#and then!! if this feeds back into the original work?? fucking disaster honestly

[mightymizora]

When you see something that is so egregiously out of character (not a little bit off but literally “who even is this person?”) and it has fanart, 35k views, 2k kudos, hundreds of comments… honestly it makes me wonder what on earth is going on with people?

I am proud of what I make but man I wonder why I’m making it here sometimes.

#this is why you have to make for yourself #because honestly what is going on with the wider audience? #I don’t understand people at all #there is some absolutely brilliant stuff being made in the fandom #I see some of the work people make and it’s extraordinary #and then what gets traction is truly baffling to me #call me mean spirited I don’t care anymore #call me jealous or whatever else you want (my inbox is a mess these days anyway) #but the taste and critical thinking of a lot of people is really really in the toilet #and then!! if this feeds back into the original work?? fucking disaster honestly

[retrievablememories]

a strange love | yuta (m)

title: a strange love pairing: alien!yuta x black!reader genre: sci-fi/fantasy, fluff, angst, smut request: “I read a good chunk of your NCT work and really liked them. Would I be able to request a fic where a black female reader meets an alien (can be Yuta or Jungwoo) and they're both coming to terms that they're attracted to each other and have to come to terms with being attracted to someone of a different species? Can be smutty and don't be afraid to give the alien a less human biology if you don't mind.” word count: 13.1k warnings: alcohol use, cursing, near drowning experience, lots of mentions of water so this one might not mesh well with people w/ aquaphobia, non-human biology/body horror, extraterrestrial sex, lots of cum, oral sex (female receiving), tentacle dick, unprotected sex, creampie, please heed the warnings because this is an alien smutfic lmao a/n: giving the shape of water teas. i’ve actually never seen that movie 😕 but i will at some point. forgive me in advance for the nerdy references in here.

It’s funny how things happen when you least expect it. You never would’ve thought you’d be sound asleep when your entire world changed.

The night the UFO crashes in your city, you’re awoken by the tremors of its landing. The vibrations feel akin to an earthquake, and they make picture frames and other trinkets fall off your shelves and hit the floor in a clatter of noise. You jump up from your pillow at the racket, your heart pounding. You glance at the things lying on your floor and quickly register that the room—your entire home—is trembling.

There’s not much you can do at this point but ride it out, so you huddle down in your covers and hope the roof doesn’t cave in on your head. To your knowledge, your particular area isn’t known for earthquakes, which makes all of this even stranger. What could be causing one now? Is the world finally ending?

Eventually, the tremors stop. By now, your shelves have been emptied of nearly all their contents, but you’re still alive, which you’re grateful for. You wait a few more minutes to see if the shakes will begin again, but they don’t, so you climb out from the warmth of your covers to clean up your floor.

Police and ambulance sirens start blaring through the city not long after you get out of bed. That’s nothing unusual; there are usually injuries and casualties with natural disasters like these, and you expect many poor souls will be needing rescue tonight. You sigh and look at your closed blinds, watching them be sporadically illuminated by the lights of the emergency vehicles rushing past.

Once you’ve cleaned up your room and gotten back in bed, you think about checking social media for what people have been saying about the quake. There’s no doubt that the city’s residents have taken to Twitter and Instagram to document it. However, your eyelids are already starting to droop, and you’d probably fall asleep in the middle of scrolling, so you decide to tuck in and wait until morning.

Waking up the next day almost seems like a normal Sunday until you look at your blinds again and are suddenly reminded of last night’s flashing lights. Right. The earthquake. Throwing the covers back, you stumble out of bed to turn on your TV. You flip through the channels until you find a news station for your local area. You go to open the blinds, keeping your ears open for reports on the earthquake.

“Last night, we experienced unprecedented seismic activity throughout the majority of the city, caused by what appears to be an unidentified flying object, otherwise known as a UFO—”

Huh?

You turn to the TV, thinking this must be some kind of ridiculous hoax. You get ready to reach for the remote, thinking you must have turned it to one of those parody news channels by accident, but you freeze at what you see. Video footage of the city center—or what used to be the city center—plays on the screen. In place of the large historical monument that used to stand there, there’s a huge...silver and black spaceship. Or at least you think it’s a ship. It apparently sustained major damage in the landing, and now it looks more like a hunk of melted metal. The area around it has been blasted clear in every direction. Instead of green grass and pavement, there’s nothing but dirt.

The area is blocked off with yellow tape, though hundreds of people have gathered at the location to check out the object and take pictures and videos of it.

“What the fuck…” you whisper to yourself.

“We’re currently unsure where this UFO originated from, though we can confirm that it is not affiliated with any aircraft fleets owned by the U.S. military. Researchers and scientists from top universities across the country are being called in to assist in identifying this craft…”

“There’s no just way,” you mutter, grabbing your shower cap and pulling clothes out of your closet for your morning shower. “A UFO...guess that alien invasion is coming sooner than we thought.” You would like to believe it’s all just someone playing a terrible prank, but pulling off this level of theatrics is impossible.

After you get out of the shower and start making breakfast for yourself, you get a text from one of your coworkers, Alex.

10:30 A.M. Alex🍸 You seeing this shit on the news right now?

10:31 A.M. Obviously! It’s fucking wild. Do you really think it’s true? OR some elaborate government hoax? Anything’s possible. I’m betting “true,” but...

10:33 A.M. Alex🍸 I honestly don’t know. that’s why me and some of the others from work are about to head over there now. Wanna come?

10:34 A.M. The hell! I’ll pass. There could be all types of radiation n shit, I’m not tryna turn into the Green Lantern or the Hulk or somebody.

10:35 A.M. Alex🍸 lmFAO. Suit ypurself. If I gain superpowers don’t be surprised if I fly over to your house today.

10:35 A.M. You’re a mess. 💀

You spend breakfast watching more news reports and scrolling through Twitter feeds for firsthand information. People who visited the site, including your coworkers, have uploaded pictures of the UFO from various angles, inciting a frenzy of conspiracy theories and warnings that the world is about to end.

You don’t know what to make of the situation, but it stays on your mind throughout the day as you leave the house and go about completing your usual errands. The city center has been blocked off to all vehicles other than those belonging to people who’ve been called in to help, which means that traffic is sky-high everywhere else—even for a Sunday.

Sitting in a mishmash of cars, you roll down your window and sigh, looking out at the red traffic lights, and beyond that to the horizon. Things are about to get very weird for the next few weeks. Maybe months. You can only hope you’re prepared for it.

You don’t know why, but the air seems strange tonight.

It’s been 2 days since the UFO crashed. There haven’t been many more answers apart from what everyone already knows due to the ship’s destroyed state. The city has professionals out for that sort of thing, but they’re taking their sweet time analyzing the ship—though you can’t really blame them. Jumping straight into unknown alien tech seems like a death wish.

Your life has been pretty much the same as usual, though you know a few people at work who have been more directly affected by the events. One girl, Sooyoung, who lives in the neighborhood near the crash site claims the officials are thinking about having that entire area evacuate, though you don’t know why they’re beating around the bush about it if it’s true. Whatever radiation or chemicals they’re worried about has probably already leached into all the surrounding homes, and now you’re just waiting for someone to walk into your workplace with antlers or purple skin.

Admittedly, you’re morbidly curious about the case and what all of this could mean for Earth’s future, but you keep your fascination lowkey. You don’t need any of your coworkers thinking you’re the next alien-obsessed Mulder from X-Files. But then again, you’re not curious enough to visit the actual scene, so maybe you’re not the crazy one here.

You feel fine when you get home from work that day, but as you get washed up and settle into your usual evening routine, you can’t shake the eeriness gripping your subconscious. It’s not necessarily a bad feeling, either, just...foreign. Like an emotion you’ve never felt before, though you didn’t know there were even still new emotions to discover. Shaking your head, you figure maybe you should lay off the alien stuff for the rest of the week.

Before you head to bed that night, you go around the house making sure all the doors and windows are locked as you normally do. You pause at the backdoor for a reason you can’t explain, and the strange feeling grows stronger. At this point, you’re a bit frightened about what this is all about, but you can’t go to sleep without knowing. Curiosity takes over as you open the blinds and stare into the darkness of your backyard.

You don’t see anything right away. There are trees, bushes, your potted plants, and lawn chairs...everything looks normal. It’s only when you lean closer to the glass to squint that you see a figure lying in the grass. You jump once you catch sight of it, terrified that some monster or murderer has found their way onto your property. There was nothing there earlier when you closed the blinds, so whoever or whatever it is must’ve recently showed up.

You’re about ready to dial 911 when you realize the figure is curled in the fetal position and unmoving...almost like they’re unconscious. Or dead.

This is ridiculous. You feel like one of those people who always dies first in the horror movies because they went into the room the killer was obviously hiding in, but you’re overcome with the strong impulse to step outside. You grip the doorknob tightly, debating whether you should unlock it or not.

“...Fuck. Don’t let me regret this.”

You open the door with your phone in hand, the device serving as your flashlight. There’s still the screen door to get through, which you pause at for a moment. The figure remains unmoving even with the sound of the door opening.

“Hello?!” You call out to the individual, but there’s no response. Your phone’s light can’t reach them from there, which forces you to open the screen door and step out onto the porch. They’re still feet away, but from this closer distance, it seems like they’re wearing a sort of armor or full-body suit...maybe like a cosplay?

“Hope this isn’t some weirdo weeb passed out on my lawn…” you mutter, cautiously stepping onto the grass. As you approach, you can see now that the figure is likely male, though their back is to you so you can’t be totally sure. “Um, hello there? Can you hear me?” No response.

By now, you are only a few feet away from them. The person looks to be an Asian guy, with long blonde hair haloing his face. His features are angular and smooth, and he is indeed wearing some kind of body armor, its color unlike anything you’ve seen. Instead of being all one hue or even a few, it reflects the light from your phone and glows with a rainbow-like phosphorescence. The material itself looks translucent, but you can’t see through it; it creates a mind-bending optical illusion.

Your stomach suddenly drops to your feet. Is this who was in that UFO in the city center? It seems too out-there to be true, but your intuition is telling you otherwise. This can’t be fucking real.

You kneel on the wet grass next to the man and try to look for signs of life. You can hear his breathing, so he’s thankfully not dead. But he doesn’t look to be in good shape, either. He definitely won’t be able to get up on his own; he probably used the last of his energy to drag himself into your yard.

“Damn.” You turn the flashlight off and slip your phone into your sweatpants pocket. It seems like there’s no other options right now. You could call the police, but they’d probably accuse you of being in cahoots with this weird dude and drag you off to jail. Or they could cart him off for government experimentation, which sounds equally terrible. So with those things in mind, you gently maneuver his upper body until you’re able to hook your arms under his armpits and drag him towards your house.

You just really hope none of your nosy neighbors are seeing this right now.

He’s surprisingly light, and you get him inside the house fairly quickly. Once you’ve locked the door again, you pull him over to the living room so he’s propped against your couch. He still isn’t fully conscious, but his head and lips move as if he’s dreaming about something.

“What was that…?” You lean closer, trying to read his lips for some sort of clue. Surprisingly, you can make out the word water, which he mouths over and over again. “Water…” You run into the kitchen to pour a glass and bring it back to him, making sure not to spill any on the way over.

You press it to his lips, unsure if he’ll be able to drink, but to your amazement his muscles respond and he drinks quickly as you tip the glass. Soon, the water is all gone. You set the glass to the side with your palms sweating and watch as his face flutters even more. 

“Can you...hear me?”

His eyes open only slightly. This movement seems to cause him some pain, though you aren’t sure why. Maybe he has a headache since he was dehydrated? You scramble to turn the overhead light off, not wanting to make matters worse. He still doesn’t try to open his eyes any wider, though.

“Who are you? Were you...did you crash here?” You feel a little bad about asking so many questions, but you’re dying for answers as to what the hell is going on.

The man licks his lips, and his mouth parts like he’s going to answer. But his throat is still dry, and it hurts to talk.

“...Shit.” You get him another glass of water and let him drink until it’s gone again. He seems a little better after that.

“Th-this...” He clears his throat a couple times and tries again. “This is E-Earth, right?”

Now you’re the one lost for words. Although you already figured he couldn’t be from here, hearing it out loud makes your blood rush and your heart race. “Um, yes...this is Earth. Was...the UFO yours?”

He sighs, and his head falls back against the couch arm. “Yes.”

“It’s destroyed,” you say, and then feel silly about it. “But you already know that.” 

He doesn’t answer that. He just slowly glances around your living room instead, looking as if he’s never seen a stranger setup. The quietness is awkward, and you almost feel like he must be judging your taste for interior design. “Do you have a name?”

More silence. You decide he probably won’t answer until he finally says, “You can call me Yuta.”

“Yuta.” You tell him your name too, and he just nods, almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t say much without prompting, which makes it hard for you to know how to approach the situation. You don’t want to overwhelm him with questions, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to speak unless you do. “How did you end up here? I mean, in my—uh, my yard?”

Yuta shakes his head and then winces. “I crashed, and then...I just ran. The ship was melting. I just ran. I hid...I went from place to place, hiding. Don’t know how I got here.”

You wonder how he made it all the way from the city center to your home without being spotted, especially with that armor. You can only conclude that he must be stealth at hiding. Or maybe someone did spot him and the feds are about to bust down your door any minute. You take a shaky breath and try to push that anxious thought to the back of your mind.

Suddenly Yuta fixes you with a suspicious glare. “Will you reveal that I’m here?”

You try not to get offended, because you’d honestly be thinking the same if you were a newly-landed alien in a foreign land. “No. I don’t have any reason to do that. I just want to help. I’m not looking to be on anyone’s 6 o’clock news or cheap tabloid. You probably don’t believe me, but you can have my word for it...if that means anything to you.”

He’s quiet again, though you can tell he’s still skeptical.

“Um, do you need anything? More water?”

He sits up straighter at the mention of that. “Water.” You reach for the glass again, but he frowns. “Not that. I need…something more than that.” He looks around again, but when he doesn't see what he’s searching for, he attempts to stand only to slump down again.

“Slow down there, I don’t think you’re gonna make it like that. Can I help?”

You end up slinging his arm across your shoulder and letting him lean his body against you while you lead him to the bathroom. That’s the biggest source of water in the house, and you assume he must be wanting a bath or shower or something. Even aliens have their hygiene needs, you guess.

You turn the bathroom light on and have Yuta sit on the toilet lid as you turn the bathtub faucet. “Is...this what you meant?” He nods, and you put the plug in and let the tub fill up.

“Just water. Nothing else. I need to recharge,” he says, and before you can ask what he means by that, he starts undressing in front of you. 

At first, your reaction is delayed; you’re struck with surprise when you realize the armor isn’t actually a whole bodysuit, but more like...connected panels of material that can be taken off. You don’t understand the material at all, it doesn’t resemble anything on Earth you can think of—but of course, it’s alien tech. It conforms to his body as he’s wearing it but takes on a more rigid form once it’s peeled off, like actual armor.

Then, he gets ready to take the bottoms off and something finally clicks in your brain that oh my God he’s about to get naked in front of me.

“Whoa!” You spin around and cover your eyes for good measure, glad that your brown skin hides the way your face is burning right now. You step towards the open door. “Uh, I’ll just leave, sorry—”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Um, what?”

“Doesn’t really matter to me,” Yuta says, pulling the last of his suit off. He steps into the tub and sits down in it, putting his hands underneath the stream of water rushing out of the faucet. The skin on his hands seems to ripple, like it’s readjusting itself, and the hairs stand up on the back of your neck at that. You forget to be embarrassed at his unclothed state as you watch it happen.

“What’s going on with that? And why did you need the water?”

Yuta splashes his face before answering, and he turns to look at you, the droplets of water sliding off the ends of his hair. “I’m part of a Water Race. Water is my home. Our bodies have adapted to be built for living in water, and it’s dangerous to be without it for too long.”

“Adaptation? But you look like a regular human.”

“It’s just a skin.”

“A skin?” You echo in horror, a sudden flashback to Silence of the Lambs popping into your mind. “Someone else’s skin?” 

Yuta gives you a look that seems to say he can’t believe you’re asking such a stupid question. “No, it’s my skin. It’s just not my natural form.” To prove his point, he holds his hand out, and right before your eyes his human skin pulls back and morphs into something much more scaly and green. His fingers are actually more like talons, with long black nails on the ends, and there’s translucent webbing between each one.

You gasp and step back, trying to catch your breath at the sight of something so very not human. The skin reforms around his hand—you assume he has to be willing it with his mind somehow, because he doesn’t even move—and his digits look just as human as ever.

“How the hell do you hide your nails under there? Isn’t it just like...wearing a bodysuit?”

Yuta shakes his head. “No. Once the skin is on, it becomes...part of me. My hand becomes a human hand. I’m not hiding anything, it just is. It’s hard to explain.”

“Have you been to Earth before? Is that why you have a human skin, because...adaptation or some shit? This is all so wild.”

“I can shift into different skins if I want, if I gather enough genetic information on certain species’ inhabitants...but there are limitations.” That doesn’t exactly answer your question, but you figure maybe it’s best if you didn’t know. You can at least assume he’s been in contact with humans before.

“I see…” You fidget for a few seconds before speaking what’s on your mind. “Okay, one last thing...you said there are limitations. Does that mean you can’t transform into, like...a dung beetle or something?”

Yuta gives you another are you serious look and you put your hands up. “Just wondering. It was worth a try.”

You feel awkward just standing there, and you feel like maybe you should give him some privacy even if he doesn’t care much, so you leave the bathroom to find something for him to wear.

You’re not sure if you’ll find anything that fits him, so you end up settling on a light pink bathrobe and decide he’ll have to work with that for now. You slip back into the bathroom to leave it on the sink, averting your eyes from his nude form in your bathtub. “Um, here’s something to wear...not sure if anything else will fit, this is all I have for now. Sorry.” You don’t wait for him to respond— he probably won’t anyway—before slipping back out.

It’s nearing 1 A.M. at this point, which is late considering you still have work tomorrow. You sigh and curl yourself up on the couch, hoping you won’t have to stay up for very much longer.

You’re not sure when you drifted off or how long you were out, but you wake up to the sound of footsteps and see Yuta coming out of the bathroom wearing the robe you’ve given him. You have to laugh a little at the sight of him in the light pink material, though you think it suits him in a way.

“Yeah, you’re gonna need some clothes.”

Yuta raises his eyebrow. “I still have my suit.”

“Yeah, but...don’t you want something else to wear? Your ship is pretty much gone, so you’ll probably be on Earth for a while...and if you don’t want anyone realizing you’re not from here, you’ll have to wear regular clothes.”

Yuta visibly upsets at the idea of his ship’s destroyed state, even though he knows there’s not much he can do about it. “I guess. I shared which planet I was heading to before I left, but...Earth is a very big place. And my trackers were destroyed with my ship, so…”

“I’m sorry,” you say, though you don’t know how much comfort that can be. “We can look for some clothes tomorrow. It’s probably better for you not to leave the house right now, but...that’s what online shopping is for.”

“Online shopping…?” Yuta seems puzzled by the concept, but he doesn’t ask any further. Then he looks around the room again. “Is there somewhere I can rest?”

