#I think fights feel a lot more real and a lot more gross when it's a person and someone you know

[lord-squiggletits]

Between TF and my other fandoms like BG3 and TES, I keep finding myself making OCs that have some element of "battle hardened hero who is actually good and righteous, but so traumatized by the toll of war that even after the war ends they feel empty/wrecked and can't enjoy the fruits of victory" and I'm not sure if it's bc I gravitate to a certain type of media where such OCs fit in best, or bc I have a specific character archetype I like and gravitate towards media that contains those things.

#squiggposting #possibly a mix of both bc idk if i've gone into detail here but war stories are one of my favorite genre of stories #like for fun fictional reasons but also for real life political and moral and emotional implications #war stories are literally so fucking cool man i feel like they get a bad rap for just being propaganda tools #and obv a lot of them can be/are explicitly made to be but also like #(i feel like i'm stealing a quote from one such story) war stories are also a method for the soldiers of the war to tell their side #and usually the soldier's side of the story tells of the LESS glorious and propagandistic sides #maybe ive just had the pleasure of having really good teachers/professors but like #most of the war stories i've read are specifically ABOUT the bridge bt war propaganda and the actual experience of fighting in a war #and i think even the ones where the soldier in question supports the war (american sniper comes to mind) #it's very interesting and dare i say important to read it and understand when and why and how they came to support war #like idk i think it's one of those things where ppl shy away from war stories bc #'ew gross it's all pro war probably american imperialist propaganda written by oppressive killers trying to make us feel sorry for them' #without understanding... idk. the difference between an individual soldier's evil and the evil of an entire institution? #some sort of anti intellectualism regarding soldiers as being inherently evil ppl who aren't to be listened to or taken seriously? #it's not a matter of like. you don't need to like or sympathize with them per se. but i think part of understanding and criticizing #the institution of war is getting the ground level testimonies about it. and more of them are critical than some ppl believe #plus i mean FUCK usamerican imperialism it doesn't need to be about US wars! other countries lived thru other wars that are also important! #war stories may have their strongest association w american imperialism but that doesn't mean other war stories don't exist #idk sorry for rambling in the tags

[pumpkinrootbeer]

i understand the "oh Steve is so bad at fights" sentiment comes from the fact Jonathan and billy rocked his shit but I do feel the need to remind everyone he is 4-0 when it comes to beating monsters in fights. played pinata with the demogorgan. beat back multiple demodogs in a very literally sense. rammed monster billy with a car. bit a demobat and then beat it into the ground after getting strangled and chewed on. he is feral. he is desperate. like at what point do we acknowledge that he holds back against people 🤨

#stranger things #steve harrington #:V #I don't think it's even a conscious thing tbh #I think fights feel a lot more real and a lot more gross when it's a person and someone you know #and when it's a literal faceless monster who wants to kill your friends the part of Steve who has the capacity to bite through rancid flesh #just unlocks and goes hog wild #Obvs they need 11 to kill the monsters but I feel like they could just point Steve in the right direction and he'll just start biting. #and when Steve bites vecna in s5 then what 🤨

[arklay]

once upon a time i liked a ship for what it was and then i saw how the fandom treated it and now i have visceral hatred towards it (harsh but not far off)

#leah.txt #normal i swear #it’s like i’m just so tired of seeing it and i think it’s cause a lot of the time people mischaracterise the characters involved so often #when talking about it and i hate it. i’m being vague cause don’t want it showing up anywhere. but like in canon the concept is so good and #so juicy even though i am not really a fan of like enemies/lovers kinda tropes. slash cause it’s more lovers to enemies but were always #technically enemies but real bonds formed on accident and that always runs deep even after the fact etc etc it’s such a good ship in concep #and then you see the fandom and go ah you’ve made it insufferable to me now. it gets reduced to just like the most i mean fandomy shit #it happens so often with me now that it’s like i need to not look at tags ever actually akdjsjsksns #so so vague but the concept of falling in love and fraternising when you shouldn’t and so many elements of you are going to betray this #person when the time comes but you can’t help falling for them and the other side being i shouldn’t be falling for this guy he’s my #superior officer but it’s like no he’s actually not and he’s a mole and he’s going to kill you all off. and then running for him when he #gets injured. that’s so. even after he tells you that you what his plans were. still caring. but like. out of anger and hurt you bruised hi #ego and insulted him and that starts big revenge run of like someone who can’t take criticism or being made to feel lesser… but you have to #hunt him down even if you still hold feelings for him he is everything you stood against and were fighting and now you’re fighting him when #you loved him. irl you know i hate this shit and betrayal and lying and all that you know this i’m just talking in fiction it’s got so many #layers. having to kill the man you once loved because he became everything he was against and he developed delusions and lost his mind. IT #HURTS. then you look at the fandom and it’s like teehee they’re just soooo gay gay homosexual and it’s like. this ship has layers. it’s lik #an onion. but okay. and it’s always just like i mean the gross people come out with the really gross fics with it but like omg it’s such a #good ship in concept with lovers becoming enemies when they shouldn’t have been lovers in the first place because it was a sort of forbidde #setting. the captain and his subordinate. captain who is actually a mole and going to betray these people who he has unintentionally formed #some bonds with. actually learning they are on opposing ends. the man they saw as fair and just and cool is a liar a manipulator a scheming #bastard who is only doing things out of self interest BUT HE GOT FEELINGS. it’s so arghghhhggggg and that’s why the criticism hits deeper #cause it’s someone he cared about and it’s so aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa #like there’s a reason it’s the most popular ship because i mean they are literally each others narrative foil lmaooo but like the fandom #just somehow makes it weird a lot and i’m 🧍🏼 why guys why #and what i mean by gross people and gross fics is what a lot of people do to villains doing to others even when they aren’t like that. you #guys are just nasty and gross and need to not share things like that <3 #i feel like it's a lot of just fetishising two men being together rather than focusing on their dynamics and characters

[neopuppy]

Bestfriend Jeno who invades readers privacy and goes through her computer filled with videos of ykyk💀

warnings. errrhhmmm🤔 masturbation, yeah..

“Damn, he really did a number on your phone.” Jeno’s fingers drag down the shatter of cracks distorting your screen, neck ticking to the side. “I can definitely fix it though.”

“You can?”

“Yeah, I worked at one of those phone repair kiosks a couple summers ago, these screens cost a fortune to get fixed you know? I have a lot of leftover supplies, can probably find something in my stash that will fit.” He informs, patting your shoulder. “Means you’ll have to be disconnected all day though, is that okay?”

“I guess, have some lectures to get through and a group project to finish so I’ll be at the library most of the day if anything.”

“Alright, write down your passcode and maybe your apple log in just in case.” Jeno nods to a notebook, grabbing a pen to hand you.

“Why the log in?” You hesitate, eyeing your phone nervously.

Jeno shrugs, holding your phone out to you. “I only want to help, I know you’re kind of down on your luck right now. I understand if you want to be around when I fix it but today’s one of my only free days for the rest of the week, so..”

“No no, it’s fine.” You sigh, pushing the phone back toward him. “I might be back late, don’t know how long this meeting with my group will take. If you could leave my phone on DND? I’ll probably still be texting from my laptop.”

“Yeah, not a problem.” Jeno nods to his notebook, smiling as you scribble down your passcode and password. “I’ll get this all fixed up for you, free of charge.”

“I’ll have to repay you somehow..”

“What are friends for?” He laughs, motioning to the living room area scattered with your belongings. “Shit happens..”

“Thanks Jeno, everything you guys have done for me..” trailing off, you murmur shyly. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you and Jaemin for helping me out like this.”

“Don’t worry about it, focus on school.”

After bidding you goodbye and good luck with your project, Jeno moves to his bedroom, whistling to himself as he traces down the largest crack on your phone screen. “Gosh, what a dick..”

He didn’t ask what the fight was about, the timing didn’t feel right with you sniffling as he and Jaemin helped you carry your belongings in. He never liked your boyfriend much anyway, or well, ex-boyfriend..

Jeno boiled it down to jealousy at times, whenever he’d have to witness the unfortunate public displays of affection between the two of you. It’s not that he likes you, not necessarily.. but your friendship hadn’t exactly stemmed from genuine interest in forming a platonic relationship. It just so happened that while he had one idea, your mind had already honed in and focused on another.

“Eh, I always knew he wasn’t right for you.” Jeno mumbles to himself, tapping your phone screen to the image of your now ex-boyfriend’s lips squished against your cheek. “Gross.”

Jeno gets to it, unwrapping a new razor to begin removing the old screen topper first and see the real damage. Lucky for you, he’d gifted you a durable screen protector when you’d gotten a new phone. Great for dropping, not so much for a crazy boyfriend hurling it at a wall though.

He’s pleased to see the damage is a lot more minor under the protector, mentally patting himself on the back for handling that for you in the first place. A text pops up lighting the bare screen. “Oh right, do not disturb.”

Jeno taps in the passcode, swiping down to turn off notifications only to come to a pause as another text comes in.

‘It’s easy money, I did it my first year of college to cover rent, and you're shit out of luck at this point if you think a dorm will open up this far into the semester.’

He knows he shouldn’t, but there’s no way you’d find out anyway..

‘Isn’t that prostitution?’

The last text sent from you has his eyes going wide, quickly reading through the chat between you and the name he recognizes as your best friends, the same one whose car Jaemin had found you using as a makeshift home..

‘It’s not illegal in our state, and it’s anonymous. You won’t get caught or anything. Trust me, I worked there for 11 months, best money I’ve ever made.’

Jeno mumbles a ‘what the fuck.’ To himself, opening his phone to copy down the address she sends in next.

‘Besides, what difference does it make? You were getting fucked by your asshole ex on stream for way less.’

“What?!” Jeno looks around in shock, covering his mouth in case someone else is home. An arsenal of unanswered questions race through his mind, swiping to put your phone on ‘do not disturb’ finally as he takes a deep breath to calm down.

“There’s no way..” he chuckles, licking his lips nervously as he taps open your photos and scrolls until a locked album named ‘delete’ catches his eye.

Jeno spent a year learning different ways to break into stolen phones with not even a passcode to assist, the thrill of unknown has his thumb punching away before he can even talk himself out of it. Not that he would..

Why wouldn’t you immediately delete photos or videos you wouldn’t want anyone to see anyway? You can’t be that stupid..

“Oh shit.”

You are that stupid.

Jeno groans, leaning back in his computer chair as he slowly scrolls through the album of over 1000 photos and videos, most consisting of topless shots. More scandalous as he reaches the middle and sucks in a deep breath reading the time on the first video he sees.

Eight minutes and twenty seven seconds..

Patting around for his headphones, he plugs them in and opens the video up to hit play, sinking deeper into his seat as your face appears half-fucked out with dreamy eyes and saliva wet lips.

The deeper familiar voice he recognizes as your ex’s comes through, making his stomach tighten. “Fuck.”

‘How can you ask me for more after I just fucked you full?’

‘Please daddy, n-need more.’

The camera runs down your bare body, laid back against dark sheets with your thighs hoisted up and open; panning down to where white streaks of cum paint your stomach and mound. ‘Feel that? My dicks still so hard.’

‘Keep fucking me, don’t stop fucking me. Fuck that cum deep inside of me.’

Jeno pants, short of breath as he digs the heel of his palm against his groin and groans. Fuck fuck fuck… he knew it. The past few years of having to pretend he valued your friendship more than his desire to fuck you, he always knew you were nothing but a pathetic sobbing whore. The sound of your sobs and aroused whines vibrating through his ears has him ready to make a mess, smoothing in past the waistband of his sweats to free his length, he’s thankful for the point of view shot; making it easy to tune out the masculine grunts passing between your pretty cries.

‘Fuck. I’ll breed you better than that.’ Jeno voices to himself, surprised your lazy ex didn’t make you get on top. The amount of cum covering your lower half has his hips jumping from the chair, eager to fuck into his fist faster.

One thought continues to pass through his mind as he grips around his cock and strokes to match the pace pushing you up and down along the screen.

He needs to fuck you.

#asks #idk how else to warn this #lmk #this is from the gloryh*le fic #nct hard hours #nct smut

[faeflowerz]

Savanaclaw Imprinting on You

I have nothing cheeky to say. Let's do this.

Warnings: My gross misunderstanding of animals, Bullying Leona for being a big chonk

Characters: Ruggie, Jack, Leona

Ruggie imprinting on you is an "oh shit" moment for him. He lives his life so casually and when he sees you, like really sees you for the first time, he's acting unwise. Ruggie will do things for you that he wouldn't for anyone else. He doesn't ask for you to return the favor. He even shares his food.

Now this last one is particularly special for him given that he values food more than his peers. Food is how he communicates and finds pleasure. I won't get too far into the feederism side, but I think there'd be a lot of "You should eat. Have you had breakfast?"

But it's not all picnics and dandelions. Hyenas are pretty scary if you piss em off. So if one of your guy friends touches you the wrong way or tries to tease him about his sudden obsession with you, he will go on the offense. Lots of growling and hes ready to turn them into a hashtag. You gotta drag him away every single time.

