engine dies, and the driver side door opens. Heavy footsteps scrape the pavement, rounding the truck, and Hargrove comes to stand beside the collection of equipment.

His expression is blank. He’s clad in rough denim jeans and a t-shirt, with a pair of work boots to match. There’s a layer of grime on him that says he’s been doing something all day, likely outside, if the dirtied stains on the knees of his pant legs say anything.

For a guy from the city, he sure looks like every other ranch hand around here. The only things he’s missing are a can of dip denting his back pocket and a hat.

It’s quiet between the two of them for a beat. Gareth doesn’t know what to do or say — he’s only ever been in Hargrove’s company when other people are around.

And that was intentional.

The blond nods at the stuff on the curb and clicks his tongue.

“This everything?” he asks.

Gareth nods. Watches as Hargrove wordlessly circles to the back of his truck and drops the tailgate.

He immediately begins grabbing things, and Gareth steps out of his way. Watches as he carefully loads a few things into the bed, grabbing the larger ones first.

“You, uh,” Gareth begins. He clears his throat when Hargrove glances over at him. “Want me to help?”

At that, the blond huffs a little laugh to himself.

“Not gonna break your fancy drum set,” he says.

Gareth opens his mouth, and then promptly closes it. Furrows his brows and looks off down the street.

Everyone else seems to click with this guy. Even Grant and Jeff, after a while.

Not that Gareth necessarily wants to.

He just doesn’t understand why he quite literally can’t.

Eddie and even Steve have tried to explain to him that Hargrove is just tough — he’s not the type to wanna sit around and gush about niche interests, and he’s fairly blunt when he talks.

For some reason, everything the guy does and says just rubs Gareth the wrong way. He would say he doesn’t get why his partners are into him, but that would be a complete lie.

Hargrove is hot.

He’s thicker now than he was in high school. His arms are bigger, veinier closer to his wrists, and he’s got the faintest hint of chub on his stomach. Enough to pooch out a little over the lip of his jeans when he bends over to grab things.

It’s overwhelmingly obvious that he’s a man, and not a boy. A man with perfect blond curls and broad shoulders and the visible trace of scruff on his neck.

Of course he has two other guys drooling over him constantly.

Gareth himself tries not to look at him too much for fear of heat rising to the surface of his skin. Especially when he’s doing anything physical like this.

Once everything is loaded and the tailgate is shut, Hargrove straps the few larger things down, and steps up on the tire at each side to check and make sure everything is held sturdily enough in place before he hops down.

Wordlessly walks back to the front of the truck and climbs behind the wheel again.

Gareth hesitates, but opens the passenger side door and joins him in the cab.

The blond starts the engine, and the stereo immediately blasts Tooth and Nail by Dokken. He reaches out to turn the dial down a hint, sighing as he puts the truck in drive.

Gareth stares out his window as they pull away from the music shop.

“Why didn’t Eddie show up?” he asks.

Keeps his voice even so as not to let on how irritated he is. It works, for the most part, because Hargrove blows a raspberry and rests his elbow against the door panel.

“We got caught up trying to figure out why his van wouldn’t start, and when he realized he was late, he—“ Hargrove cuts himself off with a chuckle, an easy smile pulling at his lips. “He tripped up the porch steps. Started whining about having a concussion and a dislocated shoulder, and asked me to come pick you up.”

Gareth huffs.

“Figures.”

At that, Hargrove’s smile dims.

“Would’ve been worse if he’d shown up and been a drama queen the whole time, trust me.”

“It’s not that,” Gareth grumbles.

For a stretch of the street they’re driving down, only the music fills the silence between them. Hargrove’s grip on the wheel tightens.

“Well, I could’a said no, and you’d’ve been stuck on the curb all day. I’m not exactly thrilled about it either.”

His voice is lower. Testy. Like when he argues with Max or Steve and can no longer hide his blooming irritation.

Eddie has this way of making Hargrove laugh when things get too tense. Never lets the blond’s tone get under his skin no matter what they’re talking about, and takes it upon himself to lighten the mood.

Gareth wishes he was less easily affected like that.

“Didn’t have to come,” Gareth huffs. “I could’ve figured it out.”

Even out of the corner of his eye, he can see the angry red that creeps up Hargrove’s neck and pops the veins in his forehead.

Despite not having done anything remotely violent in recent years, Gareth still feels a small spike of anxiety at witnessing his little tells. Leans closer to the door and keeps careful attention.

After a tense moment, Hargrove takes a calming breath and sighs heavily. Relaxes his grip on the wheel and shifts in his seat, loosening up.

“I’m doing this for Eddie. Not you,” he says. “I don’t typically do free labor for people who hate my guts.”

Gareth’s brows draw closer together.

“I don’t… hate you.”

At the words, the blond chuckles, but it isn’t a happy sound.

“What’s your fuckin’ deal, then?”

“I don’t know. Nothing,” Gareth huffs. “Everything.”

“Well, which is it? You act like I’m some comic book villain when I can’t recall ever having done anything to you personally.”

Now, Gareth chuckles.