“Oh, yeah, follow me.” You get up from the couch to head upstairs where the guest bedroom is. The house isn’t huge—it was your grandmother’s before she passed it on to you—but it’s more than enough for you alone, and it should fit one more just fine. You open the door and turn on the light, illuminating the small room. “It hasn’t been used in a while, so excuse any dust. I can fix that tomorrow, but it’s getting late...” you stifle a yawn, “...so we should probably go to sleep now.”

Yuta looks at you and nods. 

“Um, well...goodnight.” You wave at him from the doorway before closing it.

As you make your way down the stairs, a sudden weariness and apprehension comes over you. An alien in your home? Escaped from a recently crashed UFO? Wearing one of your bathrobes? You’re almost positive you haven’t thought this through deeply enough, but you’re in it now. Might as well see where the rabbit hole leads to.

The next morning, you prepare yourself to go to work like you usually do. For a while, the house is so quiet that you almost forget Yuta is there until you see him standing in the kitchen entryway, still wearing his pink robe, and you almost jump through the ceiling.

“Jesus, you came out of nowhere,” you gasp, holding your heart.

“Where are you going?” Yuta asks. He steps into the kitchen and tentatively sits down in one of the dining table chairs.

“To work,” you say, and then pause. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea to leave a freshly-landed alien at home alone. “Will you be okay here by yourself? I could come over on my lunch break…”

“What am I supposed to do here the whole time?” Yuta asks, sounding displeased at the thought of being abandoned for hours.

“Well...you could watch TV? There’s the on-demand channel...the fridge is available for you too, just try not to clean out my—wait, do you even eat human food?”

Yuta shrugs, crossing his arms. “Not really. It’s not a big source of nutrients for us.” 

You nod awkwardly. “Huh. Well, that’s...interesting.” The stress of the situation is already making your head pound and you haven’t even left for work yet. “Uh, yeah—I think I’ll just come over later and check in...come on, I’ll at least show you how to work the remote before I leave.”

You bid Yuta goodbye once you’re about to go, though you feel more than a little hesitant about leaving him there. There isn’t much other choice, though; you can’t afford to take a day off on such short notice.

The extraterrestrial sighs, sprawling across the couch and looking at the ceiling. The TV is already playing the channel you left it on, and Yuta turns to the screen and watches as a group of humans make weird food dishes he’s never seen before.

“This is stupid.”

The rest of the week with Yuta manages to be an adventure even though he never steps foot outside the house. 

Yuta doesn’t take a liking to human food, which means he opts for spending most of his time in the guest bathtub instead, claiming that the water gives him more nourishment than meals can. You don’t know how true that is, but you’re not going to fight him on it. Less food you have to prepare, you reason...although you often end up making extra anyway and getting him to try a few bites. It feels odd to not see him eat.

Living with someone from outer space is not really as weird as you expected it might be, which surprises you. Yuta stays in his human skin whenever he’s around you, and you steer clear of the guest bathroom when it’s occupied lest you walk in on something crazy. 

You’ve taught Yuta about new concepts he didn’t know before or wasn’t overly familiar with. He’s particularly intrigued with online shopping, and you ended up buying him a bunch of outfits that you both thought he’d look nice in. He doesn’t seem to be big on technology, which surprises you considering how advanced his UFO looked even its ruined state, but maybe human tech is more primitive than what he’s used to. He’s quite fascinated with the microwave, though, and how it can heat anything up in minutes.

With you uncovering new bits of information each day, you continually wonder how different his homeworld must be from the Earth. You can’t pull much out of him about it, for whatever reasons he has for keeping the information close, but you try to let him talk about it at his pace without pressuring him.

You could probably get used to living like this. 

Maybe not your wallet, though. You’re definitely not loving how your water bill is going to look once it comes in the mail.

None of your coworkers or neighbors know—not that it’s any of their business anyway. You don’t know how long Yuta is going to stay, or what the hell you’re going to do when his people finally catch wind of his whereabouts and land a UFO in your backyard, but you figure you’ll get to that part when it comes.

On one Saturday morning, you wake up to the sound of tapping on your door. You try to ignore it, thinking it’s just some woodpecker setting up shop outside your window, but you’re proven wrong when the door swings open.

You pull the covers away from your face for a moment to see Yuta standing there looking at you. You stare at him for a few seconds before sighing.

“Why are you up so early? It’s the weekend,” you groan, pulling the covers back over your head. 

“Why do you sleep so late?” Yuta retorts, still standing in your doorway. You don’t know whether he expects you to get up and do a trick, but it’s not happening. You peel the blanket away so it’s just below your eyes and look at him.

“What?”

“It’s not fun being here alone all day, you know,” he says, crossing his arms.

“So...what? Do you want me to play with you or something?” You can’t stop your sudden laugh, but you feel bad about once it’s out. He has just lost his ride home and has no foreseeable way back until someone notices his absence. Plus, needing to stay hidden and cooped up like a criminal can’t be enjoyable.

Yuta rolls his eyes at your response and starts down the hallway again, but you jump out of the bed and follow him. “Wait, Yuta, I’m sorry. That was stupid. I know it can’t be easy living like this. I’m not sure if I can make it better, but I’m willing to try.”

Yuta pauses in the hall and turns back to look at you. “I’m tired of being in here all the time....no offense. But there’s only so much I can take. I know I’m supposed to be in hiding, but it’s not like anyone can tell the difference. Even you couldn’t. Can’t we go out for one day?”

You think about it for a moment and figure he’s right. You both were trying to be overly cautious at first, but there’s no real way anyone would notice anything unless he shifted. “I guess we could...as long as we don’t go anywhere with a lot of water.”

“I have more self-control than that,” Yuta scoffs, though his words trail off as he’s already heading back to his room to get dressed.

You and Yuta walk around downtown for a little while, although you can’t shake the lingering nervousness you feel. You both decided not to head back to the city center any time soon; there’s not much left of the broken ship anyway, with scientists carting off pieces of it for research. Just as you thought. It’s too big to transport all at once, but you’re sure the remaining parts will be gone within the next couple weeks.

Yuta is continually surprised by how many new and unfamiliar things he spots along the way—things he actually gets to see up close and in detail. Kinda hard to focus when you’re running and hiding for your life.

Eventually, Yuta slows down as you walk past a small and colorful restaurant. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing up at the sign. You stop to turn around and see what he’s gesturing to.

“That’s just a hamburger joint...you won’t wanna go in there,” you say, raising your eyebrows. Because you don’t eat food. Despite that, Yuta still seems curious about the restaurant and he hesitates to walk away. Realizing that you aren’t going to get anywhere, you go to stand next to him and peer inside. There are a few people already inside, sitting at scattered tables and eating their food. “Do you want to go in, or…? ‘Cause you have to eat something if we do. This is your idea.”

“I’ll eat, let’s just go,” Yuta says, grasping your hand and pulling you into the restaurant.

You wave at the person behind the counter who greets you as you walk in, while Yuta is busy scanning every inch of the place. You let him look over the menu for a little while, but with so many options available he isn’t sure what to get—especially when he’s not sure if he’ll like any of them—so you end up picking for the both of you.

When you finally get your food, you take it to one of the tables. You watch attentively as Yuta takes the first bite of his hamburger, and you try to stifle your giggles as you watch his face go from nonchalance to bewilderment to shock.

“This is actually...good.”

“Wait, this is really the first meal you’ve liked? Are you saying my cooking is bad? Damn.” You chuckle, shaking your head. 

“I’m not answering that.” Yuta laughs along with you, which is probably the first genuinely happy expression he’s shown since he’s been here.

Yuta has a very pretty smile, you realize. You’re a little taken aback by it. You haven’t seen much of it since you met him, but it’s here now and striking in its genuine quality. It makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside...which you mainly attribute to the satisfaction of doing something nice for someone else. Of course. Who wouldn’t enjoy a nice meal they didn’t have to pay for?

Things go smoothly for a while as you both eat and pretend to make boring small talk since you can’t talk about him being an alien in public. However, you feel sweat on the back of your neck when you see your coworker Alex walk through the door with his boyfriend. This city is too small for its own good sometimes. 

You try not to call attention to yourself and Yuta, keeping your gaze on your food, but he spots you anyway and waves enthusiastically. Alex gestures for his partner to go ahead and order while he comes over to your table.

“Hey, Y/N! It’s great to see you! Too bad we missed you at the UFO wreck today, though; we went out again one last time before they take the whole thing away,” he rushes out in one breath. Yuta’s eye twitches at the mention of his ship, and you’re suddenly on edge, hoping the situation doesn’t turn sour.

“Oh, uh, wow, that’s...cool!” you choke out, pinching your straw between your fingers. Before you can think of a way to divert the subject, Alex turns to Yuta.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Alex! Who’s this? Your boyfriend?” The last few words are directed at you. Alex gives you a playful grin, and you toss him an embarrassed smile back.

“Uh, no, he’s my friend! Yuta.”

“Nice to meet you,” Yuta says, though you can recognize his tone is a bit dry.

“Pleasure’s all mine!” Alex’s boyfriend calls him from the other side of the restaurant, and he turns to respond before taking his leave. “Ah well, looks like we’ll have to cut it short, but it was so great to see you guys. Enjoy your lunch!”

You let out the breath you were subconsciously holding once he leaves.

“Boyfriend…” Yuta murmurs.

“What?”

“That would be really weird. Wouldn’t it? We’re not even the same species,” he says, lowering his voice. It’s not like you don’t agree, but you admittedly don’t appreciate the way Yuta screws his face up at the thought. You prickle with embarrassment.

You scoff, taking a sip of your drink. “Well I’m not exactly eager to date an overgrown fish, so…” You almost expect Yuta to fall into another one of his moods at your words, but he actually chuckles a bit, which surprises you.

“Then it’s mutual!” Yuta sticks his tongue out and you roll your eyes.

The warm and fuzzy feeling, you soon find out, is not a one-time thing.

You don’t quite know what to make of that. You wouldn’t like for Yuta to go back to his initial broody state, of course, but you’re starting to believe this feeling can’t just be attributed to your charitable actions. You can’t stop thinking about the more playful side of Yuta you saw at the burger place that day, and the way he’s been gradually more open with you since then.

Yuta usually spends his nights splashing around in the guest bathtub, but one night he wanders into the living room and sees you putting your afro in plaits. He becomes weirdly fascinated with the process, watching you carefully and asking occasional questions. Amused by his interest, you answer all his questions and even offer to let him do one section. 

“It’s probably not the same, but I used to braid my friend’s hair often…” he says wistfully as he settles in behind you. “We did a lot of things together.”

Your ears perk up. “Oh? You sound like you were very close,” you say, resting your chin on your knees.

“Really close,” he affirms. His hands are gentle in your hair, as testament to his words. You close your eyes and relax into the sensation, and before you know it, that warmth is spreading through your chest again. You even allow yourself to wonder what it’d be like for him to do this all the time, tending to your hair and telling you about his homeworld, before you open your eyes again and quickly pull yourself out of that reverie. You probably shouldn’t get too used to this, you reason with yourself. “I think she’s what you’d call a mermaid...except the look is a bit...different.”

“Different?” you echo, wondering if you’ll get an explanation.

“They don’t have human arms or anything like that...it’s more like tentacles.”

“Ah,” you try to imagine that, though it’s hard. “That’s certainly unique.”

“Maybe you’d like it...my planet, I mean.”

“You think I would? Why?”

“I dunno, just a feeling…”

“If only I could breathe underwater,” you laugh. “You’d take me back, though? Hypothetically, of course. I’m not too human for you?”

“Will you ever let that one go? It’s probably the least I could do after setting up residence here. Maybe we’ll get you an alien costume, though, so you’ll fit in.”

“How nice of you to think of me in all my humanness. God, the universe is something else…”

You start when Yuta’s hands leave your hair. “I think I’m done?” he says, sitting back on his feet. You grab the mirror from the coffee table and look at the braid you let him do.

“Oh wow, it looks good.” You purse your lips to hide the grin about to break across your face. “Do you wanna do the rest?”

“If you’ll let me.”

“Go ahead then, my hands needed a break anyway.”

You sit back and let Yuta finish the rest of your hair, listening quietly as he tells you more about his friend from his homeworld. Her name is unpronounceable to you, but it sounds pretty all the same. They grew up together, he says, and have been on lots of adventures over the years, though he still keeps that same vagueness he always has when describing his life. He ends up getting you to tell him more about your life, which you do; you figure he probably doesn’t know a whole lot about you, either.

Yuta hands you the mirror when he’s done, and his head pops up next to yours in the reflection. “Good?”

“It’s great!” you say, and you really mean it.

You discover that, strangely enough, Yuta has an affinity for sci-fi movies. Go figure. He especially seems to like the campiness of alien films; then again, everything is campy to him because of how different it is from how extraterrestrials actually live.

You are in the middle of watching The Fly when it comes to one of sex scenes, and you try not to sweat. It’s always a little awkward to watch sex scenes with other people, but doing it with an alien gives the whole thing an extra layer of weirdness.

“Human sex is so funny,” Yuta says out of nowhere. You just barely avoid choking on your drink.

“Uh, o-okay. Do I want to know what that means?”

Yuta only shrugs and leans farther back onto the couch, looking completely unbothered about what he’s just said. “It just is.”

“...I’m sure your people must procreate some kinda way?”

“Yeah, but it’s not quite this. But when I’m in this form, I can do it as humans do.”

That makes you pause, and you’re not sure what to do with that information. Actually, your mind has already decided for itself and is trying to go to a place you don’t want it to, and you’re mildly horrified by that revelation. There’s no real reason why you should be curious about it. And yet...

“Hummm...have you done it before? In this form?” You keep your eyes glued to the screen, which is now showing a shirtless Jeff Goldblum doing acrobatics—but that’s still less awkward than looking over at Yuta right now.

“There was one time.”

There is a twinge of something in your chest. Fascination? Sure. Revulsion? Maybe not that. Dare you call it anything close to jealousy? You immediately throw that one out the door, sink further into your seat, and try not to think about what your life has come to.

“Okay, since you still won’t tell me directly if you’ve been here before, at least tell me this; did it happen here on Earth? With a human?”

Yuta shakes his head. “Some other aliens have weird fetishes. I only did it because she asked and was really adamant about it.”

“Ooookay, you know what…” You get up from the couch and walk to the kitchen, laughing awkwardly all the way. You don’t have any particular reason to go in there, but you have to do something with the nervous energy that’s about to make you jump out of your skin. You pretend to shuffle around in the fridge for a minute so you don’t look too silly getting up for no reason.

After taking a moment to calm down, you turn back to Yuta. “Okay. Hypothetically, if you wanted, could you actually…? With a human? In your natural form? Or would the parts be incompatible, or...”

“Maybe...I’m not sure. It’s not like I’ve ever tried. Why?” Yuta gives you a look that’s partway between curiosity and incredulity, and you wave your hand in dismissal.

“It’s just a question.”

Yuta leans forward on the couch, barely concealing his own amusement at whatever he’s cooking up in his mind. “Are you saying you want to try it with me?”

“You’re not funny,” you sigh, trying to ignore the way your skin is burning at that suggestion. “Remind me not to ask you anything like that again.”

When you get home from work one weeknight, you roll your eyes at the mass text sitting in your inbox, forwarded to you from Alex. Another after-work party, which means another event where someone will run through the sprinklers naked and everyone will pretend like they don’t remember it the next workday.

You don’t know how you’re going to get out of this one, especially with Yuta, who will likely want to go if he finds out, so you decide to just come out and say it and see what happens.

“Hey Yuta…” You slide up behind him where he’s sitting on the couch. “I just wanted to let you know I won’t be at home for a few hours on Saturday. I’m going to a party this weekend. It’s a friend’s party, someone from work.”

Yuta looks at you forlornly. “The same person we met at the restaurant?”

“No, but he’s gonna be there too. Look, I know what you’re thinking, but I really don’t know if it’s safe for you to go…”

“That’s not fair, the last time at the restaurant went well,” Yuta argues.

“Yes, but this guy has a pool and he’s a dickhead who likes to push people in and what if you get caught off guard and change unexpectedly?”

Yuta’s response is as straightforward as you expected it to be. “Then I’ll punch him in the face.”

You laugh at that and shake your head, coming to sit beside him on the couch. “Ugh. As satisfying as that sounds, I don’t need the extra stress of dealing with the aftermath. I don’t know, Yuta...do you think you’ll be okay? God, I feel like an overprotective mom or some shit.”

“Y/N, it’ll be fine, stop worrying. I can take care of myself,” Yuta insists, putting his hand on your shoulder and looking into your eyes. He’s a little closer than you anticipated, which makes your heart rate increase a little. You chalk that reaction up to his invasion of your personal space and shift away, groaning.

“Fine, I’ll bring you. But if shit goes down, I can’t promise an easy way out. Let’s just keep things lowkey, alright?”

“Of course I can do that! I’ve been doing it so far haven’t I?” he says, but somehow you’re not entirely convinced.

The party is filled with people you know from work and a slew of unfamiliar faces, probably your coworkers’ friends. It’s mostly a backyard party, like you already knew, although there are some people mingling within the house.

There are already a few people lounging in the pool. In any other scenario, it might be inviting to you, but now you just look at all that water with a looming sense of anxiety. Yuta sticks close to your side, saying nothing but studying everyone around him.

“Y/N!” your coworker David shouts from the backdoor of his house. He holds up his beer in salutation and you wave back at him, mildly annoyed that he’s brought everyone’s attention to you both. He hustles over to you and claps you on the back strong enough to make your bones rattle, and you wince. “Hey dude!” He reaches across you to pull Yuta into a handshake, and Yuta also winces when he grips his hand a little too tight. “Make yourselves at home, I’ve got everything you could ever need—including the booze and babes!” You both nod awkwardly before David goes off to greet someone else who’s just pulled up. You roll your eyes once he’s gone.

Yuta’s eyebrows draw together. “That was…”

“Annoying,” you finish for him.

“You don’t seem to like him. Why did you decide to come?”

“Workplace politics, if you’re the only one who doesn’t come it’s awkward, ugh. It’s just bullshit. Let’s not get into it.” You walk towards the house and Yuta follows, and you nod at a few people you know along the way.

You find Alex in the kitchen, where he offers to make drinks for you and Yuta. You cast a glance at Yuta, wondering if he’ll take up the offer; you have no idea how he’ll react to alcohol, or if they drink any equivalent of it on his homeworld.

“Um, I think I’ll pass.”

“Oh okay, straight-edge guy! That’s cool too,” Alex grins, making just the one drink for you. As you and Alex talk, the girl from your department whose neighborhood was about to be evacuated sidles up to your little group.

“I’ve never seen you before. What’s your name?”

“Oh...it’s Yuta.”

“Yuta? How cool, I’m Sooyoung.”

Little did you know that that one introduction would expand into them having a half-hour long conversation right there in the kitchen. You really don’t know how Yuta is pulling this off without spilling the beans, but then again, you do; he’s good enough at manipulating the conversation to make it seem like he’s sharing personal info when he’s really not. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that he throws in things you taught him every so often.

Alex notices your changing demeanor and follows you as you walk into the living room, finally exhausted with playing third wheel. “Hm, someone seems a little spicy.”

You cough. “I’m fine, it’s just cramped in there, David should really invest in a bigger house..this place could use a remodel.” You throw a glance around the living room, not wanting to see the mischievous look in Alex’s eyes.

“Well, remodel aside, it’s not really my business, but you certainly seem to have a little green monster brewing here.”

You give Alex a long look. “Don’t. He’s my friend. He’s not even—” You have to stop yourself before you expose anything, and you shift nervously on your feet.

“Not even what? Your type? I don’t know, he’s handsome enough to me. You can’t go wrong with a pretty boy. Don’t tell Xavier I said that, though.”

“Lord, let me get the hell out of here…” You leave Alex to cackle to himself while you go out into the backyard again, holding your drink and mulling around the edges of the activity. Too busy wrestling with your own emotions, you don’t realize how close you’ve drifted towards the pool.

“Hey, Y/N?” David says from behind you.

“Yeah?” You go to turn towards him, but before you can, you feel a huge shove from behind and the next thing you know your feet are off the ground and you’re in the pool. It all happens so fast that you can barely catch your bearings, and for a terrifying moment you’re convinced you’re about to drown.

The seconds feel like minutes, and you can’t even open your eyes to tell up from down. The next thing you register is an arm around your waist, and somehow you’re being pulled up even though you’re too panicked to even control your limbs. Your head pops above the water and you cough and sputter loudly, trying to take in air. You try to blink the water out of your eyes, though it drips off your hair and makes it even harder to see.

You’re still not sure what the hell is going on until you’re hauled out of the water and sitting on the ground. Someone hands you a towel, and you hear a female voice saying you’re such an asshole, David.

You wipe the water off of your face and then you’re finally able to see; Yuta is crouching in front of you, just as soaked as you are and staring at you with a worried expression. You look back at him, disoriented and a little dumbfounded at his still-human state.

“You didn’t…”

Even though you’re still trembling with the fear of almost drowning, you’re unable to look anywhere but at Yuta for that moment—at the pure concern on his face.

“Nice going, David,” someone else says sarcastically.

“It was just a bit of a prank! No hard feelings guys, come on. Y/N?” You realize David is standing on your left, and he tries to come closer, his hands open in an apologetic gesture. You jerk away from him, holding the towel to your shaking form.

“Get the fuck away from me. You’re a fucking idiot!” you shout. “All you do is ‘play pranks’ and then you wonder why no one likes you!” That draws a few barely concealed laughs out of the people standing nearby, though you don’t think any of it is funny. David steps back, unsure how to respond and looking truly embarrassed for once in his life.

Filled with anger, you try to get to your feet but you’re still unsteady. Yuta puts his arm around you again, lifting you up and encouraging you to lean your weight on him.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

You don’t have much to say on the way back home. You insist on leaving right away even though Yuta suggests you sit and wait until the tremors subside. He obviously can’t drive you back home, so it’s all he can offer, though it doesn’t make you feel much better.

The silence itself isn’t particularly awkward to Yuta, but he is uncomfortable anyway because he knows it stems from your own discomfort. At a red light, he turns to you.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

He’s quiet for a few moments, and then he speaks again. “I know you’re mad about the pool, but...it seems like there’s more than that. Did...you not like me spending so much time with Sooyoung?”

You scoff. “You can’t be serious. I don’t care what you and that girl do.”

“You’re not a very good liar.” You’re too worn out to argue, so you merely give him a sidelong glance. Yuta sits back in his seat and watches a few cars zip past, their tail lights looking like clashing stars against the night. He’s not used to so much...manmade stuff. There was his ship and his trackers, of course, but he still has a hard time adjusting to be surrounded by so much iron and steel. His own planet is ruled by nature, by the vast oceans in all their unpolluted original essence, but Earth—or at least this portion of it—is much, much different.

He means to glance back at you, but his eyes linger for a while longer than intended. He’s not sure why. Maybe it’s because your outfit is a pretty color, or because the coils of your hair look shiny reflecting the light. He’s never put much thought into human beings before, and his limited experiences with them were mostly better left unremembered. Taking a human form was no huge deal for him; just a move that was necessary at the time.

But now, he’s seeing humanity—and most specifically, you—in a different light, and he’s uncertain what to do with this realization. People have feelings, thoughts, and dreams, like his own species, or like any other. He’s beginning to care what you think of him, how you react to him, even though he doesn’t know why this matters.

“You look pretty,” Yuta says. The compliment is the last thing you expected from him. It seems especially random after what happened at the party; here you are, soaking wet and incredibly uncomfortable. You’re a little late to put your foot on the gas pedal once the light turns green, and someone behind you honks.

“Pretty? I thought humans were weird to you.” Your mind goes back to The Fly and the subsequent conversation you had, and your hands tighten minutely around the steering wheel.

“You are. That hasn’t changed.”

“Good to know.” You don’t want to laugh, but this does make you crack a smile. “But...thanks. And...thanks for that, at the pool, you know. I should...probably trust you more.”

The rest of the ride is a little more talkative after that, and Yuta is happy that he could lighten your mood if even a little bit. Although he wouldn’t tell you, he’s becoming accustomed to your smile, and he’s more displeased than he thought he could be when it’s absent.

The thunder booms so loudly that it makes your window frames shake. It almost reminds you of the day Yuta’s ship fell out of the sky. You pull the covers tighter around yourself as if they alone could protect you from the storm’s fierceness. Storm clouds have been brewing all day, but the skies didn’t open until you and Yuta went to bed. Now, the rain and lightning is in full force. The rain pounds against your window, sounding more like hail or even bullets.

You’re startled for a second time when there’s a knock on your bedroom door.

“Come in?”

The door opens slightly and Yuta appears in the small sliver of space. “Sorry, but...can I sleep here? The storm...” He gestures to the window, where a crack of lightning strikes right after. He’s wearing a sleep shirt and loose pants, and his blonde hair is disheveled. 

“Uh, sure.” You shuffle over to make room for him. “I guess this isn’t your type of water, is it?” He huddles underneath the covers with you, facing you with his arm tucked under the unoccupied pillow.

“Not when it’s so intense like this.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “It’s scary. Does rainy weather make you think of your homeworld often?”

“Often,” he repeats. “But...I think I’d be worse off if I weren’t here.”

“Here...on Earth?”

“I mean, here with you.”

“Oh,” is all you can think to say. It’s a surprisingly personal confession, though you are grateful you’ve become someone so important in his life already, even if it’s only because you’ve given him shelter. That familiar warmth spreads through you again. 

Warm and fuzzies = gratefulness to a friend, the feeling you get when you pet a cute puppy. Right. It’s not the sensation you get when you think you might have feelings for your extraterrestrial friend, you try to convince yourself. “I’m...glad you’re here. Maybe not under these circumstances, but still.”

Yuta nods without speaking, but he doesn’t take his eyes away from you. You think he must be waiting on you to say something else.

“What?” you ask quietly when he keeps staring at you. “Take a picture, it will last longer.” Your joke does little to clear the air, and the tension keeps rising. You should probably be the first one to look away, to end whatever weird game this is and go to sleep, but you can’t. It’s unexplainable.

Yuta props himself up on his elbow, and you’re about to ask him where he’s going when he slips his hand onto your bare shoulder. You’re already covered by the blankets, but you suddenly feel even hotter with his hand on you, sliding up from your shoulder to the side of your face. “Y-Yuta…?”

You don’t know what to say or do, but you don’t object when he leans closer. Your faces are only inches apart now, like he’s hesitating and wondering if he should cross the line. The thunderstorm is intense, but this moment feels much more suspenseful than that could ever be. And then, it’s suddenly satisfying when his lips are on yours.

The kiss starts gentle. He’s careful as if he’s afraid to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s soft and sweet. Things get more heated when his tongue prods against your lower lip and enters your mouth. You don’t know when his hand made it from your face to your side, but he pulls you close with his fingers pressing into the flesh just below your breasts, and you tremble at the proximity.

When you pull away, both of you are breathing harder and unable to look each other in the eye.

“Should we be doing this?” you whisper.

Yuta shakes his head. “I don’t know. But it feels good.”

At those words, you pause for a moment before moving to kiss him again. His lips respond deftly to yours, his body crowding you in and making you feel hot and enraptured with desire from where you still lie under the covers.

His hair is very soft when you slide your hands through it, though you can’t push away the thought that suddenly manifests in the back of your mind. This isn’t really his hair, or his lips, is it? It’s all a mask to cover whatever is underneath, which is something you still don’t entirely know, yet are increasingly curious about.

Yuta’s hand drifts up just high enough to caress the underside of your breast—all still over the cover of your clothes. Abruptly, that thought forces its way to the front of your mind, making itself unavoidable, and you have no idea how to reconcile it. This is all so...very unfamiliar. And undeniably scary.

You pull away from him, your face creased with conflict, and his hand stills on your body. “S-sorry, I…um...this is...”

Subsequently, he pulls his hand away from you, though some part of you doesn’t really want that to happen. “I-it’s fine.”

You both settle back into the sheets, the tense aura from before replaced with one that’s thick with unease. The storm continues on outside, unknowing and uncaring of anything else but its own nature.

Though you would like to pretend it isn’t so, things become strained after the night of the storm.

You and Yuta don’t talk about the kiss. You expected him to say something about it that morning after, but he didn’t acknowledge it, and so you figured you just forget about it, too. What are you thinking, anyway? You’re literally from two different worlds. You don’t have the first clue about what a connection would look like between you, whether it be just sex or a relationship.

Why couldn’t you just fall for a coworker and have a bit of office drama like everyone else? Even that would be simpler.

Why did you have to let your thoughts get the best of you? You don’t have any answer for that, except for maybe your own need to come to terms with your attraction. People have never been very skilled at accepting others different from themselves, you know that much. But that usually counts for people of different ethnicities or cultural backgrounds, not two entirely different species.

You spend the whole week afterwards tearing your mind up with this monologue and trying to figure out what you should do next, because you’re quickly growing weary of coming home to a tense atmosphere. Alex can only give so much advice—not that you’d really tell him the entire situation—without knowing just how complicated everything is.

Where he used to hang out with you and help you with your hair, Yuta spends more time up in the guest bathroom again. You wonder if he thinks you’re disgusted by him. You’d probably think the same if he reacted the way you did.

Unbeknownst to you, Yuta is facing the situation with a similar amount of inner turmoil as you, wondering if he’s gone too far. He’s done many silly things in his life, but he doesn’t know how to undo this mistake. The mistake of kissing you? The mistake of seeing you as more than just another human? The mistake of knowingly flying in a faulty ship? Maybe all of it.

He feels guilty about freezing you out and pretending as if nothing happened, especially with all you’ve done to make him safe and comfortable in your home. But, at the same time, he is equally frightened to face you and discover the real reasoning for why you pulled away that night. Because you’ll never see him as someone you could like? Or maybe even love?

If that’s your truth, he’d rather leave it unsaid.

There aren’t many choices left but to face it. Whether this idea is smart or not is yet to be seen, but you suppose you don’t have many solutions left. And you are sick of being cooped up in the house.

“You sure this is safe?” Yuta asks as he stares at the scenery whizzing past. “You were all freaked out about me being near water before...now you want to go to a lake?”

You glance over at him. “Yes, it’s my parents’ lake property. It’s private, Yuta. No one will be there but us. I think we could both use a mini vacation this weekend, yeah?” 

“I guess, sure.” Yuta shrugs. His demeanor is more closed off than it was before that dreaded kiss, but you can still tell that he’s interested in the idea of getting access to a bigger body of water, even if he doesn’t outwardly express it.

The lake house is two hours out of your city. It hasn’t been used much in the past few years with both you and your parents being busy with work and life, but if there was ever a good time to use it, it’s probably now. You just hope there aren’t any squatters of the furry variety; the last thing you need is to be fighting raccoons or squirrels after stepping through the door.

Luckily, there’s really no one but you two once you reach your destination. The lake is big and pretty like you last remembered it, sparkling under the sun and throwing the rays back in your eyes. Yuta is automatically captivated by it.

“Here it is!” you say, walking along the sand and spreading your arms out towards the body of water. “It might not be much compared to your homeworld, but I hope it’s enough.” You carry your bag up the stairs to the house and turn back to Yuta, who’s still standing by the shore gazing across the water. “You can go in, you know? Get comfortable!”

That seems to snap him out of his trance, and he turns back to you, following you up the steps. “Not right now...I’ll go later.” You’re a little disappointed at that, but you simply nod and open the door to go in.

You spend the day getting increasingly more restless as you and Yuta hang out together. You go on the pier, walk around the entirety of the lake, and even take your dad’s boat out on the water, but he still doesn’t get in.

You eat dinner together later that night, although you’re the one doing most of the eating, and there isn’t much conversation to be had. You’ve both run out of things to say that don’t center around the kiss or why he refuses to get in the water.

Yuta spends a few more moments watching you push your food around your plate before leaning forward. “Why did you bring me here?” he asks.

You sigh heavily. “Do you not like it?”

“No, I do, but…” he hesitates. “Can you answer my question first?

You raise your eyebrows. “Okay, well. I brought you here because...I don’t know. I figure you deserve to have somewhere bigger to swim around in than my guest bathtub.” You laugh nervously.

He seems unconvinced. “Is that it?”

“I’d say so! Why won’t you even take one swim, is the better question? I want you to relax and be yourself.”

He furrows his eyebrows as if he doesn’t know how to reply. “You...aren’t you...repulsed by it? I just figured you wouldn’t want to see me in my natural form. Especially since…” He trails off at the end, and your palms sweat a little.

“No! I know I was weirded out at first, but...I-I guess that was the point of this whole trip, to show you that…” You grapple with your words for a moment, unsure if now is the time to fully confess what you’re feeling. “Look, I want to try, alright? I want to see it at least once. I want to accept you as a whole being, and that means, you know...all of you.”

Yuta smiles gradually at that, and you feel swept up with a sudden wave of affection you weren’t expecting. You are still a bit scared, but you don’t want to turn back now. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you reply, clasping your shaking hands together.

Yuta nods and stands up from the dining table, gesturing for you to follow him. It’s late now, with the moon shining brightly and the last vestiges of dark blue sky giving way to black. The air outside is cool, but not uncomfortably so. You follow Yuta to the pier and watch timidly, your stomach flip-flopping, as he sheds his clothes, leaving them on the wooden deck. Then he slips into the water, disappearing underneath its still surface.

You crouch down, looking intently at the rippling water and anticipating whoever is going to resurface. The sounds of croaking frogs and crickets press in from every side, ringing in your ears so loudly that it’s hard to think straight.

You gasp when Yuta lifts from the water, his human skin gone and completely transformed into something that’s more...amphibian, if that’s any accurate way to describe his appearance. His skin is still scaly and green like you saw that first day, but in the moonlight it seems to glitter and reflect a spectrum of colors like his armor did. There are two fins on the either side of his face, translucent and shining a pale green. They slowly move back and forth as he treads on the water, as if they’re conveying an emotion to match whatever he’s thinking, and you watch them in fascination.

Yuta floats on his back in the water, the long gills on either of his sides catching the moonlight. You watch in fascination as they move with his breaths. Using the pier post to keep yourself stable, you reach out to touch them. They’re slick under your fingers, but not in a slimy or gross way. Your hand drifts to the rest of his skin, across his torso and along his sides, and every portion has a strikingly smooth texture. His alien eyes stare at you silently as you do, glittering big in the moonlight.

“What do you think?” his voice is quieter than you expected, as if he’s afraid of your reaction. He doesn’t break his gaze, though, studying your face carefully.

“You’re...amazing,” you say breathlessly. “Incredible.” 

His lips, which are green like the rest of him, form a small smile, and then he dives underneath the water. He does a few laps as if he means to impress you, his lithe marine form sparkling just below the surface of the water. You keep your hand suspended over the pier as you watch him, your fingers sliding against his body every time he passes by. You smile at his display, a laugh coming out of you at his impromptu performance.

When he’s finished, Yuta climbs up onto the pier with you and kneels in front of you, much like he did that day he saved you from David’s swimming pool. His feet are webbed like his hands. Droplets of water slide off of them onto the wooden boardwalk while others linger on the clear webbing like tiny jewels. Your hand is magnetized to his face, drawing across the scaly skin and tracing over his lips, which are just as smooth as the rest of him.

Before you can think twice about it, you lean forward and capture his lips with yours. Did you expect it to be fishy? Maybe. But it’s not that at all. He still manages to taste distinctly like Yuta, even though you’re not sure what that taste is. It’s a flavor that makes you feel...held. Yuta is surprised for a moment, but he responds to your kiss, one of his webbed hands inching close to your face. He doesn’t touch you at first, a little reluctant and yet wanting to let you lead the pace so he doesn’t scare you off.

You welcome his touch, carefully brushing your fingertips across his hand and bringing it to make contact with your skin. His own skin is still a bit cold from the water’s temperature, but it doesn’t bother you much.

The kiss soon grows more intense, and a mounting desire makes itself known in you. You won’t pretend like you’re 100% confident about all of this, but you don’t want to shun it anymore, either.

Yuta’s hand drifts to your neck, his long nails pressing into your skin ever so slightly. You dare to explore his body more, sliding your hands across his chest and over his side gills, feeling the way they contract under your hands, and farther down still. You haven’t looked down there yet, and you’re nervous over what you’ll find. But you keep going until your fingers meet something slick and hot and throbbing, seeming vaguely like a regular penis, though you quickly realize it’s more of a tentacle.

Yuta shudders and draws away from the kiss, and you feel alarmed, wondering if you’ve gone too far without thinking.

“If we’re going to do this, I should...probably shift back—”

“Don’t,” you blurt out. Yuta looks at you questioningly. “I...you should if it makes you comfortable. But...I don’t mind.” He’s quiet for a few seconds—seconds that feel much longer than they really are. You’re apprehensive of what he’ll say, but you keep your eyes on his face.

“Okay,” he agrees. “If you’ll accept me like this...okay.” 

Neither of you bother with moving to somewhere more comfortable like the lake house or even the sandy shore. Instead, Yuta peels your clothes away right there on the pier, covering every new bit of flesh with his strange and lovely mouth, his head fins ghosting across your collarbones and breasts like moths’ wings.

You tremble and grow wetter under his soft caresses, which are much gentler than you’d initially expect with his sharp black nails. His hands leave streaks of water across your body, which cools your burning hot skin.

Yuta carefully maneuvers your lower body at the same time as he bends his graceful head, bringing your sex close to his mouth and licking deeply into you. Your back presses hard against the pier, the wood scratching your skin as you cry out into the night air.

“Oh God, Yuta!” You soon realize that his tongue is much longer than any human one, and it reaches to a spot deep inside of you that makes you twist around in his grasp, your fingernails scrambling for purchase on the surface below you. He uses his tongue to pleasure that spot continuously, drawing moans and ever more wetness out of you as if he were controlling the waves in the ocean.

You find yourself coming apart on his extraordinarily long tongue, your legs shaking and then going limp with the pleasure flooding through your body. Your breaths come fast and hard. Yuta lifts his head from between your legs and pulls you carefully into his lap so his slick tentacle is pressing against you. It’s not hard like a dick would be, though it is clearly responsive to your body, and you momentarily wonder if it can even go inside you.

“Is this gonna work?” you ask, a tremor in your voice.

“It will work,” Yuta replies, and you’re not sure how, but you decide to trust him on it. 

It does, to your surprise. With your legs crossed tightly over his lower back, Yuta presses into you, wet and warm and very unexpectedly soft. It doesn’t feel like anything you’ve ever experienced before. It’s not a bad sensation, though—far from it. His tentacle is similar to his tongue in how it flexes and throbs inside you, pressing tight against that spot again and making you shiver in his arms.

You both quickly find a rhythm that works, your bodies moving together in an otherworldly combination of two beings, two species, two souls.

Yuta’s long nails scrape gently against your skin as he holds your back, guiding you on his sex and pushing his hips up into you. You sigh into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, feeling the cool scales underneath your lips. You seek a firm grip on his slick skin, bringing your body as close to his as possible.

“Yuta…” You moan his name. His hand slides to the back of your neck so he can bring your face to his again, kissing you deeply. There’s a wet squelching sound as your bodies connect, Yuta’s tentacle slipping in and out of you and pleasurably stroking your walls.

“Y/N…” Yuta whispers into your soft hair, pushing into your spot repeatedly, his thighs tensing under you as his pace increases. You grip his arms as you feel your orgasm swelling up in your abdomen. You tip your head back and Yuta’s mouth goes to your neck and farther down, his heavy breaths warming your skin and making you overheat from the inside out.

You tighten and cum around him, your voice stuttering out of you in broken gasps as he keeps thrusting into you, drawing your climax out. He pulses inside of you, which sends little shockwaves up your spine; you know he’s probably close, too.

When Yuta comes, there’s a lot more of it than you expected. His cum overflows and drips out of you with a consistency like syrup and a transparent color like precum. It makes the inside of your thighs sticky and shiny.

Yuta pulls out, and more of his cum spills out of you, leaking onto his lap and staining the pier underneath you.

“That’s not gonna get me pregnant, is it?” you say quietly, half-jokingly.

“Probably not,” Yuta chuckles.

“Probably!?”

Yuta carefully gathers you in his arms and stands to his feet, walking you off the pier and back towards the lake house. Your clothes are still on the pier, but you’re quickly getting sleepy and aren’t very worried about it; you’ll get them in the morning.

“What happens now?” Yuta murmurs as he walks up the front steps. You already know he’s referring not just to your relationship in this present moment, but to every event that will make up your future. Does he need to continue hiding, or is it really safe? How long will this last?

You close your eyes, resting your head against his chest. “We stay together.”

Yuta’s arms tighten around you as a silent affirmation of your words.

#yuta smut #yuta scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fic #nct 127 smut #nct smut #nct fic #nct scenarios #nct imagines #yuta #yuta imagines #yuta fic #ambw #ambw fic #ambw smut #ambw kpop #ambw scenarios #ambw imagines #nakamota yuta #nct ambw

[cherry3point14]

One Helluva Car

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Minor car fetish, one paragraph of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smut, a little jealous!Dean, this is crack babes’, I can’t stress this enough: car fetish Word Count: 3,500. Summary: Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world and then one day she sees Baby... A/N: @alexwinchester23​ hit me up a THOUSAND years ago with the prompt: dean x reader where she is more “in love” with deans car and it makes him a little jelly lol. And I was like, ha ha ha sure I’ll write it. It’s been half written ever since. So, I finished it. Someone please be proud of me for finishing. (Not like that you animals.)  This also fills Driving In The Impala for @spndeanbingo​

It’s Monday lunchtime when you see it. Her? It looks like a her. The best cars are ‘hers’ and even from a distance, she has curves that only a good woman could possess.

You’ve had a morning of shitty, old trucks that have been run hard for too long, and new cars that you plug into the computer to diagnose, which takes all the fun out of life. It’s easy to see a mile off that she isn’t shitty or bogged down with modern tech. She’s a well looked after classic. A thing of beauty. A freaking masterpiece. She’s polished enough that the sun bounces off of her black surface like she’s made of glass.

If only your arms weren’t laden with brown paper bags of food you’d take a detour to get a closer look. You could ghost your hand over her hood and take a look at the interior. You bet it’s the softest fucking leather your ass would ever hope to feel.

You’d generally drool over her without actually drooling because God knows spit is not good for the paintwork. Unfortunately, you do have bags filled with hot, meaty subs intended to feed your workforce. And you’re wise enough to know that making a garage of hungry mechanics wait for their lunch is not a good move. It’ll only result in some sort of unnecessary disaster this afternoon that you, their boss, will have to fix or pay for. Or both.

The only thing you can do is take one last look at her, memorize that beautiful shape while you heft the bags closer to your chest and carry on walking. It’s not like you’ve never seen a good old fashion American muscle car before, you have your own ‘70 Mustang at home.

It’s just… this is a Chevvy Impala, arguably the first car to flex its muscles. You don’t see one of those every day.

Your hobby is like a much cooler version of birdwatching. You have an appreciation for cars, classics in particular. The craftsmanship, the design, and the sounds they make as they tear through the world like moving time capsules. Nothing generated by a low emission engine compares.

That’s how you spot her for the second time, on Wednesday.

Well, you hear her first.

You’re closing up for the night. Everyone goes home early on Wednesdays, the shop closes at three, except for you. There’s always paperwork that needs to be done and you hate the idea of taking it home if you can help it. Taking a car home you’re always happy to do, but paperwork? You refuse to dirty your private space like that.

It’s just before six when you’re locking the doors and thunder screams in the distance. At least you think it’s thunder, you wonder where the clouds are until it moves too fast to be a weather condition.

The closer it gets the more the sound transforms into pure, uncut horsepower. It’s the deep rumble of an engine that demands to be heard. It tears your attention to it whether you like it or not. An announcement of the coming vehicle before it arrives.

Then she glides around the corner of Maple and Third before peeling down the street past you. It’s her again, she’s still in town. You know it’s the same car, she isn’t a vehicle made for stealth and your little ol’ town isn’t exactly heaving with beauties like her.

You know she’s not a local, it must be a flying visit, you’re lucky enough to have seen her again before she left. Not just seen her though, heard her. Heard her engine and the screech of her tires on the tarmac. Experiencing her in action is breathtaking enough that you gawp at her like an idiot as she zooms away.

It’s not a fetish or anything. You don’t exactly cuddle an exhaust pipe in bed. You appreciate cars more than your job requires you to, simple. It’s a respect that was drilled into you from a young age. Your dad owns a franchise of shops across the state and never had the boy he always wanted. He didn’t mope about it, he taught you to fix an engine instead. To appreciate every individual piece like an unsolved puzzle. And because your dad is a big ol’ softie he taught you that classic cars can’t be beaten, he favors Camaros in particular. He gave you a garage to work in until you’d labored enough to earn it for keeps and manage it as your own. Your dad raised you to bleed motor oil and sweat gasoline.

Cars are your life. Ok, maybe you’re a bit of a gearhead is all. You can’t help it if that Impala is a fine wine you want to uncork.

You watch the street lights make a hazy path for her to follow, another corner and she’s gone.

At home, you curl up on your sofa and scroll through your usual sites to see how much your own Impala would cost. In good condition, you’d have to sell one of the two cars you already have but there’s this smashed up ‘68 in New Jersey that might be worth the drive for the price. It would basically be a new car by the time you rebuild it but that doesn’t matter. All you needed were the bones of the thing and you never shy away from a project that involves weeks of hunting down original parts, that’s half the fun. For tonight at least it gets bookmarked. The decision left for another day, if it still seems like a good idea in the morning then you’ll make the call.

Hell, maybe tomorrow you’ll see something else and forget all about her. Maybe.

Good looking guys come through town from time to time but Dean is a rare treat. He’s the picture next to ‘handsome’ in the dictionary. He’s got these full lips that you’ve stared at, without an ounce of shame, while he sucks on a beer bottle. A jawline covered in scruff that you’ve already imagined between your thighs. And then there are those hands of his. It could be your line of work but you always loved a man with hands like his. Broad hands and thick fingers. Mechanic hands you’d call them, you half wish they were covered in oil and grease.

He was tapping away on the bar for a while, drumming aimlessly while you drank, but now he’s toppled in your direction. He’s standing between his barstool and yours, while you're still seated, which makes you the perfect height for him to slip an arm around you. His thumb has settled in on tracing the edge of your jeans while he talks to you, tickling your back where your tank had ridden up.

Honestly? He doesn’t even need to be a good lay to be worth the trip to bed.

“I know you said you’re in town with your brother…”

He winces at the start of your sentence, “with the things I’m thinking about doing to you honey, you can’t go mentioning Sammy at the same time.”

Underneath the stained overalls, you’re still a woman and you’re not sure if there’s anyone alive who could resist Dean’s charms. When you laugh at his ridiculous propositioning, you don’t even try to fight when it tails off into a giggle.

“I was going to ask if you had your own room? Or are we going back to my place?”

You’d almost think he’d been playing it cool up until this point. Everything had been measured and smooth. But you ask him that and he finally cracks, urgency slips through that charm offensive. He tilts his head forward as his face hardens into something intense, eyes hooded under the light of the bar. His hand slides up underneath your top enough that his whole palm skates against your skin. “How about a compromise? My car, your place?”

You lean in until you’re almost touching his lips, your tongue peeks out to wet them and flicks against his, taunting. “Deal."

He doesn’t need to know that you walked here and needed a ride home anyway. That's irrelevant.

Stumbling out of the bar is messy. Not because of the alcohol, neither of you have drunk that much, it’s his hands on your waist. They’re possessive and so there.

Maybe he’s not so bad in bed. Maybe he’s actually, pretty good in…

Oh fuck. It’s her.

You’re stopped in your tracks by the sight of your very own white whale. Well, black and shiny Impala but the metaphor stands.

You stop and Dean bumps into you, not expecting it so soon. For a brief moment, you’re frozen in awe, reverence. Even in the dark, she’s perfect. Street lights bouncing off of her smooth exterior. The night is chilly and there’s a hint of condensation creeping around the edges of the windshield which only serves to make her sparkle.

“Wow, she’s-”

“Mine?” Dean finishes, a wry grin on his face and keys dangling from those fingers you’d been drooling over moments ago. Fuck him and his fingers now.

“Shit, Dean. I’ve been seeing this car all week. She’s beautiful.” You walk towards her, carefully, in case you spook her. She’s an old soul, probably jumpy. Your hand reaches out but doesn’t touch her yet because you’re being respectful.

You’d have thought Dean might have appreciated your care. Instead, he laughs and it catches you off guard. You whip your head back around to glare at him and he encourages you, “she won't bite.”

When you finally make contact she’s cool and glossy under your touch, but even so, you don’t run your hand over her like you want to. You can feel the waxed surface that you don’t want to ruin. You know how much effort goes into a good wax job like this. Instead, you trade your whole hand for your fingertips and trace her edges as if trying to remember her shape for when you rebuild your own.

“Ahem.” In the distance, Dean clears his throat. Sucks for him. You’ve got a new love interest.

“Sweetheart?” He asks again, stepping up closer to you as if you didn’t hear him. He sounds needy like he wants you, but it’s edged with this vulnerable envy. You already noticed his bright green eyes in the bar, now you're wondering if there’s a different green-eyed monster at play.

He needs to understand, you saw the car first. She’s held your heart all week, Dean piqued the interest of your lady parts about half an hour ago. You might say age before beauty but this Impala has Dean beat on both fronts, older and more beautiful.

“Where’d you get these rims, if I didn’t know better I’d almost say they’re original,” you spare him a glance over your shoulder. “But I do know better.”

He looks like he’s struggling with not having your full attention, you’d almost say he’s pouting. Then he sticks out his bottom lip and he's definitely pouting. He shuffles from foot to foot and steels his jaw. It makes it even more difficult for him then when you ask questions that he wants to answer. You can see the cogs turning where he’s trying to work out if he should encourage your interest or not. As much as he wants sex, in the end, the gearhead wins out.

“Fixed her up a lot over the years, found those in a junkyard if you believe it.” He steps up next to you now with a proud smile.

“I can believe it. I’ve seen the stuff people throw away. They’re perfect. Can I?” You slide out your phone and wave it at him.

He nods, although a little dumbstruck.

You bend down and snap a picture, explaining. “I was looking at a sixty-eight to rebuild, maybe. Actually, yours gave me the idea, saw her and couldn’t get her out of my head. I have a friend who might be able to help me out with these.”

“You wanna build one?” He sounds interested but not enough to get him off track. The track being you.

“Yeah. I told you I’m a mechanic. Building these things is in my blood.”

The air is cool and you start to feel it, not having intended being outside this long. He sees you shiver and steps behind you running his hands up and down your arms. “Sixty-eight ain’t a sixty-seven though, is it?” He asks, voice dripping with cocky arrogance about his car.

Oh, fuck. He’s figured out the way to your heart. He’s got you all turned around and leaning against her. Back pressed against her metal and glass enough that you’ll be feeling her for weeks.

“No, it’s not…”

“Wanna ride my Baby?” Dean presses his lips to the corner of your mouth with the question, leaving enough space for you to let out an almost inaudible gasp.

You’d be inclined to say men name their cars the dumbest shit sometimes but ‘Baby’ fits somehow. It’s perfect. She’s Baby.

“Yeah,” you nod. Right now, it's all you’ve ever wanted.

He walks you to the passenger��s side door and opens it’s for you. It’s not even romantic, it’s a fucking turn on.

Maybe you do have a car fetish. You should probably figure that out, like, another day.

In the time it takes Dean to strut to the other side you have sunk into the leather and just as you imagined, it’s soft. Worn and loved, like everything else about this beauty. This is what’s makes her special and that’s why you would have to love your own extra hard. To make up the years of neglect.

“Ready to go?”

He’s looking at you, smirking in your peripheral, and you’re looking at his fingers on the keys. You know what’s going to happen when he turns them. You’re still not prepared.

“Let’s do it.” A grin slides onto your face.

She rumbles to life beneath you. The vibrations from her engine shudder through the seat straight to your core. From there you swear the horsepower zips to every nerve ending in your body like electricity powering a city. And the sound could strike you down. She somehow purrs and roars at the same time. Each rev is a scream but her engine sings between each turn.

“Two eighty-three?” You ask, bottom lip caught behind your teeth.

“Get out of here with that two eighty-three crap. She’s a three twenty-seven.” He snaps, but not really, pressing his foot on the gas again just to see you quiver. Another rotation of the engine, her power, rolls through you.

He pulls out onto the road, leaving the dive behind, and drifts a little as he does, the back of her floating into the road. You slide over the seat an inch and he’s half focused on you, half focused on driving, so you're not even sure if he planned it. You scoot closer to him and he weighs his arm, the one not currently steering, around your shoulders. You’re becoming increasingly aware that the car smells like him, or he smells like her. Leather, sweet and spicy, musky. It’s a complicated mix where you’re not sure whether it's more her or him. You want to wrap yourself up in it all the same but Baby can’t wrap you up, Dean can.

“Dean I… Next left… I really, really love this car.”

He licks his lips as he looks down at you, his pupils wide, probably has a clear view of your chest, “yeah? How much, sweetheart?”

“A lot.” You pant in his ear, teeth grazing his lobe. “Second right, then it’s the third house on the left.”

A growl comes out of him. Determined. And you’re not so sure you care about fucking Dean anymore but each time you work him up a little higher, he revs that gorgeous engine and you get to feel that thunder. It’s the best circle jerk you could imagine, everyone is truly happy.

He pulls up in front of your house in record time because Baby is gunning 285 horsepower, so she’s not exactly going to be beat.

The problem, that you hadn’t really planned on, is arriving at your destination. As soon as he cuts the engine you puncture. Missing the everything about her straight away and wishing you’d kept driving for hours. Still, you have the scent of leather everywhere, burdening your senses with the smell of a bygone era. You hike a leg over Dean and sit in his lap. A knee either side of his thighs, denting her seats and Baby’s steering wheel holding the curve of your ass. Your hands skip Deans’ shoulders in favor of the seat behind him, the cushioned bench under the pads of your fingers, as you attach your mouth to his. Sandwiched between Baby and Dean, and you never want to leave the spot.

Your tongue curls into his mouth at the same time that he presses his fingers into your hips so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises. You’ve never worried about a tight grip on you before but he starts pulling you towards him and away from where you’re wedged on Baby. The more you lean your body into Dean, the less you feel his car.

“Baby.” You murmur into him. Dean must mistake it to be a pet name you’re borrowing, calling him, because he pulls you again. Actually you’re telling him where you want to be, to stay.

Here. With Baby.

“This is a nice neighborhood.” He hums in this tone that’s deep but it doesn’t go through you like the sound of a turbo V-8. “We should take this inside.”

He’s right. Carl from the damn neighborhood watch is probably already doing just that, watching. The pervert.

“Right, sure.” You agree despite the way your stomach drops at the thought of leaving her.

You’re all untangling limbs getting out and he kisses you once more against Baby before you allow him to drag you away. It already feels different, normal, boring.

Dean’s fine, he’s good, he’s handy. Like you’d thought he would be.

You wrap your mouth around his dick because you’ve always liked looking up through your lashes and seeing the way a guy goes breathless on your tongue. He works you open on his thick fucking fingers until the pressure in your stomach snaps with his thumb circling your clit. He pushes into you and the stretch, the burn, is perfect. Dean is better in bed than you’d expected him to be.

And yet, it’s empty. Dulled. It doesn’t scratch the itch like good sex used to. The whole experience dampened compared to what you’d felt sitting in the front seat of his 1967 Chevy Impala.

You slip on some oversized shirt from your floordrobe to walk him out when he leaves. Neither of you under any impression that he’s staying the night. He’s got this satisfied grin on his face that he hasn’t been able to wipe off since the first time he came. He stops at your doorstep, “thanks, sweetheart. This was fun.”

“Sure was,” you agree, not giving him the full story. Standing at your doorway you’re looking at Baby instead of Dean, again. “Let me know if you’re still in town tomorrow, I’d love to go for another ride.”

He nods and backs away a few steps until he’s in your line of sight along with his car, “will do, baby.”

He must think you mean sex. You wouldn't be opposed to it but you mean a drive. A real drive with wide roads, and opening the taps. You can break that to him tomorrow if he does give you that call. If he doesn't then there's only one thing you need to say before he leaves. One thing you can't let her leave without saying.

“One helluva car you got there, Dean.”

Second A/N: Look, this didn’t start out as a full on car fetish but I was writing it and SOMETIMES I HAVE NO CONTROL. Sometimes these characters they say, “fuck you!” and do what they want. I was going to write a nice little jealousy thing. Dean wants some attention. That’s all. You only have yourselves to blame readers!

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer @iamabeautifulperson18 @erins-culinary-service

#spndeanbingo #dean x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfiction #supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean dean the soft lil bean #spn crack #supernatural crack #it's crack mate #say crack one more time #crack #i am sorry to everyobody who reads this

[crystalelemental]

I have 20 minutes before I have to feed the cat and get started on these courses that finally allowed me access, so let’s take a moment to talk about my good friend Thracia 776.

I made it through Chapter 5, and got both sidequest chapters along the way.  So that’s fun.  I decided to play on Paragon mode, because I don’t give a shit about challenge, I’m here to try and enjoy the experience for a game whose story I actually really like.

Currently, Leif is doing pretty well, mostly seems to do great with strength and speed, but his skill is bad and I don’t think he’s gained any build so that’s fun.  I think Macha’s been the most unprecedented hero so far.  She’s had two 6 point levels.  That’s really good.  Brighton’s had mostly 1 point levels so he’s not doing so hot.  Asbel seems super magic screwed, he still only has like 4 magic at level 7.  Not looking forward to that long-term.  Tanya actually got some fantastic levels too, including a lot of extra strength, so I’ll be doing my damnedest to get her back.