"Dude, you can't just go around picking fights with everyone! What's your damage, Ruggie?"

"I wouldn’t be so mad if those assholes kept their hands off of you!"

"That's what this is about? They mess around all the time, it's not a big deal."

"It is to me! I don't like it!"

"Okay, but why though? Why would you give a fuck?" You shake your head, frustrated by the look he was giving you.

"Because I'm jealous!" He barks. "I don't want anyone else touching you but me!" Everything is quiet as you try to process what he just said.

"Ruggie...what-"

"I like...being around you all the time. And all I can think about is you. And...ugh...this is so stupid." His cheeks are cute and pink as he mumbles his way though his confession. And you, you're smiling. Seeing him get so real with you is so sweet and touching. As he's trying to justify his behavior, you place a sweet kiss on his nose. Then he's all shishishi cause he got kissed.

When Jack imprints on you, he's pretty tsundere about it. Suddenly he's hanging around you and by extension the other first years. Its not like he loves you and how you smell and the way you laugh at your dumbass friends. He just...needs to be within five feet of you at all times. Oh, and that tail? It's wagging every single time you acknowledge him or give him attention. The most antisocial boy is suddenly craving your affection.

And of course Ace is gonna clown him for it. Though it feels a little bit different. "Is there somethin you're not telling us? No fair that you two have A Thing going on the down low."

"What are you even talking about?" Jack crosses his arms, clearly trying to keep cool.

"Come on, dude. You lit up when Prefect sat next to you," Ace pouts at the both of you before calling you out too. "Are you together?!"

"Wh-what?! What would make you think that?!"

And all of your friends have examples. Waay too many. And then, Ortho says, "You know, imprinting can happen to beast men too. There's a chance that-"

"What happens between me and Prefect is our business. I didn’t ask any of you to help me confess either."

Major self report. His tail is going a trillion per hour and he realizes what he just said. "Damn it."

"Ha! I knew it!" Ace chortles.

"Wow...that was pretty bold, Jack," Epel hides his grin behind his hand. As for you...

Well, you're smiling like an idiot. It's not like you haven't been purposefully saying and doing things to see his tail wag, make his ears flicker and see him smile a little. You can't pretend to be shocked as you look at Jack for a response. "Well, I guess I should have been honest from the start..."

So there you are, resigned to be a pillow for the biggest cat you've had the misfortune of knowing. Leona loves your thighs and like hell he's going to pass up on your free period to get some sleep. You've accepted your fate, but your legs are just as comatose as he is. As you try to shift around, this catman actually whines in protest. Inside, he's praying you didn't hear it. "Stop moving," he manages to say.

So, Leona's imprinted on you. Now what? Well, you're gonna know quite quickly. Like, it's kind of not a secret since Leona is so shameless with everything he does. Though, he won't actually say "I've imprinted on you." His actions are all the confirmation you need. Actually, he's the most overbearing because he will just drag you away from whatever you're doing just to take a nap with him. Are you in the greenhouse for a class? Well, too fucking bad. Leona wants you to give him attention. You know. Like a cat.

"M'leg's asleep," you complain. "Plus you're heavy."

"Neither of these are my problem."

"You're literally responsible for both."

"You callin me fat?"

"...maybe I am," Leona opens one eye to glare up at you. He wants to be mad. But seeing you so pleased by his reaction makes him melt a little. "What? All you do is eat and sleep what else am I supposed to think?" To your surprise, he sits up. You're about to ask but he flops on top of you, sending you both into the soft patch of grass. Leona's spooning you and your face is buried in his fat (and kind of fuzzy) tits. "Seriously?!"

"Look, you're just going to have to deal with the fact that you're one of the few people I can tolerate."

He's a real piece of work, isn't he? Still, his body is kind of warm and cuddly, huh? He would probably get mad if you said that out loud though.

#twisted wonderland #writing #faes drabbles #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #twst x reader #jack howl #jack howl x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #reader insert #reader imagine #yumejoshi

[bookishjules]

sally and gabe's exchange about not liking to watch the knicks alone was such a brave addition, given where the season will end for them, but boy did it add so much.

in the books, we only ever see one dynamic between them--something i think can be pretty decently summed up by the bean dip: gabe yells at sally, sally says in a minute, gabe yells at sally, sally makes enough bean dip to get him through the weekend. sally is upset but she breathes and caters to the house rat's wishes (or at least says the things he wants to hear) because she knows she can't rock the boat too much, lest percy lose that extra layer of protection. in order for her to fight back, there would need to be some legit reason for gabe to stick around despite the opposition.

in the show, we've gotten to see how featuring sally's strength in a different way calls that reason into existence, no matter how small it may be. it creates so much more nuance in the relationship, and makes it make more sense before we are provided with the real reason sally is with him.

the knicks. the knicks is a thing they share, a thing they can call a truce on. and the way they both say they can't watch the games alone... it implies a level of loneliness, not just the one we gather that sally feels without percy there throughout the year, but also for gabe. instead of percy coming home to a poker game with between gabe and his gross friends, he arrives at the door as eddie the super is leaving, and they share a moment of solidarity at despising gabe, and then when he enters the apartment, the poker table is folded up against the wall...

now i'm not trying to make gabe a sympathetic character here. he's an asshat. but i do think making him and his relationship with sally more nuanced does a lot for character building and motivations that we just didn't see in the books, and i commend them for that.

#i need to get through all my thoughts before i start reading other people's lol #pjo tv #pjo tv show #sally jackson #gabe ugliano #pjo #pjo tv spoilers #percy jackson

[noonblight]

Arven, And The Habits Built By Parental Neglect

So I was going to make this big song and dance post about Arven’s entire arc and character psychology but I think other people have picked that one apart better than me. However I DO still want to talk about something I haven’t seen addressed too much.

As much as I think the phrase ‘love language’ is a gross over-simplification of psychology (and also not real, go look it up, the guy who made it was awful) it’s actually a really fitting term for the thing I want to talk about, which is how Arven has built up a habit of caring for others despite the neglect his parents showed him, and made it a core part of his personality. In essence, he’s deemed himself the ‘mom friend’ because he never had that kind of support growing up.

You can see this throughout multiple parts of the game, but here’s my list of favourites:

• If you pick the dialog option and say that you’ll go along with Arven’s quest-line before he explains what you’ll be doing, he exclaims that you have no sense of caution for your own safety. That you shouldn’t just go brazenly dashing into agreements like that.

• He is always looking after Mabosstiff so tenderly, and while a lot of this is due to them growing up together, I think it’s the way he shows his care for Mabosstiff that communicates my point.

• After noticing Miraidon eat your sandwich, he begins to make extra ones so that you don’t go without one. He even splits his own sandwich with you after Miraidon steals the first one you ever make together.

• He mentions that he cleans his dorm every day he’s there because Maboschiff sheds fur a lot.

• Post-Game, he admits that he would like to be a chef who can make good food for others.

Basically, I adore the tiny writing detail that even Arven’s positive traits are still shaped by the parental neglect that he went through, because it’s surprisingly realistic for the writing of a kid’s game.

He’s messy, he’s allowed to grieve and be confused about his feelings openly, he’s allowed to be irritable and strange in the eyes of others. But the game also never lets you forget how much he truely cares for others, even those he doesn’t know very well.

This can also be subtly inferred from just how amazingly fast Arven manages to raise a team that is arguably the only bordering-on-difficult fight in the game. Arven claims to not be a good trainer and claims Mabosstiff was his only pokémon before the events of the game (we can infer this from how he mentions after your first battle with him that he only just caught that Skwovet)

But just look at how fast he manages to make a team! Your trainer is always complimented for their rapid success, but man, they should look at Arven who doesn’t even have that much skill at the start of the game. I like to think this improvement is a direct result of his care for his Pokémon, and his desire to help and protect others. It’s no wonder why he claims in the post-game tournament that he’s been working super hard to build a team that can protect his loved ones, he really means it.

Arven also has a terrible habit of attempting to do most things by himself until the absolute last minute. He refuses to ask Nemona for help with the titans despite knowing she has the skills for it. He only asks you when he’s at his wit’s end starting to lose hope in Mabosstiff, and notices that you had the skill to work with Miraidon.

Even more than all that stuff I mentioned before however, I adore the end cutscene of the game for taking Arven, this character who displays all these little quirks, and then turns around and says ‘it’s your turn to be cared for by people who care about you, you don’t need to do this alone’

Nemona tells the group to take the scenic route home.

Penny suggests snacks.

Miraidon gently pushes Arven toward the group.

And the last scene in the game is so important for that reason, Arven is finally having others care for him. After everything that has happened, he has at least a few people who will support him and show him that care his parents lacked.

So anyway happy holidays, have that shoddy analysis <3

#arven #arven pokemon #mabosstiff #pokemon #pokemon scarvi #spoilers #pokemon spoilers #scarvi #nemona #penny #analysis #pokemon scarlet violet #pokemon scarlet #pokemon violet #Pokémon

[inbarfink]

I mean, the thing is that fiction about aliens is almost always going to be about some sort of Other on some level. Whatever it’s about demonizing or fear-mongering about some sort of Outsider Group or trying to get the audience to sympathize with the Other via the metaphor of a lovable alien. 

And Invader Zim is kind of an interesting spot there because, like, it’s not just ‘Bad Outsider Out to Destroy Our Beloved In-Group’ or ‘Poor Sympathetic Outsider Being Put-Down by the In-Group’. First thing first because Zim is kinda both. He is both the Outsider secretly hiding inside the in-group plotting their destruction - but the narrative and framing also sympathizes with him and supports his view of the in-group (that humans are stupid and gross).

So he can’t really be A Scary Demonized Outsider when he gets so much narrative sympathy and support, but also… he is a murderous little world-conquering bastard and most of his suffering is generally just him gets exactly what he deserves so he can’t be your classic sort of Sympathetic Outsider either. 

And the other thing is that the in-group is not even really involved in Zim’s conflict. Zim’s biggest challenge in conquering the earth is Dib, another Outsider. Often, despite being a human and thus part of the literal in-group, Dib is an even bigger Outsider to humanity than Zim is.

Zim and Dib are both Outsiders, and Zim isn’t just an Outsider as an Alien on Earth - among his own people he is in the same situation as Dib is, an Outsider in his own in-group. (Not that he can ever admit to himself that is the case). So these two Weirdos are fighting to protect/further the goals of two in-groups that will never actually accept them. 

And so often their main weapon against each other and the primary danger and the source of their suffering for themselves is the same thing; the in-group conformity and enforcement of social norms. 

Dib’s main evidence that Zim is an Alien is, most of the time, just the fact that he looks and acts weird. But also he himself is constantly bullied for looking and acting weird.

And Zim’s most constant source of anxiety while undercover on Earth is the fact that he’s going to get caught being Too Weird and then not just fail his mission, but get brutally dissected and experimented on. But his best defense against being exposed is… basically just to point out just how much Dib also Diverges From the Norm.

It’s the story of two Weirdos trying to get the other punished for being weird in some way, while the Normies just kinda look on and laugh at them both. And the actual thing they want, recognition and acceptance from their in-group is the one thing they are doomed to never actually get. 

And honestly, I think that's actually what makes a lot of real-life Outsiders cling to IZ, especially while we’re teens. I think, in a way, the fact that it’s kind of a messy Outsider narrative makes it more relatable to the messy middle-school/high-school experience than something more neatly crafted to be uplifting to the Weird Kids.

I mean, I certainly see the obvious value in fiction that’s actually trying to create a positive narrative for queer teens or autistic kids or maybe just scene kids or any combination of the following. This sort of media is very good, and can be just as important to some folks.

But... also the truth is that when you’re an edgy teen wrecked with self-loathing for Weirdness you don’t even fully understand “There’s nothing wrong with me and all the people making me feel like they are Bad!” can be a hard message to really believe in. Sometimes it’s easier to start from “Maybe I am all the terrible things people say that I am but.. still deserve love and sympathy, I can still be the hero of the story”. 

And because, sadly, the problem of Weirdos attacking each other for being Weirdos using the same rhetoric that’s used to hurt them, just for the sake of approval and recognition from in-groups that are never going to treat either of them as nothing but a joke - is not a phenomenon exclusive to the Silly Alien Invader Nicktoon.

And Dib and Zim’s rivalry is a great basic framework to explore it both in analysis of the canon and in fanworks.

#iz #invader zim #iz analysis #zim #zim iz #iz zim #invader zim zim #zim invader zim #zim irken #dib membrane #iz dib #invader zim dib #dib iz #dib invader zim #iz dib membrane

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER THREE — EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you deal with the fallout of your fight at steve harrington's party... in the passenger seat of eddie munson's van. so much for pretending you didn't exist to one another, huh? content warnings: as always, MINORS FUCK OFF, because we have *deep breath* implied fantasy smut, lots of swearing, confused yearning, themes of threat, heavy snark, another mention of the drink tab which i feel like is/was gross word count: 7.2k

Dear Dio, Tommy Iommi, Gary Gygax, Pee-wee Herman, Ronnie Ecker — forgive me for what I’m about to do. 

I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life. Like the time I lit all my hair on fire and spent middle school with a buzz cut. Or the time I almost trapped myself in a spread eagle with my own handcuffs. Or the time I got my arm stuck in a wall for an entire afternoon when I was trying to rescue a feral cat. 

I’ve done a lot of stupid shit. But the stupidest among it all has got to be saving this girl from the bare knuckle wrath of Carol Whatsername. You know the one. 

Tonight, for whatever reason, this insane ex-rich chick has decided to teeter on the edge of a pool of boiling hot lava and for whatever reason, I feel like it’s my responsibility to yank her back.

Which sucks, because she’s a total bitch to me. 

Even if she just told everybody Tommy Hagan had crabs and has been cheating on his girlfriend in such a deranged way that it almost made me pop a semi. 

Anyway. Tell my guitar I love her. 

The world around Eddie slows to the tick of a football game replay as you let the last incendiary word you speak to Carol bounce around the goddamn Roman amphitheater Harrington’s back yard has become. 

This is insane. What he’s watching is insane. Like, he knew you and your dumb little court of Hawkinsites bickered back and forth, but you’re the last person he’d ever expect to air their dirty laundry like this. 

It’s incredible to watch the fascist leadership that he and the rest of the social nobodies have suffered under for so long rupture in real time. 

What’s even more incredible is how little hesitation there is on his part, shoving through the crowd when he sees Carol leaping for you. Eddie’s nearly jostled backwards by some slobbering roid heads— they’ve already called CAT FIGHT! and a crowd is clamoring. But Eddie’s got years of thankless equipment lugging behind him, giving him deceptively strong arms.

And thank god, because you are not an easy girl to hold onto. 

Carol lands a decent punch to your face, slamming with a dull knuckle-on-cheekbone crunch that makes all the onlookers, including him, go ooof! You stagger back in a state of shock (though, c’mon, you heard what you said just now, right?) and Eddie takes his shot just as you dive forward to retaliate.

He grabs you under the arms so you can’t like, elbow him in the fucking nose, a pale imitation of an illegal wresting move that Al Munson had forced him to learn at the tender age of seven. His dad had fancied himself a wrestling manager at the time— you can imagine how that worked out. 

But Jesus, can you ever squirm! Your body writhes against him—stop—hips bucking—don’t go there—as you try to get free. He doesn’t even think you realize who’s dragging you away from the screaming harpy, otherwise you’d probably turn your fury on him. 

He takes full advantage of the rage blackout and manhandles you through the party, earning a baffled look from Steve Harrington, who’s finally graced his own party with his presence. A pinch-faced Nancy Wheeler lingers behind him, but then again, Wheeler’s always all pinch-faced.

“What the fuck?!” Harrington breathes, exasperated. 

Eddie struggles against you struggling, just about dragging you over the front doorstep. Trust this guy to be upstairs in a domestic dispute, missing all the action while getting no action. 

Even in the chaos, Eddie will never pass up an opportunity to fuck with Harrington.

“You gotta start hidin’ your bath salts, man! Chicks are going crazy in there–Evil Dead type shit!” 

—

“You’re dead, Lacy! Monday morning, you are fucking dead!” Carol screams down the hallway. 

“It’s a date, bitch!” you screech, Munson’s nelson hold on you stronger than your thrashing. With a lot of work, he manages to haul you as far as Harrington’s front yard before you wriggle out of his grasp. You shove him, hard, all white hot and punch drunk and regular drunk on top of that. 

He yelps, high and frightened. You weren’t expecting a noise like that to come out of a surly-looking dude like him. 

So you do it again. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you spit, and Munson flinches.

“Cutting you off!” he exclaims, this half-yell, half-laugh. It stings, the way he’s looking at you– like your anger isn’t anger, like it’s just amusing to him. 

“Well, who gave you the right? Who died and made you my parole officer, Munson?!” 

“Oh, I’m not– but I also didn’t feel like being woken up at home when the cops come looking for you after you go all Raging Bull on Carol. You haven’t been around the park long enough to hear ‘em, but those sirens really perforate the eardrums!”

Your jaw sets itself stiffly and you bind your arms over your chest. Unfuckingbelievable. “I would’ve, you know,” you breathe, seething, “Beat her up.” 

Munson’s dark eyes glide over you, like he’s checking you for concealed weapons or signs of a zombie bite— you avoid his gaze entirely, staring square into the middle distance. 

You promised that he didn’t exist to you, yet here he is. Driving you off the road. Breaking up your fights. Existing.

“Yeah, I know you woulda. You’re scary,” he says. You shrug, and he reaches to massage his shoulder. “And strong. Shit.” 

Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t feel bad. You don’t feel bad because he’s grinning at you now and despite yourself, despite everything that’s transpired and the everything about him, you’re trying your hardest not to grin back. Adrenaline and vodka are still burning a hole in your chest. 

“Stay out of my way, then.”  

“Noted, but,” a couple of steps from Munson’s end closes some space between you. He’s peering at your face, right where Carol clocked you. A hand reaches out, angling your chin closer to the Harrington’s glaring porch light with his fingertips. You stiffen and squint, performatively wary, but you don’t stop him. You just let his eyes pan over you, looking anywhere but into them. “You might need a little first aid first. And a ride home.” 

“I was actually planning on carjacking Hagan,” you say coolly, the smile you were trying to beat away edging its way across your face. Munson releases your chin and the spot where his fingers were buzzes. It’s just the cold. It’s just your slutty librarian outfit, you tell yourself. You have to swallow in order to speak again. “Seems like fitting payback.”

“Jesus, sweetheart, what did I just say about cops?”

—

Eddie tolerates your eyes rolling back in your head when he props the passenger door open for you, helping you into the cluttered van with an outstretched had. 

See, I’m not the kind of asshole who doesn’t open doors for girls wearing stilts for shoes.

Those things were not made for clambering into a vehicle like this, sure, but they’re– nice. For what he knows about shoes, which is nothing. They make your legs look more… leggy, and for whatever reason this is making his brain soft. 

In your other hand is a cold can of High Life, which is the closest thing to an ice pack he could nab. That bruise blooming under your eye is going to be nasty, and he’s a little curious how you’re gonna look with it. You, with nary a hair out of place on a bad day, with a big ol’ purple shiner in a place that’s hard to hide.  

Gunning out of Harrington’s hood, a silence settles between Eddie and you. The radio hums in the background– a mainstream station for once. He thoughtfully figured that an aural assault by Sabbath would kinda rub salt in your wound. 

He’s thoughtful, but he’s not not nosy. So, of course he’s gonna ask– 

“That whole… verbal smackdown back there,” Munson starts after clearing his throat. “With Tommy H and everybody.”

On your end, the adrenaline has worn off and the numbing effects of the booze have amped up. You feel loose and warm, apart from the beer can cooling your bruise. There are twice as many streetlights streaming past you as usual. This is going to blow later– if you don’t blow chunks first. 

“All that about your dad pimping me out?” God, I mean, Hagan couldn’t compose a written sentence to save his life but maybe he had a future in speculative fiction. Did he just come up with that on the fly? “Take a wild guess, Munson.” 

Eddie recoils in his seat– gross. Gross. “Not the– the shit with Tina and Carol and–”

“Oh, the crabs? Yeaaaah, that’s true,” you slur, “But I rejected Tommy waaay before I knew that. Call it my brilliant instinct. And then he has the nerve to call me frigid, which– trust me, I’m anything… anything but.”

Munson seems a little surprised at this. You can see it in the way his eyebrows dart under his curly bangs. 

But you’ve had your share of disappointing experiences with the blandly acceptable boys in your circle– it’s par for the course, it’s part of advancing in the field. You can’t throw your cat into the street completely, but god forbid you be choosy about the boys you want to copulate with. The ones you’ve hooked up with, all unremarkable and perfunctory, always seemed so smug afterwards. Like they’d conquered something. 

But from Eddie’s purview, you always held yourself like you were above everyone else; not just the underclassmen and the social rejects, but even your own friends. He’d watch you sometimes, because it’s hard not to watch you. He’d wait for the few flickering moments you let your guard down, when you thought no one was paying attention as you sat at the lunch table or walked the hallways. So achingly unamused by the guffawing, the backslapping, the forced camaraderie of your forced high school persona and your forced high school friends. Then, one of them would say something like, Right, Lacy? and your brow would unarch and you’d be right back in the groove with the rest of them, giggling dumbly and glossing your lips. 

He always wondered how you did it, tolerated it. And why.

“Now, far be it from me to agree with a shithead like Hagan–and I don’t, before you get scary–but I kinda get where he’s picking that up,” Eddie winces, throwing a glance to you, glassy-eyed with your head against the window. You’re looking at him with narrowed eyes, eyeliner smudged. Even that look could cut down a man with twice his ego. “You’re a little bit frosty. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day– which, y’know, could be–”

You absolutely do not let him finish the thought.   

“It’s caaaalled being aloof, Munson,” you drawl, shuffling your shoulders against the passenger door and pulling a stray thread from your skirt with a sharp snap. “Playing hard to get, duh? Leave them wanting more? You wouldn’t get it because you’re so goddamn big and obvious all the time…”

“Obvious!” he brays, letting his jaw hang open with theatrical flair, “Obvious! Lacy, you wound me, I–”

“Obvious,” you bark back, “Obvious like a neon sign, obvious like a circus tent, obvious like– like– look at me, look at me, I’m a weirdo!” Your Munson impression, complete with devil horns, is a little dorkified but it shuts him right up. That loose little tongue of yours has trasmuted your mood from wrath to barbed silliness. “So obvious you wouldn’t know that kind of subtlety. Not if it hit you in the face.” 

A familiar tune whistles from the radio, distracting you. “… or cause you’re a virgin.”

“Okay—!“ Eddie starts, immediately assuming the position of point guard. His hackles are raised, but to be honest, he’s so willing to let you ramble on. It’s the first time he’s heard you talk this much, ever, save your little tête-à-tête by the lockers the other day. 

Eddie doesn’t want to stem the flow just yet. He’s not thinking about it too hard.

“Oh shit, do you hear that?” Like a Virgin pumps from the tinny speakers and you reach to turn it up, your head drunkenly bobbling on your neck. Eddie winces; it’s so weird, watching you like this. It’s like dream logic. It’s like opposite day. “Munson’s a virgin! I’m gonna touch him for the very first tiii-iime! Munson’s a vii-iir-gin—“

“First off, no I am not and no,” he audibly swallows, positive you didn’t realize what you just sang, “no, you are not, ‘cause— well.” He clears his throat. A flare of heat burns around his collar. “I’m not the type to bone and tell.”

“Bone and tell.” You guffaw, a sound so unbecoming yet so endearing coming from you, and slump back in your seat. That tight little skirt you’re wearing rides up about an inch and a half. “Sounds like something a virgin would say.”

Eddie huffs; no way around this. You’re fucking with him, and it’s the indefatiguable male ego that’s not going to let him let you win. 

He fucks, okay? Or has fucked, prior to this. 

Not that there’s anything wrong with not fucking. 

But he’s done it.  

Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the road, and you’ve got him like a stuck pig with that expectant glare. His eyes linger on your exposed upper legs for a half a second. 

Christ, you’re annoying. It occurs to him that wants to bite the soft flesh of your thigh and hear you squeal about it, but you are annoying as hell. 

“Fine. Fine. You wanna know?”

Your head lolls against the rough upholstery of the seat and you bat your lashes at him. “I really wanna know.” 

And Munson will tell you, you know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to. 

“Nicole Summers.”

“Bullshit. Nicole Nicole? My Nicole?”

“Nicole Nicole. Nicole, formerly yours. The only-girl-meaner-than-you Nicole. It was tenth grade,” he snorts bitterly. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life.”

“Nicole told us she got her v-card stamped by a board waxer in Maui.”

“I’ve got a lot of side gigs. You don’t know about me.”

You snort too, despite yourself. That’s a lot of despite-ing tonight, Lacy. You sit up in the seat a little, interest catching. Flame to a candle wick. 

“How was it?” you press. 

Munson furrows his brow, like duh. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life, I just told you.” A beat. “Until— …Cass Finnigan.”

Now, an encounter like that is less surprising, but still you holler, “Bullshit!”

“I’d say the same shit if it hadn’t, y’know, happened to me,” he stage whispers, “In this van.”  

Your eyes widen, a flicker of a grimace sailing across your face. You wonder how he pulled that off, but all that comes to mind is the start of a bad porno– Cass meets him at that dingy little bench out back of the school to pick up and he’s, I don’t know, test driving some of his new supply and offers her a toke. She’s all, why the free samples, Munson? and he’s all, I only let the prettiest girls test the product. And because Cass is notoriously insecure–who among us, girl–she’s all, who, me? and he’s all, come back to my van, and she’s all, but I’m going steady with Mikey B, and he’s all, I won’t tell if you won’t and then he fucks her in the ass. 

Because Cass is saving the first hole for marriage and you know that. You’re the kind of person people tell things to. 

What you don’t expect is a weird pull of… envy. Why, in this imaginary scenario, had he never invited you back to his van? Well. You know why. But you’re drunk, so logic begone. “When did all this go down?”

“Uh, right before school got back,” Munson answers, kind of apprehensively. He could be lying, you figure.

“Well, Cass has been having a weird year,” you mumble, meaning to think that rather than say it. You know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.

“What’s that supposed to imply exactly?” Eddie says, an edge in his voice. He can’t help the way something in his chest flares; like he forgot to wait for the other shoe to drop with you, and now it’s dropping. 

“It stands to reason that she’d wanna, like, do something stupid,” you explain, and you know how it sounds. It’s mean. But honestly, you’re so drunk, and so past the point of attempting to spare people’s feelings.

“Like hook up with the local freak,” Eddie finishes for you, tone flat. You couldn’t not put him in his place, could you? Not that he thought Cass liked him or anything, he could feel her (literally feel her) going through the motions like a social experiment but– God, a little delusion doesn’t hurt now and again. 

“Exactly!” and even in your inebriated state, you can feel the tension in the air, hanging between you like a balloon full of noxious gas. Rather than cut it, you want to poke at it, unfeeling as to whether that’ll make it worse or better between you and the boy in the driver’s seat. You hike yourself up further, leaning toward him, pulling the can of High Life from your face. 

Munson’s profile is this beguiling mix of hurt and irritation, lit by the scuzzy orange hue of the passing streetlights. 

“What, did you want me to act impressed? Did you want me to lie to you?” 

“What? No– look, I know what girls like that– think of me, but,” Eddie’s voice shrinks in his throat, making him sound completely pre-pubescent. He notices you lean forward in his peripheral vision, like you have to strain to hear it, “that doesn’t make it any less shitty.” 

Oof. He did not need to unleash that little piss-shake of earnestness right now. He mentally steels himself for a ribbing from you, a cackling, piercing laugh like you let out before Carol punched you. 

“Of course it doesn’t!” you froth, “Just like it doesn’t make it any less shitty when guys act like they’re settling a bet with their buddies when they hook up with me.” You cross your arms to your chest with a quickness, slamming back into the seat. “Bet you couldn’t make it with Lacy, she’s got a combination lock on her pussy. Fuck you, dude.”

That coaxes a bark of a laugh from Munson, which makes you giggle a little in turn. It’s a weird feeling. It’s not quite relief; more like satisfaction. One point to Lacy, you made him laugh. 

“Combination lock, huh?”

“Allegedly.”

“Bet none of those losers even know how to crack a lock.” 

Your head tilts in his direction, forward this time. “And you do?”

Munson’s eyes flash at you, a dangerous orange glint sparkling in the darkness of his irises. “My criminal skillset is pretty diverse.”

He pins you down with this look from the driver’s seat and for a heartbeat or two, and you let him. Just long enough that a stab of sobriety sneaks in– and you can’t deny it, but you wish it didn’t. 

You’re drunk. 

If you can stay drunk, all bets are off. 

If you can stay drunk, whatever you do doesn’t matter, because you were drunk. 

You could reach over and press your fingers into the soft denim between his legs, make something hard there. You could squeeze the thickness of him over his zipper and kiss the shock of alabaster skin on his neck, where his pulse goes all jackrabbity under your touch. You could make him forget he ever heard the name Cass Finnigan. 

And it would mean nothing. 

And you wouldn’t have to justify it, because you were drunk. That’s what you’ve always been taught.

But you uncross your arms and you pull at the hem of your skirt and look to the road, just as the van swerves into the trailer park. Munson doesn’t take such a hard turn at the corner this time, probably wary of your risk of ralphing all over the van if he does. He pulls into that negative space between your trailer and his and instructs you to wait in your seat. 

“Trust me, the descent out of this baby is much trickier than it looks,” he assures you, jogging to the passenger door, a jingle of keys and pocket chains and belts on leather, “and you’re way too gone to make it in one piece, princess.”

So he holds his hand out again (“M’shitfacedlady,”) and gingerly you take it, and it becomes very apparent very quickly that your legs have turned to rubber on the drive home. 

“Oh, shit!” 

Your attempt at gracefully exiting the van is ruined by an unsteady ankle, sending your weight right into Eddie Munson’s chest. Luckily, he was braced for it– just about. “Told you you couldn’t make it without me,” he breathes as you clutch a handful of his Metallica shirt, vision quadrupling. He’s warm, and you suddenly realize that you’re freezing.

Trembling.

“Stop flirting with me,” you hiss to one out of the four Munsons in front of you. “I need to go to bed.”

Eddie forces himself to bite back another double entendre, which is a shame, because they’re doing an awesome job of covering up how goddamn nervous he suddenly is. He moves his arm to your waist, helping you haul ass to your front door. He’s got to keep one arm outstretched behind you in case you lose your balance again– which you almost do, a couple of times, wavering around like a dashboard Jesus. 

He watches you like he’s trying to commit this to memory, the rare case of you being so beyond your usual composure. He’s even got to intervene after the first five minutes, making unlocking your front door a two idiot job.

Eddie’s about to wave you off and disappear to scream and something else into his pillow when he sees you take a dangerous lunge into the darkness of the trailer. “Woah, girl–” 

But you recover, in a kind of brainless way, taking a measured Bambi-like step forward. One after the other. 

Fuck. He can’t leave you like this. 

You’re gonna trip and brain yourself on a Fabergé egg or whatever the fuck it is you and your mom have in there. 

“Uh– Lacy?” 

The trailer is eerily quiet. You feel like you’re trespassing in your own place. Boxes of out-of-place, too-expensive ephemera are still strewn everywhere, but you navigate the maze of them like it’s nothing. Sense memory. You don’t even entirely register that Munson is following you inside, that he’s frantically whispering after you, until you reach your bedroom door. 

A coldness shoots up your spine as you turn on him. You didn’t invite him in here, did you? 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask for the second time tonight. This time, it comes out a little fearful. 

Eddie picks this up, right where you’ve erroneously dropped it. His chest gets a little tight. You didn’t think he was trying to–? 

“Making sure you lie down in the recovery position, that’s all,” he throws his hands up in total surrender, Scout’s honor, all that shit. “I’m not tryin’ to pick any locks tonight. I swear.” 

“I don’t need your help, Munson,” but just as you twist the doorknob, you keel over through the door, hitting the floor like a lead balloon. 

“Yeah, you keep telling me that,” he blearily smirks down at you, “And yet.”

But Munson’s not such an asshole about it that he just leaves you there. He hauls you up, again, and you stagger towards your bed, flopping face down on top of the comforter. He says some variation of okay, well, that’s how you choke to death on your own vomit, Jimi Hendrix and bullies you into the recovery position. 

“Don’t freak out, I’m just–” and Munson sits gingerly on the edge of your bed, taking one of your high heeled feet in his hands. 

What the fuck, you mumble, either aloud or in your head. But he’s fiddling with the tiny buckle at your ankle, gently undoing it. Another chill runs through your body but you don’t move, not an iota. You just… let him do it. His hands on your aching feet aren’t a totally unwelcome touch. He’s being featherlight about it, almost afraid to touch you even though he had no problem sheepdogging you into bed. 

“You could do anything to me right now,” you hear yourself saying. “No one would even know. No one would even care, I bet.” 

It’s meant to sound like you’re goading him, or even flirting with him, but it comes out sounding pitiful. You cringe, your hands creeping up to cover your face. 

“I’d care.” Munson’s voice is a tiny mumble– you know he’s just defending himself, but it kind of sounds like something else. He slips your right shoe off and sets it on the floor next to your left one. He hesitates for a moment before getting off your bed. 

“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”

“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”

“Have a fun hangover, Lacy.” 

–

You do not have a fun hangover. You wake up late Saturday afternoon after Friday’s bacchanal and don’t emerge from your room save from the occasional bathroom trip to puke up what little dignity you’ve got left. Sunday morning is when your mom hammers on the door and drags you to the kitchenette after confirming that you’re still, y’know, alive. 

“This is your game face, hm?” she says, pulling at your chin to examine your violet bruise that seems to have developed its own heartbeat. She doesn’t hold your face the way Munson did, gentle and searching, just tugs into the sparse light streaming into the dingy kitchenette.

You attempt to steel your jaw, but your bottom lip is starting to waver. 

“What happened?” your mother asks, and beneath all the jagged broken glass, there’s a tiny sliver of tenderness. 

Call it your pride, but you don’t reach for it. 

“I went out,” you say tightly, “and I made a fool of us.”

She hacks up a scoff through her smoker’s cough and disappears into her bedroom, leaving you alone to pick at a cold waffle. The few moments of consciousness you’ve had since Friday night have been spent trying to piece the party together– you remember clearing the better part of a bottle of cheap, cheap, shitty vodka with Robin Buckley’s help (weird), you remember getting into it with Hagan and Carol and getting wailed on. You remember getting a ride home with Munson, but the finer details of that are fuzzy. 

You think, and this is a thought that turns your already 180’d stomach, you let him into your bedroom, but you can’t be one hundred percent sure. All you know for an absolute is that your shoes came off that night, and you would never bother to take your shoes off after a night like that. 

So somebody must have. 

Meanwhile, Eddie’s been having a hell of a meanwhile. 

Fact of the matter is that you managed to detonate a nuclear bomb at Harrington’s party just under an hour after your arrival, which has got to be some kind of world record. It was also a world record for how little product he’d managed to sell during one of those parties, because he was preventing the manslaughter of a teenage girl– could’ve been you, could’ve been Carol. He nearly wishes he let that fight play out, as he stares into his empty wallet. 

Eddie’s gotta busy himself somehow, gotta do something– weirdly, he’s not in the mood to make a whole lot of noise. It’s not such a terrible day for working on his van, so he slams his toolbox on the ground and gives a couple dozen casual glances toward your bedroom window.

Your blinds still aren’t fixed. That’s got to have been shitty when you woke up with a splitting vodka headache and a shiner the size of Canada. 

Eddie keeps finding excuses to pace back and forth in perfect view of your window. Not in a peeping Tom sort of way, but in a way where he’d kind of like to see any sign of life from you. Even if you just rose from your bed like Nosferatu and gave him the finger. Then, he could relax. 

“Ed,” a gruff voice comes from the makeshift trailer porch, “fuck’re you doin’.” 

Those dulcet tones would belong to his beloved Uncle Wayne, who, ever since his hours got cut at the plant, has become unbearably observant of Eddie’s every movement. Wayne’s not a neglectful kind of father figure, not like his blinders-wearing real dad is, so he actually gets concerned when Eddie’s acting out of sorts. 

“Engine,” Eddie mumbles, pivoting fast like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, “Engine’s making hinky noises.”

“Sounded alright last night,” Wayne levels him instantly, “when you came home.” 

“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he twists an oily rag in his hands, avoiding Wayne’s stony stare. 

“I was up.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. God, whenever Wayne susses him out, it’s like drip torture. He’s slow as molasses with the confrontation on purpose, making Eddie sweat and out himself on every little fuck up he’s ever made. “You go in there?”

Chin jerks towards your trailer. Eddie’s shoulders shrug towards his ears, head tilting back. “Wayne, it’s not– she was real drunk, like blotto, I just–”

“You steer clear of that one.” It’s the definite nature with which Wayne says it that makes Eddie’s stomach drop. No prelude to it, no I know, kid, you were just tryin’ to do right by her. Nothing. 

“Wayne–”

“She ain’t what you think she is. Not if she’s anything like her bloodline.” 

He says this like the realization hasn’t hit Eddie like Carol hit you on Friday fight night. 

He says this like people haven’t been saying the same thing about Eddie for years.

–

Monday morning comes and you’re still somewhat suffering. A headache nags at your temple, but you pin that down to anxiety rather than an extended play of your hangover. 

It occurs to you that you should dress as down as possible today– realistically, of course, as you’d never be caught dead in sweatpants. You need comfort, you need something that feels like a well-worn blanket so you opt for a deep burgundy sweater dress that actually belonged to your mom in the 60s. 

You’d found it in the back of her closet when searching for a belt you knew she’d stolen from you and pulled it out. Mom! you chirped, How cute! How come you never wear this?

Oh, God, she’d cringed, batting the garment out of her way as she passed you in a cloud of Shalimar, Just throw that ratty thing out for me, would you?

But you didn’t. You kept it tucked away in the back of your closet and took it out when you needed it. When you needed to bury your face in it. Substitute it for a comfort she refused to give you. Which you realize is terrifically sad, but so’s life. 

The warm red is a distant cousin in the color family to the bruise under your eye. That bruise, it’s a glaring reminder of what a fucking loser you’ve become. The old you, the real you would never have stooped to that level– never had let them drag her down like that. But now you’re the kind of girl that screams and starts fights at parties, you guess. 

Your rage feels ugly in the cold light of day. 

You’re locking the door of the trailer behind you just as Munson emerges from his humble abode and it’s nothing short of awkward. Like you’d both seen each other naked or something.

You both stand there, in your relative doorways. His mouth gapes like he’s about to say hi, say something, and a memory comes back to you. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day. No one likes that. No one wants that. 

Regret stabs at you.

“Can you see it from there?” It’s the only thing you can think of to say, because you’re sure as fuck not saying hi. 

“What?”

“The bruise. Can– can you see it from over there?” 

Munson sort of half-snorts. “Not from here–”

“Ugh, thank god.”

“--but this is like, over fifteen feet away.” 

You roll your eyes, which hurts a lot, thanks guy, and walk toward his van. 

“Now?” you say, waving a hand under your eye, right where you’ve applied and blended and applied and blended a criminal amount of concealer. Munson leaves about a foot of space between you, on purpose, and you crane your neck back, on purpose. Reinstating the forcefield between you. 

“Oh yeah, you can barely even see that you got your ass kicked.”

“It’s not even eight in the morning, Munson. Do you really want to start your day with a knee to the balls?”

“You’re right. That’s usually an after-dinner activity,” he grins and jerks his head toward the van. “Need a ride?”

Need a ride? Like it’s the most ordinary, everyday thing in the world, Eddie Munson offering you a ride to school in his deathtrap of a van. Your stomach pulls at the sense memory of being in there on Friday night, and what you’ll look like getting out of it in the parking lot of Hawkins High. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head, definite and resolute. “I’m walking.” 

He scoffs. “C’mon. It’s too late to start walking now. You’ll be late for first period.” 

You scoff back, imitating him. “So what?”

“You’re never late for first period.” 

“I can be late– how the hell do you know I’m never late for first period?” 

“Because, dummy, I’m always late for first period,” he tells you, yanking open the passenger door, “And I sit behind you in History, and you’re always there when I come in, leaning back with your nose in some dumb book and your stupid hair all over my desk.” 

It’s true– you are always reading in history, because Kaminsky can’t teach for shit and you’ve already read ahead on the coursework anyway. You liked to rub that in his face by pulling out some unprescribed literature during class. Plus, no one you really care about is in your class, so you don’t have to worry about getting made fun of for having your nose in some dumb book. Illiterate jocks would never try that shit with you– nobody there would. 

Until now. 

And it’s true that Eddie Munson sits behind you, and barrels in like an idiotic excuse for a hurricane with some idiotic excuse for being late that you always scoff at, because does he ever get tired of his own bullshit. But after that brief cameo appearance in your day, you really do forget about him. 

Until now. 

“So?” he says, all expectant. 

And you consider it for a second, you really do– but you don’t think you can handle the blowback of leaving a party with Eddie Munson on Friday then turning up with him on Monday. Going to the same class. Where he sits behind you. It’s just… overexposure. 

The same realization must hit him, because all of a sudden he’s slamming the door shut with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever. Your tardy slip, babe.” You can’t help but think he sounds a little wounded. 

But fuck it. Fuck it! Since when do you stand around feeling sorry for Eddie Munson? 

Before you know it, the van roars out and leaves you in the dust. 

You don’t make it to school until after second period, because that so-called bus route a fifteen minute walk from the trailer park must not even exist, so you forge a note from your mom in the parking lot. 

As your fountain pen hovers over the paper, brainstorming an excuse, you consider pulling out the big guns– say you had to attend visitation day at the penitentiary. Use this disaster to your advantage for once; but you pull back. Scribble something about a doctor’s appointment and dot your mother’s ‘i’s with eerie precision.  

You make quick work of dropping the note off in reception– the uptick of being the kid of the town’s gossip beacon is some people still feel sorry for you. Some people weirdly include Janice, Principal Higgins’ secretary, who snatches the note from you before you can even reach the actual receptionist’s desk. 

“I’ll file that for you, dear,” she says, all coo-cooey with an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, “How are you and your poor mother doing these days? And your,” her croaky voice drops to a whisper, “dad? How is… he being treated?”

You blink at her, gripping the fountain pen in your hand. “Do you know what a shiv is, Janice?”

Just then, the bell trills and you take your leave, stepping out into the linoleum. 

Someone calls your name from down the hall. You crane your neck to see Ronnie Ecker jogging toward you, paper in hand. 

Now look, you’ve never had a problem with Ronnie Ecker. You can’t say you’re particularly fond of her but she’s smart; she keeps to herself and she was a decent lab partner during your junior year of dissecting frogs together. Squeamish, but that’s why you were there, to handle the scalpel. As much of a social outcast as she is, she’s not nearly as odious as the rest of them. That’s pretty goddamn remarkable amongst the Hawkins student body. 

She is also, you’ve come to notice, a resident of Forest Hills trailer park. 

“Hey!” she says, “Um, I noticed you missed first period and Kaminsky was handing our papers back so I figured you’d want yours…” 

“Why is everyone so obsessed with me missing first period?”

“Huh?”

“No– nothing,” you huff, taking the paper from her. A solid B on A+ material– told you Kaminsky couldn’t teach for shit. He’d be hearing from you about this. “Thanks for this, Ronnie.”

You start down the hall but notice Ronnie’s keeping in step with you. “I also just wanted to say– I heard about what happened Friday. And I think it’s sick, you standing up to Hagan like that. Asshole needed to be put in his place.” 

Well, there’s only one person she could have heard the nitty gritty of that news from. You know she’s trying to flatter you, but all you feel is a flame of embarrassment, plus a touch of anger– even though the news has easily circulated the school hallways by now. 

Along with the rumors of you taking Hargrove, Buckley and Munson, and not in a fight. 

“Well. Y’know. I was pretty wasted,” you attempt to brush it off and you see Ronnie deflate a little. 

Like you’re not the blazing hero someone made you out to be. 

“Okay, but is it true you had a threesome with Billy Hargrove and Robin Buckley and Robin was wearing the Tigers mascot suit?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

–

Classes pass in a monotonous blur, like most Mondays, but worse. That would be thanks to the extra shot of dread that’s served with your cafeteria meal of a wilted salad and soda. Last week at lunchtime, you at least had a tenuous standing with your former circle– you could still sit between Tina and Nancy Wheeler and suffer Tina’s thinly veiled jabs at you with a semi-placid look on your face. Nancy would look at you with eyes full of pity, and you’d want to punch her face in, but you’d be fine. 

But now, as you stand in the cafeteria swirling with people and catch the death glares from your old table (save for Nancy and Steve Harrington, who just straight up refuse to make eye contact with you), you’re just about ready to snap. 

Your flight instinct tells you to toss the tray out of your clammy hands and run, and keep running, until you disappear into the woods behind the school, never to be found. Your body becomes mulch before anyone remembers to look for you. Maybe you make really good fertilizer and a couple of pretty weeds sprout up from where you die. 

Your bruise, under its flaking layers of concealer, throbs twice– as if to say, don’t you fucking dare.

You make a confident beeline for the table, chin tilted and eyes set in a stare that could be categorized as withering, if only it was trained on anybody in particular. You grab a chair that some dumb underclassman is about to sit in and drag it with you, legs screeeeeching across the waxed floor. 

Who gives a shit who you were on Friday night. 

“I can sit here, right?” you say, and place your tray on the table next to Ronnie Ecker. 

She just stares at you for a hot second. That’s too long to stay standing in uncertainty, so you settle your stolen chair at the table and sit next to her. 

Ronnie isn’t the only one staring, however– the rest of these dorks, all in their matching t-shirts with Satan’s fiery head emblazoned across them, are watching you with their mouths agape. 

“Is this a prank or something?” one of them, a curly-haired freshman, says. 

This question is directed toward their fearless leader, decked out in denim and leather at the head of the table. That is to say, the direct opposite end of the table that you’re sitting at. 

“That’s no way to greet a lady, Gareth,” Munson says, feigning coolness but you can tell he’s a little flustered. The dead giveaway is in the way he misses his mac and cheese with his fork, the way his solid gaze double-blinks. You’ve thrown him off game– and because he’s impossible not to overhear sometimes, you know that game is all he’s got going on at this table. 

There’s that feeling again– point to Lacy. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

This is Munson’s version of what the hell do you think you’re doing, but you choose to ignore him. It’ll drive him insane, and you know that, glaring red warning sign that he is. Instead, you flash a smile at the freshman that almost makes him pass out, Cupid’s arrow struck straight through the heart. 

You cross your legs and angle your body toward Ronnie– and by extension, in the direction of your old table. You can see Carol burying her face in Tommy’s shoulder, the both of them on the verge of losing bowel control with laughter. Laughter at you. 

Who gives a shit who you were before Friday night.

“So, Ronnie,” you say, taking a sip of your Tab, “You get up to anything fun this weekend?”

author's notes: let me get ahead of everything and say yes, i am absolutely fucking with the timeline. suspend your disbelief, my beautiful babies, and enjoy steve, carol, tommy and ronnie ecker still being in high school because I SURE WILL. but on an absolutely serious note, thank you so much for all the support and each and every note you’ve put on the chapters so far. i seriously, seriously appreciate it. now, the notes: - you think eddie munson doesn’t fuck with pee-wee herman heavy? you think he didn’t watch this movie in reefer rick’s, high out of his gourd, and think oh yeah i love this freak? get REAL! RIP paul reubens, this one’s for you. specially every time i mention a handjob - eddie munson also has charlie kelly disease - speaking of iterations of always sunny characters, much like frank reynolds, there’s not a get rich quick scheme al munson hasn’t tried. we’ll get into that a little more… later - admittedly, the whole ‘face eating on bath salts’ thing didn’t gain traction until the 00s, but if hawkins is going to be ahead of its time in anything, it’s fucked up shit happening to people! - did you notice how i blended eddie and lacy’s povs in the van? i’m going to continue doing that in moments where they’re on a similar ~wavelength~ - jimi hendrix did unfortunately die of asphixiation, but instead of thinking about that, watch this sick video of him playing guitar that eddie definitely has committed to memory - RONNIE ECKER KLAXON. i know that in flight of icarus she’s described as tall, but that hasn’t stopped me fancasting her as ayo edebiri in an eddie munson wig - at this point, you might be thinking damn, everyone sure seems to hate each other in this story. like, why is nancy wheeler catching strays? i’m here to remind you it’s the 1980s and teenagers kind of suck. play the track - thanks again for all the love! you can keep this crazy train going by liking, commenting, reblogging and generally showing me the same kindness you’ve shown me so far. love u my little hellcats

#published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #e. munson by powder

[drizztdohurtin]

Rolan Headcanons: pining and dating

〚 Masterlist | WIP List 〛

This post will be organized into 2 parts: pining and dating (to be fair though, it's more like unofficially dating vs officially dating) - so only read the parts you're interested in! The marriage and domesticity post will follow soon!

-MDNI-

includes language alluding to 18+ content, but nothing explicit.

"Pining"

so I think that your guys' "relationship" would start during the events of act 2 - but nothing would be official

I know a lot of you probably hate the connotation of "situationship" but I'm going to be honest: the word itself fits perfectly

try to get rid of the gross feeling that word leaves in your brain for a second and think about the things you're having to do throughout the events of the game

you are fighting people every! single! day!, you have a fucking tadpole in your brain that could turn you into a mind flayer at the drop of a dime if something were to happen to your guardian, you're eventually tasked with killing three Chosens of their respective Gods, you're navigating the shadow cursed lands and dealing with all the literal freaks that live in it -- you cannot have a real relationship right now !!! it would be the most depressing thing ever !!

It's a bit of a situation for a while, you guys are into each other and have reciprocated some level of feelings for the other, whether it's just lust or it's something deeper (or both), and by the end of act 2 it's just kind of a situation with him

on top of that, you both are hiding it from everyone else

you're also trying to be considerate of Rolan and his life, his safety

being in a relationship with him, making promises to him, would put him in danger - you'd put him in danger

on top of that, he's been working so hard for the apprenticeship he's on his way to the city for, and for so long, too - he needs to focus on that

despite these two major components, you still can't keep away from each other, and eventually, just allow yourselves to indulge in each other just a little bit before going separate ways for the events of act 3

You both take a private moment to say your goodbyes before leaving the inn for good, after having spent multiple tendays getting to know each other and revealing certain feelings

during that moment, he tells you to come find him in the city when you can and he makes you promise not to get yourself killed

you're like "erm 🤨☝ how do I-" and he's like JUST PROMISE ME

So now you really can't die, bc Rolan said so.

my headcanon is that you two are actually quite close, quite bonded by the time act 3 begins

neither of you has said "I love you" to the other at this point, but you both came super close to it on the day you killed Lorroakan after having found Rolan all beaten up

despite everything you'd been through up to that point, you've never been quicker to kill someone than in that moment

after the fight, Rolan pulls you into an intense, yet somehow still gentle hug, and you reciprocate - hoping to the Gods he doesn't have any bruises where you're squeezing him

that moment you're both holding each other, with so many emotions hanging in the air, is when you both nearly say it

except you don't - because there's a deep, unspoken understanding between the two of you that nothing can happen until you both know it's safe

you end up telling your companions that you're done for the day, that they can go do whatever they want, and you'll meet them at the tavern in the morning

(they have put two and two together by now if you haven't told them at this point)

you spend the entire night taking care of him and making him feel better (take that however you'd like)

leading up to the final fight, there'd be a moment between the two of you when he timidly asks you if you'll come to him after you beat the Absolute

when you remind him your chances of survival are small, he tells you again that you're not allowed to get yourself killed

the moment is cute but it's also terribly sad - but you still promise him you'll return to him when it's all over

and when the time comes, that's exactly what happens

he was at home in the tower, he had been pacing the entire time waiting for your arrival - first aid equipment and healing potions on the desk in case you needed them

he'd been drinking too, as proven by the empty bottle of wine next to all the healing supplies

when you entered the room, horribly bruised and bloodied, he makes a noise that perfectly reflects the level of relief he feels - something between a shocked gasp and a relieved sigh

"my love" he'd call to you breathlessly, not even hesitating to bring you into his arms despite how dirty you were

the two of you are immediately on the same page, holding each other impossibly close, kissing deeper than you ever have before

he buries his face in your neck with another "my love" before telling you how relieved he is that you're alive

"I love you" finally comes out that night

he'd have you rinse off briefly as he ran a hot bath for you, adding lavender oils to soothe your mind, and mineral salts to soothe your body

he'd get in with you, place you on his lap facing him, and just hold you as you told him about the horrors of the fight

you'd tell him how you couldn't believe it was over, that a part of you was terrified that something else would come up and you'd have to jump back into action and that it'd never end

he'd reassure you that there was nothing else to worry about, promising it was all over as he ran his hands soothingly over your body, feeling all of your scars under his fingertips and palms - thinking about everything you'd been through, everything you'd sacrificed

an icy twang of guilt pierces through him when his fingers graze over the scar you got in the fight to save his siblings, and he shudders before pulling you in as close as possible

He'd tell you, in the most sincere voice you had ever heard from him, that he loves you - your whole body flushing with warmth at his confession

you'd told him earlier how you didn't really have anywhere to go now that this was all over and you'd have to find somewhere to live

he'd just kind of brush it off, saying you could stay at the tower as long as you needed to

it wouldn't be until later that night once you were tangled up together in bed that he'd tell you not to look for somewhere to stay

He'd tell you to stay with him, that he wanted to go to sleep next to you every night and wake up by your side every morning

He'd tell you again that he loves you before finally expressing how honored he'd be to call you his

over 700 words later, you guys are finally official LDFLDFJD

Dating:

you take him up on his offer, obviously, and you move in with him right after the events of the game

Turns out Rolan had told Lia and Cal about the two of you, and his feelings for you, that night you fought the Absolute and he was stuck at home worried about you

His siblings had come into the room he was in to ask where to find something, only to find an extremely anxious Rolan

He wouldn't have much patience with them, bursting out in a ramble upon the first question they ask him - exposing his feelings for you and all of the moments he'd shared with you up to that point, and how now the person he loved could very well die

They were like "well yeah okay we knew you had a thing for them but love?!?!"

That's why they weren't surprised to see you there the next morning - they really liked you so they were quite happy, actually

there was a little bit of a learning curve in your guys' relationship at first

you'd only ever known each other during the most stressful parts of your lives

so now that your lives were far less stressful, you almost didn't know how to handle it - but Rolan was incredibly understanding and patient with you

it was like you weren't processing what you needed to, and your body was still in "go, go, go" mode

Initially, you kept yourself busy by helping Rolan with his tasks around the tower - it was easy for you to get lost in the tedious work of cataloging and organizing all of the books and scrolls

As much as Rolan loved spending time with you and the interest you were expressing in his work, he worried about you.. a lot

He'd eventually ask you if you had an interest in venturing out more into the city as he'd been worried about how secluded you'd become (he was gently trying to get you back into society)

You both had compromised that whenever he was doing tasks around the tower you'd be allowed to help him, but when he was doing "master of the tower" things, you'd go into the city to visit the markets or something similar

Upon returning home on one of the days you had to go out into the city while he worked, you were immediately greeted with a loving hug and kiss from Rolan before he led you to the dining room

There on the table was your favorite meal from home, something you hadn't had since you were a child, something you'd only told Rolan about once

You were breaking down before you even picked up your silverware, and Rolan was by your side in the blink of an eye

That was the night you finally began to process what had happened to you, and he was there for you through every second of it

I didn't mean to get lowkey sad wth, anyways

Rolan can cook!

He loves to cook for you, he will literally make anything you want

He'd cook for you on the same night each week, but he always wished he could do it more often, he looks forward to it every day

Each time is like a little date - and you have such lovely conversations on those nights, it's probably his favorite thing to do with you

Other honorable mentions for Rolan's favorite things to do with you include reading to you in bed while you're curled up to him, and taking relaxing baths with you (and other things with you, but I already made a post about that)

Rolan is very much husband-material

While you're dating, you talk about your future together quite a lot, and he really appreciates the moments you open up and let him know where your head is at

he's already decided that he wants to marry you by the time the 6-month reunion party with your companions comes around

and depending on your opinions about it, he'd marry you as soon as he could

and when the time was right, Rolan would propose to you

He knows you very well, so he wouldn't make it a grand occasion if that's something that you wouldn't like (but he absolutely would if it was)

regardless of the scale of his proposal, it would be exceedingly romantic - he's the type to have the whole thing planned out, word for word

he's not even that nervous about it beforehand since it would've been something you both discussed - he didn't have to worry about you saying no

instead, most of his thoughts were taken up by his excitement to finally be asking you

In the moment you say yes, he's practically already thinking about what he's going to cook for you on your 10th wedding anniversary

#i'm sorry if these suck - idk why I feel like they kinda suck HSDHFAHD #it's okay #the next ones will be bangers #on my hands and knees begging someone to request Rolan angst #my writing #my hcs #baby boy #rolan #fluff #x reader #bg3 #brainrot #baldur's gate 3 #x tav #rolan posting

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: The Birds and the Bees

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Ship: Joel Miller x you (cishet f reader) / Ellie x Riley mention

Tags/warnings: underage child overhearing sex (but it's not weird I swear), queer thoughts, Joel is such a dad, Rough Sex, unprotected sex, piv sex, some mild dirty talk, trying to stay quiet during sex.

Summary: Ellie hears mommy (you) and daddy (Joel) have sex. I guess that's the plot.

Words: 2,257

A/N: WARNING can be a bit spoilery for episodes 6 and 7! Thanks to @rambling-in-purple for reading the Ellie part to make sure it wasn't weird <3

Ellie is almost asleep when something draws her back into the real world, and for a moment she has no idea where she is. Where did these clean sheets come from, this comfortable bed, this warmth? It takes her brain a few moments to realize that she is in Jackson, the safe haven reached yesterday. Today. What time is it?

A sound makes her sit up in bed, heartbeats quickening with growing fear. She had thought this place was safe, but that sound is definitely not reassuring. She reaches for her knife on the bedside table, just as she hears the sound again.

A creak. And it's growing rhythmical. And along with it, muffled moans.

Ellie's first instinct is that there is a fight going on in the next room. A life or death struggle between Joel, you, and a deceitful Jackson resident. Or maybe the infected finally got in? Is Jackson already overrun with infected, or did a roaming band of bandits get in?

Another creak, then a louder moan that gets cut off, and it dawns on Ellie.

Oh. Oh.

Being shown around Jackson, you seemed relaxed for the first time in, well, all the months Ellie had been with you and Joel. It was nice to see you like that, and Ellie wished that Joel could unwind a little as well, but Joel wasn't a person who did that. Maria had taken you and Ellie to the house, Joel had gone to see his brother, and returned in a huff. Ellie, in clean clothes washed hair, had gushed to him about the hot shower, but his demeanor had been so dark that she had fallen quiet. Just then, you had appeared out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, and Ellie had seen the looks you and Joel exchanged. You excused yourself to have an early night and took to your bedroom - the one you shared with Joel. Ellie didn't think twice about you two sharing: she had understood long ago what you were to each other, in addition to the protectors, family, you were to her.

But it's one thing to understand that two people love each other, and know what people in love with each other do, and actually hear it.

Conflicted, she lies back down, turns onto one side, wrapping the pillow around her head to muffle the sounds. It's too intimate, too private. It's wrong to listen to it.

Still, the reverberations travel through the wooden build of the house, and she feels them on her skin. Rolling onto her back again, she lets go of the pillow and stares up at the dark ceiling.

It's not the first time she's heard people having sex. She knows what's going on between the two of you and for what it's worth, she's happy for you. There is something so comforting about your obvious feelings for each other, and how they have spilled over onto her. Ellie knows that she was more or less forced upon you but since that night in the Boston QZ, a lot has happened. You're her family now, and she's happy that you and Joel can be safe and comfortable enough in your borrowed bedroom to have sex.

And it is kind of exciting to hear it, even if it's private. Ellie may be a virgin but she's not frigid. The moans she can hear must be from you, and she wonders what it is Joel is doing that's making you sound like that. Not that she wants to think of Joel like that, God no, that's just gross. The whole idea of a man sticking his dick into her feels gross. But surely a woman must be able to make another woman sound like that? Maybe she could ask you. If she wants to talk to you about sex, and that's a big if.

It hits Ellie that if you're her family now, then it would be like asking her mom about sex. And whatever is going on right now is like hearing mom and dad have sex. And that image is just too much for her teenage brain. When the bedframe starts knocking on the wall between her bedroom and yours, she sits up again and bangs her fist at it.

"Keep it down, you two, some of us are trying to sleep here!"

The noise stops at once, and she grins to herself as she imagines your aghast faces - especially Joel must look absolutely shocked.

"Serves you right," she giggles to herself before scooting down and tucking herself in. Sleepy and amused, she wonders what sex feels like. If she will ever have it. If she even wants it. Is there ever going to be anyone that she'd care to do it with? Will anyone ever find her attractive? Her thoughts stray to Riley, and how sweet it would be to share this comfortable bed with her, whispering in the night, kissing, maybe more - but she quickly brushes those thoughts away. That wound is still too fresh.

A muffled thud is heard from the other bedroom, but she doesn't care anymore. Curling up on her side, she succumbs to exhaustion and the soft mattress.

"Shit!"

"Fuck!"

Your heart is pounding, your mouth is dry, your breathless profanity barely audible against Joel's cheek as he's buried to the hilt in you. He was in a mood when he came back from seeing his brother, and you knew there was no point in trying to make him talk about it. Even in a huff, however, the sight of you in a towel was rare enough for him to stop and stare.

"Take a shower," you told him, seeing that all he wanted to do was pull the towel off of you, "and come to bed."

Strangely enough, he did as he was told, but even hot water wasn't enough to keep him in the shower for more than a few minutes. When he came out, naked and dripping after barely having had time to dry himself off, he joined you between the threadbare but clean sheets.

"It's been too long," he told you, breath hot against your skin, hands already cupping and squeezing and claiming. You hummed your agreement as you let him cover your mouth with yours, sucking the breath out of you as he laid on top of you, his broad frame blocking out everything else. His weight on you, his clean, naked skin against yours... it had indeed been far too long for indulgences like these. You remember stolen fucks and sleepless nights in the QZ, clothed on cold hard floors during runs, but the last time you could take your time like this? And even with all the time in the world, both of you were in a desperate hurry. He sank his thick cock into you before too long and you welcomed him deeper by wrapping your arms and legs around him. When you moaned, he covered your mouth with his large hand and grunted in your ear:

"I know, pretty girl, I know, I feel it too, but you have to stay quiet for me."

You whined into his palm, and he replaced it with his mouth, swallowing your moans as he thrust into you with a renewed fury. The bed creaked but you were too far gone, too cock-hungry to care if Ellie heard you.

Which she did, of course.

Joel froze at the banging on the wall, and he inhaled sharply when Ellie yelled out her request for silence. Mirth replacing dismay as you recognize the teasing tone of Ellie's voice, you start to tremble with held-back giggles. With a grunt, Joel heaves himself up on his elbows.

"It's not funny," he lets you know in a morose voice. You raise your hands to his cheeks, feeling the heat in them. It's too dark to see, but your tough, no nonsense man is fucking blushing.

"It is a little funny," you whisper back and pull him in for a kiss. "She's fucking with us, you do know that, right?"

"We're gonna traumatize her - "

"This is gonna traumatize her, and not everything else she has lived through and seen?" you scoff. Your hand slides around to the back of his head and grab a fistful of hair. "Wise up, Miller, and fuck me."

"We can't - "

"I swear to God, Joel, if you don't get me off, I'm gonna go naked into the street and find someone who will!"

Your threat, unfounded though it is, gets him back on the right track.

"Yeah?" he breathes in a low growl, lowering his face over your chest, his tongue licking a wet trail around your knotted nipple. "You'd let just anyone touch you? Let anyone do this to you?" He licks your nipple into his mouth and sucks hard, making you arch your back as you clench your teeth against the moan threatening to spill out of you.

"Joel...!"

"Hush, my pretty," he hisses, sliding one hand to your breast and burying his fingers into the plump flesh as he lowers his mouth to your ear. "You have to stay quiet if you want me to fuck you till you cum. Can you do that?"

Your whimpered yes is followed by a choked cry when he slams into you anew, this time wrapping one arm around your thigh to get in deeper. You hold onto the bedding, the headboard, willing it to creak less as Joel picks up where he left off, doing his best to resume his devastating pace yet without causing any more noise. It's difficult, but when Joel puts his mind to something, he always follows through. He braces himself against the bed and you whine when he takes his weight off of you. You want to be deliciously crushed, taken, rendered breathless and immobile, but now you are free to rub your clit as he fucks you. Your slick walls clench around him at once.

"Fuck, that's tight," he groans above you, baring his teeth. "So fucking tight when you do that."

You stare up at him through the dusk, caress his flexed neck muscles with your half closed eyes as the pressure rises inside you. You whisper bitten off words, as if Joel needed your words to know that you are so close to exploding, imploding, the mesmerizing rise and fall that you so desperately need. He dips down to steal your breath away with a kiss and you suck eagerly on his tongue while simultaneously panting for air.

He almost slips out when you cum, your slickness and spasming muscles nearly pushing him out. You press your lips together, will yourself to swallow the sounds that threaten to come out when your body trembles under him. Your body, so sensitive all of a sudden, wants to push him away, but instead you pull him down over you and move with him, desperate and wanton.

"Cum," you beg of him in a whisper that might just as well be a scream, you have no idea as the blood roars in your ears, "cum, baby, cum in me, please cum."

Your overstimulated pussy feels the heat of his load spreading inside you when your words rush him to his climax. The strangled sound he emits is one that you've never heard from him before, and you wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly to you. His heart beats rapidly against your chest, where your own heart trying to match his rhythm, and when he tries to catch his breath there's only a stutter. He's sweaty but you can smell him and it's clean, fresh perspiration. His hair is still damp, and you run your fingers through it, smelling the shampoo which no doubt is handmade of herbs by someone in Jackson. He clearly took the time to wash his hair, which surprises you.

It feels nice. Normal.

"You smell nice," you murmur to him, sniffing his sideburn demonstratively.

"You do too." He brushes his lips across your face in a light peppering of kisses, each one a lingering declaration of love on your skin. "You felt so good, baby, this was good."

You hum softly as he slides out, slick and seed trailing in the wake of his softening cock.

"Might want to go again in a minute," you warn him with a happy smile that you hope he can hear, even if he can't see it. Joel groans as he rolls over onto his back next to you.

"Too old for twice in one night."

You chuckle, feeling the post-coital relaxation weighing you down in the most delicious way. Once was definitely enough. But you wish that every night could be like this.

"You think she's still awake?" Joel asks, and for a moment you have no idea who he's talking about. You had quite forgotten that the two of you were not alone in the house.

"I'll talk to her in the morning," you offer with a yawn. "Woman to woman."

"And tell her what?" Joel sounds both cynical and troubled, which amuses you greatly.

"About the birds and the bees," you giggle, shoving him playfully. "And what happens when two adults like each other very much."

He scoffs but takes your hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss before placing it over his heart. The conversation is over for his part, so you lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes.

#the last of us fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #ellie williams #my fic

[talesfrommedinastation]

My Redneck Neighbor Doug has watched The Bad Batch Season 3 opener:

LEEEEET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE!

This is more pithy than normal: Doug's been busy with work, as have I. But I'm determined to hear his thoughts on The Daddy Warcrimes 'n Company so here we go!

These were all via text messages, btw.

CW: Doug Doug's as you know Doug will do. Away!

---------------------------------------------------

Episode 1: 'Little Orphan Blondie's Shit Internship at The Museum of Science and Industry'

Poor Little Orphan Blondie, stuck in The Museum of Science and Industry in a shit summer job because they got bills to pay. Except they got rid of the dinosaurs and walk in heart and filled it with gross shit.

Hey look, they still got the coal mine exhibit! Man I miss Chicago.

(Doug, that museum has never had dinosaurs. “What, since when?”)

MUTANT JIMMERS EVERYWHERE! Aw, Little Orphan Blondie gave one her chicken nuggets! And it’s shy, aw, I hope it’s okay.

Poor Mutant Jimmers…she named her?! Swear to Christ Almighty if that dog gets Old Yeller’d I’ll just lose it. 

That freaky alien thing that ran the mall on the ocean looks sad, I bet she wishes she fell into the water and got eaten by a shark or something. I wish you did too, lady. 

The Sons of Robocop really are everywhere, they must be a cult or something. They look cool, I’d join, why not. Think they get 401ks?

Oh man, Daddy Warcrimes is down bad. Poor Daddy Warcrimes. Man, all my clone boys are stooped and sad…this ain’t good. 

At least Little Orphan Blondie can craft! Man, she should start selling those at the Museum of Science and Industry’s gift shop. Maybe Tarkin can bring one back for the grandchildren he’s not allowed to talk to since the restraining order was put in.

Oh, there’s Stepsister Beth, she seems on edge. Must’ve gotten divorced recently, don’t blame her ex, I bet she screamed at him for leaving cabinets open who knows. How do her eyeballs not hurt after wearing those dumb glasses all day?

Episode 2: 'Night Elves and Neverland Ranch'

The night elves from Warcraft invaded Star Wars and got horns or something and now they have a castle that looks like a boss level in Diablo IV or V or how many Diablo games they got now.

Now they yelling at people and throwing them in the basement today. Makes sense, gotta fight the orcs and stuff. Think they fight the orcs in the basement?

The Night Elf Horned Queen hired Daddy Rambo and Julio to get people, I guess they’re turning into Boba Fett or something. They got her son's horn back, guess that's good. Oh they need new paint jobs on their armor.

Do they end up in the basement in the Diablo Boss Level? No? And off they go! 

Daddy Rambo and Julio are in their homeland of FLORIDA! Hell yeah, SPACE FLORIDA! And they’re bringing the talking trashcan with them using straps! Go Julio go!  Yeah, boa vines, this is TOTALLY the Everglades! 

Escaped clone boys! Oh man! Shit, is Neverland Ranch in the jungle? Oh man–oh, they know what they’re doing. Good kids. Real good kids. Oh what happened to the rest of them? Oh Meat Muffin, this ain't good :(.

You know what? Them clone boys are smart, take it back, this ain’t Space Florida, this is Space Louisiana! Them baby boys gone get feral and run off into the bayou and live in the caves and now you know my origin story, Meat Muffin! 

If this was Florida they'd just end up working the late shift at Zaxby's and smoking rocks in the parking lot. We know better, we French and all.

I bet they’ve been living on nutria and half-empty chicken boxes from behind the gas stations. Resourceful scrappy kids and I can tell its making Daddy Rambo proud.

Oh holy SHIT, there go them vines! It's like the kudzu all over again, maybe this is LaFourche Parish?

See, them boys are definitely white trash, Mandalorian rednecks. Look at em, living in the woods and hijacking a plane, but they good kids, saving their brothers. Even saved the robot too. 

Man, all the feels, them poor little boys. What will they do now?  Oh, they're going to Space Daytona! Good, wait, I saw the trailer, doesn't the Empire invade it? THIS AIN'T GOOD MEAT MUFFIN!!!

Wait...where's Toaster Strudel and Rex?

Episode 3: 'Blondie Got a Gun'

Well here's the Emperor. He wants to be immortal. Gotta make that other movie make sense or something.

Where's Darth Vader? Is he running the government when the Emperor is running around giggling?

Don’t you DARE kill Mutant Jimmers, you damn droid. I hate that ugly assed stupid thing. It looks like its scarecrow daddy fucked a microwave and then left it enough money to go to Planned Parenthood but instead spent it on crack and there ya go.  

Oh shut your goddamned yap, Jimmy the Scientist. I bet he gloves that hand up because he keeps shoving it up his own ass and that's why he walks funny all the damn time.

The Emperor also has a Diablo IV or VIII boss level all to himself too at the Museum of Science and Industry. How many Diablo games are there, Meat Muffin?

YEAH, LITTLE ORPHAN BLONDIE! GIT ER DONE!!! They're out! Oh wow! There she goes with Daddy Warcrimes! Kill em all and let GOD SORT THEM OUT! That's my GIRL!!!!

Blondie’s got a gun 

Blondie’s got a gun

Her whole world's come undone

Shooting droids is FUN!

GO MUTANT JIMMERS GO!!!! 

YEAH BLONDIE DADDY WARCRIMES AND MUTANT JIMMERS!!!!!!

I AIN'T A BULLS FAN BUT REPEAT THE THREE PEAT! YEAH!!!!!!

....so when we gonna get Toaster Strudel and Rex? Next one? Where's my reg boys?!

-----------------

Tagging those who missed my Cajun neighbor. LOOKS LIKE REDNECK DOUG IS BACK ON THE MENU, BOYS!

@skellymom @amalthiaph @eyecandyeoz @cdblake1565 @sued134 @merkitty49 @supremechancellorrex @yeehawgeek @wrenkenstein @techs-stitches @deezlees @autistic-artistech @perfectlywingedcrusade @auntie-venom @megmca @thecoffeelorian

#tbb #cloneforce99 #thebadbatch #redneck doug #doug watches star wars #star wars tv #cajun doug #doug why #star wars fans #the bad batch #the bad batch season 3 #bad batch season 3 #tbb season three #tbb spoilers #tbb s3 #fan reaction

[corruptedcaps]

Eco Warrior

I can't believe the nerve of those corporate jerks! All we were doing was peacefully protesting their evil company and they threw this gross sticky chemical stuff all over me! I should wash it off but I need the evidence for when I go to the cops tomorrow. It's infuriating how they think they can just silence us like that. But you know what? This won't stop me. I'll fight even harder now. We're in this together, and we're going to make sure they're held accountable for the damage they've done to people and the environment.

Change of plans with going to the cops, I woke up to find the chemicals had soaked into my skin. They haven’t left any evidence in me. I guess I should be thankfully. Although I think they may have contributed to this tan I have now. But that's not the point right now. I need to focus on getting to the new protest today. We can't let their tactics deter us. We have to keep standing up against their injustices and fighting for what's right. Let's get out there and make our voices heard again.

You won't believe how well the protest went today. Our voices were louder than ever, and it felt like a turning point. But here's the craziest part – those corporate guys actually came over to apologize for splashing me with chemicals! Can you believe that? They said it was a mistake and that they want to make amends. They even offered me a role as a protest liaison within their company. It's wild, right? I'm torn though. Part of me wants to take the chance to make change from the inside, but another part worries it might just be a ploy. What do you think babe?

So, I just got back from my first day as a protest liaison, and I'm kind of surprised. The corporation is actually really nice, and they went out of their way to make me feel welcome. They even gave me a bunch of free makeup, creams, and lotions to try, as a way to show their products aren't harmful. I've already put some on, and I have to admit, they feel pretty good. They make my body tingle all over, especially my boobs. Bigger? No I don’t so. It's probably just the outfit I'm wearing today. I think you just like what you see, mmmm come closer baby.

It's frustrating to deal with some of my protestor friends calling me a scab and a corporate shill just because I'm working with the corporation now. I have no sympathy for their attitude. If they can't see that I'm trying to make a positive change from within, then that's their problem. Honestly, it feels like jealousy more than anything. I mean, the corporation even gave me a raise already and has let me use all their products for free. That must mean I'm doing something they value. Plus I’m sure it doesn’t help that I look so much better then them now as well. The company’s products really are like magic. Mmmm all this talk of how good I look I’d getting me in the mood, take off your pants.

Like my new car? My company bought it for me for doing such a good job. Protest liaison? No they’ve moved me into marketing and sales where I’m excelling. It helps that I’m a walking billboard for them. As for the protest, honestly, I don't really care about it anymore. Things change, priorities shift. This is where I am now, and I've got better things to focus on than those who still think shouting on the streets will make a difference. It's all about playing the game right, and clearly, I'm winning. So, if you'll excuse me, I've got more important matters to attend to than the past.

Ugh, those protestors are getting on my nerves. Yesterday, they nearly ruined my new fur coat as I was walking into work. Can you believe their audacity? Pathetic losers, the lot of them. I need to find some muscle to deal with them, get them out of my way once and for all. It's like they're stuck in a never-ending cycle of futile resistance. Well, I won't let them stand in my way or mess with what I've built. I am vice president now after all, I deserve respect. Time to take control and show them the real power of influence.

Oh, look at you now. Splashing you with those chemicals did wonders, didn't it? Just like they did to me. Of course at first I had no idea the chemicals were changing me into the mega bitch you see before you but once I realized what my companies products were doing to me, I couldn’t get enough. It’s so hawt to see the concentrated formula change you so quickly. You've become quite the imposing figure, muscular and mean. It's good to see loyalty in action. From now on, you're my enforcer. Those protestors won't stand a chance with you by my side. Let's make sure they understand that challenging me comes at a price. Together, we'll show them what happens when they fuck with me.

You know what? It turns out, it was a much better plan to turn those protestors into my new executive board. All it took was a little splash of those chemicals, and their loyalty was sealed. With them backing me, it was easy to ascended to the position of CEO. Funny how things work out, isn't it? They thought they were fighting against me, but now they're working for me. It's a powerful reminder that sometimes, the best way to bring about change is from the inside. And now, I've got the influence and control I've always wanted. Make less products? No dear we’re doubling our output now, I want an army.

#f2f #corruption #bitchification #evil couple #corrupted pov #corrupted couple

[wellofdean]

So in my ongoing efforts to say nice things about Supernatural and, as @luckshiptoshore said yesterday, "reclaim this nice, gay show" together, and also probably because I listened to Bruce Springsteen earlier today while I was thinking: why is it that this particular love story has me like it does? Why can't I let this Destiel thing go? I mean... I watched all the recent queer love stories and as much as I enjoyed Good Omens and OFMD, they just don't take up real estate in my soul like Supernatural does -- and that's not a decision I made, it just is. I don't know about you guys, but my little rages choose me.

Anyway, I was thinking -- it's probably not just because of queer representation or whatever, and I don't think it's because I want to see dudes be tender -- I think I ran out of that form of interest in the life of dudes awhile ago, but yeah, Bruce Springsteen. Born to Run. He says "I want to know love is wild, I want to know love is real" and I felt like it pretty much hit the nail on the head for me, somehow.

It's been a long time since I have felt moved by a het romance story. I feel like I can no longer believe it when the roles are so pre-packaged in the tropes and trappings of what was sold to me as idealised love in my younger days. And, like, I am Gen X, so it was pretty gruesome out there when I was learning how to want love -- the power of compulsory heterosexuality was strong, and the shit that was sold to us all as ways to love and be loved were pretty gross, just watch any romantic comedy from the 80's or 90's.

I think I love Supernatural so much because of the way Dean plays the role of a standard issue dude, and postures like he is a stereotypical red-blooded American dude, but it's so transparent that it isn't him. I don't know if it's just Jensen things, or if it was consciously done, but I love how unconvincing Dean's act is, and how clear it is that he is a wounded child whose own real desires and needs have been beaten out of him somehow, and I just love the way the real Dean and what that guy wants slow rises out of him as the story goes on, until he's choking on it, and visibly swallowing it down. For me, the queerest thing about Dean is his pain, his aching loneliness, and his sense of failure at being what he thinks he is -- a violent man who only knows how to kill, and I love Dean's moments of clarity, moments when he speaks from his own soul -- when he tells Cas he's sorry, tells John he has a family, tells Chuck "that's not who I am" are just everything to me.

Both Dean and Cas are victims of conditioning and coersion -- Dean trying to be his Daddy's perfect son, and being manipulated by Chuck, and Cas horribly violated and brainwashed repeatedly for millennia in heaven -- and they love each other in defiance of conditioning, because love is wild, and it's the product of their freedom.

I feel like ALL actual love eschews force and arises out of freedom. All real love is specific and weird, and is co-created in the space between lovers from what is most real in them and in that sense, all real love is queer in some way in that it is not part of the big social project of subjugating what doesn't comply. I feel like a lot of people lead lives of mindless compliance and that a thing that's wonderful about queer people and queer community is that we work against the grain to honor what is truest in us, whatever that is.

I guess I just love that, on Supernatural, the kind of love that saves the day is the kind that grows wild, like a weed you can't kill, out of more than a decade of choosing each other, again and again, and choosing to fight coercion and conditioning. Love that just fucking refuses to comply, and in fact, cannot comply, because non-compliance is it's very nature. There's something so hopeful and beautiful about that to me. I want to believe in it, and I do.

It's also why, after ALL THIS, in the context of that narrative, Dean is incontrovertibly queered, and anything else is just straight up narrative malpractice.

#supernatural #dean winchester #love is queer yo #anti-trashnatural agenda

[nonotnolan]

The Great Gym Shift

Day 15 of life after the body swapping incident that affected downtown Washington DC, and life was still weird as shit.  Some people were calling it the Great Shift-- a government cover-up for a science experiment gone wrong.  I don’t think a two mile radius really deserves a “Great” moniker but I had to admit it was catchy.  Others were calling it a terrorist bioweapon meant to cause havoc across the nation’s government.  That did seem possible, but the terrorists had terrible aim if that was the case.

A few people even said it was a plan to put key politicians into younger, healthier bodies, but... I know for a fact that one isn’t true.  I was there at ground zero when the swap occurred, working as a personal trainer at the gym.  All those desirable bodies, mine included, went to some of the most pathetic white collar workers you could imagine.  Whatever happened, it was definitely an accident.

It’s been a month, and I still haven’t gotten used to my reflection.  I hope I never do, to be honest.  The government is working on getting this whole mess resolved, and I can only hope it will be sooner rather than later.  I’ve never had hair this long, and I am in desperate need a of a haircut.  Since it’s not my body, I’d have to fill out a requisition form, and I keep hoping it won’t come to that.  

One of the first things the Government did was send in the National Guard to put everyone affected into a quarantined hotel area, and then they started drowning us in regulations and paperwork.  I’m still working as a personal trainer... only now most of my clients are lazy office drones.  Those desirable bodies I mentioned?  I’m in charge of making sure their new owners keep them in shape.  I’m slowly losing my sanity.

“Mitch!  What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I said, walking out into our shared kitchen.  Uncle Sam was putting us up in some very nice accommodations, I had to admit, but my clients-turned-roommates left a lot to be desired.

“C’mon Grady, it’s Saturday,” he said, as if that was supposed to be an answer.  I kept starting at him until he continued.  “Saturday is my self-care day, and today that means Netflix and cookies.  I don’t see what the big deal is...”

“Absolutely not,” I said, holding out my hand.  “Give me those, that is way too many calories for one serving.  We’re sharing those with the whole floor.”  He rolled his eyes and sighed at me, but at least he obeyed me.  I can’t help but feel self-conscious bossing all of these men around, especially when they’re large enough to beat me to a pulp if they knew how to leverage their strength.  The real Mitch was a lanky college intern who had no idea how to build or maintain muscle mass.  Russ would’ve had a heart attack if he was here to see even half the things Mitch wanted to do in that body.

As I walked the plate of cookies out to the common area, I couldn’t help but notice that Larry was still sitting at his room’s computer desk, shirtless and surrounded by a few wadded tissues.  Gross, but... I’ve seen Larry’s old body.  I can’t entirely blame the old pervert.  “Please tell me you didn’t stay up all night watching porn again.”

He just smiled at me, his bloodshot eyes telling me everything that I needed to know.  “So what if I did, Grady, it’s Saturday.  The fitness schedule you made for me says I don’t have to work out today, and a sleep schedule isn’t a part of the body cohabitation contract we all signed.  As long as I still eat three healthy meals today, you can’t make me do anything.  So how about giving me some privacy?”  He was right, of course.  Larry was one of my most frustrating clients, because he knew exactly how to do the bare minimum and nothing more.  Tana was one of the gym’s biggest over-achievers, so seeing his body do a complete 180 had been quite the adjustment.

I knew better than to engage with him right now-- better to save my strength for fights that I would be able to win.  I set the cookies down in our shared kitchen, waved at a few of the other guys, and retreated back to the bedroom I shared with one other man.

Simon smiled at me, and I could feel my frustrations starting to lift away.  “Good morning, Grady.  Rough start?” he asked, looking up from his book.  Simon was a licensed psychologist who happened to be at a nearby Industry Convention when the Great Shift happened, and I was so glad to have his assistance dealing with all of the heated emotions that boiled over during the aftermath.  Furthermore, Simon had ended up in my body.  It was a relief to know that my body was being controlled by someone responsible, even if seeing myself each day came with its own set of weird situations.

"You have no idea,” I said, shaking my head.  “Or rather, you have an exact idea, because you’ve also had to deal with those guys.  I don’t suppose you would be up for some... stress release?” I asked, peeling off my tank top and tossing it onto the floor.

He laughed, quickly setting aside his book and his glasses.  “In this body?  Always!”  Was it weird that I was having sex with my own body?  Maybe, but honestly, our daily hookups felt like one of the least weird things about this whole mess.  I always knew I was an attractive man, and I’ve always been attracted to anyone who keeps themselves healthy, regardless of gender.  Presumably that’s how Simon now felt-- I know that ever since I’ve been in this new Twink body, I have only felt attraction for hairy men.  Sexual attraction seemed to follow the body, not the inhabitant.

“Do you ever worry that we’re complicating things?” Simon asked.  “For whenever the government is able to switch everyone back into the right bodies, I mean.  They’ve told our loved ones that we’re in quarantine, but... how can we go back to normal life when this is all over?”  I understood where he was coming from-- his real body was at least twenty years older, and while he didn’t like sharing too much about his life, I’d gotten the impression he had a wife and maybe a few grandkids waiting for him back home.

Simon clearly had a tendency to overthink everything, and I was now used to offering friendly advice while his warm load was still inside of me.  “Honestly, I think we’re dealing with a stressful situation, and we’re all just coping however we can.  There’s nothing wrong with two consenting adults having sex.  And I don’t know about you, but... if I didn’t try to get a wide range of experiences inside of this temporary body, I think I’d regret the missed opportunity forever.”

He smiled at me.  “I suppose you’re right,” he said, as he sipped on cheap hotel coffee.  “’In sickness or in health’ wasn’t really meant to cover something so impossible.  And I’d rather seek forgiveness than forever ponder what might have been.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said, smiling back at him.  I think we both knew it was a bit selfish, but how else could we be expected to process these strange new desires?  Yeah, I guess I felt a bit guilty having sex with someone other than my girlfriend back home, but... when else would I ever get an opportunity to have sex with myself?  I don’t think there is a person alive who could blame me.

#male body swap #gay body swap #after the swap #muscle jock #great shift

[suunkiised]

Poppy Chapter 3 Thoughts

Just finished watching Manly's play through of Chapter 3 and I have many thoughts as a viewer of the game.

First things first! Very polished, not very buggy and has a lot of nice environments. It's interactive and gives and you a better understanding of everything that happened before the deaths of the employees.

The sound design is a major improvement. Chapters 1 and 2 were mediocre in the sound department, nothing stunning or special. This chapter was way better and provided more and went above and behind!!

Also, lots of new mechanics that make the puzzles interesting and keeps things from being to repetitive. It's engaging and the puzzles are easy to understand, they're a little tedious at times, but they're efficient and you get the hang of them quickly! You also don't get overwhelmed.

Now for spoilers, click read more if you want to spoiled :)

I'll talk about the things I don't like first.

The main factor being the major lack of Catnap. The trailers and everything made it seem like he was a bigger deal then he actually is. I get the fact that he's supposed to hide in the shadows, but he barely has a presence until the last half of the game and it's a disappointment.

Even worse, his boss fight dragged on for too long. It's repetitive and not interesting in the slightest. Mommy's boss fight was long, but you not only got more time with her, you also weren't confined to one area. Catnap's boss fight was boring at most and uninteresting at worst.

His death also didn't seem to have that much of an impact. Sure, we know he worships the Prototype and seeing him offer himself to it was pretty sad, knowing everything that happened. But, again, we don't see much of Catnap in the chapter, which really just doesn't make me feel for him.

Ending this on the things I liked / loved!!

I loved Mrs. Delights section, save for the flickering lights, her design is scary and her movements are horrifying. She's a real danger and you can feel it when we get to her. While her death wasn't anything groundbreaking, it made me wince just because she was stuck under there and not cut in half.

The Play Area was fun! The little critters scuttling around and shooting them with the flare gun was fun to watch. I felt bad for DogDay, he was cut in half and his body was used against his will to hunt the player. It was gross and horrifying to watch. The chase was amxiety inducing and you can feel the urgency as you run away.

Poppy had a more prominent role in this chapter, and I'm glad we saw her! Also, Kissy is nice, I understand why they didn't want these two to follow the player aroun. Would have caused some complications with some areas.

Also, seeing Kissy being passive towards us, not only because Poppy is there is calm her down. But also because she's afraid and constantly on edge, and she wants to get out.

Ollie... Is suspicious. I don't trust him but jury's still out there on what his deal is next chapter.

Story-wise, this chapter really focused in on The Hour of Joy. It was nice to get a visual on the massacre, knowing that no one was spared from the wrath of the mascots.

I like that we got some more information on the workers. Knowing that someone of them probably didn't even know about the experimentation going on and thought they were doing good. But, also knowing that so many people were experimenting on the children...

It's chilling, because you know some people didn't deserve this and yet they're dead now.

Also, confirmation on the player having worked there, but left. This makes me think that the Prototype was the one who sent the letter, wanting every employee to suffer.

As for the ending, I suspect that Kissy got attacked by either Boxy or the Prototype. Meaning that she's either dead, or going to die next chapter.

This also means Poppy is likely to stay by the players side for a good portion of the game, I suspect until we meet Ollie, where she'll stay with him.

Overall I think Chapter 3 is a solid 7/10.

I wish we got more Catnap since he was the main antagonist, but I think the rest was handled well and I'm very impressed by the team. They did a lot of work and I applaud everyone who worked on this chapter!!

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime deep sleep #poppy playtime chapter 3 #poppy playtime spoilers