“Personally,” he murmurs. He takes a risk and turns to fully look at Hargrove, expecting to see more of that rage bloom on his skin again. Instead, he looks dejected. Sad, with his mouth pinched in a subtle frown, and his eyes vacant. Gareth sighs. “Look, it’s not… I don’t hate you. I just don’t get you, I guess? Plus, before you and Steve, Eddie used to actually care about doing shit with his friends. Today is a good example.”

After a moment of processing, Hargrove purses his lips.

“Edd cares. He’s just a little messy with his priorities — if he’d told Stevie that he was supposed to pick you up, he would’ve made sure everything happened on time.”

Gareth huffs. Slouches in his seat and props his elbow against the door, leaning his cheek against his hand.

“Right.”

“I’m serious. Who do you think plans all of your game nights?”

The brunet makes a face, and Hargrove chuckles again. Softer this time. Amused.

“Eddie’s always planned for that, though. Before he got with Steve.”

“Being in a club with a fixed schedule is very different than organizing things with complete flexibility,” Hargrove muses. Smiles to himself as he thinks briefly. “My point is that he does care. He’s also just… Eddie.” The two of them share a chuckle, and Gareth tenses when Billy playfully elbows him. “I promise I’m not stealing him from you.”

Instantly, Gareth’s face heats up, and he blows a raspberry in dismissal.

“Never said you were.”

“But you were thinkin’ it.”

With no valid argument, Gareth pouts. Crosses his arms over his chest and looks back out the window.

They’re only a few streets away from his place. That has his body welling with relief.

“Also,” Billy begins. “There’s nothing to get.”

Gareth glances back over at the blond.

“What?”

“About me. There’s nothing to get.”

“I mean—“ Gareth pauses, frustration building in his throat at the lack of proper words. Decides instead to gesture vaguely at Billy with his hand. “You’re not exactly an open book. I don’t think we’ve ever really even talked before today.”

“I know I’m not the most approachable guy, but you’ve never exactly tried to strike up a conversation with me before today.”

“That’s a two-way street,” Gareth grumbles.

Billy sighs.

“When you’re around, Eddie’s happy, and I don’t wanna ruin that because you and I don’t click for whatever stupid reason.” He shrugs nonchalantly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel absently. “So I don’t make an effort to talk.”

The for Eddie goes unspoken at the end, but it’s thick in the air regardless. Gareth spreads a knowing grin, and Billy gives him a look out of the corner of his eye.

“So, Hargrove does have feelings.”

The blond tsks.

“Who said I didn’t?”

“No one. You’re just like if a stone wall was a person, is all.”

Billy giggles at that. Not laughs. Not chuckles. Giggles.

It’s a very not manly sound and has Gareth spreading a sort of bewildered grin upon hearing it, while also serving to chip the lingering intimidation away.

“I am not,” Billy muses.

“Yes huh. With barbed wire at the top, spikes at the bottom, and maybe even a mote with alligators up front.”

“Mm, and what makes you say that?”

The question makes Gareth think for a beat. They’re nearing his street now, and he sighs as he shrugs half-heartedly. Gestures at Billy lamely with his hand and earns a quirked eyebrow.

“I dunno. You’re… you, I guess.” The truck pulls up to the curb in front of Gareth’s house, and Billy throws it in park. Doesn’t take the key out of the ignition or move to open his door just yet. “Like some heavily guarded fortress at the top of a hill, overlooking a tiny village with no line of defense.”

The brunet presses his lips into a line. Doesn’t bother looking at the other seat out of embarrassment.

Billy is quiet. Then, he clicks his tongue and shifts idly in his seat, hand still on the wheel.

“I’m not really big on mystical analogies, but…” he begins with a sigh. “I’m more like the princess at the top of the tower, stuck in the fortress. Guarded by a fire-breathing dragon.” Billy drums his fingers against the steering wheel before he lets his hand drop to his lap. “There’s something to be said about Eddie and Steve being some knights in shining armor or something, but I think you get it.”

They sit there for a handful of seconds. Gareth mulls it over, thinks about what to say, but before he can open his mouth, Billy kills the engine. Pushes his door open and climbs out.

The truck jostles when he drops the tailgate, and Gareth hesitates before he gets out as well.

This time, rather than stand by and watch, he helps move everything from the bed to the garage. It goes by quicker, at least, that’s how it feels when they’re finally finished. Billy tosses the straps into the back of the truck and shuts the tailgate, cracking his knuckles absently.

“You need help setting anything up?” he offers.

Gareth shoves his hands into his pockets and glances over his shoulder into his garage.

“Nah, I got it from here,” he says. “Thanks.”

Billy nods.

“Anytime.”

He knocks lightly on his truck before he goes to walk back to the driver’s seat. Gareth chews his lip.

“See ya, princess.”

At that, Billy giggles again. Climbs into the front seat and starts it up. Then he’s driving away, music blasting, and Gareth turns to walk up the length of his driveway.

He’s still irritated about the events of today, but he’s a little relieved, too.

Because maybe Hargrove isn’t all that bad.

#gareth stranger things #billy hargrove #steve harrington #eddie munson #harringroveson #steddilly #metalsandwich #chubby billy hargrove #soft billy hargrove #misunderstandings #this is very self indulgent #ooc? unrealistic? not my major concern #billy is so princess despite the Everything about how he looks #fav thing is making him the ‘man of the house’ but also knowing hes the Bottom #my writing #ficlet #mostly unedited