Chapters 1-3 remain pretty enjoyable.  Moreso now that I understand capturing as a mechanic and how to do that effectively.  A big issue before was not knowing how to set up a good capture, but now that I’m in the swing of it...I kinda like this feature?  Like it’s kinda cool.  Only kinda, though.  And the “only kinda” part kicks in as soon as you hit Chapter 4, where everything starts breaking down, but I’ll get to that.

I’m currently playing with the Lil Munster patch, which also allows me to see the hidden skills for units.  Such as Miracle+ on Eyvel, which just literally prevents her from ever dying.  I did not know that was a thing, and let me tell you, everything going on with Chapter 5′s pitfighters is suddenly a lot less bullshit.  Yes, you can argue all you want that it increases the tension when you don’t know it’s there, but also fuck that.

Chapter 4 is really where I think I’m going to start complaining.  Which is funny because on a second playthrough?  This is actually a pretty fun chapter.  You know, mostly.  Facilitating the escape of the civilians was pretty simple and fun, and it honestly helped out Karin the most, since she wasn’t particularly threatened by a guard holding a captive.  I was also pleasantly surprised at how engaging that map managed to be in terms of just...gathering Vulneraries.  Like, looking at it, I expected a disaster, but judicious use of the thieves and maybe a capture here and there actually nets you enough to equip everyone with a full vulnerary.

Until the trouble.  Let me be frank: I am always one for soft resetting when a character dies, and I’m trying to break myself of that particular habit a bit.  It’s not that I want to not care about characters, so much as recognizing that some characters I don’t give a shit about so why reset everyone else for them?  I play a quick run of Shadow Dragon before this, and just let people die, and honestly it was a lot more engaging when you’re not resetting for stupid things.  But there was one unit who causes two of the three resets, because I couldn’t afford to lose him.  Julian.  I couldn’t just lose the thief and that utility.  Resets occur not because of character love, but because you cannot give up the utility presented.

I feel like that’s part of early Thracia’s problem.  Chapters 1-3, it’s pretty easy to keep everyone alive, especially with Eyvel being actually invincible, and having three super units in Eyvel, Dagdar, and Finn.  If you got the Vouge and the Brave Axe, Osian and Halvan are actually ridiculous too.  But once you hit Chapter 4, things feel like they change to a level that’s a bit absurd?  If you didn’t successfully set up recruitment of Dalsin, I kinda feel like Chapter 4 and 4x are just impossible.  The only way to damage these armor knights are Leif’s Light Brand at range, and Dalsin’s axe.  Pretty much everyone else is dealing about 2 damage, and hoping for a crit, with none of them having the B-rank swords to make use of Armorslayer.  So the chokepoint strategy to the north feels decisively impossible because of how much damage you take, how little you deal in response, and how hard it is to actually break through and take out the mages when their numbers dwindle.  Not to mention one less unit means you have less defense against the soldier reinforcements, and it’s that much harder to protect your thieves.  Which, actually, speaking of: Thieves plural.  Which requires you actually got Lithis.  You probably did, his condition is super easy to achieve.  But.  My recollection is that the original version of this game didn’t give you little icons to tell you when people could talk to one another.  So unless you just figured out that Leif can talk to Eyvel (but not the other way around, that’s too much), you’d miss the hint about “Just catch him and hold onto him.”  At which point I feel it is fair to say people might release him after taking his stuff.  And then you only have one thief.  Which is.  Not great.  And slows down that prison escape significantly.

Then there’s 4x, where you really need 4 strong frontliners to block off attacks, and if you don’t have Dalsin I honestly feel like you’re just hosed, both in terms of taking too much damage, and having too few units to deal with the mages.  I’m not going to say it’s impossible to deal with, but for a putz like me it feels pretty impossible without the big tank man on deck.

Then there’s the issue of capturing.  Capturing only works if your build is higher than the opponent.  If you have a lower build, you can’t capture anyone.  Which is all well and good when you have four chunky axe bros and a cav on your side.  Then you can capture just about anything, especially with Tanya and Ronan giving you some nice chip damage to set up those easy captures.  But Chapter 4-5, you really don’t have many options.  Brighton is consistently able to capture, but Fergus isn’t.  8 build isn’t bad, but it’s not enough to capture one of the soldiers and take their vulneraries.  So if you didn’t get Dalsin, you have one guy who can consistently capture people.  One.  The thieves can steal, but Lara’s build is so low she basically can’t steal anything heavier than a vulnerary or door key, and she’s got 14HP so good luck leaving her in range of anything.  So like.  That’s fun.

Point being, some of these challenges feel distinctly impossible without save states as a result.  I think the biggest offender was admittedly an optional one: the two Loptyr mages in front of the chests in Chapter 5.  Man, those guys are fucked.  Tremendous damage output, poison, and had an absurdly high crit rate that would one-shot anyone if it hit.  I think Leif was able to deny the crits with Light Brand but I’m honestly not sure.  The fact you had to deal with two of them, or risk Leif having to chip them 3 damage at a time at range, was kind of a problem.  That’s the kind of thing where I don’t really know how you’re supposed to manage that, and save states feel incredibly necessary if you’re going to stand a chance.  Granted, this is optional, you can escape and just leave those chests.  But this isn’t the only situation I can think of where the game just plays stupid, and usually the stupid is with mages, because magic is resistance and no one has any.  Except Karin, who is delightfully too weak to actually KO a mage in response.  So that helps.  Situations across Chapters 4-5 have been difficult, because of the presence of magical hits that can 2-shot people if they connect, and a lot of situations feel like you’re desperately hoping for a particular attack to connect so you don’t start losing people left and right.  And then the attack misses anyway because 100% accuracy doesn’t exist, and whoops now you’re gone.

Despite that, I’m still enjoying this more than my first time through.  Maybe it’s familiarity with the game and its mechanics, but I do feel like being able to clear Chapter 4 without screaming is a good indicator that maybe it’s not as bad as I remembered.  We’ll see though, there’s much worse to come.

#personal shenanigans #thracia 776

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 2

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

 Penny Parker worked, on average, 108 hours a week between three jobs to make ends meet for herself and Peter. His high school, a stupidly expensive private science academy, sucked the majority of her income up each month despite a scholarship. Rent was $1,200 a month, not including utilities. Peter ate like a quintessential teenage boy, which meant a pound of cereal every morning before school and the equivalent in the evenings when he got home from his clubs.

She didn’t sleep much and only had one rotating day off each week. After learning of Peter’s situation with Tony Stark, she slept even less and spent her days off doing any and all research she could into the man and her options for getting Peter away from him. By the time a month had passed since the revelation that her baby brother was being stalked by a super powerful, criminal mastermind pedophile piece of shit, Penny was a wreck of a human being. Even Peter, who was understandably wrapped up in his own head most of the month, had noticed the bags under his sister’s eyes and the harried look she carried about her at all times.

They joked that Penny had taken every bit of chaos from her parents combined genes, somehow managing to leave behind every ounce of intelligence for Peter. She was a walking, talking disaster on the best of days. He’d seen her stick a fork in a toaster, try to mix bleach and vinegar, hell one time she’d come home from work with a sprained wrist because she’d fallen off a ladder stocking some shelves despite the fact someone had been actively holding the ladder to spot her. But this was an entirely new level of disarray from his sister.

Peter could tell that she wasn’t coming up with any solutions that she was happy with. Despite their inside jokes, Penny had a weird sort of intuitive intelligence. She couldn’t do basic math in her head and forget anything to do with science, hell basic reading comprehension could be a trial at times.

What she knew was that Tony Stark had every police department in New York on his payroll, despite the act they put on that “they were doing everything in their power” to gather evidence on the 87 open investigations into him and his company. She knew that he had several politicians under the same thumb, not because it was public knowledge, but because somehow every bill that was put to vote that could be useful to Tony Stark passed into law (or however that sort of thing worked—Penny didn’t understand bills and laws and the senate or whatever, but who really did?).

She knew that the surrounding states were similarly within his range of power. That his companies’ holdings in California meant he had too much control there too. He had holdings in Alaska, Hawaii, and Puerto Rico as well. It wasn’t public knowledge, but Penny could read between the lines when things seemed too good to be true. Or, too good to be true for one Tony Stark. Everything aligned in a way that was so suspicious, she couldn’t figure out why the FBI or CIA or NSA weren’t on to him too.

In the end, all it meant was that nothing Penny did would really matter in the long run. Tony Stark was infinitely powerful in a multitude of states, rich and influential in a way that one person shouldn’t ever have the ability to be. And Penny Parker had $3,000 to her name and a shitty apartment and an even shittier car. Compared to Tony Stark, she wasn’t even good enough to be dirt.

It meant that she had to be more creative. Penny wasn’t smart, but thinking outside of the usually accepted parameters was kind of her specialty. There was no good way to get Peter away from Tony’s sphere of influence, but there were some ways. Maybe just a single way. A very unpleasant, single way that would rip her heart to shreds. But Penny had decided as a 13 year old that she would do everything she could to keep Peter safe and happy and fuck if she was willing to stop now.

***

“Are you still stalking the webcam feed?” Tony wondered if it was possible to push anymore exasperation into his voice as he walked into the main living room only to find Clint once again watching Peter’s empty apartment on the massive TV.

“Something might happen,” it was the same defense the assassin always used when caught in the act, but Tony knew that the blond actually just wanted to catch a glimpse of Penelope Parker.

In all fairness, even Tony could admit that the young woman was rather beautiful. Where Peter’s skin was milky white and freckled, Penelope had a tan that betrayed her father’s Israeli heritage. She was shorter than Peter, held more weight than her lanky but growing brother. Her hair was long and held a natural wave, the same colour as Peter’s. They had the same eye colour as well, but Penelope’s were more narrow and slanted. It wasn’t Tony’s cup of tea, but he could objectively understand the appeal.

In all honestly, Penelope Parker wasn’t his cup of tea as a person. Every time her name popped into his head, he felt a seething rage begin to build in his chest. Penelope fucking Parker, responsible enough to be deemed guardian of the most precious boy in New York but not responsible enough to actually take care of him.

Back when he thought Peter lived alone off his meager inheritance, the living situation had bothered Tony but not enraged him. After all, sure a teenage boy would be fine living in a shit hole if it fit his budget. But no, his sister was the one who made him live in that rat’s nest. His sister, who worked so often it left poor Peter neglected and alone, was the reason he had to walk through dangerous streets to get home at night. His sister.

His fucking sister.

No wonder Peter hadn’t told him he had a sister. She was probably a fucking monster, as selfish and miserable as the goddamn evil stepsister from Cinderella.

He’d caught enough glimpses of Penelope Goddamn Parker in the last month to last him a life time. She and Peter hardly interacted where the webcam could pick up, although sometimes they caught snippets of audio. Mostly, they witnessed just how addicted to the internet she was. She spent more time on her fucking laptop than she did talking to her own brother.

It drove Tony insane, knowing that the longer he left Peter in her care, the more neglected he would be. His baby boy was trapped in an apartment with an uncaring bitch who spent 90% of her time working and the other 10% ignoring him for whatever bullshit Instagram, Facebook nonsense she was so obsessed with. Tony didn’t even bother keeping a record of her internet history, after the first two days of monitoring had revealed she spent the entire time on Youtube.

“Yeah? And has anything happened in the last, oh, 6 hours since she left for work?”

“No but she should be getting home soon—” Clint winced, having walked directly into the trap Tony set like a dumbass.

“Stop watching the bitch on my TV, all you do is stare down her fucking shirt anyway.”

“The bitch would make a pretty decent lay if you’d give a guy a break.”

Tony Stark did not roll his eyes. Tony Stark was a genius, ran a weapons engineering empire, had the most important politicians in the United States in his back pocket. Tony Stark did not roll his eyes.

So Tony Stark Did Not Roll His Eyes at the blond parked out on his couch with a bowl of popcorn and a beer. No doubt there was a cheap ass pizza on it’s way up the elevator, despite the fact Tony employed some of the best chefs in New York for his private kitchen. Clint Barton was the worst sort of best friend Tony had, but he’d still kill for the dumbass.

“What has Penelope Goddamn Motherfucking Parker done now?” Sam Wilson questioned absently as he walked into the living room from the kitchen, quoting Tony’s general tone of voice when talking about the woman.

“She hasn’t even taken her shirt off where I can see it, can you believe that? Fucking ridiculous. With a rack like that she should be shaking her tits on camera for money daily,” Clint whined in response, gesturing to the empty room on the TV, “I swear she sleeps on that fucking couch almost every night and not once has she undressed in front of the computer.”

“You’re a freak, my dude,” Sam smacked the blond upside the head as he walked past towards the elevator, “Time table still on track, Stark?”

“Steady as she goes,” Tony replied, pulling his phone out of his back pocket, “Where are you going? Movie night starts in 20 minutes?”

Movie night was almost the most ridiculous thing Tony participated in on any given day. His inner circle was made up of the only people in the world he trusted, was made of up assassins and ex-military super soldiers and all sorts of genetically altered freaks, and somehow movie night had become a staple of their existence. To miss a movie night without a doctor’s note or a mission was a crime punishable by near exile in the form of a group silent treatment. Pepper, Happy and Pietro were currently exempt, away on a business trip as executive, body guard, and assistant.

“Just going to change,” Wilson gestured to his workout clothes and shrugged, “need to shower.”

“Now if only we could make you realize that needs to happen more than once a month,” Clint muttered quietly, only to have a dirty shoe nail him in the face a moment later.

The blond fell off the couch with a shout, popcorn flying everywhere as the bowl escaped his grip. Sam, who’s aim was almost as impeccable as Clint’s own, gave the man the finger as the elevator doors closed dramatically.

“You are a disaster of a human being,” Tony commented absently, still watching his phone as the little dot that was his baby boy moved through the city.

He ignored Clint’s protests, flopping onto the couch and making himself comfortable while the rest of the tower’s residents slowly ambled into the communal living room. Bucky and Steve were parked out on the recliner, disgustingly cute and cuddly even from a distance. They, like Clint, had a stupid fascination with fucking Penelope and were watching the webcam feed while they waited for everyone to arrive.

Natasha and Wanda wandered in while chatting, each already having a drink in their hand. Thor, Loki and Bruce all came out of the elevator at the same time, Bruce having come from the labs and the two brothers from the coffee shop on the ground floor of the tower. Sam and Rhodey entered at the same time from the stairwell, both having freshly showered after a long day.

“What are we watching tonight?”

The following argument generally lasted a solid 20 minutes, but Wanda and Natasha won out with a comedy horror they’d all already seen before. It left plenty of room for conversation while the movie played in the background, a deck of cards finding their way onto the coffee table as well.

“So what’s the plan for your boy’s sister, Tones?” Rhodey questioned as Sam dealt cards for their third game of poker of the night.

“I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic to get away from the bitch,” the man grumbled in response as he adjusted his hand, “He’d probably walk right out the front door and leave her in the dust if I asked. I figure I’ll give her an ultimatum: Peter comes with me and she shuts the fuck up, or Peter comes with me and she finds herself in a shallow grave.”

“I think I could draw her tits from memory from how often she’s on her computer and ignoring her brother,” Clint stated, because despite the fact he thought Penelope god awful Parker was hot as all Hell, he knew how much it hurt to have the person who was supposed to care for you most ignore you completely.

Rhodey hummed in agreement, “Maybe we should off her, just in case. I bet she gets some sort of welfare from the state for him and she shouldn’t get to keep raking that in.”

“She shouldn’t get it even while she’s got him,” Natasha stated from over her wine, spread out and lounging on the loveseat closest to the couch, “probably uses it for drugs. It definitely isn’t used for groceries to feed to the poor kid, he looks half starved.”

“Nah, that’s just teenage boy syndrome,” Bucky added a couple of bills to the pot on the coffee table, “Not that I think she’s winning any care taker of the year awards, but I’ve seen that him eat while doing surveillance. Kid could take down a whole ass McDonalds by himself if given the chance.”

“He’s been putting on some weight actually,” Tony felt the corners of his lips tip up in a small smirk, “Muscle mass, one of his friends started dragging him to lift weights on Thursdays.”

“Careful Stark, you get too excited by the thought and you’re gonna pop off in your jeans,” a round of snorts sounded at Rhodey’s words and Tony Stark, Who Did Not Roll His Eyes, gave his friend the finger.

“I say we just go ahead and kill her,” Bruce was focused more on his laptop and the reports there in than the movie, but made sure he always paid attention to the conversation during movie nights, “she’s a liability. It might help Peter adjust too, knowing that she’s gone.”

“And that he has nothing left and nothing to go back to,” Clint added, not mean spiritedly but pointedly and with an exaggerated head tilt.

“He won’t have anything left or anything to go back to,” it was pragmatic and a bit cold, but Steve never pulled his punches, “its best to cut all ties. The more he relies on Tony, the faster he’ll adapt to his new situation. Maybe its manipulative, but this is a weird situation and we might have to get our hands dirty to get him to a good place, mentally and physically.”

“By weird you mean kidnapping a kid?”

“For his own good!”

“Its only kidnapping until he turns eighteen, right?”

“I don’t think that’s how the concept of kidnapping works, Clint.”

“Excuse me, sir,” JARVIS suddenly interrupted, turning on the lights and turning off the movie, “I believe it is important that you watch the webcam footage I’ve been monitoring. The recording begins as of five minutes ago and is still ongoing.”

“Pull it up, J,” Tony ordered quickly, sitting forward on the couch.

Everyone in the room watched in confusion as the TV began to roll on Peter and stupid fucking Penelope sitting in front of the laptop, most likely at the kitchen table. Peter was slightly off to the side, the computer centered more on his sister.

“Penny, please just tell me what you’ve decided on? I’ve been watching you lose your mind for weeks, I know you came up with something last night.”

“You’re… not going to like it Peter,” fucking Penelope’s voice was soft, the laptop microphone too shitty to pick up the quiet cadence well, “If you can think of something better, we’ll go with that. But… I don’t think there’s another choice. I’ve gone through everything I can think of. Try to let me get through this without yelling at me, okay?”

They’d never really seen Peter and fucking Penelope interact before. Most of the time it was just her, on the laptop, all the fucking time. Peter came and went in the background, to and from school and clubs and his friend’s houses, but most of the time she closed the laptop when he was around. They were all a bit surprised by how much affection was in her expression as she looked at her brother. Peter nodded at her, lips already pursed in frustration.

“I’ve been doing as much research as I can on Tony Stark. He’s… God, he’s got more influence than the fucking president. There are entire states in his pocket, Pete. Can you believe that? From what I can figure out, he’s got just about every New York senator on his payroll and don’t even get me started on the police—”

“How’d she figure that out?” Rhodey’s frown was a mixture of concern and irritation, “There’s never been any sort of reporting on your dealings with politicians.”

“I don’t know.”

“The good news is, I don’t think he has any business in Oregon. I’ve looked through as much of the gossip as I can, he’s never spent any significant amount of time there and if I’ve been understanding the weird ass insinuations correctly, his businesses don’t operate in the area.”

“Oregon? Are we gonna go there?” Peter reached out and grabbed his sister’s hands, “I promise, I’m not upset over us having to move Penny, I—”

“Peter, I’m… I’m not moving babe, you are.”

The teenager seemed to draw back slightly, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth dropping open as he searched for words but was unable to come up with any.

“I don’t think you remember them, the last time we saw them was before mom and dad died, but we have second cousins in Oregon, Paul and Olivia. They’re about ten years older than me, with one kid. When I got custody of you, I contacted them. I wanted to make sure that if something happened to me, I had a sure thing lined up for you. It was years ago, but they promised they’d take you in a heartbeat if I couldn’t care for you anymore, for any reason.”

“You… you wanted to give me to them?” Peter’s eyes were full of tears and they watched as Penelope reacted in horror.

“Peter, no! Never! I would never willingly let you go. I was worried, everyone around us was dropping like flies in freak accidents and I couldn’t let you go into foster care if I died. I just wanted to make sure you would have someone if something happened to me.”

“You thought you were gonna die?”

“My birth father died, and then mom and dad died, then uncle Ben, then aunt May. I didn’t want to leave you alone with no one. I didn’t think I was gonna die, I just… wanted to be prepared. Just in case.”

“Why are you bringing them up? And Oregon? What do you mean that I’m moving? Alone?”

Penelope What the Fuck is Happening Parker’s lips pursed, eyes filling with tears. There was a level of sheer pain on her face that was startling for them all to see, especially considering they’d managed to work her up as an unfeeling monster in their heads for fucking weeks now.

“I’ve tried a thousand ways for us both to go, but I just… I don’t have the money saved for us to move. We’d have to break the lease and even if we left with the clothes on our backs, we wouldn’t be able to afford getting to Oregon. The car won’t make it, I can’t afford plane tickets. I wouldn’t be able to afford to get to Oregon. But I’ve figured out a way to get you there.”

“How Penny?” Peter’s was obviously trying to sound stern, but his voice cracked slightly.

“Not tomorrow, but the day after, we’re going to put in an anonymous call to Child Protective Services and claim that I’m abusing you. Neglecting you. They’ll take you out of my custody and send you to Olivia and Paul, since they’re our ‘closest’ living relatives.” Penelope Oh Fuck Parker’s voice was cracking too, tears running down her face as she explained her batshit crazy plan to her baby brother, who they were quickly realizing was far from neglected or abused.

Tony felt his chest tightening at the sight of the siblings, both with tears streaming down their cheeks. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get it so incredibly wrong. Maybe he’d seen what he wanted to see, that his baby boy was easy pickings. That no one really cared for him so it would be easy to sweep him off his feet and spirit him away.

“You’ve never abused me! You’ve never neglected me! How could you even say that, Penny!? Everything you’ve ever done—”

“Peter please, listen,” Penny was nearly sobbing, grasping Peter’s hands tightly with her entire body angled downwards over them, “We have to pretend, okay? We have to pretend because they’ll send you somewhere safe.”

“You’ll go to jail!”

“That’s fine! That’s okay, Peter! As long as you’re safe, I don’t care—”

“You can’t ask me to do this, you can’t ask me to send you to jail, to send you away when you haven’t done anything wrong, ever! I wouldn’t even be able to visit you! I’d be a million miles away and you’d be rotting away in jail because I was too stupid to mind my own business!”

“Peter none of this is your fault,” the tone was so stern and determined as Penny sat straighter in her chair, squeezing her brother’s hands reassuringly even as her chest heaved with grief, “it’s that fucking pedophile, piece of shit Tony Goddamn Stark’s fault, don’t you ever think that you are at all to blame for any of this—”

“I probably deserve at least half of that rage,” Tony stated absently, almost guilty at the word ‘pedophile’.

“Half? Hah!” It was an absent response, more instinct than intention but got the point across even as the entire group was absorbed by the pain playing out on the TV.

“I went to that stupid tower!” Peter wailed suddenly, making Penny go stiff, “After you got that note telling you not to report the assault, I went to the tower because I knew he worked there and I wanted him to suffer. You wouldn’t go to the police because they threatened your family but I thought… It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I was stupid and I went to fucking Stark Tower and that’s where he saw me. It’s all my fault.” Peter’s sobbing was viscerally painful to hear, even through the shitty microphone.

“What assault? A note? JARVIS, figure out what he’s talking about!” Tony barked, already on his feet and pulling out his phone, “Give me the surveillance footage from that day, who was my boy here looking for?!”

“As the conversation is roughly five minutes delayed, I took the liberty of deciphering Mr. Parker’s statements already, sir,” the AI stated calmly, “six months ago, Mr. Brock Rumlow of level six security sexually assaulted Ms. Penelope Parker in a club in Queens. In order to prevent any bad press upon the company, a persuasive letter was sent from the Tower’s security to Ms. Parker to ensure her silence on the matter. I assume the day you came across Mr. Parker was the day he arrived to confront Mr. Rumlow over the assault and threat.”

“Find him,” Tony snarled towards Rhodey, who was already on his feet and typing away at his phone, heading towards the elevator, “Alive, Rhodey!”

“I’ll see what I can manage,��� the man muttered darkly as the doors shut and he began descending towards level six, leaving the rest of them in the living room.

“He… he saw you… there? Oh, god… Oh god he saw you because you went to the tower, oh my God you went there because of me and he saw you— Oh my God!” Penny’s reaction was so emotionally brutal that it verged on physically violent. Her entire body seemed to lock up for a solid thirty seconds before she threw herself out of the chair and they could hear retching in the background a moment later. Peter was still sitting on the far side of the screen, sobbing into his hands.

Almost five minutes later, Penny ambled back into view. Her face was so pale compared to her usually tan complexion that she looked like a ghost. A fine tremble ran through her entire body, goosebumps visible on her exposed arms.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter’s voice broke through his sobs, bone achingly sad, “I’m so sorry I did this to us.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, bud,” Penny’s eyes were almost blank, the pain so overwhelming that she couldn’t force any other expression, “I set all of this in motion. I made a mistake and I’m so sorry you’re having to pay for it. I should’ve protected you better, you never should’ve even known what happened, let alone who— it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Everything is going to be okay Peter. We have a plan and everything is going to be alright.”

“You’re going to go to jail, Penny! For a horrible crime that you’d never, ever commit! Because I was stupid and immature and—”

“Stop Peter,” Tony’s eyes watered as Penny gently ran her fingers through Peter’s hair and left it to rest on his cheek, “don’t blame yourself for this. No matter what you did, no matter what choices you made, you didn’t deserve to be frightened and stalked. What’s happening is happening because there’s a man out there with a sick mind, who thinks he can take whatever and whoever he wants for whatever he wants. That’s not on you, babe. That’s on him. And everyone who built him up and let him get to this point.”

She let Peter cry for several minutes and the group in the living room found themselves left to digest the situation to the sound of his sobs. Discomfort ran through all of them, for different reasons. Because they’d judged Penelope Too Good for This World Parker so wrong. Because they were the ones enabling Tony to do something terrible. Because they didn’t actually feel guilty for enabling Tony but they did feel guilty for the pain it was causing the Parker siblings.

“You’ll take such good care of him, Tony,” Natasha said quietly after a moment, seeing the pain in the man’s face, “He’s never going to want for anything ever again. He’s going to live in comfort and luxury for the rest of his life and that’s because of you.”

“He’s scared right now, Tones,” Clint jumped in quickly when it looked like Tony might protest, “They both are and we can’t blame them for that. But once they’re—he’s here, he’ll realize that it’s not a bad thing and that he has nothing to be afraid of. That we’re going to take care of them—him, all of us.”

Mind running at a million times per hour, Tony considered their words. Actually, he considered Clint’s words. Clint’s misspoken statements that implied both Parker siblings would be in the tower. Both of them would be safe and cared for. Both.

“They’ll never want for anything ever again,” Tony repeated quietly, all eyes in the room locked carefully on him, “Peter and Penny shouldn’t be separated.”

“You’ve given up everything for me, Penny,” Peter whispered after his cries calmed, “You dropped out of high school, dropped out of college, started working three jobs so I could go to that stupid school, you don’t sleep, you hardly eat, and I know it’s all for me. I can’t let you give up your freedom, I can’t let you give up anything else for me.”

“Oh my God no wonder she’s so skinny,” Wanda suddenly gasped, tears pouring down her cheeks in continuous rivers, “we thought Peter was skinny, but look at her, look at her collar bones! JARVIS, give me a record of all credit and debit card transactions she’s made in the last month and—” The redhead cut herself off when Penny began speaking again.

“All I want is for you to be happy Peter,” Penny whispered, the blank look in her eyes fading into grief again, “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy. You’re everything to me, you’re my baby brother. I’ll do anything to keep you safe, bud, anything.”

“I won’t do it, Penny, I won’t—”

“Yes, you will, Peter,” resolve hardened Penny’s voice and she squeezed her brother’s hands, “You’re going to do as I say. Tomorrow you’re going to go to school and I’m going to call out of work. I’m going to throw most of your clothes away, all of the food in the house. I’m going to switch my stuff for yours, so it looks like I make you sleep on the couch while I take the bedroom.”

“Oh God she does sleep on the couch every night,” Professional Perfect Person Penelope Parker Stalker Clint Barton gasped in horror as he recalled his earlier comment on her sleeping habits and her undressing habits oh no.

“I’m going to trash the place as authentically as I can and I’m… God I’m going to destroy some of your stuff, Pete,” Penny looked pained at the thought, scraping a hand down her face, “But I’m going to transfer all of my savings into your name, so you’ll only be without your stuff for a little while. You can rebuy everything you need once this is over.”

“I can’t take your money, Pen—”

“Hush Peter. I don’t have much saved up, but I’ll put it under your name tomorrow. Now, when I turn 25 in a few months I’ll be able to use my portion of the money mom and dad left us. I’m going to transfer that to you as soon as I can, it should be enough for you to live off of once you turn 18 as long as you use it wisely.”

“Penny, please, you can’t expect—”

“I expect you to do as I say, Peter!” She cut him off with all the flare of a bossy big sister, “I want you to apply to universities outside of the United States. Focus on places like Norway, Australia and New Zealand. Avoid Mexico, Canada and the UK because I think he has business dealings in those countries and I don’t know how long he’ll be willing to search for you, so don’t risk it.”

“How does she know about our business in those places?” Tony threw his hands up in confusion.

“Sir, from what I can gather from Ms. Parker’s search history, she has done her best to track yours and your staff’s movements around the world for the last five or so years by means of social media and gossip blogs—”

“Well holy fuck, who would’ve thought to do that?” Sam’s eyebrows were raised nearly to his hairline, “that’s ridiculous, no wonder she was on the laptop constantly.”

“Once you turn 25 you’ll come into your inheritance too. By that time I’ll probably be out of jail but… Peter I want you to leave me alone, okay? We don’t know… we don’t know if Stark will let this go, if he loses you. He might use my location and contacts to find you and I can’t let that happen.”

“You want me to just cut you out of my life forever? Like you’re some horrible monster I never want to see again? I can’t—”

“We don’t have a choice bud,” Penny was quiet, soothing as she ran her fingers over his wrists and hands, “Tony Stark is a dangerous man and he has more connections and money than we could ever hope to fight. The police won’t help us, the law won’t help us. All we have is this plan and I need you to follow it. I need to be able to trust that you’ll follow the plan, so that you’ll be safe.”

“What about you, Penny!? You won’t be safe! You’re always so worried about, about me being safe and happy that you forget about yourself! Do you understand that you’re telling me you want to go to jail? That you want me to abandon you forever?”

Penny seemed to waiver for just a second, as if she might actually let some tiny ounce of selfishness set in and change her mind, before her resolve hardened once again and she stood, putting herself nearly out of frame, “This is happening, Peter. This is the plan. This is what we’re doing. Because I won’t let him hurt you. I will literally do anything to keep you safe Peter, this doesn’t even make a wave in the pool of batshit crazy I’m willing to go if I need to. I love you. Now go to bed, you have school in the morning.”

#steve rogers x oc x bucky barnes #steve rogers x oc #bucky barnes x oc #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #dark!tony stark #dark!mcu #let's review #let's review chapter 2

[chekhovs-harpoon]

tct final thoughts

oh boy this is gonna be a long one,,, i’m gonna begin with the things that i liked so that 1) it doesn’t feel like i just wasted my time when i could’ve been listening to literally to any of the hundreds of other podcasts im subscribed to and 2) this show did so many things right, i wouldn’t be as emotionally invested and fired up about it as i am if it was just  a purely garbage show

everyone in the cast gave just stellar performances especially adam and caleb’s actors,,, gosh that final confrontation in ep 19 where they had that big long talk about their feelings and it was so raw and real and genuine,,, how having mental baggage really just can fuck with a good healthy relationship no matter how much the people love each other and mean well

going into this show, i wasn’t looking forward to hearing about adam and caleb having been broken up cuz that just seemed, so out of character from where we last saw them in the original series,,, but i was pleasantly surprised with just how enjoyable their new dynamic as awkward exes that are still just completely in love with each other,,, i love this drama,, i love seeing these disasters inadvertently hurt each other (honestly it kinda worked too well cuz,,, more on that in the negative section)

CAITLIN! I love caitlin so much!!! and i just love her dynamic with adam,, i mean like, fried rice nights, shared google calendars, stressing out over essays that aren’t due for months,, i love these two!! also it’s so fresh cuz like,, usually it’s just the one nerdy loner character,, but here we get two and they’re just lovely for each other,,, lol i can totally see these dudes just moving in together and just getting married if they’re still both single by age 40 for the tax benefits

she was only in a couple of episodes,,, but i love love hearing joan again, especially that bit where caleb just infodumps at her all the shit he’s going through and she’s just 0_o that was such a fun throwback

minor thing, but the confirmation that the bryants are asian (when mark got oliver to take off his shoes when entering his house)

the soundscape and music was phenomenal! one of the most well done soundscapes i’ve ever had the pleasure of listening to,,, and the theme was stuck in my head all week

now,, all the things that i hated:

super mixed feelings about the bu crew,,,, im a fan of ride or die friendships, like what they were trying to go for here,, but like,,, the characters here aren’t very likable,,,

frankie’s flirting at caitlin came across as creepy rather than charming and it frustrates me so much that they got paired off by the end

i don’t get what ben’s deal is,,, i didn’t get much of their character outside of them being kidnapped and being a powerful atypical as plot device

and sadie’s just,,, she’s such a dick to adam and caitlin, constantly belittling and invalidating their feelings,,that line about her getting to be angry at adam and caleb but adam not being allowed to,,, just made my blood boil

also the characters act like she has just Very Good Takes:tm: on life and the human condition when they’re very much Not

honestly overall i don’t get what their deal is,, like what they’ve been through as friends, why they care for each other, how they got that way,,, and i don’t really have much reason to care for them

the adam caleb drama was so fun and like,,, honestly i was rooting for them to stay fucking apart by the end of the series,,, the weird pacing this show was going for made their ending feel super fucking rushed,, and they have way more fucking shit to deal with and talk about,,, and we’ll never get to see that cuz the show thought a tacked on ancient atypical cult conspiracy was more interesting,, which is a real fucking shame cuz what appealed so much about the original show is all the talking about feelings,,,

everything about the time fucking book and the atypical cult was not very compelling and felt forced and rushed and tacked on and there are so many plotholes,,, like,,, what are a bunch of fucking college kids gonna do about a conspiracy that’s been going on for generations,, and apparently even people like the am or the order can’t deal with them,, cuz they’re super hidden or whatever,,, but ppl just randomly hanging out in the library can fucking overhear all their bullshit

i was never given any believable explanation about why they can’t just ask the am to deal with this nonsense,,, when two very powerful people in the am care very deeply about the characters in the midst of this dangerous plot,,, and they already knew about it but did fucking nothing,,, and they keep fucking lampshading it but not actually address it. this whole nonsense felt like a ploy to get adam and caleb to talk to each other again when they seriously didn’t need it

blackwell was such a bad villain,, he was so melodramatic but not even in a fun way,,, and uggh,,, i can’t help but compare the new villains, this blackwell and hellen(?i can’t even remember her name) with the ones in the original series, wadsworth, agent green, damien,,, and the new ones feel like cartoon caricactures compared to how much nuance and depth and humanity the old antagonists were written with

also like,, the more information about the wider atypical world that’s laid out, the less fun and the less sense it makes,,, atypical secret societies are a thing??? and it’s also possible to find atypical communities online??? that just cheapens all of damien’s angst about being alone and not even knowing the word atypical until he met joan,, as well as how the order and the am value keeping knowledge of atypicals top secret, it doesn’t add up

it bothered me how they mentioned it should be impossible to turn a normal person into an atypical when like,, hello??? frank’s right there???

fuck oliver,,, there’s nothing fucking likable about this asshole,,he’s selfish, manipulative, a coward, smug,,, and not even in any charming or sympathetic ways,, he feels super tacked on,,, like he’s only there cuz the bullshit ancienty conspiracy plot demands it and i do not for one second believe any of the characters care about him

mark was just,,, so fucking under utilized,,, the characters always talk up caleb and mark’s brotherly bond, about how much they care for each other and how much he’s helped him out,, that’s really interesting i would actually like to fucking see it please,,, overall mark feels like his main point in this series is to just be an accessory to oliver

what the fuck do you mean that mark considers him his bestfriend?!?!? ano po?? tangina,, sam’s right fucking there,, and oliver has never shown in any genuine that he cares about mark and i don’t fucking see what mark sees in this guy

you know,,, all that fucking forced ship tease between these is literally the final nail in the coffin of my enjoyment of this universe,,, like you’re telling me that these two are actually gonna get together?? fuck that noise good fucking bye i want nothign to do with this series anymore

conclusion: i am just,, completely fucking done with this universe,,, honestly,, normally im not one to hate listen,, if i don’t like something,, i’ll just drop it and say it’s not my thing and move on..and im not one to just angrily yell about it into the void. but i can’t with this show,,, the original show really just meant the world to me,,, it was with me at some of the darkest points in my life and was one of the things that got me through em (cuz hey i can’t afford therapy and this show made a p good substitute at times asdkfljsad)..

i felt so betrayed,,, i really opened up myself to this one for all that. i should’ve learned my lesson after the disaster that was tama,,, the needless killing agent green was an indication of things to come,,, but i was cautiously optimistic for this show,, cuz it seemed they were going back to their roots by doing a story that’s more on just characters learning how to person and talk about their feelings,,, but oh god how badly was i mistaken,, they shoehorned another bs thriller action plotline when the characters by themselves were enough,,, and it seems that this is the direction this universe is taking,,, i want absolutely nothing more to do with,, im gonna unsub to the original feed and just block out all the tags and pretend i never interacted with this franchise in the first place

#podcast blogging #i get very very salty again be warned #this is very messy and incoherent but i spent mroe than a fucking hour just letting all the salt out i cannot be bothered to make it all nic #promise this is the last you'll hear from me about it i got it all out of my system i think #liveblogging

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #290

“you’re a little pistol, & i’m fuckin’ pistol-whipped.”

What’s the biggest argument you’ve ever had with a family member? Did things ever go back to how they were beforehand? Definitely something with Mom. The biggest was probably in the car one night where she got so mad at me that she tried to kick me out of the car. No, I didn't listen. I don't really remember exactly what we were arguing about... other than it was something small that blew up about bigger themes. Have you ever experienced some kind of natural disaster? Hurricanes. If you have pets, do you feed them human food or do they just get regular pet food? If they do get human food, what’s their favorite thing to have? Roman only gets cat food. He's actually really well-trained about not taking human food after he did once as a kitten. Now he might just sniff around curiously and give it a look, but food can be pretty close to him and he doesn't go for it. Have you ever been in a physical fight? Who won? No. What were you lighting the last time you used a lighter or matches? Probably a candle. What’s the mode of transport that you take or use the most? Mom's car. Are there any sequels to things that you prefer to the original? I'm sure. Oh, Shrek comes to mind; I love the original, but the second is my favorite. What games do you play on your phone, if any at all? Just Pokemon GO, really. I have a couple others up there just for my niece and nephew to play. Aside from family, who was the last person you spent time with? How do you know that person? miss rona doesn't allow "hanging out." Do you spend a lot of money on your appearance? No. Have you ever had a zoo keeper experience or anything where you’ve been able to go behind the scenes and look after/feed the animals? I wish! :( Do you have an item that is your good luck charm? No. Your favorite thing about your job (or school)? N/A Least favorite thing about your job (or school)? N/A Do you have a "funny" toenail? No. Favorite canned soup? Meh, not a soup person. Do you have a particular coffee mug you drink from? No. Your take on declawing cats? It's cruel as fuck and you're despicable if you think it's all good and well to torture your cat like that. Do you have smoke detectors in your home? Yeah. What was your favorite snuggle toy when you were a child? First it was my little stuffed bunny that held a polka-dotted blanket, but through most of my childhood I cuddled a stuffed moose I got from Ohio at Cabela's. Brownie is still on top of my dresser. :') What did you do on your first date? Got Sonic and saw Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance in the theater. I had the weirdest first date in that he invited my mom lmao. I still count it as our first one, though. The last time you let someone go, was it to make yourself happy or them? Myself. Who was the last person that could tell something was wrong with you? My ma. Have you ever thought about online dating? If so, were you desperate? Well I had a long-distance relationship, but it wasn't through a dating app or anything. Had one of those once and am mortified by it (even though no one shoud be), but no, I wouldn't have called myself "desperate." I was just incredibly lonely. Do you try not to take a lot of medicine or do you take it whenever? I just take it if I need it, honestly. I've been medicated pretty heavily most of my life, so whatever. Are you ever scared of people reading your survey answers? I wouldn't put them out there if I was. Would you ever go back to your most recent ex? That's the plan if things go ideally, but I'm not letting my hopes get too high. It'll be nice if that happened, but I'll still live on if not. What’s your best friend’s pet’s name(s)? She has lots of pets. There's Martha, Crowley, Little Dot, Jane Marie, Doris, Buster, Mango, and for her fish, I only know the one pleco's name: Raisha. When was the last time you got a splinter? I'm not sure. Are there any spiders in your room right now? I mean, probably. Somewhere. Have you ever taken a picture while laying in the grass? Not of myself. Who’s your favorite Disney charater? Dory. Are there any framed pictures of you in your house? In family shots, yes. What was the first television show you were obsessed with? Pokemon. Do you and your friends normally say you love one another? Definitely. How often would you say you get sick? Almost never. Let's not jinx it. Is there anything you get for free as a benefit for being a member of something? No. When were you the saddest in your life? 2016 was a year I'd wish upon absofuckinglutely nobody. Do you think bald guys are attractive? It would depend on the person? I don't find them inherently unattractive or attractive. If you don’t recognize the number of who’s calling, do you answer anyway? Nope. How do you pronounce route? "Rowt" What's the last thing you looked at under a microscope? Something during a biology lab when I was still in school. We looked at a number of stuff. Pretty cool. What internet service provider do you have? ... We just moved and changed providers and I already don't remember. Do you ever hear of something disgusting that you haven’t seen, so you go and look it up? This is very rare. If something is *disgusting*, I don't exactly wanna see it. If you had to get a tattoo on your face to save your life, what would it be? I'd have to think on this. I'm not opposed to a subtle face tat anyway, maybe near my ear or eye. Has someone ever made you a Build-A-Bear? No... but I've always kinda wanted a partner to lmao that's cute as fuck. Who was the last person you were “in a relationship with” on Facebook (including anyone you may have put “in a relationship with” for a joke)? Sara. Were you ever “the other man/woman”? How did it turn out? How do you feel about it today? No, and I never would be. What do you think of open relationships? If your partner suggested it, what would you say? Not for me whatsoever, but it works for some people. I'd honestly leave the relationship because I'd feel like I wasn't good enough. Would you ever date out of your race? I have before, would do it again with no problems. Have you ever had a reptile for a pet? Oh, plenty! Did you have a swing set when you were a kid? Yes. Swings were my favorite outdoor "toy" as a kid. What is a book that you really want to read? The Testaments by Margaret Atwood. I fucking adore The Handmaid's Tale and I literally have the book, I'm just too into WoF to make time for it. What is something that you really want to try, whether it’s a hobby, food, etc.? A lot of things. I guess to name one... wow, now that I'm actually thinking, nothing is coming to me, lmao. What sort of things do you like to post or look at on Tumblr? Mark-related stuff, what a shocker. What type of people are you usually attracted to? "Different," but not in a super weird-you-out way. I like clearly unique, truly one-of-a-kind people. What song are you listening to at the moment? "Watching For Comets" by Skillet is on. I'm surprised I feel okay listening to it. How often do you take naps and how long do they usually last? Almost daily. They can be an hour or two... embarrassingly, haha. Who’s one person who changed how you viewed something? Hannah Hart on gay rights. How many pillows do you like to sleep with? Two. What was the best conversation you’ve had recently? I dunno. Have you ever considered modeling? Nooooooooooo sir. When was the last time you did something daring? ME? DARING? Who in the world knows. List five of your favorite foreign foods. Uhhhh. 1.) This requires a lot of thinking and 2.) I'm very uninformed in what is *actually* truly foreign food that I've eaten and not just an American adaptation. I'm not very adventurous with foods, either, especially when I know it's "foreign." What types of seafood are your favorite? I just like shrimp. Do you write a lot for pleasure? I wouldn't say "a lot" anymore. Do you like bacon? Oh yeah. Do you like Rammstein? Hell yeah, they're in my favorites list. Have you ever been to a State Fair? Maybe, but I don't think so. Do you like YouTube? Maaan, I don't know what I'd do without it lmao. If so what's your favorite channel? I like that Mark R. Pliers guy a little bit, and lately I've really been digging Snake Discovery and Hazelnuttygames. Good Mythical Morning/Rhett and Link are deep, deep in my heart still, even though I don't watch them anymore. There is truly a *lot*, it's why I don't need television, haha. What is your favorite small dog breed? Papillons, probably. When was the last time you went through a McDonald's Playplace? Oh yikes, no clue. I definitely haven't ~really~ been in one since I was much younger (uhhhh and smaller), but I do have a faint memory of starting to go in one chasing after a kid. Maybe my nephew when he and his dad visited? idr What was the first comic book you ever had an obsession over? I was never into comics. Do you like kids pop-up books? BITCH you are LYING if you say you don't like looking at the cool effects lmao. Have you ever ridden a camel? No. Have you ever punched somebody? No. Can you sing opera? Oh, definitely not. Who was the last person you video-called with? Have you done this more often since COVID hit? My therapist, and you could say that, considering I never did before because I hate video calls. If you have pets, when was the last time one of them annoyed you? What happened? Roman (my cat) was just playing too rough with my hand. He's always hyper in the morning. When was the last time you took a dog out for a walk? Is this your own dog or did you borrow someone else’s? Wow... it's been many years. I walked Teddy sometimes, but that definitely slowed down and eventually came to a halt as he aged and his joints got bad; he would hesitate going down the porch steps, and I didn't want him to get too tired mid-walk and then have to go up them. Have you ever been the victim of a theft or robbery? What was stolen? Did the police ever catch the person who did it? No, thankfully. Are you a fan of garlic bread? Do you eat it on its own or as part of a bigger meal? Garlic bread would ruin my life if I let it, lmao. It's always a side. When was the last time your area was under some kind of weather warning? Did it end up being as bad as predicted? There was literally a tornado warning three days ago. I don't think so, no, but then again I didn't really look into it. Do you prefer having the blinds/curtains open or closed when you’re at home? Does it depend on the weather or the time of day? OPEN. You NEED natural light, I promise. I used to like my room as dark as possible in my worst times, but I am so glad I cut that out. I like, feel a part of me lighten up when I open my blinds in the morning. Who was the last person to tag you in something on social media? How do you know that person? My mom shared something that reminded her of Roman. Have you ever eaten a Big Mac? No; I don't like lettuce in my burgers, so I'm sure I wouldn't like it. What brand is your vacuum cleaner? I'd have to check. Where was your favorite hangout as a kid? So at my childhood home, down the road was a "stream" (aka a ditch and drainage pipe going underneath the road) that usually had at least some water in it, but if it rained, it really started to feel more like a real stream to us kids because of the movement. It drained into the pond just beyond the woods, and my sisters and some neighbors loved to play around that area. What’s your favorite pizza topping? Pepperoni,ig. Which sport do you suck at the most? All of 'em lol. My hand-eye coordination is awful, and hell no can I run. Are you good at rapping? I've never tried, but I'm certain I wouldn't be. I stutter so badly, and it's been getting worse. Can you say the alphabet in more than one language? I know it in German. Do you eat three meals a day? It varies. What do you want out of life? Fulfillment. To feel like I did something worthwhile.

#survey #surveys #quiz #questions #questionnaire #lyrics: ''pistol whipped" by marilyn manson

[vagrantblvrd]

Jeremwood FAHC where battle buddies formed before they joined the crew? Everyone is terrified until they find the pair dead asleep on Gavin or Lindsay, or both, and they just look confused/pleased respectively, and shoo everyone away when they try and wake the pair up? And just, sheer shenanigans between all of them as they all settle into a the full force of the FAHC

Hmm, yes, yes, I see what you’re getting at with this, Anon?

But may I humbly suggest the reason these two Very Scary and Spooky figures choose Team Losers for their respective human pillows has to do with their Tragic Backstories?

For an example:

Before they became the Super Scary duo known throughout all Los Santos (and certain areas outside it, most of which have been reduced to rubble and charred remains because idiots) they were (baby) agents in An Agency somewhere?

Very hush, hush, totally no shady goings on here, no sir Mr. Government overwatch group!

Just patriotic assassinations and the whatnot.

Ryan is all clean-shaven and by the book. Perfect role model for the other baby agents who came after him.

Stellar record and all that, did everything Right.

And then the handler he’s had since graduating the academy retired. (Or is retired, something that plants the initial seed of unrest/suspicion in the back of Ryan’s mind about what he’s been doing all this time, but we’ll get to that later.

Anyway, he gets a shiny new handler in this guy all the way from England, kid with this accent who makes no damn sense and Ryan is >:( because he doesn’t trust him? (Gavin’s a goddamned kid, wet behind the ears and the most ridiculous questions and Ryan’s supposed to trust him to keep him alive?)

But then they get tossed into training exercises and simulations to get used to each other and as annoyed as Ryan is with the ceaseless chatter, Gavin’s always on point when it comes to getting Ryan through the exercise/simulation flawlessly. (Well, okay. There’s a miscommunication or two due to cultural differences but they sort it out before disaster befalls them.)

And at the end of things Ryan’s a little annoyed at the fact he can’t fault Gavin’s expertise at his job. Especially when he’s kind of glowering at Gavin after one of the “cultural differences” arguments and Gavin challenges Ryan to take over Gavin’s job while Gavin runs through the exercise/simulation.

All, “…what?” because his old handler wasn’t a field agent in any form of the word, amazing at her job, sure, but a klutz who only passed the annual certifications because Ryan and her previous agents kept on her about them to make sure she’d pass and all that.

And Gavin, okay. Goddamned twig and just look at him, no way he could pull off an assassination in a controlled setting like this, okay. Gavin just looks at him like he thinks Ryan’s chickening out, because of course he would, and Ryan will be goddmaned if he lets this twig of an asshole get away with that. (Or…something.)

Gavin chortles all the way down to the training room floor, grins up at the cameras he knows Ryan’s watching him through and tosses off a little salute before wading into the training exercise.

Entirely new one the two of them haven’t gone through yet because this is meant to be a test for both of them, right? Gavin going to their superiors and agents and whatevers involved in running these exercises for an official okay from them and all that. (He puts it forward as a bonding exercise, way to gain trust between partners which will up their efficiency rating and all that and of course their superiors are eager to jump at the chance to have the two of them reach active status all the sooner and the whatnot.)

So.

Ryan in Gavin’s little command center realizing he’s maybe made a misstep with this dare/bet? He’d been in the room once or twice before talking to his previous handler, but when Gavin came into the picture he’d had it upgraded. More cameras and gadgets and other bells and whistles Ryan isn’t sure what their function is?

And hes clumsier than he’d like about it, toggling between camera feeds to keep track of Gavin’s progress through the levels. Goddamned mansion the agency had built for this particular exercise and Gavin charming his way through with barely a ripple to mark his passing.

Hasn’t alerted anyone yet and Ryan is struggling to keep up with him and okay, yes, it’s definitely harder than it looks from the outside. (He’s always known it in the back of his head, but it’s different now, isn’t it?)

Things go…okay for a bit, but then their superior threw in a little plot twist towards the end, this Ultimate Test for the two of them they obviously didn’t anticipate and Ryan almost gets Gavin “killed”, sends him down a dead end corridor, guards closing in and they both know he fucked up, and Gavin looks right at the closest camera.

Should, by all rights, be furious with Ryan because he fucked up – but all he does is ask Ryan some simple little question, look up the blueprints on one on the computers and see if there’s a discrepancy with the layout of the area he’s in.

Contractors and clients and other bullshit he doesn’t have time to explain, because Plot Reasons. Mainly due to the fact Gavin got his hands on the real blueprints involved in building the course level they’re using for the exercise because he likes to be thorough like that. (Might be considered cheating, but he’s all about everything he can do to keep his agent alive, even in a supposedly safe environment like the agency training courses.)

Lo and behold there is, some botched bit with the ducts or something hastily covered up, Ryan’s hardly an expert despite all the time he’s spent crawling through various systems in his career to date.

Gavin grins as he backtracks and finds the botched bit of construction hastily covered over. Since the “building” the agency is using for this training exercise is an overblown set piece it’s just been wallpapered over or something else, and Gavin is easily able to get through it and escape that way, because Plot Reasons.

Ryan’s still a bit shaken at the close call and Gavin has to get him back on task of leading him out of the ducts he’s in, which he does. Watching silently as Gavin exits the training level with the McGuffin he was sent to steal and a dead target behind him.

He apologizes to Gavin for almost getting him killed, which Gavin laughs and dismisses because he knows it wasn’t intentional (right, Ryan?), but maybe now he understands Gavin’s up to the job of keeping Ryan alive if he’ll let him.

Their bosses side-eye them for basically Kobayashi Maru-ing their way out of the training exercise, but decide Gavin’s more of an asset than they anticipated and praise him for his thoroughness. (While making a mental note to keep an eye on him because he really shouldn’t have been able to get his hands on those blueprints, you know?)

Anyway, they work together for a year or two until Ryan gets picked for this new agency that’s come along in the meantime. Even shadier doings than his original agency and so sorry, but you’ll be given a new handler and a field partner and really, Agent Haywood, you’ll be doing your country a great service with this new agency.

There’s this whole Thing where they say their goodbyes and Gavin, who has a bad feeling about all of it, warns Ryan to watch hi back out there since Gavin won’t be there to do it for him. Ryan is all ??? and also ditto and a little if Gavin ever needs anything to contact him? Which Gavin promises to do with more vice versa, but honestly they know the odds of them ever meeting again are slim to none.

(And Ryan’s kind of right, when his old agency goes down in flames a half a year or so later. Sabotage and all that and so many dead with Gavin’s name of the list of casualties and okay, right, totally nothing suspect there. Ryan absolutely buys into that load of horseshit after the way he saw their agency being whittled down before Ryan was picked for his current agency, or course. Totally doesn’t have a little side-hobby of untangling that mess to get to the truth, goodness no.)

ANYWAY.

Ryan gets paired up with Jeremy who is obviously a rookie agent out of whatever agency handed him over to their current agency.

Young and inexperienced in the field but eager to learn and smart as hell. Lot of potential and best of all doesn’t take Ryan’s bullshit, which is awesome.

There’s an adjustment period for both of them because their new agency is a bit more lax with the rules and regulations, and Jeremy rubs off on Ryan a little over time and vice versa.

They get this handler who is calm and professional – for the most part.

The three of them don’t really click as a team for their first few missions, but the third or fourth one in things go to shit in the most chaotic, bizarre ways possible?

And their handler, who up to this point has been completely normal proposes a ridiculous plan to get them out of their predicament and the worst thing is it works? Ryan in a goddamned clown suit and Jeremy posing as a cowboy (???) and they get their target and escape without incident somehow?

Get to listen to their handler howling with laughter as they speed away in a speedboat and share this look because what the hell? And Lindsay – of fucking course it’s Lindsay – getting herself under control to coordinate their extraction and whatnot.

Things get better (worse???) after that because their missions tend to go to shit more often than not requiring the most ridiculous plans to succeed and they’re still considered their agency’s top operatives.

Life has never been so strange for any of them.

Ryan loosens up, decides he likes the look of the beard he grew for a mission and keeps it unless there’s another mission that requires he shave it. (And then he goes right back to growing it out, and also just kind of loses his mind in general because no one can stay sane with both Jeremy and Lindsay in the mix, okay, no one.)

Lindsay starts joking around with them when they’re in the field and Jeremy is just. So flabbergasted at half the things she says and it’s all gloriously wonderful shenanigans and chaos and all that for a good long while for the three of them.

Lindsay watches these two idiots she’s responsible doing the Mutual Pining Thing and laughing at them because it’s pretty damn obvious they’re head over heals for one another?

All these little gestures between them in and out of the field, but then it just gets sad, you know?

Close calls thanks to the nature of their line of work, Jeremy sitting beside Ryan’s bed down in medical after a bad mission and vice versa. Longing Looks and Quiet Pining and Lindsay is their confidant and does her best to drops hints without betraying either of their trust in her.

Setting up situations where they have lunch or dinner together. The three of them out to have a dinner to celebrate some team milepost or whatever but she gets called away at the last minute for some minor  problem but no, really, you two enjoy yourselves they can do this again at a later date. (Heavy emphasis on the word date, but they’re too dense to pick up on it.)

And then! Just when she thinks they realize there’s a Mutual Pining Situation going on and might be about to do something about it?

Bad shit happens, because of course it does.

Someone contacts Lindsay, tells her trouble’s headed their way and to look out for her boys because they’re going to be at the heart of it, and Lindsay.

Oh, she knows exactly who sent her that message, the ones that follow because Gavin’s clever, right, but she’s just as good at her job as he is. (There’s this whole Thing where they met years ago, thanks to friendly inter-agency rivalries and Gavin worrying about idiot Ryan and just. Yeah.)

It’s thanks to him the three of them are prepared for the suicide mission meant to get rid of the Battle Buddies (the usual Conspiracy Plot Reasons) that allows them to fake their deaths. Handy little tip telling them a good place to hide out is Los Santos, and hey, take the scenic route just in case, which they do.

Meanwhile, Lindsay has all these files and the whatnot on what their agency have been up to that end up in the right hands, some reputable reporter or whoever and goes to lunch one day and forgets to go back afterwards.

Doesn’t go so far to fake her death, just disappears as far as the rest of the world is concerned while the agency more or less burns to the ground behind her.

She ends up in Los Santos too, gets a nice little apartment somewhere and gets a reputation for being a crazy cat lady with all the strays she looks after, fosters, handing them over to good homes and the like.

Hears rumors going around about this pair of mercs new on the scene a year or two later. Big scary bastard going around wearing a skull mask and his partner with the cowboy ensemble and laughs herself sick when she sees her boys on the news one night, because they haven’t changed a goddamned bit.

Wonders if they ever figured their shit out and makes plans to contact them to ask how they’ve been doing, but she gets a job offer before she can.

Some crew or other with a reputation of their own and this skinny prick of a Brit with the most obnoxious grin and gaudy sunglasses and the Fakes would be interested in someone with your particular skills, and is she interested?

Lindsay just looks at Gavin in his ridiculous get up and decides the hell with it, you know? She’s been on vacation long enough and if someone like him trusts these assholes she’s fine with it.

They hand her control of B-Team and she kind of loves it. The crew is her kind of chaotic and she gets why Gavin chose them out of all the crews in Los Santos.

No brainer when Geoff’s looking to expand the crew and there are these two idiots running around causing chaos without anyone to watch their backs but themselves. (Well, okay. And Gavin and Lindsay from the shadows, but they’re stretching themselves thin watching out for the Fakes and the Battle Buddies and it just makes sense to have them all under the same roof, so to speak.)

And then!

Ryan and Jeremy being ??? and !!! at seeing Gavin and Lindsay – initially suspicious because what are the odds?

Jeremy watching Ryan circling Gavin because it’s been years and he really wants to think he can trust the little shit, but so much has happened he’s not sure he can?(All this time he’s been trying to find out what happened to him only to see Gavin cozied up to the biggest crew in Los Santos???)

But then he realizes Lindsay trusts Gavin implicitly, that Gavin’s the reason the three of them made it out of the agency alive at all, and Gavin’s just giving him this little smile waiting for Ryan to make up his mind the way he did when they met all those years ago.

Various shenanigans as he realizes Gavin’s safe, the Fakes are safe, and Jeremy relaxes because he trusts Ryan’s judgment in this?

The two of them realize the others have no idea the four of them know each other from Before and get a kick out of fucking with them whenever they can, hence the human pillow Thing.

Big scary mercs napping like little kittens on them and everyone else being !!! because what do now??? while Gavin and Lindsay are like, no! They need their sleep, hush up or go away because you have no idea about these idiots and their sleeping habits! >:((((((((((

The slow realization the rest of the crew have that allowing the four of them to Shenanigate was a Terrible Idea as they rain chaos on Los Santos (and occasionally the crew itself).

Also?

Just shenanigans in general with Ryan being a creepy bastard and Jeremy being Jeremy and everyone worrying Gavin and Lindsay are going to be horribly murderized like the idiots they are because they just keep teasing and making fun of Ryan and Jeremy. Like. Mercilessly so the way they do the rest of the crew?

At least until something happens with someone from their old agencies out for Revenge and Gavin and Lindsay get grabbed and the crew going crazy trying to find them?

And then there’s the Battle Buddies all terrifyingly professional about ripping these bastards apart for touching their family – and their Tragic Backstories are revealed in which the crew had no idea about the (former) sekrit agents in their midst this whole time.

Also, also, the bastards who grabbed Gavin and Lindsay are suffering before the rescue party gets to their little hideout because Team Losers is a force to reckoned with on their own, you know?

Supposedly where the baddies want them, but the baddies miscalculated because they’re locked in there with Team Losers and oh God, make it stop, make it stop.

Absolutely no one on the crew’s side of things being surprised by this turn of events and it’s kind of a mercy killing for the baddies once they realize what’s going on.

Gavin and Lindsay just :DDDDDDDDDD “What took you guys so long?” even though they’re a bit bloodied up and kind of hurty feeling and everyone is just fucking Christ, you idiots.

And then shenanigans???

#jeremwood #Battle Buddies #Team Losers #ragehappy #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #Anonymous #Prompt Fills

[turtle-steverogers]

Not Guilty- 2

murder mystery’s back! im having too much fun with this story guys

Link to chap 1 in case you need it

warnings: albert being a human disaster, abuse of the word ‘milk’

ship: ralbert, platonic spalbert

word count: 1680

editing: lmaoooo no

Chap 2

When Albert gets to the precinct the next morning, he’s wary to find a wrapped parcel on his desk that looks suspiciously like a sandwich.  He pokes at it, frowning when he sees a singular smiley face drawn on the underside in black sharpie.

 “Hey, uh, Spot?” He calls, looking up when he hears his partner’s chair roll out from his desk and subsequently poke his head around the low wooden wall that separates their cubicles.

“Yes, honeycakes?” Spot’s expression is the face of innocence and Albert’s stomach churns.

“Did you-” He stumbles, gesturing to the presumed sandwich, “Is this for me?”

“It’s on your desk, isn’t it?” Spot smiles, rolling back into his cubicle.

Albert sighs, taking off his messenger bag and jacket and sitting heavily in his desk chair.  He cautiously unwraps the white paper to find a loaded meatball sub sitting in the middle of a napkin.  There’s a sticky note placed delicately on the fluffy white bread and Albert plucks it up, squinting at the words:

Sorry you didn’t finish your sandwich xoxo Spottie

He laughs probably too loud and sticks the sticky note on his desktop, right next to the note from Jack that reads: ‘I’m sorry for stealing your pants, I had brains on mine’ after Jack had taken his extra pair of slacks from his locker when his got spoiled at a crime scene.

He takes a bite of the sandwich, pleased to find that he can still stomach his favorite Gianno’s special after yesterday’s events.  As he chews, careful not to get any tomato sauce on his shirt, he plucks a sticky note from his own pad and scrawls out: Thanks, Pop Spotcket.  Love u, dear xoxo and tosses it over to Spot.

A moment later, Spot snorts indignantly, “‘Pop Spotcket’? Really? Does anyone actually use those anymore?  The only person I know who has one is my niece and she’s eleven.”

Albert rolls his chair so he’s in Spot’s cubicle, sandwich still in hand, “I have one, asshole.  They’re useful.  Anyway, thanks for the sandwich.  How’s it looking at Gianno’s?”

Spot sighs wearily, placing a stack of papers down and turning from his computer to look at Albert, “Eh.  They’re closed today.  I stopped by this morning to pick up some evidence left at the crime scene and one of the waiters asked if I wanted anything and I remembered that you didn’t get to finish your lunch yesterday so…”

“Thanks, man,” Albert says, mouth full.  Spot wrinkles his nose and tells him not to speak with food in his mouth.  Albert rolls his eyes, “Anyway, evidence?  What’s new?”

“Nothing really,” Spot says, “Just Wiesel’s receipt from his last meal.  Wasn’t really much on it, but it gave us a sure timestamp that lines up with our original record, so at least that’s set.”

“Good,” Albert shoves the last bit of sandwich into his mouth, licking his fingers.

“Yeah.  Saw our boy there, though.”

Albert raises his eyebrows, “Higgins?”

“Mhm.”

“How’s he?”

Spot shrugs, “Didn’t talk to him.  Kid looked like shit.  Well, more shitty than yesterday if that’s somehow possible.  Kept sending cute little glares my way, fucking ray of sunshine, that one.”

“Christ,” Albert grimaces, “I’m convinced he’s a player in this debacle somehow.  I mean, he seemed genuinely surprised when he found out the vic was Wiesel, but too many strings lead to connections on his end.”

“Yeah,” Spot agrees, “I dunno, I say we dig a little into Wiesel’s other relations as well.  I feel like there’s a gap here somewhere.”

“Toxicology came back,” Albert says after a pause.

Spot looks at him, eyebrows raised, “And?”

“Sarin poison in the blood.  Stab wounds were post-mortem.  Someone wanted this shit to look messier than it is.”

“Interesting.  I wonder who’d go through the trouble of poisoning, then following up with a physical attack.  ‘Specially in a public place.  S’kinda risky.”

“That’s what I was thinking, but whoever it was, clearly knew what they were doing.”

“Clearly…”

XXX

Albert never understood why there was such a wide variety of milks in the world.  And why, in this moment, he can’t find any simple fucking 2%.  

He scans over the selection again, bypassing the almond and oat milks and skimming over the fritzy lactose free shit.  There’s strawberry milk and chocolate milk on display and even horrifyingly enough, mint milk, but no fucking 2%.  It’s not even like this fucking bodega is big enough to warrant having so many milks. 

He just wants some damn normal person milk!

“Excuse me, detective.” 

Albert doesn’t startle.  He doesn’t.  He’s a trained law enforcement officer and detective.  People like him don’t fucking startle.  But, he is on high, professional alert when he turns around to see Antonio Fucking Higgins standing behind him, eyebrows raised in what’s probably amusement and hands shoved in his pockets.

Albert makes a strangled noise, eyes working on their own accord as they trail down Higgins’ body.  He’s sweaty, looking like he just came from some sort of workout, and a pair of tight adidas running pants hug his legs in all the right places.  He’s in a tank top today, somehow doing his arms more justice than the grey shirt he’d been wearing yesterday.  A hat sits backwards on his head, doing little to tame the curls that are trying to sneak out of the stupid hole where the strap meets the fabric.  He looks hot and it’s unfair and Albert’s never been ashamed of his sexuality, but right now he’s wishing that he could reign in his gay ass a little bit because aside from the fact that Higgins is a bit of a prick, he’s also a suspect and that’s, like, number one in the Book of Nope for cops of any kind.

Higgins is still looking at him, but now there’s a small crease of concern between his eyebrows, “You alright, man?” He asks, “You look kinda like you’re having a heart attack.  Do you have any chest pain?  Your left arm feel numb at all?”

Albert shakes himself, morphing his expression into something he hopes looks less like Gay Panic, “Yeah, sorry, I-” He splutters a bit, then shuts his mouth with a click.  

Higgins scoffs, “I just need milk, man, you mind?”

Albert starts, hastily stepping out from where he was definitely blocking the milk selection and watching as Race grabs a carton of-- fucking 2%.  How did he find it so fast?  How did Albert not see it?  He’s supposed to be the one trained to look for details others don’t see!

Trying not to flush, Albert reaches out and grabs a carton as well and Higgins looks at him again, laughing, “You were standing here for a long time, dude, I thought you were gonna murder the milk for a second.”

“Couldn’t find the 2%.” Albert mumbles, blushing harder when Higgins laughs louder.

“Real good reconnaissance there, detective.”

When Higgins is laughing, his face changes into something a whole lot more pleasant.  Not that it was ever unpleasant (the dude’s got a jawline of a god), but some of the hardness in his eyes and shadows on his face go away and for just a second, he looks like the 25 year old he’s supposed to be.  It’s nice, Albert thinks, ignoring the way alarm bells are going off in his head.

“Shut up, Higgins, I’m tired.  Some of us have to read about murders all day, so excuse me if my milk finding skills aren’t the most refined.”

Higgins’ face softens and the smile in his eyes turns into something else that Albert doesn’t want to dissect, “Race.”

“What?”

“Higgins is my dad, not me.  And I don’t like the name Antonio very much, so if we’re gonna be talking more, be it over murder or milk, call me Race.”

“Race?”

Higgins--Race--winks, “That’s a story for level five amici.”

“Oh, okay.”

They pause for a moment and even though Albert’s not drunk, his inhibitions seem to flutter away from him against his will as he blurts out, “Drinks sometime? Would- uh- would you wanna get drinks sometime?”

And fuck-fuck- SHIT- what are you doing Dasilva? What the fuck?

Race considers him for a moment, “Not that I wouldn’t hit that,” he nods to Albert’s body and Albert flushes.  Damnit with the flushing!  He’s 26, not some flouncy high schooler, “But I don’t think that’s a good idea, detective.”

Albert nods, “No, yeah, honestly I don’t know why I asked- uh-”

“Relax, don’t have an aneurysm, it’s okay.  I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now.”

“No no, you’re right.  Absolutely.”

There’s another pause, then Race smiles apologetically, “I gotta go get the rest of my groceries.  Take care.”

Albert cringes internally at how fucking painfully awkward this exchange has been, “You too,” he says, watching Race retreat to the wine aisle.  He takes another moment to gather himself, then goes to the checkout line.

XXX

Albert turns up the volume on his TV, pleased with the quiet solitude of his apartment for the night.  He doesn’t love living alone, but it’s been a long couple days and he’s been looking forward to a night to himself since he’d woken up that morning.  Just him, some thai, and the Animal Planet playing reruns of ‘It’s Me or the Dog’ all night.  Fucking self care.

He’s just yelling at some dog owner on the TV for feeding his pug 24 eggs a day and watching as Victoria Stilwell chews out the greasy fucker when his phone rings on the coffee table in front of him. 

Groaning, Albert mutes the show and chugs down a few sips of beer, before picking up the phone and answering with an annoyed, “Someone better be dying.”

There’s silence on the other end and Albert pulls the phone away from his ear to check the caller ID.  It’s Spot.  Shit, someone might actually be dying.”

“Spot?  Everything okay?”

Spot sounds sheepish when he says, “Well no one’s dying, technically…”

“But…”

“There was another murder.”

“Shit.”

-

Race went straight home after the bodega, right? RIGHT!??!? stay tuned ;)

thanks saph for ‘pop spotcket’

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

TAG LIST: @getchapapes @we-dont-sell-papes @suddenly-im-respecsable 

@aw-jus-let-em-try @well-the-kids-do-too @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @felix-loves-albert-and-ralbert @technically-whizzy

@andthewoildwillknow @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @localfakeitalian @have-we-got-news-for-you @musical-shitposts @thebroadwayaesthetic

@thomasbeingthomas

@irondad-spiderson-duo

@snakesarenonexistent 

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing 

@kpop-kk

@mentallytiredgoat

@yxseminx

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen 

@stopthe-presses

@elmers-half-a-cup

@and-i-lostmy-shoe

@spot-me50-papes

@honeynutpoptarts

@newsies-ensemble

@bennie-badeend 

@auspicioustarantula 

@faithmil 

@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters

@bxnesof92

@backgroundensemble

@sure-as-a-star

@skybert-daherty 

@eveningpaper

@malex-13

@albert-eats-cookie-cake

@heart-a-n-o-n

@bitching-newsboys

@orollyitsracetrackhiggins

@joshuaburrageenthusiast

@random-superhero-stuff

@awkwardstranger98

@falling-out-trees-101

@modern-race-owns-airpods

@asphodelnerd

@i-dont-do-sadness

@rockyroad236

@sirgrahamcracker

@godhatesjordan

@thats-our-que-boys

@bastille-smedry

@nerdsies

@toss-me-a-pape

@wolfbutterfly42

@revolutioninthesewers

@spot-the-brooklyn-pirate

@aintnosleevesinbrooklyn

@1-800-santa-fe

#newsies #newsies fic #ralbert #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #hehehe #murder boys #and #detective boys

[searchingforstarss]

irondad prompt: accidental poisoning, peter whump? pleeease? love your writing! hope you enjoy your time away!

hi lovely anon!! this took me a little longer to do because it kind of got away from me and turned out a lot longer than i was thinking! i hope you like it because it’s not as whumpy as i originally intended but as soon as i saw accidental poisoning i couldn’t get this idea out of my head so here you go. i hope you enjoy :)) x

---

Morgan’s gleeful yells are the first thing Peter’s greeted to when he arrives at the lake house on a Friday afternoon.

“Peter’s here! Peter’s here! I can hear him!”

The six-year-old barrels through the living room and out onto the front porch, excitement practically radiating off her in waves.

No matter how many times they try to explain to her that it simply isn’t feasible for Peter to stay with them any more than two nights a week because he has school in the city, she whines about how long he’s been away whenever he arrives, without fail. Today is no different.

“You’re not allowed to stay away for that long anymore, I miss you too much,” she declares. “Daddy can’t do the right voices when he reads Harry Potter to me either. You’re wayy better.”

Petter grins broadly down at her, about to open his mouth to greet her properly, ask about her week at school and whether she learnt how to do fraction multiplication like she had excitedly told him that she was going to during their Wednesday night phone call. He can’t even get a word in edgeways though because before he can, Morgan is babbling on again in her same gleeful tone that Peter adores.

“I have a surprise for you!” she announces proudly, tugging him up the creaky porch steps with her smaller hand tucked inside his.

“Whoa, that’s cool. What is it?” Peter asks. He tries to hide the apprehension from his tone, because Morgan’s surprises always swing one of two ways.

He’ll either end up trying to pretend he isn’t choking up when she presents him with a hand drawn-picture and note or craft project that she made at school during their art hour. Or, he’ll end up as a victim to one of her latest ideas, experiments and schemes. Last week it was her determination to teach Peter how to roller-skate on the cul-de-sac a few blocks over, which ended in Morgan clumsily pressing an excess number of band-aids onto his scraped knees. The month before he ended up as a human canvas to entertain her desire to learn how to face paint (that was all-around just as much of a disaster as it sounds like it would be).

“You can’t know what it is, silly!” Morgan sing-songs, “you’ll ruin the surprise.”

“Silly me, of course,” Peter deadpans, but he’s ignored as she tugs him through to the kitchen as soon as he’s dumped his backpack on the couch.

“Surprise!” she exclaims as soon as they’re both in the room. She guestures excitedly towards a few slightly sad looking lumps of something drenched in icing and severed onto sticks. There are sprinkles as well, which look like they might have been a nice touch to cheer the entire thing up, had the majority of them not ended up scattered around the surrounding bench space.

“Daddy and I made cookie pops! Well, I made them, he just helped me use the big scary whisk-y thingy. They’re for Katie’s birthday party tomorrow because we all have to bring something yummy to eat, and Daddy wanted to do regular cookies but I told him that was boring. So we made these instead!”

“They look great, well done you guys,” Peter praises. Secretly, he’s almost certain that Tony was onto something with his suggestion. Cookies would have definitely been the safer option.

“I want you to try one! I saved the first one for you because I’m the best sister in the whole wide world.”

Peter eyes the pink ball of cookie dough being waved in his face dubiously, but Morgan’s creations often look worse than they actually are so he bites the bullet and accepts the treat that she’s thrusting towards him.

He takes a bite, partly because he’s being watched expectantly by large brown eyes and partly because he’s absolutely starving. He’s had a long day. Decathlon practice in the morning, AP classes back to back all afternoon and then the drive up here. Plus, he really wasn’t planning on Spider-Manning today, but there was a gas station robbery on the side of Interstate 87 that he pulled over to break up on his way because the man was threatening the poor guy behind the counter with a gun for a raspberry slushie, a hot dog and two packets of cigarettes and Peter had to intervene because that was just stupid on so, so many levels.

The shopkeeper gave him a free hot dog in return which he gladly scarfed down before he disappeared back out to his car, but that’s all he’s eaten since lunch. So as he chews Morgan’s baked concoction, he figures that the cookie dough is crumbly, sure, and maybe they went a little heavy with the icing sugar in the icing but Peter is so hungry that he thinks anything would probably taste good to him at this point.

Footsteps thud down the stairs, and Peter hears Tony’s voice before he sees him.

“Morgan, I swear if you’re force-feeding Peter. