#the way this person can’t stop talking about me
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OBSESSED: TOJI
A/N: You’re booked. Busy. Filled to the brim with board meetings. Then your car decides to stop functioning. There’s one mechanic shop open and somehow they seem to only hire God’s sweetest eye candy. One of which keeps getting stuck in the back of your throat. Uh—I mean—
S/N: Toji Mother-Fucking (literally) Fushiguro. Idk why it took me so long to feature this green-eyed monster but I am foaming at the mouth for this AU, him, and his lil vampy co-worker. Toji girlies, can’t WAIT to rush Toji Tau Sigma this fall 🙂↕️
C/W: ….he’s his own CW. Mature, 18+. MDNI.
Art credit: yashaliart_01 on insta
Music: for the love of God if you don’t listen to Obsessed x Mariah Carey I’m calling the coast guard. Reader wants to pretend Toji is not her newest vice so BAD. Ive never laughed so hard and been so painfully turned on writing a piece. SOMEONE tell me not to make this a series RN.
“Can I get a little help here?”
Toji grabs the rag nestled in the back pocket of his heavy work cargos. Charcoal ink stains the fabric.
Bugatti engines are such a bitch. And make a mess like one too.
“Hello? Am I talking to a wall or..?”
And just like that, you’ve earned yourself a few more seconds of silence.
The mechanic’s Evergreen gaze and satisfied smirk peer back at him in the mirror. Not even a second passes before you ensnare him in your fiery scrutiny.
Ahh, yes. Just his type.
You are mean.
With a sexy fucking silhouette. An angry merlot painted on those beautiful, pouted lips. A fresh manicure and keys to your Benz dig into hips that have definitely stopped traffic.
The mirror image isn’t enough of a bite. Toji needs a real taste, so he turns around to lock eyes with his new favorite unsatisfied customer.
“Mornin, doll.”
“Nice of you grace me with your presence! I was starting to think no one worked here.”
Melodramatic, the way you narrow your gaze to bring his name tag into focus. It’s hot, though. All this sarcasm and irritation.
“—Toji? Is it?” You hiss venom. Clearly there’s a point you’re in a hurry to make.
But..
it’s 7:13 AM on a lovely Monday morning. Birds are singing. The Red Bull he just downed was particularly delicious. Life is good, right now.
Toji has all the time in the world.
He’s in no rush. Especially when a stunning, uptight, bratty little thing — sorry, career woman — like you woke up and chose him to be your personal punching bag.
And he’s built to take hits. From fists much, much larger than yours, gorgeous.
“Toji, it is. What can I do for you, darlin?”
And he knew that sweet, innocent pet name would dump diesel fuel all over those pretty flames.
You ramble off your full name as if he is going to use it. By the time he’s through with you, you won’t have any use for it either.
His name, though. You’ll have plenty use for his name.
“…and when the stupid thing turns on this morning, the dash light won’t turn off.”
Toji lands on earth just in time to clasp the car keys shoved into his chest. You’re gawking at him. Expecting a fury of motion and urgency. Because your charming little fingers demand it.
So accustomed to time stopping and starting on your watch, aren’t you?
“You’re so pretty.” Toji responds with a shit eating grin.
Just for the huffing and puffing you’re currently displaying. Sputtering about how unprofessional he is. And how much work you have to get done.
Adorable.
Toji slips past your disdain and makes his way to the front door. Matte black G-Wagon with a champagne interior. The vision of you behind the wheel, scowling at traffic, in your tailored dress and stilettos makes his cock twitch.
“She’s a beauty.” He calls from the driver seat.
“That’s why I bought it. Can you please pick up the pace a little?”
Both arms are folded across your chest, eyes rolling at his wasted breath stating the obvious.
You’re going to look phenomenal when he has those defiant arms pinned above your head. He’ll diminish those daggers in your eyes to tears. And make those puffy lips whimper for mercy.
Toji will have you begging him to pick up the pace in no time. Your snarky comment was just a test run.
The mechanic lets out a low chuckle, his eyes scan the dash for the source of your apparent distress.
The tire pressure gauge.
Really, gorgeous? This is why you’re screwed so tightly this morning?
It should take approximately 3 minutes to fix. But there’s no way Toji is letting you slip away from his skilled fingers so easily. Not when you need to be unwound.
Unraveled bit by bit until you’re a warm, sweet, puddle of manners and gratitude.
“Alright, babydoll—“
“My name is—“
“I’ll have my guys get to workin on it, sweetheart.”
He can play this game all day. You scoff. Temporarily placated by his promise of a fix.
“It’s an all day job, though.” Toji’s right hand man comes into view.
The only other guy in the shop (on the planet) to get as much play as he does without meaning to.
Women are insane about his stupid, empty-headed, love-drunk stare. And the purple rings around his eyes like the last time he got sleep was in his mother’s womb. Always giggling and asking about “the hot one with the pigtails” and “the pretty one with the tattoo on his nose.”
If he were a less confident man, Toji would’ve called someone else over. But the kid gets his antics.
And today is going to be stuffed with them.
“Choso! Can you take this beauty to the back for repair?”
Dracula’s first born is sporting his hair down today. Already a bit damp from work. He gives you a once over, then offers a smile that evaporates underwear off of women.
“Happy to. Which beauty am I taking to the back?”
“Ha, quit your lover boy shit.” Toji teases, and you sneer at his hypocrisy.
“The car, big guy. Have it ready by 5:00, yeah?”
“5:00 pm?” You do a thing with your hands eventually landing on your hips. And Toji’s dick leaks like a virgin.
“Well, there must be a courtesy rental. My first meeting starts in an hour.”
“I’m so sorry, miss. We don’t have that.”
Kamo, you slick fuck.
Choso apologizes with his signature puppy-eyes and half open mouth. Even you, made of sharp words and soft curves. Goddess of Fire and Ice, you melt under his gaze.
Toji snickers to himself, while you stutter to a shockingly patient understanding.
Something about the boy looking half asleep and like he can’t string letters together to spell his own name always does the trick. Leaving you wide open for the kill.
“Tell you what, sweetheart.” Toji moves in with an assassin’s expertise.
“Consider me your courtesy rental.”
“I’m sorry—what?” You flicker between the two smiles, rightfully suspicious.
“I’ll get you from point A to point B, safe and sound.” The mechanic offers again with a broad smile, dangling his own car keys in his hand.
Pensive eyes drop down to your watch. Board meetings start soon and he is offering a courtesy ride.
“Fine.” Finally, a little submission.
“It’s a 10 minute drive. The high rise on the corner of Koen and Mitake street.”
The financial district. No wonder why you’re so tightly wound.
“I know exactly, where we are going.” Toji beams. Beating your slender fingers to the passenger door. You barely mutter a ‘thanks’ before settling into the seat.
You in your heels. And suit jacket. And handbag that costs enough to feed a large family for 6 months. Nestled so perfectly into his passenger seat. Toji can’t help but acknowledge how hard his dick is right now.
The career woman clearly doesn’t approve of how fast he is hurling down corner streets. But you should understand, no? Places to be, and all that jazz?
“Uh, I’m sorry, where exactly are you taking me?” You perk up. Darting those beautiful warm eyes at the very short building in front of you.
Not the corner of Koen and Mitake street, but Toji’s favorite coffee shop about 3 blocks over. The only place in the city that can get an Americano right - La Parisian.
Toji grins maniacally. Pulling his sports car into a front row spot.
“Point A, darlin.”
“Look, I don’t know what kind of game you are playing but I swear—“
“C’monnn. Lighten up.” He turns to face your incredulous expression. You wear it well, by the way.
“People stand when you walk in a room.” He continues. “They’ll still stand if you’re 5 minutes late and properly caffeinated.”
Silence. Two huffs. A bitten lower lip. And one long, drawn out sigh.
“Fine. 5 minutes, max. Then I’ve got to get going I have—“
“Meetings baby, I know.” Toji finishes you off.
He steps out of the driver’s seat fast enough to be at your door before your fingers touch the handle.
The two of you walk in stride (in Toji’s mind) to the cafe. It’s adorable how you beeline towards the pastry display. Salivating over the various treats. Doing the thing women do, badgering the person manning the register about nutritional details.
As if your figure wouldn’t make any living red-blooded human being fall to their knees.
“What can I get started for you?” The barista probes.
“I’ll have a soy London Fog latte, please.” You flicker over to the dessert you think you’re leaving behind.
“And?” Toji probes. He taps the glass in front of the vanilla macaroon.
Another crack in the shield. You flash him a genuine smile for 0.04 seconds before turning back to the register.
“…and a vanilla macaroon, please.” You’re cute when you’re sheepish.
“And I’ll have the largest iced Americano you can make, thanks.”
Toji closes out the transaction and you two mosey over to a small table by a window. Your shoulders relax with the first sip of coffee.
A satisfied grin tugs on your chauffeur’s lips. He knew what you needed the second he laid eyes on you.
Much to your chagrin, and Toji’s delight — conversation flows like a bottomless well between you. The second something warm and another thing sweet landed on your tongue — the shield crumbled down.
You’re an account executive.
You work 80+ hour weeks.
Live in an uppity neighborhood with a Doberman named Rocky. You got him because you like walking around at night to clear your mind. Having a dog taller than you on its hind legs and probably twice your size has eased your anxiety about that.
You have a mean sweet tooth.
And you’re single. Have been for the last year or so.
“And not looking to change that anytime soon.” You reiterate, tossing him a look.
Toji holds his hands up in feigned defeat. “I wasn’t plannin’ on it, sweetheart.”
You’ve warmed up to his pet names, albeit against your will. But you’re there. The both of you harmonize light-hearted laughter. Fitting together like missing puzzle pieces.
“Your eyes are so green.”
A rather obvious observation of your own, after a few moments of comfortable silence.
As if your eyes don’t bend time.
Toji catches his breath before responding.
“They are…your kids could have ‘em too, if you want.”
You burst into another fit of giggles. Unknowingly driveling rogue pastry on your chin. Babbling on and on about how ridiculous he is. And how cheesy his pick up lines are.
Meanwhile, you’re sitting there all high powered and intelligent. With a smile that makes him want to be a better man than he is.
…and pastry all over your chin.
Yeah.
He’s going to marry you one day.
Toji reaches over and swipes the macaroon off your chin. A sharp gasp tumbles from your lips, staring at his fingers. Which Toji slips into his mouth.
He’s a betting man and would put money down on the fact that the dessert tastes exponentially better off of your skin.
“Toji!!”
“What else can I do for you?” Each word more smug than the last.
“You could’ve told me I had food on my face!” Bunny lines along your nose deepen when you frown and Toji’s cock throbs to life.
“Why?” The mechanic shrugs. “I wanted to lick it off instead.”
The choppy inhale is music to Toji’s ears. You avoid him. Like the plague. Peeling your gaze away and planting it on the side window. Under the guise of people watching.
But Toji knows better.
He doesn’t miss the way you struggle to swallow your last bite. Or your thighs coming together so aggressively beneath the small table, rip tides break the surface of his Americano.
“I felt that, baby.” Toji leans in. Shameless about the way he scans your face.
Your lips should be outlawed.
The bottom one is marginally fuller than the top, so it naturally hangs a bit open. Inviting the most vile thoughts from his cock. Toji’s rational mind went to sleep the second you climbed into his passenger seat, princess.
“What?” You sputter, gulping down the rest of your U.K. cloudy cappuccino, or whatever.
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Your voice is steady, but the fidgeting and cagey eye contact hold the truth.
Oh, really?
“You’re squirming in your seat.” Toji counters, unblinking. Filling as much of your personal space as he can without tipping over.
“Quick to cross your legs—“
“Toji!”
Is your underwear as sticky as your face is flushed? Saliva pools in one direction, warm pre-cum pools in the other.
“You are so out of—“
“All that talkin’ and you haven’t denied it once, doll.”
Toji’s palm digs into his crotch underneath the table. You are fucking his brain smooth with the raspberry blush along your nose and high cheeks. Sure, the sarcasm and ball-busting is hot, but this?
The Career Woman suddenly so flustered and shy?
You’re already thawed out. All he needs to do is dive in.
Toji blinks back to reality when you rocket up from the table at warped speed. Your fingers clumsily fondle the zipper of your purse.
“Excuse me for a minute.” You’re halfway to the restroom stalls by the end of your sentence.
The mechanic lasers down to the serpentine curve of your hips. Your plump, perky ass is just begging to be handled. It’s a felony, the way your work dress hugs your body.
Is he really going to do this?
Heat slams into his groin. Wave after wave of lust slowly chipping at his teetering self-control.
You might slap him.
Call him a goddamn pervert.
…and just the thought of either of those things makes his dick beat against his zipper.
Fuck it.
Toji is slick, how he maneuvers his way over to the restrooms. Both single-use stalls occupied, he walks up to you muttering some kind of pep talk to yourself.
“Get your shit together.” You spit out.
Amused, Toji leans against the wall behind you. Curious about where this cute little speech is going to go.
“He’s a rando you met at a mechanic shop. For fuck sake, are you that horny?”
“Sounds like it, baby.” Toji takes the liberty to answer. You whip your head around and crawl out of your skin.
Eyes wider than a newborn kitten. Mouth gaping as if you’re trying to show off how much you can handle. Toji swallows a groan. He can’t lose control. Not a chance. He has to savor his first taste of you like this. And every taste after that.
Because, the weather in Hell is a balmy 0 degrees Fahrenheit and you are his, now.
“I—uh, I—“ Your eyes dart over to the poor soul opening the bathroom door in slow motion.
You think you’ve found an out, gorgeous?
Toji is faster and bigger than you are. Gripping the handle of the open door, ushering you into his new lair. Still choking on the shock of him catching your admission, you look to your left and right before diving into the empty bathroom.
“Toji I…”
Your back hits the wall and eyes settle on your hands. Shifty and nervous. Toji palms himself at the sight of you caged in like this.
He’s disgusting, he knows that.
And normally, he would ask permission. Being a gentleman and all.
But there’s something too alluring about the way you’re trembling right now. The obvious conflict written all over your face, and heaving chest…and tense thighs…
His cock can’t take another second.
And apparently neither can you.
Because the second his fingers cup the back of your neck and his breath grazes your mouth you crash into him. Slotting your puffy lips into his, taking him by surprise for a millisecond.
“Oh, T-toji.” You whine into his mouth. Grasping at his shoulders that are far too wide, far too muscular for your dainty grip.
Fucking, christ.
Hearing his name like that.
The gorgeous, high-pitched, pathetic plea trails down his ears to his aching sex and jerks it. If his cargos were any lighter you would’ve seen the pre-pubescent mess he’s making in his pants right now.
But they aren’t. And you don’t.
You mewl at how Toji nips at your bottom lip. Sinking it underneath his teeth until its swells to his liking. Melting beneath his large grasp, currently riding the dizzying lines of your hips and ass.
“You taste fucking good, baby.” Toji mumbles into your warm cavern. Licking along the warm, soft ridges.
“Ah-T..god.” You pull away and dive into his neck. Attempting to hide your utterly fucked out daze, but he won’t let you.
Toji palms your ass with a tenth of his strength. You yelp and jump into his arms. He takes advantage of the momentum and lifts you high on his waist. Temporarily forcing you to look down on him.
Glassy eyed. Kiss abused lips. Panting and heaving. Cupping his face like your hands were made to.
And something tight clenches in Toji’s chest. It takes a moment for him to shake it off, but it existed.
He’ll revisit that later.
“You look good up there, babydoll.” He pants, before setting you down on the sink ledge. He catches your chin in his hand before you turn away. Rooting you in place.
“I…Toji.”
Moaning his name like you’re begging for him to start and stop all at once.
Your eyes descend to his lips. Watching the smirk blossoming across his face. Distracted enough not to notice his free hand shove up your dress in one swift motion.
Your thighs recognize his authority and melt wide open for him. He kisses your tiny whimpers while nestling between them.
“Mmmgh g-god please.”
“This why you were so bratty this mornin baby?”
Toji’s index and long fingers stroke your soaked, clothed core. Thin lace panties plastered to your warm sex. You wind your hips into his fingers. Batting your eyelashes up at him as if he’s going to give you what you want so easily.
He hovers his lips over yours. Pulling away each time you lunge forward for a kiss. Pouty and frustrated, you dig your nails into his neck and grind along his stationary fingers.
“T-Toji, please…I’m so..ahh.”
“Needy cunt just wanted some attention, mm?”
His fingers slip past your opening, and you offer up a soprano moan that shatters to stardust.
Hedonistic noises fill the spaces between both of your punched out gasps. You’re fucking tight. Gummy, slick walls clamp down around his knuckles when he curves up to pet your pleasure spot.
The steel pipe between his legs throbs against his thigh. Demanding friction. But one hand is cupping your chin and the other is so pussy drunk an army couldn’t pry his fingers away.
“T..I—I’m oh fuck I—“
Toji bites down on your bottom lip. And you clench around him. Gushing more of your sweet arousal into his palm. And he damn near laps it up with his greedy tongue.
“Shhh baby,” he coos against your jaw.
“Can’t have everyone hearing the Executive getting fucked open by some mechanic’s hands can you?”
There is a delicious irony in you treating him like a punching bag no more than an hour ago and now bucking your hips on his fingers, chasing an ever elusive high.
Sandpaper lines Toji’s throat.
He wants nothing more than to bounce you on his cock in this bathroom. Fill you up with his cum and send you to your meetings full of him.
But you haven’t learned your lesson yet.
“What did I promise baby?” Toji strains in your ear. His hand migrates from your chin to your neck, while his fingers ‘pick up the pace a little.’
His pretty little powerhouse.
You babble a chorus of nothing. Unable to breathe, unable to think. Only drip. And leak. And squelch around his digits. Toji tightens the grip around your pulse point. Lulling your mouth open.
“Talk to me, princess. What did I promise you?” He probes again, stealing air from your lungs.
Tha—y-you would…p—point A.” Barely audible syllables tumble out of you. Ascending in pitch. Your hips reflexively try to pull away from your threatened orgasm.
“Keep going, I’m listenin.”
“Oh fuck T..Toji?! I-Im c-im gonna—”
“I know, baby.” He smears wet kisses along your jawline. “ I can hear how messy your precious little pussy is. But I didn’t give you permission to stop. Keep going.”
Your walls spasm at his command. Followed by an angelic pitiful little whine. You’re close. So close.
“P-P-point A to—“
“Point B.”
Toji finishes your sentence as you reach nirvana. Full body convulsions. He slots his arms around the small of your waist. And it fits like it was molded for him. Like you were sculpted for him.
And he, for you.
The mechanic burns his gaze into your skin. Riding each choppy wave of your ecstasy. Such tiny, sexy sounds. Staccato breaths fanning his lips, his chin, his neck when you try to hide from his scrutiny.
You are a goddamn dream.
And his future wife.
Toji guessed it when the macaroon balanced on your chin for a full 30 seconds before you swiped it away and accused him of defamation of character.
But now?
Watching you saddle this stallion of an orgasm. Clawing at his back with all the desperation of a pretty little damsel in distress.
Distress at just his fingers, alone.
What intoxicating melody will he unlock when he laps up the honey straight from your core? How will you gasp and moan and squirm when he single-handedly re-shapes your cunt to accommodate his size?
He has no clue.
But Toji will spend forever figuring you out. And mastering you.
The back of your neck fits beautifully into his grasp as he coaxes you from hiding. Pupils blown out. Cheeks flushed and warm. Tendrils matted along your forehead. Before he can speak, you beat him to the punch.
Of course you do.
“I’ve decided,” You pant. The baseline spice returning to your grin.
“That you might just be obsessed with me, Toji.”
Both of you share a hushed laugh. Exchanging cotton candy breaths. But then his lips accidentally brush yours and Toji can’t help but dive in for a kiss. Fucking the warm cavern of your mouth with his tongue.
You pull away before he’s ready, with a look on your face that makes him feel like a God.
“I might be.” Toji whispers, partially against his will. His lips find the corner of your mouth. Careful to avoid falling victim to your pout again.
“Let’s get you to the other point B, baby.”
The car ride to your office could make anyone queasy.
Constant banter back and forth. Full bodied laughs. You mindlessly stroking his forearm with those angelic fingers riling his cock up as if it just now discovered women.
You let out a small sigh, with slightly dropped shoulders when your office building comes into view. Toji doesn’t know how to interpret it. But for him? Reality is coming too quickly.
“So,” You start once the both of you are out of the car. Pretty face tilting up and Toji’s dick strains against its confines.
“What do I owe you, Mr. Fushiguro?”
The way you say his name.
It takes the will of God for Toji to bite back his original response.
“Nothin, doll.” He’s wearing the same, dumb, love-struck face Choso wears on a daily basis. Shockingly, Toji couldn’t care less.
“The tires just needed air. Choso will drop it off in an hour.”
He would do it himself. But the urge to park in an empty lot and abuse the fuck out of his cock until a shred of clarity re-settles in his mind is a tad bit overwhelming, sweetheart.
Then your mouth drops in an incredulous ‘Oh’ and all Toji can picture is ruining the back of your throat. How pretty you are going to be wretching around his girth. Gasping for air. Choking on his cum.
“Toji. Fushiguro.” You like using his name, don’t you?
“You held me hostage for a whole morning for some air—“
Toji kisses the rest of your complaints off your tongue. And you whine. Slot open for him with no resistance. Because under all that irritation and sarcasm, buried within the Trojan Horse, lays your supple, delectable submission.
And he will take every opportunity to taste it.
“I had a great time on our first date, babydoll.” Toji rasps against your swollen lips.
The raging erection is threatening to embarrass him. There’s not enough restraint in the world to be around you any longer. Toji nestles your voice in his back pocket. The two of you watch each other with wordless, taken aback smiles as he takes slow steps toward his sports car.
Before the mechanic sinks into the driver’s seat, he makes a promise.
“Can’t wait for our second date, Mrs. Fushiguro!”
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what do you think stalker!anis body count is?
i can’t work out if he’s had a “fuck everything that walks” phase or not
I’ve thought about this a lot actually, cause I’ve also had trouble deciding that lmao. I originally intended for stalker!ani to have BPD, but as he developed as a character I think antisocial personality disorder fits him much, much better. Both disorders experience hypersexuality.
In this essay I will…
Stalker!Anakin has never had a girlfriend before reader. Unfortunately he was painfully awkward and strange during his elementary school years:
Exhibit A: tying nettles together with worms (a beautiful bouquet if you ask me) and giving them to a girl he thought was pretty.
Exhibit B: staring and unapologetically eavesdropping on any conversation.
Exhibit C: starting conversations with “I am Anakin Skywalker, I am seven years old and I like to collect Hot Wheels. Do you like to collect Hot Wheels?” (Bc his therapist said he should try to be ‘relatable’ by finding people with similar interests. How is he expected to do that unless he systematically goes through his entire class list and initiates/interviews his classmates??)
Moving onto his middle school years were even worse bc he found out that girls are hot and hot girls make him horny. Everyone remembered him as the weird kid, told the other sixth graders and ruined his chances of winning people over with his new, carefully crafted personality/mask.
So when he asked his crush to the homecoming dance he bought real flowers (sans worms!!), and his mom helped him find a cute sign on Pinterest to copy… She refused the flowers and said “ew”, thinking there were prob bugs in it (she’d heard the gossip). Anakin unwrapped the flowers and shook them out to prove they were indeed wormless, made a joke and then the girl reconsidered her refusal and decided ‘hey maybe he’s not so bad, all kids are weird anyway so he’s probably fine now’.
Turns out he was in fact trying to be fine & normal. But ended up in a ‘Carrie at prom’ situation at the homecoming dance bc the guy who also liked Anakin’s date was there. Anakin ended up with a suspension and the other guy ended up with the girl.
Then the summer of 7th grade he wacked a grown man with a table.
That didn’t bode well for his highschool conquests of course! So he got his rocks off with the occasional use of the good ol’ ‘hide in the bushes with binoculars and hope Becky from Algebra changes in front of her window again’
Anakin got his first job at the Hot Topic when he was 17. This is where he tried out everything he’d learned over the years and he realized he was actually very decent at speaking to girls as long as he kept up his masked personality. Anakin stayed a virgin until a pretty girl with a nose ring (she worked at Claire’s, he was getting his ear pierced) complimented his Suicidal Tendencies t-shirt and he smooth talked his way into getting her in his car after his shift. Then… continued to do that for a while, strictly fucking. She thought it was strange that he never really wanted to talk before or after.
He was just trying to perfect his sex game and she was just a body. She wasn’t his dream gal, so she was perfect for making mistakes and learning from them. He didn’t have to worry about appearances or properly apologizing for accidentally not doing super great at something, he could just move on and keep going. After all, she was just a body to practice on.
Unfortunately for Anakin he had a brand new court appointed therapist at the time who didn’t think promiscuity was good for the healing and reconditioning process (it wasn’t).
So Anakin put a stop to fuckin’ the girl from Claire’s. He was very confused that she was so upset when he just completely ignored her. The next time they both worked, she waited at his truck like usual and he walked right past her and got in his truck, locked the door and backed out of the parking spot without waiting for her to move (she was fine just really mad).
Claire’s girl confronted him about it, thinking she’d done something to upset him and asked if that was his way of breaking up with her. Anakin’s like??? Break up?? We were never dating!!?? (This is how he found out that when you fuck someone weekly for over four months they will more than likely form an emotional attachment)
To avoid a repeat of that incident when he moved to the city for college (he dropped out obvi), he got a job as a bartender for the sole purpose of people watching for research and practicing being a normal dude. Being a normal dude includes learning how to pick up chicks, so I think he probably took a girl home once or twice a month just to keep sharp on his pretending and fucking skills so he’d be on his best game when he found the right girl.
So in conclusion, yes he did have a ‘fuck everything that walks’ phase. Just not for the sex. For research.
me reading the DSM-5 and diagnosing him. [im a doctor you can trust me]
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Part 1 of a 5 part series about the ways harmful practices are being made to sound more appealing through the co-opting of language and how to spot the differences between helpful and harmful approaches.
The language of the Neurodiversity Paradigm is soooo hot right now. Everyone from ABA centers to social media creators are adopting it to sound like they’re safer and more knowledgeable than they are.
But you can’t just pop some neuro-word in place of “autism” and stop picking on a couple of Autistic traits and call yourself “Neuro-affirming.” That’s the low-hanging fruit of #neurodiversitylite.
REAL Neuro-affirming practice comes from a complete shift in mindset, unlearning all the harmful things you once thought were true, and learning about all the things you never even knew you didn’t know. It’s also an ongoing process, not just something you can learn from reading an article or taking a single training.
ABA practitioners are probably the worst offenders right now, mainly because they know they need to rebrand as more and more people learn about what ABA really does to people, but also because their practices in particular are THE furthest away from being Neuro-affirming compared to any other discipline.
They are not the only ones, though, so be wary of #neurodiversitylite in ANY resource aimed at autistic people that appears to be saying all the right things, including: OT, speech, play/talk therapy, early intervention, education, your favorite parenting expert or social media personality who just discovered the world of Neurodiversity, etc.
Look beyond someone’s use of the “right” words or symbols. Do they talk about teaching people to fit into the normative world, or how to more safely and authentically navigate a world not made for them? Do they talk about making the person easier to deal with, or making life easier for the person? Do they concentrate on external behaviors, or are they more concerned with internal experiences? Does most of what they know come from people who studied autistic people from the outside looking in, or from actual autistic people who can speak from lived experience? And are they even using the words right??
The good news is that there are SO MANY resources out there BY autistic and otherwise Neurodivergent people for anyone who wants to learn how to make their practice *actually* more Neuro-affirming. SO MANY!! Three such resources are featured in the second panel from Autism Level UP, Neurowild, and Kieran Rose-The Autistic Advocate. (Big thanks to them for letting me include their work in the cartoon!)
EXPLANATION OF WHAT’S WRONG IN THE “FAKE” PANEL:
- The phrase “individuals with neurodiversity” misuses the word “neurodiversity” and utilizes person first language. The Neuro-affirming phrase would be “neurodivergent people,” or “autistic people” if they specifically meant autistic people.
- Getting rid of puzzle piece stuff is merely a surface level first step, not an end point.
- Not forcing eye contact and allowing hand-flapping are also only surface level first steps. The fact that they still target other stims means they do not understand the importance or functions of stimming, making them incapable of being Neuro-affirming.
- Social skills training aimed at ND people usually centers NT social skills as the “right way” and frames ND social skills as the “wrong way,” making them shame inducing and not at all affirming.
- “Tolerating distress” most often means “suppressing distress.” Neuro-affirming practice would concentrate on identifying and avoiding triggers, helping the person stay regulated, and teaching the person how to accommodate and advocate for their needs so that they are not distressed in the first place.
- “Sensory desensitization” is not a thing that can be done to someone without harm. It is usually done with exposure therapy, which should not be done TO someone who cannot consent. It is also inappropriate for sensory issues, which tells us they don’t understand sensory processing differences at all.
- The posters: Whole Body Listening is based on neuronormative expectations; “They say I’m neurodiverse” is incorrect usage of the word “neurodiverse” (it should be “neurodivergent”), and “but I say I’m perfect” insinuates that being “neurodiverse” is a bad thing, while the use of the rainbow infinity symbol with such a non-affirming message adds to the dissonance; the ABC’s of Behavior is an indicator that ABA/behaviorism will be used, which is the opposite of Neuro-affirming practice.
EXPLANATION OF WHAT’S RIGHT IN THE “REAL” PANEL:
- The person accurately explains what Neuro-affirming practice looks like, without needing to use (or misuse) any Neurodiversity “buzzwords.”
- Bumper, A Whole Body Learner, is a resource created by Autism Level UP that encourages people to discover what it looks like for them to be ready to learn, acknowledging that there is no one right way to appear attentive.
- The poster by Neurowild indicates that they value difference and neurodiversity and that they know there is no one right way of being.
- They use the Advoc8 Framework, a resource created by Kieran Rose, The Autistic Advocate. Using this framework means they want to help the people they work with achieve Agency, Autonomy, (Self) Acceptance, and Authenticity.
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The way it has JUST dawned on me exactly why Mu Qing is so smug all the time about Xie Lian. The truth is that any time someone does something good for others, it ALWAYS comes back to bite them. Nobody is grateful, nobody is thankful, and most of the time you get physically hurt even trying. Mu Qing’s conclusion about this is “there is literally no point in being a good person because it will only get you hurt.” He sees this pattern and he knows he’s right, and he especially sees it with Xie Lian. Think about how fucking smug Fu Yao is in the sinners pit when he finds out about “General Hua” and Xie Lian’s “death.” This is just another instance of Xie Lian’s efforts for good only ever going to waste and him getting beat to death and back for thinking he can still save the common people. What’s his problem? Won’t this idiot ever learn his lesson? When he sees the dilapidated shrine and sad excuse for a living arrangement Mu Qing looks joyous. What joy could he possibly find in another man’s suffering? It’s because it proves that trying to play good guy gets you nowhere. Mu Qing left all those years ago to focus on himself and it got him to a top martial god spot in heaven. He’s clearly right about this! This proves it!
It’s so obvious he’s right. If you want to get anywhere in life, you have to stop worrying about being “good” or “kind” because it will never bring you good returns. That’s true….so why can’t Xie Lian understand that? If every single time he gets kicked down for trying to do something nice, why bother getting up and trying again? What is he trying to accomplish?
The difference is that Xie Lian is kind not for the returns but because it is innate to him. It’s not that he never thought about himself in the past, it’s just that he’s never had a second thought about people deserving kindness in the world. Getting shot down never breaks his spirit like it breaks Mu Qing’s. Mu Qing can’t fucking stand that. He can’t stand that Xie Lian is so genuinely selfless, that he was wrong about his perception of him all those years ago. He can’t stand that Xie Lian is still trying to help him even though he knows he won’t appreciate it. If he really was only doing it for merit and to feel good about himself then everything would be fine! But now he has to grapple with the fact that he’s looking at a really, genuinely, good person and he’s just another person who shot him down. He realizes he’s looking at someone who’s stronger than him, physically and emotionally, better than him morally, despite all his talk about how they’re not that different when really they’re leagues away.
(Some book 8 spoilers below)
It messed with the flow of the paragraph so I didn’t mention it earlier, but in that second paragraph, Mu Qing’s mindset sounds a lot like Jun Wu. Jun Wu is trying to prove to Xie Lian that his path of kindness and selflessness is stupid and that when people knock him down he can choose the other (lesser) path. I always say That Mu Qing is like a foil to Xie Lian (I think this is that explanation) but if Jun Wu and Xie Lian are connected in this way then it’s almost reasonable to bring Mu Qing along too. And it makes sense that he doesn’t shine as bright in this point of view between the three of them, just like he always has. There’s something here but it was a wake up in the middle of the night with a cold sweat and a revelation kind of thing so it’s not really fleshed out at all. We’ll deal with it later.
#it’s the juxtaposition between reading 10000 gods cave on my computer and banyue arc on my phone#tgcf#heaven official's blessing#tian guan ci fu#Mu Qing#xie lian
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with me + part ten
authors note: none
song inspo: “with me” by destiny’s child
status: in progress // masterlist
warnings: fluff, language, suggestive themes, angst
words: 5.8k
taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns
You’ve never been a person who was big on holidays.
Never saw the massive appeal. Easter was annoying cause everyone and they mama showed up to church just to show off their kids silk press and frilly dresses. Halloween was too dark. Valentine’s Day was always a toss up, depending on where you and Amir were at the moment. And 4th of July….fuck America.
But Christmas…..in recent years, it’s starting to become a holiday you really enjoy. You owe a lot of that to Callie and her pure joy and excitement at the "most wonderful time of the year," for gifts, yes, but she loved celebrating “baby Jesus” birthday just as much.
And you couldn't deny that your town was most beautiful this time of year. Stunningly decorated, there wasn’t a non-resident building in town that wasn’t dressed down in HGTV worthy Christmas decor. Walking through town really felt like walking on the set of a Hallmark Christmas movie.
And the activities were endless, especially for kids.
Hence your current whereabouts, sitting on a bench with your mom as Callie partakes with a group of other kids in a workshop with some of ‘Santa’s elves’. Your eyes land on her more often than not, knowing you live in a safe area but never wanting to take any chances. You also notice how talkative she is at the table she’s seated at with another little girl. You smile. Seeing her interact with other kids always makes you happy. Once she gets past her initial shyness, you definitely see sprinkles of your extroverted personality in her.
Checking your phone from a text from Joe, you can’t avoid the pout when met with empty notifications.
Your mom, forever perceptive, notices this. “When does he come in?”
“Tomorrow,” you answer, unable to contain the smile on your face. You’re not sure who’s more excited about Joe’s return: you or Callie. Probably her, but you’re not that far behind.
And not even just for sexual reasons. Yes, that’s definitely up there, but also expected. Because one thing about sex with Joe: it’s addictive.
Having him like that for the first time in years awakened things in you that you forgot existed. No one could make you come like he could, and he knew it, hence his smug disposition during sex. One thing you were starting to realize was that Joe fucked like Roman, but he made love like Joe, and it was a deadly combination.
You woke up alone the morning after the date, but you knew that was the case because this man literally flew out for one night just to take you out. And dick you down.
But Joe being Joe, left you a note, like something out of one of those corny but sweet, romantic indie movies. It was thoughtful, but he’s always been thoughtful.
That shouldn’t have surprised you.
Just like you shouldn’t have been surprised to be woken up by Callie jumping on your bed, happy to see you and wanting to catch you up on her fun sleepover with Alexis. Alexis, who made sure that the first thing that she checked was the nightstand where that Plan B absolutely was nowhere to be found.
Used and discarded in your waste bin. That’s where it was.
The smirk she sent your way, you just knew she was gonna have a million and one questions. And clearly waiting for Callie to not be present to have that conversation was too much waiting, hence your phone buzzing with texts while you watched Wish with Callie.
Alexis: You dirty whore! I wanna know everything.
You: What’s there to tell? You don’t see the box anymore, do you?
Alexis: Bitch, you know what I mean. It was good, wasn’t it?
You: Girl…..good ain’t the word for it. 😩 I’m so tired and sore right now. He wore my ass out. Had me up all night.
You: I stopped counting after 4.
Alexis: 😖 You have no idea how much I love this for you.
Alexis: I’m also gonna take a wild guess that since you took the plan b, ya’ll didn’t use protection? He came in you, didn’t he? 👀
You: Every.single.time.
Alexis: Oh, he down baddddd.
Alexis: Shit, do I need to get you some pregnancy tests?
You: NO. It was just last night…..I may have to get on BC because that can’t be a regular thing.
Alexis: Well….don’t you want more kids anyway?
You: We’re not even dating, and you want me to get knocked up by this man?
Alexis: Bitch, you already have one child. Give her a sibling.
Alexis: And what do you mean you’re not dating? That is your man. Just own it.
It was a fun exchange, as are most things with Alexis, and it brought up a valid point. Joe was gonna have to either wrap it up or you were going to need to get back on the pill.
And you knew better than to tell her that this man literally asked you if you were on the pill and said good when you told him you weren’t. You haven’t given yourself time to process that….later date and time.
But Joe’s definitely been the subject of several dreams that left you waking up feeling aroused. Hence you counting down the days until his return, yes for Callie, but also because you desperately need your insides rearranged in a way only he can fulfill.
And you also just miss him.
Plain and simple.
“I take it things are going well between ya’ll.” Your mom gives you that all-knowing look that all moms possess. You roll your eyes, and she playfully nudges your shoulder. “I’m happy for you, sweetie. You deserve to be happy. You and Callie.”
“We’re just….I don’t know what we’re doing exactly, but….it is going well.” It seems a bit silly to not acknowledge that you and Joe are dating again, but until he confirms as such, you lean on the side of caution. Granted, you know he’s not fucking anyone else, and you damn sure aren’t either. You speak to each other as often as you can, and there’s seldom a conversation that occurs without one or both of you hinting at the mindblowing sex you’ll have once he returns.
Nope….not dating at all.
“Well, he’s divorced now, isn’t he?” You’d eventually caught your mom up on that important update, knowing that she would never really approve if his wife was still in the picture. She wouldn’t outright say anything, but her demeanor would be telling enough.
“Yes, but—”
“And he’s obviously very interested in being with you. I don’t need to ask if you’re interested in being with him, and Callie would do well in a healthy two-parent household.”
At that, you stop walking, arm in front of your mom. “Mama….you did amazing raising me all on your own. I owe you so much that it’d be impossible for me to ever repay you.” And it’s the truth. Definitely age and becoming a single mother yourself showed you just how much your mom sacrificed to keep a roof over your head and food in your belly. Your mom truly is your hero.
She smiles warmly, placing her gloved hand over yours. “I appreciate that, baby. But, if you don’t have to struggle, why should you? Joseph seems keen on being in Callie’s life and yours as well. What’s holding you back?”
You chuckle at her final question. “That’s more or less the same thing Alexis said.” Only gone for a couple days, you're starting to miss her too. She's been a great source of support the past couple weeks.
“I always did like that girl. A bit on the wild side, but I like her.” Oh, if your mom knew the extent of what that wildness looked like. Not just for Alexis but yourself. You’re certain your mom would have a heart attack if she knew you were a regular at the strip club in college. So much so that the owner knew you by name and often propositioned you for a job.
You’d be lying if you tried to say you didn’t consider it from time to time.
“Maybe it’s how we got together,” you guess aloud, sitting back against the bench. “I think I still have some guilt about doing that to his wife.”
It’s a take you’ve found yourself thinking about more and more over the past couple weeks. She may be out of the picture now, but she wasn’t when you first started messing with Joe. She was still his wife the first time you let him take you to bed, and that’s left a stain on your conscience you’re not entirely sure how to rid yourself of.
“I understand that entirely.” Hearing the change in your mom’s tone has you wondering if it’s truly wise to have this conversation with her. Is it still a sensitive subject? “But it seems they divorced before you even came back in the picture. Do you know why they finally went their separate ways?”
Shaking your head, you inform, “no, and a part of me wants to ask, but when he told me about it, I could see it was difficult for him. He had this….sadness in his eyes. And I don’t think it was because of the divorce itself but….something else.”
A part of you wants to ask him again, feels like it’s information you should know. But, another part of you doesn’t want to pry too much. If it’s a sensitive subject, you don’t want to reopen any open wounds.
“Well, if this continues to progress, it may be a discussion that needs to happen. Even if it just gives you a peace of mind.” You know she’s right. It’s just not something you’re ecstatic about having to do. “And you probably should also start thinking about what changes you may have to make for this to continue to work.”
Confused, you ask, “what do you mean?”
“He can’t keep flying in and out sporadically just to see his child. Or you. That’s not fair to any of ya’ll and not sustainable. You’re gonna have to relocate to wherever he lives.”
That….that is not something you’ve thought about until this very moment. You know Joe bends over backwards to make these visits work, but it hadn't occurred to you how long this dynamic could continue.
Your mom must see the wheels in your head turning, adding, “and think about Callie, once she finds out that’s her daddy, she’s gonna wanna be around him as much as possible. It could be easier if you’re a bit closer.”
You don’t know how true or untrue your mom’s take is, but it’s also another conversation that will have to happen between you and Joe. He’s always on the road in general. Will moving really do anything to help with his visits? Relocating is something you’ve never ever thought about. This is your home. You grew up here. Callie was growing up here. You always saw her growing up here.
But, that was also a version where Joe wasn’t in her life. Now he is. So, of course, some things would change.
You just didn’t imagine that is what would change.
Even if your mom’s guidance now has you wondering what it would be like to have a house together, the three of you, Callie, with an actual backyard she can run around in. Not just limited to the space of your apartment.
“I’m gonna go say hi to Gloria.” She taps your leg, gesturing to her friend’s store. “I’ll be right back.”
Nodding, you sit there, focusing on Callie instead of the nuggets of wisdom your mom just dropped on you.
“Long time no see, stranger.”
And just like that, you’re regretting ever agreeing to leave your place. You should have just done something at the apartment with Callie. Invited your mom over. Baked some cookies and shit.
Crossing your arms, you refuse to look his way. “Amir, it’s the happiest time of the year. Please leave me alone, and let me stay in my happy place.”
“You’re still upset with me?” He seems genuinely surprised at this, like you cussing him out in front of your daughter’s preschool wasn’t a good indicator of how upset you were. “Gotta let that shit go.”
“I don’t have to do anything but live, be black, and love my child.” Scooting to your edge of the bench, you tell him again. “Now go away.”
“We clearly need to talk this out—”
“No, we don’t need to do anything because there is no we.” You catch Callie’s eyes and remind yourself that you don’t need a part two of the last time. “I told you before. That’s done and over with. In all areas. You’ll never see my name pop up on your phone ever again.”
And that’s a promise.
“You’re so fuckin’ dramatic.” He’s growing annoyed. If only you cared. “Stop playing. What you doing tomorrow?”
“Sitting on my man’s face.”
Your answer seems to take him back. “He still around?” You don’t say anything. “You’re not stupid enough to be fucking him again, are you?”
“Amir, the only reason I was ever fucking you was because he wasn’t around, but he’s here now, and he’s not going anywhere. And without hurting your feelings before Christmas, I can promise you, dick is not something I will ever want or need from anyone else ever again.”
He scoffs, just looking at you with disgust. “Mariah was right. That nigga really does have you acting different.”
At that, your head snaps in his direction. “What did you just say?” Instantly, you see it. The regret in his face in realizing he’s fucked up. “Why were you talking to Mariah?” Your best friend couldn’t take your calls or texts, but she had time to fill your ex in on your private life? “When?”
He looks off, trying to hide the guilty expression you’ve already clocked. “We ran into each other at the store the other day.”
Lie.
Scoffing, you lean back against the bench. And you laugh. All you can do is laugh because never in a million years would you have put these pieces together, but it makes so much sense.
“Yeah, you can get the fuck away from me. Now.” Seeing him about to open his mouth again, you decide to separate yourself. “Fine. I’ll leave.”
And you do just that, moving to another available bench where you can still keep a close eye on Callie. It seems they’re nearing the end of the activity. One glance over to your previous seat, you see that Amir is gone.
Good.
Pulling out your phone, you send a simple text.
You: If you were too busy riding Amir’s average dick to message me back, you could have just said so.
There’s barely any time for you to slide your phone back into your purse when it beeps.
Mariah: ??????
It actually takes a lot in you not to call and cuss her out right then and there. You’ve been trying to get in contact with her for weeks and the minute you send her that, she remembers how to reply?
“Mommy!”
You’re grateful for Callie’s distraction. Smile on your face, you see she’s approached you with not only the little girl at her table but a man also wearing a friendly expression.
“This is my new friend! Her name is Taylor!” Taylor appears to be the same or around the same age as Callie, box braids styled into two space buns, and she and Callie share giggles like they’ve been friends for years. In a weird sort of way, she reminds you a lot of Callie.
“It seems the girls have connected,” the man speaks with a chuckle. He offers his hand. “I’m Darius. Taylor’s dad.”
Your phone goes off and you quickly glance, hoping it’s Joe.
Mariah: Can we talk?
Instantly, you reorient yourself to the conversation at hand.
“It appears they have,” you agree, offering your name and asking, “are you from around here?”
“Naw. Just visiting some family. Me and my wife.” He looks around. “She should be somewhere around here. Her parents only live about an hour out, so they came to meet us.”
“Oh, cool.” Glancing at the girls, you recognize that plotting look on Callie’s face and wait patiently. Coyly, you share with Darius, “I believe a request is coming.”
“Oh, most definitely.”
Sure enough, Callie is holding onto your leg, face peering up at you. “Mommy, can we see the fireworks tomorrow?” That’s certainly not what you expected to hear her ask. Callie has never been too big on fireworks. When she was younger, you’d have to lay in bed with her and soothe her to sleep because they made her nervous. Now she wants to go to an actual show? “Taylor is going too, right Taylor?”
Taylor nods happily. “And my mommy and grandma and grandpa.”
It's like the mentioning of additional parties triggers something for her, Callie offering suddenly, “Joe can come too!”
That gives you a pause. Joe’s never gone out in public with the two of you, outside of the hospital, but that doesn’t necessarily count. It was an emergency, not happy hour.
There’s a bit of anxiety, even though you know your town is the perfect place to do so. You’d put your head on the chopping board that less than five people would actually approach him, asking for autographs and such. They might recognize him, but they’d never approach.
It’ll also be the first time Callie can refer to him as her father instead of just Joe.
Finally deciding, you answer, “if you want to, baby.”
You and Darius share a laugh as the girls rejoice together. He pulls out his phone and offers, “why don’t I give you my wife’s number? You two can communicate regarding the meetup and whatnot.”
“Yeah, of course.” Exchanging information, you program Bianca Johnson into your phone, sending her a text after Darius says he’s already messaged her regarding Taylors new best friend.
It’s in programming the number though that you see an incoming call from Mariah. It’s an immediate decline.
Mariah: Would you pick up the damn phone, please?
Navigating to her thread, you put her on mute. It’s almost Christmas. You refuse to allow her or anyone else to ruing this for you or Callie.
________
Personally, you believe that there should be a mandatory set time for Children to wake up on Christmas. Preferably, any time after 10am. 12pm would be even better but highly unlikely given most kids go to bed extra early on Christmas Eve. Callie is no different. You and Joe get her down by 6:30pm which should have given you ample time to bake cookies, finish wrapping her gifts, the whole nine yards.
If only you two had a better sense of self-control, because the minute you were confident Callie was out for the night, he had you bent over the kitchen island. And that was….that was fine, because you’d been thinking about him being inside you from the moment he stepped foot in your place. Hell, from the moment he left.
But then you somehow ended up riding him on the living room floor, his back propped up against the sofa as you bounced on his dick, surrounded by the toys you should have been wrapping for your daughter. And while you eventually did get the gifts wrapped and cookies baked, you weren’t even able to change from out of your towel and into pajamas when this man propped you on your bathroom counter, spread your legs, and ate you out like he’d been fasting for 40 days and 40 nights.
It wasn’t entirely surprising. Joe’s always had a big appetite for sex, for you. Not that you were any better. And the fact of the matter was that having a kid meant you had to take advantage of the little free time you had, which you clearly did.
But it was now coming to bite you in the ass, because it’s goddamn 9 o’clock in the morning, and Callie is jumping up and down on your bed when all you want to do is sleep for another ten hours.
“Mommy! Joe! Santa came!”
It’s nearly impossible to hold in your groan, so you suppress it by turning over and pressing yourself into Joe. Of course, he’s already got his arm around you, holding you against his body. He’s also still knocked out.
Finding the strength, you shove on his chest. “Wake up.” It’s a bit incoherent, sleep still heavy in you and hindering your speech. Blinking your eyes open to allow the sun shining from the open curtains (courtesy of Callie) to motivate you to get your ass up, you punch him in his stomach. “Joe.”
He grunts, and you smile. “She’s up.”
Pleased with the fulfillment of her alarm clock duties, she jumps off the bed, yelling, “come on!”
At that, you sit up from the mattress, scolding her, “Calista Manaia Anoa’i, you got one more time to jump off this bed, sis!” Looking back to see Joe still trying to wake up, you shove him again. “You better get your daughter before she gets punished on Christmas.”
This helps to stir him as he lays on his back, hand on his forehead. “Leave her alone.” It takes a minute for you to refocus. His voice in general is sexy as hell, but that morning voice is something dangerous.
“Her ass is always trying to jump on and off shit.” Kicking off the blankets, you stretch and make your way into the bathroom to do your hygiene routine. Joe is not too far behind, coming in a few minutes later, slapping your ass as you’re bent over the sink spitting out your toothpaste. “Behave,” you warn. The two of you share the sink and counter space to get ready with you finishing first.
Back in the room, you make up the bed and check your phone, sending out a few, quick Merry Christmas texts, Bianca included. Even though you’ve only texted since yesterday, she seems pretty chill and you have a couple of things in common, kids around the same age, both working as teachers. It’s just unfortunate that she lives further down South. You’re not sure how you’re gonna break that to Callie, but that’s a task for another day.
Today is an exciting, happy occasion, and you’re not gonna let anything or anyone ruin it.
Joe is suddenly behind you, arms around your waist and mouth on the side of your neck.
“Merry Christmas, baby” he murmurs, pressing kisses against your skin.
Chewing down on your bottom lip, you turn around and lean up to kiss him. “Merry Christmas.” Hands on his chest, you ask, “You ready?”
He looks at you, clearly thinking about what you’re asking. This is what he’d been building up to, but you’re certain there’s some level of anxiety.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he finally answers. You’re not certain if he’s speaking more to you or himself.
“She’s gonna be happy, Joe. I promise.” Stealing one more kiss, you take his hand. “Come on. She’s gonna start getting impa—”
“Come on!” She shouts from the living room, and you give him a look.
“That’s your child.” His chuckle follows you out of the bedroom and into the living room where Callie is literally bouncing on the heels of her feet near the Christmas tree. You’re not entirely certain, but you could have sworn there weren’t as many gifts there when you left for your shower and eventually bed.
“It’s Christmas!” Running over to Joe who swoops her up and kisses her cheek as she tells him Merry Christmas, you patiently wait for your turn, giving her a kiss and hug too before she’s pulling the both of you over to the tree.
Using your phone, you snap photos and record intermittent videos of her opening her gifts. And in doing so, you’re certain Joe added a couple more when you were in the shower. He’s definitely that dad who doesn’t see an issue with spoiling the shit out of his kid. And as long as Callie remains kind and respectful, you won’t stop him. He’ll definitely hear about it tonight, but you won’t actually interfere.
Alexa playing Christmas songs in the background helps to set the tone as well. Mostly Mariah Carey because it’s literal law that one must listen to All I Want for Christmas is You on Christmas day. Really, starting the day after Halloween.
You don’t make the rules.
Literal fucking law.
Callie suddenly pulls a gift, small and rectangular shaped, that you definitely don’t remember wrapping. “Mommy, it’s for you!” Thinking it’s something she made for you, you put your phone down and take it only to recognize that the writing is clearly too nice to be written by a child, not to mention that it has your name instead of mommy.
Your eyes land on him. “Joe….what is this?”
“Open it,” he encourages, waiting patiently.
Still in somewhat belief he would actually get you something, you rip off the packaging and gasp. You almost drop it reading the brand name written in gold calligraphy. “Chanel? Thee Chanel?”
“Who’s Chanel, mommy?”
“It’s a brand, baby,” you answer, distracted because you’re still stuck on the fact that you’re actually holding in your hand something that had to cost at least a thousand dollars. If not a couple thousand.
“Open it, mommy,” Callie presses. This girl is both nosy but also loves to see people receive gifts.
And so, you open it, gasping louder this time.
“Joe…..” It’s absolutely stunning, the most beautiful necklace you’ve ever seen. Gold. An intricately decorated ‘C’ pendant with a diamond in the middle. C for Chanel for most people. C for your heartbeat for you. “It’s beautiful….”
He moves over to you, helping to remove it from the box. As your hair is already up in a messy bun, he has no difficulty placing it around you, as Callie exclaims happily, “it’s a C!.”
“C for Callie,” you answer her, cupping her cheek before turning to Joe. “Thank you…..” Pulling him in for a hug, there’s something so emotional about this moment, something pure. You’ve never felt so cared for by anyone.
Never felt so loved.
He kisses your temple. “You never have to thank me for anything I do for you.”
Hating the fact that tears are brimming your eyes, you punch his shoulder, needing to not be so emotional. “You should have told me you got me something. Now I feel bad because I didn’t get you anything.”
Thumb caressing your cheek, he answers, softly. “You already did.” Confused, his eyes discreetly focus on Callie who’s back trying to figure out which toy she wants to play with first.
That….that does something to you.
You look at him, ready to say something, when you see it. See it in his eyes. A deep level of appreciation that indicates a story, a reason as to why this means the world to him. There’s something there. Something more he’s not saying, but you know it’s neither the time nor the place.
Now….now is the time for something else.
“Baby.” It’s surprisingly easy to catch Callie’s attention, so you pat the space in between the two of you. “Come here. We need to talk to you about something.”
Wordlessly, she plops right between ya’ll with that naturally inquisitive expression.
“Callie….” Joe feeling a bit nervous made sense to you, and you expected as such. But you never thought about your own trepidation in this moment. It’s difficult, but you do your best to push it away. “Do you….do you remember when you asked me about your dad?” She nods. “And why…..why you didn’t have one?”
She nods again, Joe this time grabbing her attention. “Callie, do you know why I came back in your mom’s life?”
She thinks about his question, answering tentatively, “because you missed mommy?”
He chuckles. “That’s true. I did miss her. A lot.” You try not to think too much about his words, to not make this moment about you or you and him. It’s about Callie. “But, I mostly came back because I wanted to meet you.”
Her eyes light up. “Really?”
He nods, “Calista, you are the sweetest, kindest, and smartest kid that I have ever met. And I love every second that I get to spend with you.” Joe brings his hand to gently palm her face. “And I especially love being your dad.”
You’re not quite sure if you’re breathing or even fully present in the few seconds it takes for Callie to process what he’s just said. But then, you see it, a smile that could light up times square. “Really?” She snaps her head in your direction, looking for confirmation. “Mommy, is Joe really my daddy?”
Sniffling, you wipe at your eyes. Damn feelings. You’ve been way too emotional lately. “He sure is, baby.”
Squealing, she literally throws herself against him, hugging him tightly. “It’s the best Christmas ever!”
“I love you, Callie.” Joe shuts his eyes, taking in this moment, kissing the top of her head. “And I’ll always be here for you.”
“I love you too, daddy!” If you could capture this moment, capture those words leaving her mouth, forever keep them as a keepsake to be preserved for all time, you would. Because it’s everything you’ve ever wanted for her. To know she’s wanted and loved by both her parents. And finally, that moment is no longer a hope but a reality.
“Wait!” She suddenly pulls away, grabbing the picture she’d drawn for Joe and given to him as a Christmas gift. “I’ll be back!”
He looks over at you. “What is she—”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” you answer with a murmur, still partially overcome with emotion.
However, Callie is back in a matter of minutes with that beautiful smile on her face. Flipping it over, she exclaims, “I fixed it.”
Your eyes immediately land on what she “fixed,” and your heart swells. She’s crossed out Joe’s name with a black marker and instead written above it “daddy.”
“I love it.” His voice is thick with emotion, and you move closer to him, laying against his side. Wanting to be with him in this precious moment.
Callie wasn’t lying.
This truly is the best Christmas.
________
“Come on! We’re gonna be late!”
Callie’s animated voice somehow travels to you and Joe despite all of the hustle and bustle occurring around you, the sea of bodies waiting for the fireworks show to begin. There’s not much distance between the two of you and her, enough for Joe to grab her if need be.
You walk close with him, you hands locked around his bicep.
His discomfort is obvious, so you assure, “relax. You’re not the tribal chief around here.” He glances at you. “They may notice you, but they’ll leave you alone. Especially since it’s Christmas.”
This seems to relieve him as she explains, “tonight is about her. I just don’t want to take away from that.”
“And you won’t, I promise. Just….just be present in this moment.” He takes your hand in his, giving a gentle squeeze. Continuing to walk with him, your eyes land on Taylor, Darius, and a woman who, even from a distance, looks vaguely familiar.
“Taylor!”
Callie rushes over to her new best friend, and the two embrace. You almost wish you had your phone out to take a picture. The woman wears a friendly smile, but instantly, something feels off. She approaches you, asking, “Y/N?”
Nodding, you’re shocked when she pulls you in for a hug and then apologizes. “I'm sorry. I’m a hugger, and I just feel like I know you already.”
Callie takes this moment to jump back in the conversation, rushing over to Joe and introducing, “this is my daddy!”
That settles some of your anxiety. You’re not certain you’ll ever get tired of hearing her refer to him as such, and you know he won’t either.
“Man, uhh, hi, nice–nice to meet you.” Immediately, you know that Darius most definitely recognizes Joe. “Big fan.”
“Thanks, man.” Joe, understandably, keeps it simple, and you clear your throat.
“Thank you for arranging this with us. Callie seems to really like Taylor.”
“Taylor too,” Bianca expresses with a smile, as you realize she also has dimples. It’s a little thing, stupid, but as much as you try, you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. “I swear, you would think they’ve known each other for years.”
Joe chuckles. “They’ve hit it off pretty well.”
“I’m sorry.” You hate being so off-putting and direct, especially given all of your text exchanges with this woman have gone so well, but you have to ask, “have we m—-”
“Bianca!”
A woman’s voice calls out, interrupting your conversation.
She looks past you and smiles, waving whoever it is over. “My parents,” she informs. “Over here!”
Callie and Taylor are immersed in a conversation, as you make eye-contact with Joe who gives you that ‘what’s wrong?’ expression. Answering truthfully, you shrug and murmur, “I don’t know.”
The presence of Taylor’s grandparents snatches her attention from Callie. “Grandpa!”
Turning around, you manage a small, inauthentic smile to introduce yourself when you see it. And everything is suddenly ten ways wrong.
There’s a brief second where you question yourself, question your vision, question your entire existence. But as he smiles, holding and kissing his grandchild on the cheek, you just know, know that you’re not wrong.
“Dad,” Bianca speaks, but you’re someplace else, someplace much different. “This is Y/N and…..”
She’s talking, but you’ve completely dissociated. You can’t say anything, paralyzed with shock and an overwhelming feeling of heartache.
That’s why she looked so familiar. You saw her that day at the precinct, coming into his office to inform him of her sibling’s misbehavior. This is his daughter.
This is your sister.
The daughter he picked over you.
And this is your father.
You’re going to be sick.
Partially aware of Joe’s suddenly cautious gaze on you, you place one hand over your stomach. “Excuse….excuse me….I—” You feel like you’re going to pass out, like four walls surround and are gradually closing in on you. Your throat is about to close up. “I have to go.” And you run, you run as far as your legs can take you, away from that situation, away from that visceral blast from the past, away from the overwhelming emotions that are threatening to overcome you.
And you don’t stop.
#roman reigns x black!oc#roman reigns fic#roman reigns#roman reigns x black!reader#arisnotebook#black writers
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◁ || ▷
Frances: Can you hand me the tape once you’re done?
Dan: I think I used up the last bit, maybe we can stop by the store? I need a new sharpie anyway.
Frances: Wanna go right now? I need a break.
Dan: Ye ye. Kai!
Kai: Sup.
Dan: What happened to your face??
Kai: I tried covering all of the holes but, uh, Frances you might not get the deposit back.
Frances: When do people ever get their deposit back?
Kai: Trueeeee.
-
Dan: YOO we should get a crock-pot-
Kai: Who the fuck says that, Dan?
Dan: Bitch, you’re the one that burns pre cooked fries in an air fryer. Of COURSE you wouldn’t be literate in the art of food.
Kai: OHKAYYY since when did working in fast food make you a food critic?
Dan: I don’t have to be a food critic to know you suck at cooking, right Frances?
Frances: [ a longing sigh ]
Dan: … Frances, you okay?
Frances: Hmm? Oh, yeah, bad at cooking.
Dan: Hold up, what’s wrong?
Frances: Graduation’s coming up.
Dan: Thank god, right?
Frances: And then I leave for De Sol Valley…
Kai: Exciting! Wait, why do you look so sad?
Frances: I dunno, it’s… So far away.
Kai: Only a short two hour train ride.
Frances: And I’ll be alone.
Dan: Facetime?
Frances: I just… [ sings ] Liked this little life.
Dan: You mean being stressed out juggling several jobs and school?
Frances: It kept me active.
Dan: Your anxiety hair literally clogged the sink multiple times.
Frances: I needed to thin it out anyway.
Dan: You’re weird.
Frances: Thanks.
Kai: I mean, is there anything else holding you back?
Frances: I- A lot of things. I’ll sort it out though before I go.
Dan: Well, let us know if we can help you.
Kai: So, you think I can sleep in your room while you're gone?
Frances: I mean, sure but why?
Kai: I think I kind of hate being home now.
Frances: Oh?
Kai: It’s nothing serious.
Frances: Dang- Wait, hold that thought I gotta pee.
Dan: Todo bien? Everything good?
Kai: No le digas nada, pero Atlas está usando otra vez. Don’t tell her anything, but Atlas is using again.
Dan: ¿De verdad? ¿Cómo lo sabes? Really? How do you know?
Kai: Atlas estaba mandando un mensaje a Taryn sobre eso. Hablan... mucho. Atlas was texting Taryn about it. They… Talk a lot.
Dan: Fucking hell. Did you check her phone?
Kai: It was an accident! Sort of. Look, I would prefer skydiving without a parachute instead of watching this unfold.
Dan: I mean, the good thing is he stopped, right?
Kai: I dunno but that doesn’t hide the fact that he lied.
Both: Again.
Kai: He asked her not to tell us, Dan. His friends.
Dan: Yeah, well, he hasn’t necessarily been the most open lately.
Kai: I mean I would have thought we mattered more.
Dan: You can’t take it personal. You know how he gets.
Kai: I just feel like eventually we’re going to get tired of it.
Dan: I’m aware. [ sighs ] Jesus, this is a mess.
Kai: Yep. By the way, he invited us to go to the skatepark, please go.
Dan: Duh. Hopefully it’s not awkward. Don’t make it awkward.
Kai: I won’t!
#bro i spent hours trying to make sure this is grammatically correct i should have just called my mom LMAOOOO#listen my Spanish is like brain rot Spanish WE ARE MAKING PROGRESS ESPECIALLY AT WORK BUT uhh#also like my question ok like with masc/fem pronouns like i could have sworn no la digas is a phrase but apparently not it's just#no le digas or no se lo digas BRUH WHAZAGHIEGH#i mean i think i might've confused it with french bc omg the pronouns wild out u got il/elle/nous/and VOULEZ-VOUUS AHA#my bad i had to it's the power of ABBA#tessellate#ts4#simblr#sims 4 story#show us your story
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Heyo, @nidmightcookies! This is my response to your reply on Atticus' post over here -- I didn't want to take away from the message of that post or the additions from other POC.
Sidenote: I'm extremely white and have no credentials that make me qualified to talk about race (I'm just a person who reads and tries to listen), and my takes are probably going to show that. That's another reason I didn't want to clutter up the original post with my reply.
In response to this
“Why is it racist to depict Ed as uncontrollably violent?
Because he's not actually depicted that way in the show.”
you talk about Ed baiting the crew to murder him and committing other violent acts. The original point is stating that Ed is not depicted as uncontrollably violent in the show, not claiming that he perpetrated no violence full stop. Yes, Ed does violence. No, he is not uncontrollably violent.
What Ed does is purposeful, not uncontrollable. He doesn’t push Lucius off the ship after he gives up all hope because he’s a violent guy who just does stuff like that, and the mutiny situation in S2E2… as allthinky said in a response, “that’s Ed at the end of his rope,” not him being uncontrollably violent. He’d been working towards suicide ever since he started baiting Low. As a backup plan, he’s been working the crew hard, disregarding their well-being, and being an overall awful boss in an attempt to incite a mutiny.
Yes, he was “a serious, immediate threat to his crew” by the time he was out of other ideas to make someone take him out. Ed commits acts of violence -- I don’t think I’ve seen anyone claim he doesn’t -- but he always does so with some amount of reason (not necessarily good reasons) and control.
“Upon reflection, my biggest issue may be with the people who argue that Ed's never been shown to be violent, or that any time he has resorted to violence, he's absolved of blame by the fact that someone was mean to him first. Which... I don't think I've seen you make either of those arguments at any point in the past.”
I’m really glad that you mentioned that OP hadn’t made either of those arguments (that you know of), that was genuinely very cool. As for the rest of it, I don’t believe I’ve seen anyone say that Ed is “never shown to be violent” or that he can always be “absolved of the blame” unless you want to remove all of the nuance from common talking points.
He is never shown to be more violent than the average pirate and, due to his deep-seated trauma relating to his own capacity for violence, he’s actually on the less violent end of the pirate spectrum. He can’t be absolved of all blame for his actions because he’s a grown man who makes his own choices (and saying otherwise robs him of his agency). What I’ve seen said is that Ed’s actions are informed by things like trauma, abuse, and racism. His actions make sense. They’re not spontaneous violence committed because Ed flies into rages and homicidal spirals out of the blue.
“Not saying we shouldn't consider it [that is, are we “assigning more weight to Ed's violent actions than those of other characters or assuming he's worse than he actually is”], but I mean. If a white character on the show had cut off his employee's toes and fed them to him, shot him in the leg, ordered his death, held a gun on his other subordinates, marooned some/tossed one overboard, threatened to drown the ones that remained... because he was pushed into it, with the same combination of abusive childhood/hostile work environment... would he be equally deserving of that consideration? Would it be an overreaction to call him dangerous?”
Probably, but if everything was the same except Ed Is White Now, his baggage and his relationship with Izzy wouldn’t be exactly the same. Ed's race isn’t inconsequential. We can't really remove race from the story and end up with the same character, y'know?
Also: I do think it’s inappropriate to turn this question back on POC. I don’t think that POC are obligated to reconsider biases against a white character.
“Izzy is crew”
Ed’s relationship to Izzy is not comparable to his relationship with the crew. The crew have done nothing wrong and haven’t behaved antagonistically towards Ed. Izzy and Ed have a complicated, toxic, and difficult relationship (regardless of where you stand on whether or not Izzy’s abusive), therefore any harm caused to Izzy has to be considered differently than harm caused to the rest of the crew.
“Even if we say that he doesn't count, Ed still pushed Lucius off the ship.”
Yes, Ed did do that, but I think that Atticus is talking about Ed’s S2 actions in that point, not what happened in S1. Most (I think all?) meta I’ve read does consider Ed pushing Lucius off the ship an act of violence that Lucius himself did nothing to provoke.
This might be controversial, but I’d put Ed pushing Lucius overboard on par with, like, a particularly unjust firing in a workplace that isn’t a pirate vessel. When we watch OFMD, we have to adjust our physical violence meters to account for the fact that we’re dealing with an environment that’s full of physical violence.
“Also, emotional abuse directed at the rest of the crew is still abuse”
I don't consider Ed emotionally abusive. He works the crew hard. He’s a terrible boss who doesn’t give his employees vacation days or paid time off and then throws them a sad pizza party. That sucks, it’s not okay, and his final death spiral in S2E2 is terrible and he never should have involved the crew in that.
Abuse is a pattern of behavior that’s meant to control people. Not all harm is abuse. When I say that Ed isn't abusive, I'm not saying that he didn't hurt people.
“So... I was raised by a physically and psychologically abusive parent. I get that Ed's been hurt, is still hurting, and why. The "why" doesn't matter for the question of "did he or didn't he", though. It may or may not be his fault, he may or may not have done it because he felt unsafe. The point is, his actions did hurt people.”
Same, friend, and I'm sorry you went through that. (That’s actually one of the reasons I’ve always been wary of Izzy. What he says and does in S1 is too familiar to me, sometimes to a point where I can’t watch certain scenes.) I don’t think anyone’s saying that Ed isn’t hurting anyone, or that all of his actions can be attributed to abuse. If that’s not what you’re getting at here, apologies for misunderstanding.
“His boss that he was trying to control was brown. Was that a factor in his power play though, or was it because Taika wound up being cast as Blackbeard? Any other (white) actor in the role, would Izzy be as bad for trying to control him? Would the scripts have gone a different way?”
Here’s the thing. In the show we have, Blackbeard is played by a Maori/Jewish man, and this fundamentally alters the character. There are things in the show -- whole episodes, if you want to look at S1E5 and the fancy party guests who treat Ed like exotic entertainment and not a peer -- that wouldn’t be the same if Ed was white.
And yeah, Ed being brown changes the dynamic between Ed and Izzy. It would still be bad if a white guy was trying to control another white guy, but it wouldn’t be bad on the same level. Same goes if they were both brown. A white man trying to control the behavior of an indigenous man is worse.
“Izzy got permanently disfigured, crippled, and dead, while Ed came out largely unscathed in a physical sense, due to Muppet logic. Not to say one is more deserving than the other, but for a bunch of fans, there's probably a sense of Izzy getting the short end of the stick, to consider.”
That’s fine if some people feel like Izzy got the short end of the stick. It’s fine that some people feel like Izzy’s arc was kinder to him than it should have been. It’s okay to feel whatever! We connect emotionally to different characters and that biases our opinions and meta. That’s not a crime. We just need to be aware of our biases and why they exist.
The thing with OFMD is that Ed is a main character with more background and a story that, at every turn, asks you to sympathize with him. We’re given a look into Ed’s psyche. We understand at least some of his trauma and hurt and why he acts the way he does. Izzy has virtually no backstory and we’re never offered a glimpse into his mind; we don’t know why he’s like that. You can totally like a secondary character (or even an antagonist!) with no real canonical background or mental groundwork. It’s fun to ask why characters do what they do when canon doesn’t offer us any answers, and who doesn’t love a mystery box?
But with OFMD, it can raise eyebrows when people say their main concern is the suffering of a white man who behaves antagonistically towards a brown man, especially when that brown character is a well-developed lead who also suffers (and suffers at the hands of aforementioned white character). It’s not inherently racist for someone to care more about Izzy than Ed, but it’s also not unreasonable to ask that someone to think about the possibility that subconscious racism could be factoring into their point of view.
“I don't think it's fair discussion to have a rule saying ‘even though you didn't directly call out the brown man, your argument is still racist’... even if it's true in many cases, it effectively means that no criticism of the character can ever be considered valid. If someone wants to argue ‘removing your employee's toes and feeding them to him is abusive behavior’, they can't, because of the unspoken skin colors involved? I don't know what the solution to this is.”
No one is saying that all criticism of a character of color is racist or invalid. As allthinky said in response, we’re saying that “those critiques have to be based on real evidence, and placed in a careful context, so that their actions can be understood as human, and not just the brutality of some brute.”
Criticize, but criticize with evidence and with awareness of the context of the criticized behavior.
With the Izzy example, you have to consider the context of their relationship and Izzy’s actions throughout S1. Izzy isn’t just an employee: he’s a trusted second-in-command who has been insulting, controlling, and disloyal; he endangered not just Stede but also Ed and the rest of the crew; he told Ed that he was better off dead than acting as he was, and that Izzy's loyalty belongs to the violent worksona that Ed wants to shed. Is Ed being abusive when he’s reacting in response to abuse from his abuser?
“[T]he show has layers (like an onion). Sometimes the meaning is not entirely surface-level, and everyone has a different level of comprehension. Sometimes obvious things to us aren't obvious to other fans/vice-versa. There's a whole 'nother discussion of media literacy to be had.”
I think that Atticus said it best here: “This is not a subtle show. That's not to say it's a simple one [...]. It's amazingly layered and emotional responses by characters are often extremely complex. However, when the show is trying to tell you something, it's not subtle and it never tries to hide it.”
There are a lot of things in OFMD that are subjective and open to interpretation, and those things are fun to discuss even when we have different takes. There are also a lot of things that are very clear. When people try to subvert the messages and ideas that OFMD is conveying loudly and openly, other fans get suspicious and wonder if the folks doing the subverting have an agenda, a bias, or just misunderstand what the show is saying.
I hope that reply was sufficient!
#ofmd#edward teach#the izzy problem#hey what tags do people have blocked if they don't want to see stuff like this?#ofmd discourse#fandom racism
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Saw a video of Marc post Sepang 2015 press conference and he literally looks like he’s about to break into tears and have a panic attack, like Valentino Rossi I’m in your walls for what you put him through bullying a 22 year old at your big old age if 36 just cause you weren’t getting your way and Marc never got that reputation that he lost back like Marc probably couldn’t have filed for defamation and won with the way he was dragged because of valentinos delusions. And know he’s passed it on to his academy kids. Marc still talks about the effects of that to this day, like we will never now just how bad it got like people still regularly say they hope he dies even straight to his face, like I know people joke about it in a fantasy rosquez senario but irl what he did to Marc and what his fans did to Marc is disgusting and somehow he’s praised for it. He also told the media what they were saying to ianonii was wrong and in the same breath turned around and did it to Marc like I heard that he even accused Dani of riding him hard and that he expected people to get out of his way because he was in the lead of a championship like if you can’t do hard racing maybe you don’t deserve the title you say got stolen from you. I’m kinda glad Rossis last years of MotoGP was kinda his worst nightmare Marc Marquez dominating and doing it on a bike that wasn’t the best in the field something Rossi never did cause even if the 2004 Yamaha wasn’t the best bike he rode it was one of the best of that year and let’s face it his crop of actual rivals that’s could challenge him was basically non-existent whereas Marc won 2019 which was the most competitive season ever based on statistics and won it with 18 podium including 12 wins.
ALL OF THIS !!! ALL OF THIS !!!! As I said, I treat Rosquez and Post 2015 Vale as concepts in my head because otherwise if I think of Vale as a real person I might be tempted to deck him if I ever have the chance.
I think what Vale and Uccio had done at the time was completely disgusting, and no amount of RPF-fication of either of them can’t undo or change those facts.
“Oh, he’s just in his silly little mood.” Oh, fuck off, maybe focus on beating your teammate instead. And for people who came at Marc and like “You should’ve been a bigger person.” Well, fuck you. How mature could a twenty-two years old person be after hearing himself booed for something he didn’t even know. I know I would be plotting for the one responsible for it.
Also, what do you mean Vale could pull Dani aside, accused him from riding him too hard AWAY from the cameras, but Marc couldn’t get the same courtesy and instead dropping it in the middle of a press conference watched by millions of viewers. Disgusting. Completely unnecessary.
And the whole telling people off reeks of hypocrisy because when asked if he would tell fans to stop after his fans booed Marc and Jorge in Qatar 2016, all he could say was that was beyond his control. Which I know that in the end fans do as fans like, but the fact he could do that for Iannone but not Marc and Jorge was just disgusting to me I can’t find any other words than everything Vale did then as disgusting and vile.
Also, people romanticize that he passed the Marc hate to the Academy riders is so weird to me. The implication that Marc is sharing a track with people who personally hate him makes me feel so uncomfortable, I don’t want to go down that road. But, whatever.
Anyway, I don’t care if people stan Vale and Marc but I do have problems when people treat everything that happened to Marc like it was a fiction. This is something Marc has GONE THROUGH in real life. This is a real person who suffered the backlash because someone couldn’t keep his ego in check, because he couldn’t handle the realization that he couldn’t overtake IANNONE while Jorge and Marc were having the duel of their lives.
Rosquez reconciliation only works for me if Vale goes on his knees in front of international broadcast, grovels and begs Marc to forgive him, and posts the clip on all his social medias. Otherwise, Marc shouldn’t even look at that man for longer than one second.
Anyway, wow this suddenly looks like it’s turning into an anti Rosquez rambles which sounds I hate them but I actually don’t (?) I just think that sometimes Rosquez posts romanticising Sepang and 2015 and the fallout a lot and as someone who lived through it AND DID NOT enjoy it, it’s just so disconcerting. Hearing someone saying “Wow, the narrative is compelling.” knowing that that was the most unpleasant time, and did nothing except ruining a lot of people’s enjoyment of the sport…….. I didn’t even dare say I like Marc because someone would wish him dead and called me stupid.
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This is Supposed to Be My Damn Year
52,151 words | Rating E | Eddie 1st person POV; pre- and post- S4
[snippet ↓]
“Eddie?” Dustin comes huffing over to me and stands there with a bright smile. This damn kid, he’s lucky he’s special.
“Sup?” I nod and pretend with all my might that I am casual as hell and that I don’t feel like a ball of jittery nerves. Which obviously I am. I’m standing in Steve Harrington’s house while he’s looking at me, not two feet away. This is the worst.
“You made it. I thought you were gonna ditch us.”
“Yeah, probably why you made The King here call me.”
“Please stop calling me that.” Steve’s voice is confident yet quiet.
I whip my head over to look at him because I’m surprised he’s saying anything. Does he not like being called The King anymore? That’s news to me. He had worn that crown proudly previously.
“Are you no longer royalty, Harrington? Doth my ears hear correctly? Are you nothing but a lowly peasant now? Like one of us?” I motion between myself and Dustin because clearly, Dustin is a nerd, not a King.
“I’m-I’m just Steve. Steve is fine.” He dares to roll his eyes at me and then walk away. I watch him amused and a little confused but at least amused.
“I told you, he’s not that guy anymore,” Dustin whispers as he steps closer.
“Sure, so you say, Henderson. We will see. So who’s here? What are we watching? Where are the fancy snacks?” I rub my hands together because snacks at a rich kids’ house are chef’s kiss perfection. They usually have Squeeze-its or Twinkies or different Doritos. If I have to endure hours in this massive hellscape, I will eat my weight in expensive snacks.
Dustin leads me through the entrance of this weird house and to the kitchen. There are a couple other people in here, including Robin Buckley. Why is Robin Buckley at Steve Harrington’s house?
“Eddie?” She’s looking at me how I imagine I am looking at her, very confused.
“Robin? What are you doing here?”
“You two know each other?” Dustin points between us surprised to see I know anyone other than him.
“Yeah, I know more than those of you in Hellfire. Robin and I are in band. So why are you here?”
“I’m…” She looks as if her brain has short-circuited and can’t compute language.
“Her and Steve are best friends. I don’t know why they’re not dating, but anyway.”
“What?” Yeah, I definitely walked through a parallel universe. What is Dustin talking about? How could The Hair be best friends with a trumpet-playing hyperactive nerd girl who I’m pretty sure is a little… y’know…fruity. Actually, that’s probably why they’re not dating. Oh, so Dustin doesn’t know that part. “You’re friends with The Hair?”
“The Hair? Ughh, don’t call him that.” She scrunches her face in disgust.
“Ok, I have to ask this out loud because I feel like I’m losing my mind. Did I walk through a wormhole?” I’m waving my hands in front of me, looking back and forth between Robin, Dustin, and, oh god, Nancy Wheeler. “What are you…? What is happening here?” Ok, so this is weirder than I even imagined it to be.
“We’re all friends,” Robin says so matter-of-factly that I almost take her at her word.
“How?” But my skepticism wins out.
I see a look between Nancy and Robin that clearly has some meaning behind it, but I have no idea what it is. Dustin is also giving them a knowing look. So yeah, something has happened between these so-called friends, and I wonder if I walked into an orgy. Is this an orgy? No, no, there are children here, that’s not it, ew, no. Wait, did Steve and Nancy split up because Nancy is with Robin? Oh, that could be entertaining.
“Just normal ways.” Does Nancy think that answer was sufficient? She stands there awkwardly, crossing her arms and avoiding making eye contact. So no, she knows that was bullshit.
“I’m sorry, but I need one of you to fully explain at least a fraction of what the fuck is going on. Henderson, I’m looking at you, kid. Because you were the one that begged me to come here. So it’s on you, kiddo, to fill me in.” I cross my arms and glare at him. Show time, Dusty.
“Why are you all standing in the kitchen?” Steve interrupts the moment, and everyone seems to be relieved. They shouldn’t, though, because I’m not letting this go.
“Because, Harrington, they’re explaining how you all are friends. And you’re somehow best friends with Robin Buckley? Your ex-girlfriend is standing in your kitchen as if that’s normal, and Dustin Henderson speaks so highly of you that you’d think you went to war together.”
Dustin starts choking on his soda and almost spits all over me. I wipe my hands over my jacket front and grimace at the bodily fluids.
“Sorry,” he shamefully bows his head and steps away from me.
“Robin and I worked at Scoops Ahoy together at the mall before it burned down. We kinda went through some shit during the fire, so we bonded. Also, wearing a sailor uniform during that whole thing can feel war-like.”
I forgot about the mall fire. I didn’t realize Steve or Robin had been involved. Shit, that’s some massive trauma-bonding experience.
“Wow, wait, sailor uniforms?” I look between them, hoping one of them will crack. “Do you still have these uniforms? Because I think if I could see this whole scenario, maybe it would help me understand.” Do you think it’s working?
“No…” Robin speaks first.
“Yes…” Steve interrupts.
Everyone in the room turns and stares at him. I don’t think I could even wipe the smile off my face. Oh god, yes, please go put it on. I need to see The King in a fucking sailor uniform. Not because I love a man in a uniform, but yeah, but no, because how the mighty have fallen. Also, a sailor uniform? So like a hat and shit? Did he wear those giant wide-legged white pants? What kind of uniform was this? How did no one tell me Steve Harrington was working at an ice cream shop that I could’ve gone to and seen in fucking person? No one. Not a soul ever shared this information. I need better friends.
“You do not,” Robin exclaims.
“Yeah, I do.” He says so nonchalantly like obviously he does.
An evil grin spreads across my lips, and I can’t help myself. “Please, oh, please, Harrington, prove her wrong.” I slowly lick my bottom lip because I’m only a man, and the person in front of me is very hot. Sure, I hate him, but I can appreciate the beauty.
He smiles, he fucking smiles, then rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Oh god, I need to get out of here, or by the end of this night, I might actually like this dick, not just his dick.
“Maybe next time you’re invited, and I don’t have to call you to remind you to show up.”
Is he flirting with me? I look at everyone else in the room, hoping one of them will tell me if Steve Harrington is flirting with me. But, unfortunately, none of them are paying attention. Oh my god. Is he flirting with me? I think I’m having a heart attack.
“Come on, dingus, where are your snacks?” Robin pokes Steve in the chest and starts opening cabinet doors.
“Dingus? She’s allowed to call you dingus, but I can’t call you King?” I can’t stifle the laugh that bubbles from my chest, and I’m having too much fun for my own good.
This is going to be something I remember forever. I would write about this night for days if I had a diary. Cute little pink diary with a tiny little lock that is easily broken but holds all my deep dark secrets of this weird fucking night.
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#don't hate the 1st person pov until you try it#I know I know everyone hates it but I had so much fun writing it#please please give it a shot#steddie#eddie munson#steddiecameraroll posts#steve x eddie#steve harrington#steddie fanfic#my writing#stranger things
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drabble #13 - the massage
kai parker x reader
summary: kai's sure he'll win the bet. you're positive he won't.
tags: massage, teasing, clingy!kai, minor mention of murder (bc it's kai)
word count: 835
a/n: idk why i'm in my cheesy fluff era of writing, but here's more
“Relax,” you giggle, feeling his muscles tense.
“I’m trying! It’s weird.”
“It’ll feel so much better if you stop moving around.”
“What are you even doing?”
“Trying to help you relax.”
Kai sighs, clearly unsatisfied with your answer. Nevertheless, he stops adjusting his position and takes a deep breath.
“There you go.”
He mumbles something incomprehensible, but you don’t respond. After a second, you start again. The massage tool in your hand makes a slightly squeaky sound as you run it up his back. You make circles on his shoulder blades, then inch up to his neck. He shrugs his shoulders uncomfortably.
“Kai!”
“I’m sorry!”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No! Yes! I don’t know!”
“Pick one. Tell me to stop, and I will.”
“Don’t stop. I like it, it’s just weird.”
“I can be more gentle.” You do, but he only mumbles more.
“Now I can’t feel it at all.”
“Well then you’re going to have to sit still.”
“I just… what are you even holding?” Without much warning, he flips around to face you. The massage roller in your hand receives a weird stare that makes you laugh. “What even is that?”
“It’s a little tool that helps you relax by easing the knots in your neck and back. Now do you want me to continue, or not?”
“Where do you buy something like that?”
“Literally anywhere. Dollar Tree. Target.”
“I’ve never seen that in my life.”
“Your life has never lived in this decade, Malachai. You lived in the nineties for twenty years.”
“Rude.”
“I’m just saying! Things are different now. We have massage rollers.”
“Weird.”
“Unless you’d prefer to go to an actual massage person, but I bet you’d chicken out.”
He gives you a look. “Me? Chicken out? Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“Um, yes, actually. I’m talking to someone who would absolutely chicken out if anyone but me was touching them.”
“Bet you twenty dollars you’re wrong.”
“You don’t even have twenty dollars.”
“Yes I do.”
“From where? You-”
“Borrowed some the other day.”
“Borrowed?”
“Stole,” he corrects.
“You- Kai!”
“It’s okay! He was using it anymore!”
“Now why’s that? Is he dead?”
“...Maybe.”
“Kai, you can’t-”
“He shouldn’t have made that comment about you within my earshot. He had it coming.”
“Good lord, boy.”
“So twenty dollars I can get through this message-”
“Massage.”
“-thing you’re talking about. I win, you owe me.”
“Probably won’t happen.”
“Guess we’ll see.”
You’ll admit, Kai being anywhere without you gives you an extreme amount of anxiety. Not only because he’s a sociopathic serial killer, but also because you’re overprotective of him almost to a fault. Despite his bully-like attitude to many, he’s a child at heart. He’s gone through so much to make him the way he is, starting in early childhood, and you can’t bear for him to have anymore trauma. It’s probably toxic, thinking of him in such an endearing way, but you can’t help it. You love him.
“It’ll be one hour, okay?” The massage therapist says as she takes him back. You nod your head at her and Kai’s little wink, then she brings him to the back.
He bonded to you immediately. Maybe it was because you could see past the bad boy persona he donned on to gain respect. Maybe it was because you were the first to give him a second chance after the merge. Regardless of the reason, he learned you were a person he could trust, so he did. And even though all your friends tell you you’re brave to be friends with such a dangerous person, you’re there for him anyway. He’s pretty sure he loves you, even though he’s afraid to admit it.
You pull out your phone to pass the time with a game, but no more than ten minutes later, the therapist returns to the waiting room. She catches your attention with a cough, to which you look up questioningly.
“He’s asking for you,” she says. “I think he’s nervous.”
A little smile creeps on your face at the knowledge that you’ve won. You were right, and he was so determined he could beat you. “Okay.”
She brings you to the room where he’s lying down on the table. You can’t see his face until he pops up slightly to look at you.
“Hi.”
“Hi there.”
Neither of you bring up the bet. Boy, he does look nervous. A non-joking Kai is a worried Kai, and for a split second, you wonder just how bad of an idea this is.
“Can you just stay here?”
“Of course.”
“I’m gonna need you to relax,” the woman says, seeing the tension in his muscles before even touching him.
You take his hand in hopes to reassure him. A little squeeze elicits a deep breath, and a lot of the strain drops.
“Good. Let me know if you need anything.”
He shakes his head despite the awkward position on his stomach. “No,” he mutters, rather muffled, “just them.”
#another lil drabble while i work on requests and bigger things#this has been sitting in my head for weeks and i've just now been able to write it out#it's just cutesy clingy kai#kai parker x reader#malachai parker x reader#kai parker drabble#kai parker fluff
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infected boys - 1
billy hargrove x steve harrington
cw: 18+ minors dni, first person pov, mutual masturbation, pining, drug use
He interrupts me, “I feel bad. I can’t stop thinking about it. You like me, Billy. You have a… you have a crush on me.”
“Alright, King Steve, calm down,” I scoff, not wanting pity from the guy. Either he likes me back or he doesn’t. I live either way. “I read you wrong. It’s no big deal. We can be friends.”
“It’s a big deal! Billy, it’s… do you?” He turns towards me.
“Do I what?” I play stupid. I know what he’s asking.
“Like me,” he breathes, sounds like he can’t believe it.
Or
Billy has a crush on Steve but they’re friends now.
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Alright. I’m stoned and maybe the acid is starting to kick in. The Marlboro waves in front of my eyes each time I take a hit but I did accidentally squish the box in the door when I was stumbling in to take a piss so now all the cigarettes are kinda crumpled. The particular one I’m smoking has a slight tear in the paper above the stamp but I’m determined to not let it go to waste, though it ain’t hitting like it should. I feel like a dumbass about it. Susan was filling the dishwasher and the dumb thing is positioned in front of the garage door so when I opened it, cheap particle board wedged into the plastic door of the dishwasher. My boots are a little too heavy for my intoxicated state and I swayed against the garage door, smashing the box of cigarettes when I did so. Susan looked at me with angry eyes and like, scolded me. Like she’s my fucking mom. And the bitch doesn’t do housework often, so I told her I didn’t expect her to be doing the dishes. She said something about how l didn’t need to open the door so forcefully. I had to piss.
That’s all besides the point. The cigarette is moving. Or I think it is. I smack the back of my hand against Steve’s Member’s Only jacket and wiggle my brows, eyes trained on the Marlboro perched between my lips. I mumble around the cigarette, “You seein’ this shit?”
Steve’s voice is all out of sorts. Gooey and gargled, like there’s syrup dripping down his throat. Guys gotta be more fucked up than I am. Sounds like he was miles away when he replies, “Huh?”
“It’s moving. Waving,” I inform him before inhaling, watching as the ash stem lights up and burns through the paper. “See?”
“I— no,” Steve murmurs disappointedly, “I think I got a bum tab.” His fingers scratch at his bony knee, eyes trained on my cigarette and he’s squinting like maybe if he tries hard enough the acid’ll work.
“Could’ve fooled me,” I cackle, “You sound high.”
Steve heaves a sigh and sinks in the chair, “Just stoned.”
I shrug and pull the cigarette from my lips, “Give it a sec. Mines working.”
Tommy’s guy usually comes through but to be honest, I don’t know much about acid. I’ve only taken it a handful of times and never was I anywhere near sober before. It’s certainly in the realm of possibility that Steve did get a bum tab. Once I glance up at Steve, I’m sure my acid has kicked in. His hair is waving too. Like the waves I used to glide through back home. It curls and recedes, calmingly. I’m tempted to run my fingers through it but I’m luckily, not that far gone. Especially after the last time we got high and I woke up in Harrington’s bed, boxers around my ankles and a fat hickey on my pec. We haven’t talked about it. I don’t remember what happened and I’m fucking praying he doesn’t. Hawkins is too small. Word like that’ll spread like wildfire and land on the unaccepting ears of my father. And I had fully anticipated on sticking to women when we moved here, but Harrington is pretty and after I tried to rearrange his face with my fists, he became kind of the only real friend I have here. Tommy’s a friend, I guess. But I don’t tell him whatever I’m thinking and we don’t stay up late, sharing secrets and dreams. Steve’s different. At first, I thought we were like, total opposites. Deep down, we’re both just really fucking lonely.
“Wait,” Steve sits up with his eyes wide, “Your hair is growing.”
I smile smugly, shaking my head to illuminate his hallucination, “Everyday.”
“No,” Steve giggles and that smile makes my stomach churn. I kinda want to punch his face again. “Like I can see it growing.”
“Bum tab, my ass,” I quip and kick his ankle with my boot. As I grab for my can of beer, I remember it’s empty and it’s the last one. “Think you can walk, pretty boy?”
Steve hums, sticks his feet out and kicks them like he’s checking to make sure they still work, “Yeah. It’s doable.”
Now normally I’d drive, but the last time I did while on acid, the lines in the road curved when they really didn’t and Hopper pulled me over with a disgruntled look on his face. But when he insisted he drive me home, I told him Steve’s address. And his face got all contorted and scary but he didn’t say anything. Just drove to Loch Nora, knocked on the door and asked Steve, “He live here?” to which Steve replied, “Tonight he does.”
That’s when I decided I liked Steve. And not just ‘cause I thought he was good looking and he was fun to talk shit at. He cared enough to let me stay, and he combed my hair out with his fingers while I laid my head in his lap and told him what I’d been up to that night. We don’t talk about that either.
“‘Kay,” I stand on wobbly legs and announce, “Minute Mart, here we come.”
Harrington follows me through the open garage and out onto the street. It’s the rare occasion we’re at my place. Steve’s is usually safer, but dad’s been on my ass about being gone all the time and I guess maybe, I’m a little attached to Harrington ‘cause I still wanted to see him. And he never turns down a sleepover. I think he’s lonely.
Cherry Lane is dark at night. Not like in Loch Nora where the street lights only shut off when the sun's out. Again, my boots are too heavy and I know I’m stumbling, so I accept when Harrington grabs my bicep to steady me. Minute Mart is the only place in Hawkins that’s open 24 hours a day and luckily, it’s the closest convenience store to my house. It’s like, usually a fifteen minute walk. But I’m seeing like fifty more slugs on the sidewalk than I normally do. I freeze, pointing at them as they wiggle around.
“Those real?” I ponder, leaning into Harrington’s support.
He frowns and purses his lips, “They are now.”
“You’re a dickhead,” I tell him with fondness and he pushes us forward, exaggeratedly hopping over slugs that may or may not exist. I let him do it, like they’re secretly explosive or something and I step over the ones he does.
When the neon lights come into view, I feel excitement dripping down my throat and my mouth waters at the promise of more cheap beer. Most likely free because Harrington doesn’t often let me pay. Which is fine. ‘Cause the money I have is slim and I’ve been saving it from my summer job at the community pool. Once we’re inside, I make a beeline for the cold beer and Harrington dilly dallies around the plastic wrapped pastries. A true opposite in our personalities. The man loves sugary things. Even keeps a damned candy bar in his glove compartment of the Bimmer. I asked him if he was diabetic when I found it.
Once I’ve successfully obtained the sixer, I meet back up with Steve and his hands are full of snacks. He empties them on the counter and beams at the bored cashier. I slide the cans up beside the sweets that make my stomach queasy just at the sight alone and ask for a pack of Reds.
“It’s pretty late, isn’t it, boys?” the cashier points out as he pokes at the register.
“Maybe it’s early,” Harrington offers as he pulls out his wallet. I cackle but the cashier doesn’t seem amused, counting the bills Steve hands him.
“You owe me a dollar,” the guy insists and I rip my wallet from my pocket, racing Steve to hand him the bill. I win and Harrington grumbles but I feel proud I could contribute something.
The walk back is brutal, it seems longer than the way there but that’s probably because it’s uphill on the way back and now our hands are full. But once the pulsing porch light my dads been bugging me to replace forms into view I’m antsy. We have to sneak back in. And go to my room. The doorknob vibrates as I stare at it. Harrington is the one to twist it open. Walks through the living room without a care in the world and I’m jealous, know I could’ve done the same thing but I just couldn’t. Don’t trust the quiet and the darkness.
He collapses on my bed as I shut the door, sprawls out on it and his polo rises up enough that I can see the trail of curly brown hairs leading down to what I’ve been too chicken to really think about. Now, in the isolation of my room and the weed, booze and acid clouding my judgment, I think about Harrington’s cock. How I’ve seen it soft in the showers at school. And worse, how I’ve potentially seen it hard and don’t remember. The fact that I want to see it, want to touch and taste it.
“We have to be quiet,” I whisper, more to get out of my sinful thoughts than to warn him.
Harrington hums, eyes closed as his hands scratch at his stomach and result in exposing more of his abdomen to me. My stupid, gay thoughts run wild and I imagine getting my lips on that soft, mole speckled skin. I really wish I could turn on my stereo, drown out these thoughts but dads voice in my head helps enough. Faggot, on repeat has me avert my eyes and grabbing a beer. I don’t allow myself to sit on the bed with him, instead I lower to the floor and rest my head on the mattress. My eyes flutter shut without really trying, I’m starting to feel exhausted from the short walk to the Minute Mart. The sound of Harrington’s steady breathing fills my ears and it’s almost like a lullaby, I can feel myself starting to slip away while waves of brown hair flood my closed lids.
I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until the sun starts peeking in through the blinds and birds start singing a symphony of early morning alarms. I’m unrested, bones aching everywhere and I wonder if I even slept or if the acid hallucinations just felt like dreams. I look at the alarm clock, it’s 6 am. Dad’s probably already left for work so I figure it’s safe to crawl into bed with Harrington. His skin is warm. I don’t mean to press into him but he’s in the center of the bed, sprawled out like a starfish. I turn on my side so my back is pressed to him. He makes a gargled, sleepy noise and wiggles around. Which gives me more room but now our skin isn’t touching which I’m only a little bit bummed about. God this is stupid. It’s a bad idea being friends with Harrington. But hey, being friends is better than hating each other. He turns.
His arm hooks around my waist and I fall back asleep easily.
—
Harrington has an impressive skin mag collection. It would be creepy, but they’re pristine. Organized chronologically. Playboys, Hustler, Penthouse. He’s got them all. Stacked neatly in a plastic tub hidden in his walk in closet. He showed it to me about a month ago and we haven’t brought it up since. But now we’re sitting in the living room, skunky air permeating from the joint we shared. And weed makes me horny. I think it makes everyone horny. It makes Steve about ten times dumber which I didn’t know was possible but it is, he pants like a dog when he’s stoned. His eyes look thoughtless and I have to call myself a fag so I stop staring at him. Harrington doesn’t notice when I stare at him or if he does, he doesn’t say anything.
“How long you been collecting them nudie mags?” I try to ask casually, hoping Harrington can’t tell from my voice that my stomach and thighs are tight and warm with arousal.
His eyebrows shoot up as his face contorts deep in thought. Mouth pursed as he tilts his head, counting behind his eyes. Up in that empty little head of his. Except Harrington has a huge head. All square. I chew on my cuticle as I look at him, waiting for him to answer. His hazy mind is making it harder for him to remember, I can tell by the way he scrunches his face up before he finally replies, “Got my first one when I was like thirteen? Kinda got obsessed after that. Not even like for the porn part, they’re just pretty.”
“The girls?” I assume and Steve laughs softly before shaking his head. His chestnut hair bounces with the motion. His hair moves a lot.
“The photos. The girls too but they’re just cool. I like the ads a lot,” Steve explains as he reaches for his can of Coke.
I laugh, “Gay.”
Steve rolls his eyes before reaching his hand out and shoving my bicep. I ignore how his touch lights my body up. It’d be pretty fucking embarrassing to pop a stiffy right now, though I could blame the weed. ‘Cause it’s definitely the weed making me feel this way and not because Harrington’s eyes look green with all the red clouding the whites.
“I literally jack off to them, how is that gay?”
“To the ads? That’s super gay, Harrington,” I cackle, leaning back against the couch as I bring my beer to my lips.
Steve groans, “No, dickwad, I jerk off to the girls.”
“You got a favorite?” I ask, eyeing him over the rim of my beer. I’m itching for a cigarette but Mrs. Harrington can somehow tell if someone smoked inside. And what particular model has Steve’s dick hard is more pressing than my need for nicotine.
“Yeah, obviously,” he laughs, though it sounds nervous. Am I making him nervous? And why does the thought of that have my balls tightening?
I smirk at him, “Go get ‘em. Let’s see if your taste in women is as piss poor as your taste in music.”
“You have no respect for the classics,” Steve kicks my ankle as he stands and hops up the steps. I do, but my dad would actually like it if I listened to Sinatra instead of Tank. And that would make me sick if my dad approved of anything I like. It was funny when I asked Harrington what he listened to besides the radio. And he said big band. I almost hacked up a lung laughing and choking on the bottle of whiskey we were sharing. He insisted it was good and put on a Sinatra album super loud. The worst part is he sang along and Christ, Steve can sing. Crooning up to the ceiling and I hated how sexy he sounded.
I hear Steve’s heavy feet down the steps before I can cock my head around to see him. About ten magazines in his arms. He drops them carefully on the coffee table. More than half are Hustlers which makes me chuckle because I know those are the actual filthy ones. It’s not just chicks, you get to see cock in pussy. I don’t own any. I have a pathetic collection of Penthouses. And a tried and true VHS tape stashed where dad or Max won’t find it.
“Alright, Harrington, who is the girl that gets your dick hard, let’s take a look,” I say with a sigh, like he’s burdening me with this stuff and I didn’t ask.
Steve makes a face at me, mock offensive but his long fingers grip a magazine and he then he narrows his eyes at me. “Listen, this is vulnerable and I’m just warning you, I haven’t looked at this spread without getting a boner.”
“Like Pavlov,” I chuckle and nod for him to continue but he looks at me confused.
“Pavlov?” his nose wrinkles, “Is that a model?”
“No, like the scientist,” I explain, thinking that might clear things up but his face still looks puzzled, “Like Pavlov’s dog? Ya know… he conditioned dogs to—“ Steve stares at me blankly so I wave the thought away, “Nevermind, show me this smokeshow.”
Harrington has a goddamn sticky note marking the place of the centerfold. He flips it open and points with his hand, “She’s my favorite.”
It’s a blonde. She has big and bright blue eyes, long and curly black lashes and pretty pink, plush lips. She is hot. I can’t deny Steve’s taste. Funny though, this is a Playboy. It’s the most tame you can get. Steve just finds this girl pretty enough. She’s nude, but she wears knee high black boots. Her bush is thick so you can’t even see her pussy but she has full, round tits and pink nipples. I take a glance at Steve’s face and it’s flushed, just from looking at her.
“Why don’t you hang it up in your room if you like her so much?” I wonder, lowering my arm down over my crotch. My cocks filling out quick. The girl is hot but the fact that Harrington beats his meat to this photo is the real reason my own dick is getting hard.
Steve gasps and laughs, “My parents would kill me. Plus, I’d fucking get hard every time I walked by it. Isn’t she a babe, though?”
“Oh, yeah,” I muse, looking closer at the spread, “Her tits are massive.”
“Yeah,” Steve breathes, “But like her face… she’s pretty.”
I wonder about Steve fucking girls. If his eyes are on their faces. I look at their bodies. So I ask him, “That where you look when you fuck?”
“Faces?” he asks, my eyes catch his palm moving down to press against his crotch.
“Uh huh,” I say and because he’s doing it, I also rub my palm against my cock. It makes my eyes roll back. I didn’t even realize how turned on I was until now.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes out harshly, “I like to watch how they react. Like the pleasure on their face.”
It occurs to me that Steve and I have sex with girls very differently. It’s more about me getting off, I don’t really care if they do. I’m selfish where Steve gets off on his partner's pleasure. I have to grip my cock through my jeans then. Christ. That’s stupid hot. This is bad. But Steve flips the page and the centerfold is exposing herself. Red acrylic nails spread her folds for Harrington and I to see. My eyes scan the other photos and yeah, this is as nasty as it gets.
“Kinda tame,” I note, “What else ya got?”
Steve chews on the inside of his lip as he reaches for a Hustler. Again, there’s little sticky note bookmarks sticking out of the pages. This is his spank bank. And he’s showing it to me, completely unashamed. It’s way different than looking at Tommy’s collection. Tommy’s isn’t taken care of like this. His pages stick together. And Tommy has more tapes than magazines.
“This one’s nice too,” Steve mumbles as he peels open the magazine, it’s a couple. Guy with a huge cock, girl on him. Reverse cowgirl. Holding herself open for the guy. I can’t help but glance at Steve again. His face is so flushed. And for some reason his lips look… bigger. Begging to be bit. But that’s gotta be my dumb, gay imagination. C’mon Billy. Focus on the porn, not the fucking bimbo of a man beside you. Except Steve’s knee knocks mine and fuck. Alright. We’re doing this.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” I mumble as I unbutton my jeans and shove my hand into them, gripping my cock. Steve seems to take that as a cue and does the same, I try my fucking hardest not to stare at him stroking himself under his jeans. I really try.
It shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Steve’s hand moving under his jeans. I’m setting the pace here so I push my jeans down to my calves, lazily palming myself in my underwear. Steve follows suit and I can’t help myself, I gotta ask.
“What would you do? With that blonde,” I mumble out, moving to cup my balls.
Steve inhales sharply and out of the corner of my eye I can see the head of his cock bobbing up and down against his white briefs. Alright. It’s not a problem. I’ve looked at his cock in the showers. I’ve seen it soft. And it was hanging then. From the small glimpse I’ve got now, there's no fucking doubt that Harrington is packin’. There’s heat in those stupid whitey-tighties. I have to look away because if Steve catches me looking this is all over. Eyes on the porno. That cock is huge. Stretches the woman out. Her face says it all, and well, I’ve learned that’s where Steve looks. Alright, Billy. Look at her face. You can do it. Christ, that makes me last longer. Maybe that’s why Steve does it.
“Ah,” a moan, soft and pretty, slips from his lips and I cannot react. Christ, that was hot. He’s vocal right now, he has to be with girls. Fuck, I can’t think about that. I’ll bust. I squeeze the base of my cock and push my underwear down to my thighs. I spit in my hand and return it to my cock, slow strokes up and down.
Steve whimpers as he tugs his underwear down and exposes himself. I glance. I have to. I have to look. He’s huge. Bigger than mine. Bigger than Tommy’s.
“I’d…” he swallows, “I’d eat her out. I— I’m good at that. I been told.”
I’ve heard. There’s rumors about what the hell King Steve meant and I heard more than once it was about his tongue and not his cock. The thought of watching Steve make out with a girls’ pussy has me squeezing my cock.
“Yeah,” I laugh because I can’t help myself, “You like eating pussy, pretty boy?”
“Uh huh,” he moans, stroking his cock faster like my words are fueling his arousal. This is definitely gay but I don’t care. Our knees keep knocking together.
“You ever make a girl cum? With your tongue?” I’m not entirely curious but I can see this is getting Steve going and I’m inclined to push the boundary.
Steve whines, squeezes the head of his cock and I pretend I’m not focused on him in my peripheral. “‘Course, how d’you think I even got that name?”
I laugh because I don’t really know how else to react. I wonder if he’s done this with Tommy. I have and Tommy and I don’t talk during it. Solely pretending to be focused on the porn but I’m not completely new to this shit and Tommy’s adoration drips from him like grease. It’s obvious the dude’s into me and it’d be so easy to pursue. Unlike Steve. In Steve’s head, this is two straight dudes too horny beyond means, hanging out. Casual.
“Are you about to cum?” he asks and well, his strained voice is what got me there but I wasn’t close before that.
“Yeah,” I gasp and then he busts before I do. Lets it shoot everywhere. Neither of us comment when some of Steve’s spunk lands on my thigh but it’s where my vision focuses as I cum, trying to catch it all in my palm as I do so. Steve pulls his pants up and disappears for a moment. Into the kitchen, I think.
Do it, that gay little voice in my head urges and I swipe up the glob of Steve’s cum that landed on my thigh with my clean fingers. Bring it to my lips and lick it off. It’s cooled by now and it’s salty but not all that bitter. My cock twitches sadly against my thigh and my chest and stomach swell with fucking butterflies. I can’t believe I just fucking did that. I try to look natural as Steve returns and hands me a paper towel and then works to clean up the mess he’s made. He’s neat about collecting the magazines and lugs them up to his room. I get up to throw away the soiled paper towel he gave me and then the two of us sit on the couch and watch TV like that didn’t just happen.
—
Steve shows up at the pool one day. It’s weird. But he’s with that lesbian who takes the title of best friend. Even though Steve spends more time with me. I’m not jealous or anything. She’s gay. Not out but I don’t know, I can just smell it on her, I guess. I can confirm it when she’s dreamily staring at a redheaded girl from across the deck. Must be why they’re here because Steve has a fucking pool. I watch as he schmoozes with a handful of people we knew from school. People who talked shit about Steve to me but smile at him like he’s the fucking bee’s knees. And maybe he is.
His eyes meet mine and I smirk, raising my hand to flip him off. Smack my gum to accentuate the tease. Knowing Steve won’t see it like I mean it. Friendly to him, flirtatious at heart. He returns it, both hands lifted up to gesture at me. Then he follows his lesbian friend to a pair of loungers and I patiently wait for him to strip out of his dumb polo.
I’ve got the closing shift and I wonder if Steve’ll hang around until the end of it. Maybe I fantasize a little bit about fooling around in the showers. Maybe I fantasize a lot about Steve. I can do that as long as I don’t act.
Heather’s at my feet, looks up at me incredulously and laughs, “Harrington’s here.”
“Uh huh,” I poke her side with my toe, “Time to make your move.”
“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes dramatically. “Been there, done that.”
“Yeah? That’s new information,” I scoff, but maintain my smirk to keep it playful.
Heather’s face contorts as she gazes up at me, “Steve’s fucked the entire female population of our graduating class, it’s hardly news that I fell victim to it.”
“Christ, even I have higher standards,” I joke, though it stings. Which is fucking pathetic. He grew up here. Plenty of time to explore his options.
Heather pinches my calf, “Gee, thanks, asswipe.”
“I didn’t mean you,” I kick her softly in retaliation.
Heather is a good friend but she really wants to hook up and doesn’t hide the fact. She’s my type, too. Brown hair with big brown eyes. For some reason, I don’t want to sleep with her. Couldn’t be the boy across the deck. Nah, maybe I just don’t get that vibe from Heather. And I’m gonna ignore the fact that I don’t exactly get that vibe from any of the bitches in this shit hole.
Steve does stay until close but so does Robin. Steve’s her ride. But Steve’s standing at the foot of my lifeguard stand while Robin impatiently waits by the loungers.
“Why don’t you go drop your friend off and we can go do something fun?” I suggest and Steve smirks.
“Yeah? Like what?”
I wanna kick his face because it’s so handsome. I manage not to do so but the urge is still there. I have a couple of suggestions of what fun things we can do but I don’t wanna scare him off so I shrug. “Get drunk. I have tomorrow off.”
“Yeah. Me too,” he says and gazes up at me. “The quarry?”
“I’ll meet you there in an hour,” I tell him.
“Kay,” he smiles before pushing himself off the stand and walking towards Robin. I watch his ass as he walks away. Don’t think Steve’s aware of how big it even is. Kind of unproportionate to his body but it’s… attractive. Like most of him is.
I close up quicker than I should. Skipping stuff I’ll be scolded for later but I’m eager to see Steve again. Always eager to see him and it’s pathetic. I think I need to go on a date to beat down my sexual frustration but I’m worried it’ll be Heather and the whole time I’ll be thinking about how Steve’s been inside her. I think Steve and I are already tunnel buddies as it is.
He’s at the quarry when I get there. He’s on the trunk of the bimmer. Long legs bent at the knee. Changed into jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. He smiles all big when I pull up. Leans back and holds up a fifth of whiskey, shakes it in his hand. We drink too much. We have fun. I like Steve. He’s fun. I don’t get why Tommy hates him so much.
“Hey, pretty boy,” I say as I walk up, sixer in my hand.
We talk about our days, though it was inadvertently spent together. Steve tells me about Robin’s crush. How she’s too scared to talk to the girl I don’t know. But Steve thinks she should just go for it and I get why Robin doesn’t. Because if I took that advice I’d kiss Steve and he’d punch me square in the jaw.
“Truth or dare,” Harrington says before pulling from the bottle of cheap whiskey, grimaces after the shot.
“Truth,” I say ‘cause I don’t trust Steve and I don’t feel like getting up.
Steve hums, leans back against the back windshield of his car and folds his hands over his stomach. He’s deep in thought, I’m pretty sure he had a dare in mind and I’ve muddled it up with going with truth.
“How did you lose your virginity?” he settles on, looking at me with raised brows and smug smirk on his face.
“Huh,” I laugh, shaking my head, “I was thirteen.”
“Jesus Christ!” Steve furrows his brows, looking concerned and maybe he should be.
“She was my babysitter, she was like I don’t know, nineteen maybe?” I continue, “my dad worked a lot. Or drank. I don’t know. He didn’t come home until midnight most nights.”
“Nineteen and thirteen is uh… bad,” Steve mumbles and I ignore the judgment as I continue.
“Anyways, she taught me everything. Started with kissing. Then second base and then third base and uh, one night, we made a home run,” I tell him before sipping my beer.
Steve stares at me slack jawed for a while and it makes my skin crawl so I justify it, “She was a fucking knockout. Huge tits. Fell in love. Then ya know, she started bringing friends around. Before I knew it, I was a fucking Casanova.”
“Wow,” he looks like he’s chewing on it, like he’s not sure what else to say. Things feel weird so I ask him.
“Truth or dare, Harrington?”
“Uh, truth, I guess,” he replies, face pensive but still handsome.
“How’d you lose yours? Wasn’t Nancy, was it?”
Steve laughs, “No, not Nancy. I uh, I was sixteen. It was Heather, actually.”
“No shit!” my eyes widen, shock prevalent on my face, “She literally brought you up today. Didn’t tell me she took your V card, though.”
“I took hers, too,” Steve rolls his eyes, “Summer camp. Awkward. Super awkward.”
“Ya know, Heather said you’ve fucked everyone in our graduating class,” I inform him, knocking my knee into his.
Steve snorts before taking another swig, “That’s an overstatement.”
“I figured as much,” I mumble, turning to look at him. Flushed cheeks. Glassy eyes. I could kiss him but I won’t.
“Like ninety percent of ‘em, before Nancy. I literally haven’t had sex since her. And she and I only had sex twice,” he mumbles, running his palms over his thighs. He looks antsy from this conversation so I pass him a cigarette. Steve takes it hastily, bringing it to his lips and I’m quick to light it with my lighter.
“I fucked Tina at the graduation party but that’s the last time I’ve had sex,” I say and then purse my lips, “Guess we’re tunnel buddies.”
“How did you know I slept with Tina?” Steve snaps his head toward me all indignantly and I cackle.
“You just said ninety percent. Tina’s hot so I figure she’s included,” I explain, lighting up a cigarette for myself.
Steve exhales smoke in my face, then moves to wave the smoke away and I grab his wrist ‘cause he almost smacks me in the face.
“Why are you so obsessed with Nancy if you only hit it twice?”
“I’m not obsessed with Nancy,” he argues.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s more than sex,” Steve mumbles, “I was in love with Nancy. She’s beautiful, first of all and she’s so smart. And like, really strong willed—“
“I’ve heard it all before, dude. I don’t get it but whatever, yeah, you loved her,” I interrupt.
“Haven’t you been in love?”
“I thought we were playing a game,” I divert but Steve’s slick.
“Ok, truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
“I dare you to tell me if you’ve ever been in love?” Steve looks smug as he says it. I roll my eyes but I’m impressed, though I should’ve expected it.
“Diane Smith,” I say, “She was my girlfriend back home.”
“Why’d you break up?” Steve asks, flicks the butt of his cigarette with his thumb.
“Couldn’t wait to see what Hawkins had to offer my cock,” I say in an exaggerated low voice. It makes Steve roll his eyes but he laughs. “I’m a man,” I finish and grab my crotch crudely.
He shoots me a bratty look that almost has me confessing I might be in love with him right now. But instead I continue telling him about Diane, “She’s a babe, Steve. California bred. Gorgeous blonde hair. Bleached from the sun. Big ‘ol lips and bright blue eyes.” I whistle lowly and remember I still have a photo of her in my wallet so I lift my asscheek up and pull out the leather, filing through until I find the photo of Diane. She’s in a bikini, sitting on a towel on the beach and she’s smiling bright and pretty at me.
“That’s her,” I say as I pass it over. I know he can’t see it well under the moonlight but it’s fine. “Can’t do long distance. As much as I wanted.”
“She’s pretty,” Steve says, looking at the photo. My chest feels tight talking about her… thinking about her. So I have to be a dick.
I snatch the photo away and smirk, “Much hotter than Nancy Wheeler, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, shut up. Nancy’s pretty.”
“Indiana girls are livestock compared to California girls,” I quip.
Steve shocks me then. Asks me a weird question.
“You think that’s why Lucas and Dustin fought over Max?”
I grip his stupid sweatshirt and clench it in my fist, bringing his face closer, “The fuck are you saying, Harrington?”
“Woah, cool it! It was just a question,” his eyes are all wide and worried.
“Nah, come to think of it,” I shake him, “You never told me what the fuck was going on that night I rearranged your face. You got a thing for my kid sister, Harrington? ‘Cause I swear to god, I’ll fucking kill you right now.”
“No! No! I— Billy, nothing like that, I swear!” Harrington worriedly babbles, eyes looking so scared.
I let go of his sweater but I’m still wired, looking at him all crazy by the way he scoots away and exhales sharply, “I… I was just babysitting.”
“Swear to me right now, you ain’t some fucking pervert, Harrington.”
“I’m not. Billy, I’m not.”
#billy x steve#harringrove#billy hargrove x steve harrington#steve harrington x billy hargrove#harringrove fanfiction#harringrove fic#billy hargrove#steve harrington#steve x billy
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AITA for stalking my “father?”
I [11M] began stalking my “father” [??M] a few weeks ago after he began exhibiting strange new behavioral traits not congruent with his personality. He has been practicing his own handwriting, and he's been acting… different towards my mother. She seems to think he's finally coming around and showing her his love, but I don't think that's it. He seems like an entirely different person, quite literally, and I need to know why.
I started following him before and after school near where he works. I've been trying to record him outside, as the cameras I've placed inside the house have yet to reveal more information. I hadn't caught anything incriminating until last night, when he… when he…
He killed two people.
I don't know how he did it. They just… exploded. But I know it was him. He followed them to their apartment, and then somehow… I ran home immediately and tried to hide the evidence I'd gathered, hoping to take it to the police, or the PSIA, or someone, but then something even stranger happened. I woke up in the morning with no memory of going to sleep.
And when I went into the kitchen, my “father” was waiting, sporting a new look and this smug expression on his face. He walked with me on my way to school, suggesting that we get along instead of antagonizing one another. But this man is not my father, and I can’t allow him to continue threatening both me and my mother.
On the way to school, there was this man on the sidewalk, and he did something to me to look inside my mind, where he saw the truth about my “father.” He saw his name, and it… he…
The man exploded too, right as he learned the truth. And then I woke up in bed. I thought it was just a dream, but when I went to the kitchen, all the same things happened. And when I walked to school, that man, even though I didn't talk to him, he still…
Somehow, the man pretending to be my father killed him. And then his friends came around the corner, and I realized if they learned the truth, they would die too. I didn't know if they had the same ability as the dead man, to look inside my mind, so I tried to stop them, but… they saw something anyway, something invisible, and they all… all of them, they just…
I woke up again in my bed. I know now that this is not a dream, but a waking nightmare. If I had let these men investigate my “father,” they might have been able to defeat him. But because I got involved, now they're all…
I was just trying to uncover the truth. I was just trying to make sense of his new personality. Is it my fault? AITA?
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13 for the ship prompt! :D
Ship Prompts
13- Write about your ship celebrating one of the members birthdays.
Ship chosen: Queerplatonic Skk
I got carried away with this (3.5k words aaaaa) 😭😭 Hope you enjoy it, Darcy!! :D
Saccharine
“You’re aware what day of the year it is, right?”
Dazai’s eyes widen, fork still in his mouth as the chatter of the restaurant fades in his ears. It’s been four– almost five years, surely Chuuya isn’t alluding to that. The moment he meets the other’s peeved face, however, his mouth gapes, with the fork still inside it, and whispers in horror,
“Don’t-”
Chuuya cuts him off with an exasperated sigh, “I enjoyed those 51 days of me being a year older, but alas. The time has come for me-”
“Don’t-”
“-to be nice to you for the whole day…”
“NOOOOO!!!” He grabs his hair as he lurches back, other customers turning to their table, “Chuuya, if you’re a sadist, I’d much rather find out in better ways!” He bangs on the table with flat hands, to which Chuuya’s veins bulge at, “Would you quit with that awful annual torture-?!”
“Come on, you do this every goddamn year!” Chuuya bickers back, “Indulge a little in what I put myself through for your ungrateful ass.”
“You do it because I don’t like it!”
“Well, true.” Chuuya shrugs, leaning back with folded arms, “But don’t you get at least a little tired from doing this shit constantly? I’d say this is a much needed change of pace-”
“First of all, how dare you suggest that this ‘shit’ is but a front. Maybe you can’t help but pretend to hate me– and I get it, after all, who could resist my charm? But I truly hate you-!”
“Uh huh.”
“-Second of all, I’d rather stay alive than ever go through that quote-un-quote: ‘needed change of pace’ for the third time in my miserable life!”
“That so?” The smirk that Chuuya wears sends Dazai’s long-have-been-numb nerves prickling in foreign agitation that he hasn’t felt in a long time-
“Oh my.” Chuuya’s tone and eyes instantly soften, and Dazai recoils back before he can help it, “Miserable life, Osamu? I’m so sorry to hear that. We can talk about it, you know-”
Dazai clasps his ears shut, “Shut uuuup!!!”
“As you wish,” Dazai grimaces even further because Chuuya just listened to him, “but do know I am always here to talk, yeah?” Chuuya unsheathes one of his gloves to take Dazai’s hand into his own, expression so uncanny as he genuinely smiles at Dazai. The brunette feels sick-
“I’ll avoid you for the whole day if you keep this up!” He threatens crackly, can’t bring himself to take his hand away, “The Agency is definitely pummeling without me helping with the paperwork.”
Chuuya normally would tell him that he slacks on the job anyway, but now he just simply closes his eyes, that same damn smile on his face, “Just say the word, and I’ll give you all the space you need. Never doubt that, mackerel.”
The pet name doesn’t grant him the normalcy he’s desperate for when Chuuya says it in that tone of voice, “No- You’re not supposed to-!” Dazai can sense that his lack of acutely predicting Chuuya’s responses might drive him crazy very soon, so he attempts to try to calm himself, “Aren’t there mafia business for you to attend, Mr. Executive? Does Mori even know you’re here?”
“Don’t worry, Osamu, I freed the whole day just for you.”
“Stop calling me that-”
“Anything you want-”
“Raaaaaghhh!!!” Now he takes his hand back, clutching it on his chest as if he’s been burned, “You’ll crack. You’ll definitely crack. There is no chance you’re keeping this up forever. Your tiny brain won’t handle it!”
But he knows that isn’t the case, because Chuuya’s tiny brain had handled it for the whole day during his seventeenth and eighteenth birthday, and now at 23, his tolerance to Dazai’s insults have significantly heightened, to the brunette’s sheer disdain.
Chuuya tilts his head a little, hair swaying, completing his sickeningly sweet demeanor, “I’d do anything for the most precious person in the world.”
“Eugh- I think I threw up in my mouth a little.” He gags with a fist on his mouth, voice groggy-
The waiter comes up to them, telling them that the other customers have complained about Dazai’s occasional shrieks. Chuuya, still so freaking sweetly, informs her that they were leaving already, pays the restaurant without complaining once about Dazai never pulling his own weight, and they take off.
“This is a nightmare.” Dazai says after a long moment of silence between them, something that never happens, “My feisty dog is suddenly nice, he’s definitely transpiring something wicked against me!”
Chuuya- Chuuya laughs, “You know you’re ridiculous with that…” He doesn’t say it meanly, wiping a tear, which Dazai’s brain haywires at-
“Really, now? Laughing at calling you my dog?” The smallest of frowns dares crease his forehead, “This is too much, even for you.”
“What? You’re funny.” Dazai’s face pales- greens even, “So, where do you want to go, birthday boy?”
Dazai bristles at the nickname, then inhales to calm himself, an idea springing up, “Fine. You asked for it, Slug!” He knows just the perfect way to break him, “We’re going to the arcade.”
He sees the flash in Chuuya’s eyes, and deems himself victorious. Chuuya would never maintain this bullshit at the arcade given his ridiculously competitive nature. He’ll definitely scream at Dazai once or twice out of habit more than anything-
Nothing.
Clearly Chuuya’s willpower has also improved through the years, because there isn’t a single aggressive shout, there isn’t any accusations of Dazai tampering with the machines (he had), and though Chuuya laughs and enjoys the rounds, what he utters after his loss is the straw that breaks the camel’s back,
“Aw shucks. Good match, that was fun.”
Dazai leaps from his seat and turns around the machines to reach the redhead, grabbing his cheeks with panicked eyes, “Chuuya, Chuuya are you in there?! I think you’ve been possessed!” He speaks to the eyes, sensing their amused confusion, “Do something to tell me you’re in there! Any sign!”
Chuuya smiles.
“Ahh!” Dazai lets him go instantly, “Begone, demon!!”
“Come on, now.” The not-Chuuya says fondly- eughhh, “Up for another round?”
“No!” This didn’t work. Dazai needs to think of other ways, make up a plan. Operation: exorcising this cloying demon out of his partner begins in-
“How about we go to my apartment? I have a surprise for you.”
Dazai’s eyes dart as his mind runs in terrifying speeds, addressing the other without looking, “I don’t trust you with surprises right now. You may be small, but you’re no less terrifying.”
Chuuya chuckles, “You’ll love it, trust me-”
Dazai gets into a fighting stance, gasping, “Do not speak of trust with that tone of voice, not-Chuuya!”
Chuuya chuckles again, and his silky tone coaxes him to follow him to his apartment, nevertheless. Dazai can’t believe he’ll have to endure seven more hours of this, planning to break a thing or two of Chuuya’s belongings out of spite if nothing else.
“Don’t think your façade is fooling me, I can see right through you!” He announces impatiently from the couch, leg bouncing up and down as Chuuya pours drinks from the kitchen, “You gagged at least twice through this, didn’t you? Admit it.”
Chuuya laughs again, a record in Dazai’s book. This is so ridiculous. “Stop cracking me up, I can’t pour the drinks.”
Dazai sulks, sinking into the couch, “Shut up…” But it’s weak, replaced by flusterment he can’t ebb down. He feels suddenly helpless with the lack of the reactions, and wonders if he’s losing his touch. The antique vase looks like it wants to crash into the floor in full speed so much right now.
“You’re a little red.” Not-Chuuya is suddenly in front of him, sitting down as he gapes up at him in amusement, “Cute.” He attempts to give Daza his drink.
Dazai, with crossed arms, huffs and turns away, “I’m not talking to you.”
“Why? Did I do anything wrong?” Chuuya asks gently with a smile, placing the glass on the table. Dazai turns even further in order to hide the other from his peripheral.
No, you didn’t. And that’s the problem.
“Your hair looks soft. Fluffy.” Dazai suddenly feels fingers running through the back of his head. His noddle whips so fast his neck feels like it cracked,
“Ew, ew! Don’t touch me, cheap-Chibi-replica!!” He doesn’t exactly flinch away, fuming, “The real Chuuya calls my hair a dirty mop all the time! Do better!”
Not-Chuuya brushes his bangs this time, fixated on them as he speaks, “Maybe he never told you those things because…” He pauses, eyes down-casting a little. Dazai begged him to say ‘you’re a pain in the ass’. It’s what he expects, it’s what makes perfect sense, it’s what aligns with the Chuuya he knows like the back of his hand, pleasepleaseplease-
“…he never really thought he deserved you enough to do so.”
Dazai rigids, “WHAT?!”
“He’s afraid of things he’ll lose.” Chuuya, to Dazai’s absolute disdain, explains, “So he tries his best to push everyone away. Everyone he’s sure will be too precious to him, everyone he’ll latch onto just a little too much, he tries his best to maintain his distance from th-”
“Chuuya, I have never been more serious with you in my life: Please stop.” Dazai numbly says, suddenly so, so exhausted.
The redhead’s mouth clasps, as per request, but he clarifies that it still isn’t over, “Only six more hours and I will.”
“Why?” Dazai stresses, uncomfortable, “You can end it here. Nothing obligates you to-”
“You never asked for your surprise.” Chuuya cuts him off.
Dazai blinks, turning to him, “If I see it, will you stop?”
“Only if you want to.”
“Of course I will.” Dazai rolls his eyes, “Now, on with it. If it gets the real Chuuya out, then the sooner the better.”
Chuuya smiles, but there is something solemn regarding it. He gets up, with Dazai observing his every move, and scurries through a drawer big and wide enough to accommodate stacks of files and documents. Dazai’s eyes narrow, never taking interest to rummage through this particular drawer for how boring its contents appear to be, but now his interest in piqued, as Chuuya finds what he’s looking for with a small: “Aha.”
Dazai thinks he sees an envelope in Chuuya’s hand as he ambles closer, but that can’t be right-
“Here.”
“Your surprise is a letter?” Dazai truly hasn’t been more confused in his life. He hates that he can’t see where this is going, inspecting the brown envelope as he speaks, “Chuuya, I don’t think there is anything you can’t verbally say to me now, do you? This is usele-”
His eyes widen, breath catching in his throat as he reads the name embedded on the paper.
From: Odasaku
Time seems to stop while Dazai reads the nickname once, twice. It’s in English cursive that can never be Chuuya’s handwriting, and his hands tremble ever so slightly the moment he registers the credibility of what he’s holding. This is real.
“You- wh-” He looks back and forth between the envelope and Chuuya’s gentle eyes, gaze never seeming to want to leave either.
Chuuya sits on the couch, voice subdued, “Your Executive desk was cleared by me after your defection, as per my own request. I was admittedly selfish– looking for anything you might have left for me before you left. Something to explain, anything-”
“Chuuya-”
“Hey, let me finish, will you?” Chuuya sends him a soft smile in reassurance, “I found this instead, read the first two paragraphs before I closed it again. It explained everything I needed to know, Dazai.” He leans back, drinking out of the wine glass, “You can read it privately if you want.”
But Dazai doesn’t get up, scrambling to take the paper out with shaky fingers. His heart wildly throbs once a long wall of text meets his widened eyes,
This is but my latest prose as a person worthy of being a writer, a person who is not tainted with blood.
Dazai, if I die before seeing you one last time, I do not wish to end things between us on such terms. There is a lot I wish to tell you before I leave…
Dazai reads every word, eyes welling against his will, making the letter blur and scramble as one. Oda speaks of their time together, his fondest memories, his ideals- tells him he would’ve left a letter for Ango hadn’t it been for the circumstances. Tells him the name of his adopted children, the characteristics each of them had.
I, truly, have considered you one of them.
Oda informs him of how much he resembled a burnt black cat the first time they met, how he doesn’t seem as burnt now. Dazai chuckles wetly as Odasaku says that he’s happy he’d known him, even for a short while, even in their circumstances.
Whatever path you’ll choose after what occurs, please remember this:
The brunette suddenly hiccups, an ugly sound seldom forced out of him. He covers his mouth, finds his lips too shaky to form words, heart feeling more than all it had felt in almost half a decade-
“He said he’s proud of me, even before knowing I’d defect.” He isn’t sure why he’s whispering this to his partner, “He-” His cheeks feel wetter than before, to which he looks at his hand. Droplets of salt continue to fall on them so assertively, he thinks they might cause them to bleed,
“What is this- what have you done to me…?” Dazai knows he’s crying, he just doesn’t know why he can’t will himself to feel numb again. Everything is hazy and sloppy and wet, and he keeps the precious paper away, afraid it will get caught up in that uncontrollable mess…
“Do you hate it?” Chuuya asks faintly, with some regret in it. Dazai shakes his head, leaving the letter on the table-
“No, I don’t but- these monstrous things won’t stop.” He croaks as he wipes with both hands on his face, and to his horror the tears double, the sobs get even more violent, “I think I’ve been possessed, too…”
“Hey, come here…” Chuuya guides him through his fit, which Dazai blindly follows, till he finds himself with a weight on his laps and both arms and legs embracing him. Dazai latches back so tightly, trembling as he puts all of his force into the fists that both hit Chuuya lightly and grab the back of his shirt with. He doesn’t have to wipe the tears when Chuuya’s garment acts as a napkin, soaking every single thing he wishes to hide.
“He said he’s proud…” Dazai repeats, squeaks, burying his nose into the warmth of his partner.
“That he did.” Chuuya’s ungloved fingers caress his hair, and don’t stop until the persistent tears finally stop flowing. Dazai stays huddled in the warmth for more seconds despite himself, selfishly wishing to steal it all, before shifting to indicate his desire to draw away, and Chuuya instantly gets off of him.
He can’t bring himself to look at the azure pupils no matter how hard he tries, eyes shifting away to the table and the carpet and the hands on his lap.
It has been long since he’s felt this bare, much less over a gift. He had received many birthday presents in the last two years especially: Ranpo would give him all the sweets he could offer, Kenji crops from his field, Kyouka pretty daggers, Atsushi hugs and flowers, the Tanizaki siblings a cake of their making, Yosano fancy wine bottles, Kunikida would treat him to a meal, and Fukuzawa would orchestrate the whole party…
While it would all be appreciated, he never really felt any joy over being one year older. Most times he regrets ever living this long, so he doesn’t regard the gifts or parties done in his honor with as much gratefulness as he feels he’s supposed to.
But this? This one letter lying opened on the table?
It might be the best birthday gift he’d… ever received.
And he wants to let Chuuya know that.
“Uh.” What was he supposed to say again? What did normal people say in situations like this? Thank you? Sorry? “You’re… appreciable, slug.”
That was neither- what the fuck, brain??
Chuuya would have pointed his terrible attempt at being grateful out at any other day, but now he simply smiles relievedly,
“I’m glad you like it.”
This version of his partner is starting to prove that he isn’t so bad, after all.
Dazai frowns, still avoiding eye-contact, “No, um, what I mean is… mmmm….” He sinks so far in the couch, till only his head is reclining by the back of the seat. He crosses his arms and averts his face, physically forcing himself to say it, “tnks…” he whispers.
“Hm?”
It’s a beat, then Dazai roughly flops his head on Chuuya’s lap, because he can’t articulate his appreciation with words, and thus wants to show it by doing something Chuuya likes, which is having to look down to see Dazai instead of the other way around. He feels the other tense for a second before his hand reluctantly cups his brown hair in question.
“Thanks.” Dazai grits into Chuuya’s pants, then rolls on his back, finally meeting the amused blues, “Don’t get the wrong idea, demon, you won’t catch me saying this to the real Chuuya at all. But you get a pass. Only this once.”
“Might as well feel honored, huh?” Chuuya chuckles, and it’s truly genuine.
A small smile cracks Dazai’s face for a mere second. Wannabe-Chuuya is really more acquainted to handle these moments than regular Chuuya. It’s definitely why he waited for Dazai’s birthday to hand the letter to him– an excuse to show his raw and real care that Dazai undeservedly bathes himself in.
“So, do you want him back, now?”
Dazai doesn’t, but can't ever shed light on contradicting himself, so he dramatically says instead, “I’ll think about it.”
The redhead’s brow ridges, though not with his typical ‘I’m done with your bullshit’ frown. It’s with a smile.
He wonders when Chuuya ever learned to be this good of an actor.
Dazai feigns a long sigh, “Fine, you can stay a little longer…” then pauses, blinking upwards, “Wait- am I betraying real-Chuuya that way?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t mind.” Chuuya says as he strokes Dazai’s unkempt bangs away from his face.
Dazai’s mouth curls in displeasure because he likes it, “I hate you.”
“He hates you too, buddy.” It’s better to hear it in third person, like this part of Chuuya forever believes he is worth not being hated, “Wanna spend the rest of the day here or go somewhere else?”
“Energy’s gone, not-my-Chibi.” He twirls the long end of the fiery hair in a finger, “Outdoor activities will be a chore…”
Chuuya shakes his head and rolls his eyes in fondness, “This might be the lamest birthday setting ever.”
“That’s exactly right.” Dazai sneers, “But when were we ever conventional with the way we do things?”
“Touche. At least I got a cake and a candle.”
“Ugh, no. You know I hate formalities.”
They carry it out anyway, with Dazai ruining Chuuya’s attempts to sing properly, and Chuuya being patient through and through.
His partner must have expected Dazai to want to stay home after receiving his gift, because they spend the next six hours doing everything Dazai likes– They play videogames, they cook and Dazai makes the kitchen an unsalvageable mess, they wildly dance together and stumble on their feet, they watch murder mysteries and brain rotting soap operas in a pillow fort, they play with cards and Chuuya loses every single time.
It's until there is fifteen minutes left till midnight, with Dazai getting his hair braided, that he finds himself glancing back with a devious idea in mind. Testing Chuuya’s willpower one last time wouldn’t hurt, would it…?
“Ah, so. I hate to admit it– who am I kidding, no don't,” He gives an exaggerated winces as he glances back, “but I maybe, sorta bleached all your coats while you were in the restroom when I was mad at you.”
Chuuya pauses his braiding, staring at Dazai for a long while… then all of the veins on his body pop-
He gets yanked backwards by the hair, “Ow, OW!” Dazai laughs because finally, “My, Chuuya, you’re back sooner than expected!”
Chuuya grabs him in a chokehold, which Dazai tries to escape from, “I can’t fucking take it anymore,” He growls, and Dazai laughs even harder, “My coats? MY COATS, DAZAI?!”
“It’s tie-dye season! Never heard of tie-dye season?!” Dazai slips downwards, successfully scrambling away as Chuuya attempts to grab him but he isn’t fast enough-
“GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!!”
“Bring nice-Chuuya back first!!”
“SAY GOODBYE TO HIM FOREVER, BASTARD!”
“What?! Noooo, call me Osamu one last time!”
“IN YOUR WILDEST FUCKING DREAMS!!”
They pause the chase when Dazai’s behind the kitchen counter and Chuuya’s outside, if only to catch their breaths, “You know, if it weren’t for the fact that me being nice isn’t as effective on you, I’d have made it a staple on your birthday as well!”
Dazai grins evilly, as Chuuya pales.
“How would that go, again?” Dazai taps his chin, “Oh, Nakahara-Sama, You’re so smart and cool.” Chuuya’s face turns green, the piled urge to vomit since he’d started his act finally getting to him, “You are definitely not a dog and you’re actually the perfect height, goes nicely with your figure and strong build-“
“No, fuck! Euuugh!!!” Chuuya actively empties his stomach in a conveniently placed bucket, Dazai claps in victory,
“Aha! Maximum damage!!!” He points at him, “What comes around goes around, Slug!!”
“You’ll fucking pay for that!”
Chuuya breaks the door of the kitchen down, adding to the unhopeful mess Dazai’d made. Their wild goose chase keeps going till three in the morning.
And Dazai? Keeps laughing till all his heart’s content…
#Healthy relationships are not Dazai’s forte#Chuuya threw up in his mouth a few times during this#I assure you dljsnjl#this is the first time I’m writing 22!skk this was so hard#I never thought writing nice Chuuya would be so difficult#I was screaming in horror along with Dazai#emetophobia warning!#some hurt/comfort#humor#silly#silly skk#bsd#dazai osamu#chuuya nakahara#skk#bungou stray dogs#bsd dazai#bsd chuuya#bsd fanfic#J's post#J's writing ✍🏽#J's fic#hugs#fluff#this will be uploaded on ao3 on June 19th!! :D#soft skk#oda sakunosuke#bsd oda#writers on tumblr
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into the beat of the night (interlude) "skin"
pairing: frankie morales/oc!river price (they/them)
rating: E (18+)
content: talks about top surgery, river is afab and nonbinary, pwp, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms (referenced), overstimulation, nipple play, dom!frankie, sub!river, praise kink, takes place sometime after ch7, could be read as standalone as long as you know that this is frankie's first relationship with a nonbinary person. i promise river will get to dom tf out of frankie next time lol
word count: 1k
dividers by @saradika-graphics
beta: @scenaaario
a/n: written for @romanarose 's pride event, for the prompt: "transitioning". thank you so much for reading! ♥
series masterlist
for future updates, follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifications~
“Frankie, I’m–!”
“I know, amorcito,” Frankie grinned, panting into River’s ear. His lips latched onto their shoulder and sucked hard, hips hammering into them. “Another.”
River panted underneath him, face twisted in pleasure and flushed a deep red color. They gripped the sheets in tight fists and their face was buried into the pillow. Drool, sweat, and bite marks covered the soft material. “I–I can’t,” they whined.
“Do you need to stop?” Frankie breathed, slowing down the speed of his hips, but not letting up on the intensity.
“N-no! Please, keep going,” River groaned weakly. They turned their head to look back at him, eyes glazed over and pupils dilated.
Frankie’s face softened a little as he looked them over. Their long, inky black hair was stuck to their sweaty skin, covering them like a blanket. Those big green eyes of theirs were pleading with him to let them come.
He gripped their hips, large hands feeling more powerful than they usually did when his thumbs dug into the dips and dimples there. He turned their body onto their side and lifted one of River’s legs to rest on his shoulder. Each of his knees were planted on either side of one of their other thigh.
Frankie slowly eased back inside of them, the stretch making River moan openly. “Good,” he praised, the hand not holding their leg in place pressed to their stomach comfortingly. “Taking me so well, baby.”
River bit their lip and watched his face closely, their eyebrows turned downward in pleasure and pleading. Frankie started picking up the pace again, the obscene wet suck of River’s pussy pulling him in further and echoing in their ears. “Oh, fuck,” River whined, head lolling back into the pillow. They panted hard, their chest heaving rhythmically with each of Frankie’s deep thrusts.
From this angle, Frankie could see everything; their damp skin, the way River’s lips trembled, and the way their tattoos glistened in the low light of his bedroom. His eyes dragged over the defined muscles of their thighs and trim waist, then landed on the distinct scars on their chest.
“Play with your nipples for me,” Frankie breathed, hips bucking into theirs. He looked down and watched as his cock fucked into them, the sight of River’s slick covering his cock giving him chills down his spine.
River obeyed, tweaking their nipples as the heat built in their core. “F-Frankie, I’m gonna fucking come,” they whined.
“Do it. Come for me,” grunted Frankie, planting one foot on the mattress to drive into them harder.
River let out an obscene noise before stilling as they came, their hips bucking with the waves of their high.
“Good, Río,” Frankie panted, and leaned over to kiss them deeply as they shook with the aftershocks. “So fucking good,” he groaned into their mouth, the lewd plap plap plap of their hips sending him over the edge with them. He bit and tugged on their bottom lip as thick ropes of come covered the walls inside them.
River hummed and purred like a happy cat at the warmth and sticky feeling between them. They brought their leg down and curled it around Frankie’s waist, their arms doing the same at his neck. “C’mere,” River breathed, kissing him languidly and tangling their fingers in his damp curls.
Frankie got comfortable and laid on top of them, softening cock still inside them snugly. Their kisses were lazy, but deep, and lasted for a long time. River always got especially clingy and affectionate after sex, and Frankie was hardly going to complain.
Eventually, they came up for air, and looked at each other. River snorted at his hair sticking up in all directions and pecked his cheek. “I gotta pee so bad,” they groaned. Frankie laughed and slowly pulled out, watching as his come dripped out of them. He smirked at the sight, thumb rubbing at River’s inner thigh.
After River went to the bathroom and Frankie removed the dirty sheets, they got comfy under the covers and cuddled close. Frankie looked down at their head, hair now pulled back into a loose braid. “I’ve got a question for you, Riv,” he said softly.
“Anything,” River smiled, kissing his pec before looking up at him.
“How bad was it?”
River raised a brow and frowned. “How bad was what?”
“Your… When you got top surgery.”
River blinked, but smiled softly. “Where did that come from?” They chuckled.
Frankie blushed, his eyes going wide. “W-well, I was just curious! When we– While I was on top of you, well. I looked at the scars, and I just sort of wondered.”
River laughed quietly and cupped his face. “Do you wanna know the whole process, or…?”
Frankie shrugged. “Only if you wanted to tell me.”
River hummed, exhaling a heavy breath as they thought about it. “Well, the healing process sort of sucked. I slept like shit.”
Frankie frowned, concerned.
“I’m fine now,” they rolled their eyes playfully, poking him in the nipple. “But my left nipple still isn’t as sensitive as it used to be.”
Frankie looked down at their left nipple and tweaked it teasingly. River giggled, and covered it protectively. “Hey!”
He grinned and gave them a kiss on their shoulder. “Go on,” he chuckled.
“But yeah,” River continued. “I had a really good friend come with me and we both cried afterwards. It felt… right. I think I even told him that I was always meant to look that way.”
Frankie’s eyes rounded softly. “Oh, Río,” he smiled. “I’m sad I wasn’t there.”
“Me too,” River nodded. “But you’re here now. And now I don’t even remember what it felt like to have breasts.”
He hummed thoughtfully, nodding. “I love you, River,” he said softly, cupping their face and rubbing his thumb on their cheekbone.
“And I love you,” River grinned, kissing him deeply. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Wondering. Accepting me,” they shrugged, looking at a freckle on his chest.
“Of course,” Frankie said seriously, making them look back up at him. Deep brown eyes bore into green, and it made River’s breath catch. “Always.”
And River believed him when he said it, too.
#oscarpedroprideevent2024#frankie morales#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales fic#frankie morales smut#frankie morales series#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier fic#triple frontier smut#triple frontier au#nonbinary#pride#oaksfics
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Saw a post about this and would like to share my take on it, no use clogging up this person’s tumblr and all that when I could just make my own point.
Big tw for non-con/rape, sexual abuse, etc
Besides, it doesn’t matter that much because this is a fictional character and not an actual person, so it’s nothing to really fight over— unless people who believe this actually support/enjoy/do non-con and other such gross things in real life, in which case— kindly omit yourself from this planet because you are sick and we don’t need people who actually find shit like this “hot” or would even do it themselves. Fuck you, I am a victim. If you like to believe this aspect is canon because it adds something for you (that is hopefully not erotic or romantic…) then do what you want, I guess. Not my thing, but I can just stay away from it so it’s not a big deal. Again, it is a fictional character but your opinions on what they do is REAL and can affect you and your actions.
Also when you post about that shit and justify it or whatever, you’re making multiple people feel unsafe and you’re making multiple rapists feel VERY safe, just so you know. So maybe make it clearer that you’re not about that in reality.
Anyway, all that done, let’s talk about the more specific and less important argument;
I see people so often characterize Hannibal as someone who is okay with or practices non-con and other such sexually heinous things, based on his attitude and actions in the show.
In my opinion, while we see Hannibal commit obviously horrible things— like murder and cannibalism, creating awful power imbalances and malpractices, as well as performing non-consensual and non-sexual actions on others— we don’t see him doing anything sexually heinous, and in my opinion I don’t believe he would do so.
For one, he encourages Margot to kill her abuser, Mason. Not that this isn’t a thing he would do regardless, but he also drugs and has Mason self-torture, paralyzes Mason to elongate his suffering and to also leave the revenge up to Margot herself, and even aids in the killing of Mason. We do know that he sexually violates Mason, but it isn’t for sexual motivation, as it is a clinical violation in order to harvest his sperm. I will admit, this is rather gross and sexually heinous, but not done for sexual pleasure or in support of sexual assault (rather the opposite I’d think).
This post I saw pointed out that Hannibal also said that he “liked this dragon” in regard to Francis Dolarhyde, who sexually assaulted his victims. This is a good point, and the only real opposition I have for this is that he only said so to get on Will’s nerves, or that he meant it in an entirely different way— that he’d like to kill the dragon/have Will kill the dragon, as that’s why he’d sent the man to his house in the first place (not knowing Will wouldn’t necessarily be there), because Francis already had a vendetta against Will and Hannibal would like to have Will get back into killing. I do know that Hannibal is well-aware of Francis’s crimes, as he reads about them through the paper and so I can’t say that he didn’t know about the necrophilic part of his killings, and that any of them very well could’ve been subject to it. I can only refute by saying he expected Will to kill Dolarhyde and “become the dragon” before any of that could happen.
Hannibal’s whole motto is “eat the rude” and I’d say people who commit sexually heinous crimes would be considered very rude, and he even seems to dislike them when they’re not even targeting himself.
This is not about projecting morality onto dark characters as much as it is my personal take and also to those who need to hear it: stop projecting your creepiness onto dark characters. They can be dark characters without being sexually disturbing.
I guess, personally, I’d just like to have a favorite character/favorite ship that does not perform/support sexual violations. Don’t know how you can fault me for that.
#Hannibal#will graham#hannibal lecter#nbc hannibal#hugh dancy#mads mikkelsen#hannigram#opinion post#important post#discussion post#Hannibal discussion#Hannibal morality post#eat the rude#Hannibal would hate you 💀#he’d ask for your business card man#^not directed at anyone just those who it applies to
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watching les mis bootlegs everyday
Day 3
okay so this was meant to be a daily thing but I literally passed out from exhaustion half way through this performance then was immediately sick the next two days. This may be a sign from the universe, however, this sign can’t stop me cause I can’t read.
14/6/2014 West End Production
Https://youtu.be/ucpfyLQKif8?si=AURouDP1jYXb5ZFl
To preface, this is incredibly biased because this is a rewatch of the first bootleg I ever watched of Les Mis and was literally my introduction to Les mis
it holds a very very very special place in my heart
first off literally one of the most powerful singing from Valjean I’ve heard
Incredible!!
oml Na-Young Jeon plays Fantine and she is literally my favourite Fantine ever I love her so my she is how I have always and will always picture Fantine she is literally the greatest
she’s gorgeous like just look at her
She has a power in her voice that I don’t hear often in other Fantine’s
she’s literally perfect
theres a moment in at the end of the day where she attempts to stop Valjean from leaving cause she knows what’s going to happen
Carrie Hope Fletcher as Eponine!!!
Amazing of course
She’s an icon she’s a legend
a little fall of rain actually hurt my soul so much
She’s such a good actress I will literally shout it from the rooftops
Cosette oh Cosette i cannot speak enough about her
her acting was actually incredible especially in the finale and her face is so expressive I can’t even
this post is just turning into actress appreciation at this point
Marius was such a Little loser this performance
At least he can sing
empty chairs and empty tables broke me
Enjolras had a little bow in his ponytail
Im pretty sure Javert gets a little bow in his hair at some point later as well
but you cannot tell me this is not one of the most Enjolras looking Enjolrases to even Enjolras
He gets all up close and personal with Javert
now for my little Grantaire tangent
i absolutely loved Grantaire in this performance I think this was my favourite portrayal of him ever
he as a really good relationship with Gavroche it’s so cute
When Gavroche is accusing Javert he flings his arms around and almost knocks Grantaire in the face
Grantaire holds onto Gavroche to keep him away from the guns
My sillies
and when Gavroche dies and the set spins to return to the barricade boys the spotlight is on Grantaire as he slowly sits down after witnessing it
:)
After a little fall of rain Enjolras steps forward to speak to Marius but Grantaire steps between them stopping him from getting any closer before comforting Marius
In Drink with me Grantaire tries to (or does I can’t tell) kiss Joly
Then he fucking sobs through his solo and hugs Enjolras who sits him down and takes away his drink
then he REACHES OUT TO ENJOLRAS
i cant do this
and on the Barricade Enjolras runs all the way down from the top to see Grantaire then they both climb back up together
also he’s either wearing eyeliner or it just looks like he’s wearing eyeliner
his actor was just really really good in general
and that is why I love Grantaire thank you for coming to my Ted talk
After the finale battle Javert tried to open the sewer grate then GROWLS ‘Valjean’
like actually
through out the entire show this man is just full on GROWLING
Javert’s soliloquy was a masterpiece genuinely
his transition from the bridge to the ground was so smooth I have no clue how they did that
i mean…he kinda… *gets spritzed with water and starts melting like that witch*
The Thenadiers are like exactly how I pictured them to look
plus they were both real good
^^Now I know you can’t tell, but this here is a picture of Feuilly holding Enjolras by the waist (it’s canon fr fr)
shout out to this random woman and barricade boy who are being adorable in the background while Marius is lamenting about his sad sad life
time for my lighting nerd moment!
the majority of especially the first part of the performance the stage is like entirely dark with a single spotlight
particularly with individual songs but for like most of the songs that aren’t group songs (red and black or one day more ect)
It’s done SO well and looks SO good
it’s very impressive how exact the spotlights are
It feels like this performance is very character focused rather than set
especially because the person filming tends to zoom in on the actors faces to capture their expressions
They make really good use of smoke the whole performance it’s very nice
I like how they used smoke with coloured lighting at the beginning of at the end of the day
The sequence was very nice
and in the sewers they used a bunch of spotlights to show Valjean and Marius travelling
they also use a grate light for the sewers and dog eats dog which worked really well imo
if you want the full stage the whole time you absolutely will not get that for most of the performance
the person filming is actually pretty good at catching faces
Overall the performance was so incredible
i am very biased so take everything with a grain of salt
but definitely one of, if not my favourite bootleg
now I leave you with two of my favourite screenshots
If you have suggestions for other good bootlegs please let me know (YouTube only)
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The Butterfly Said "Help Me"
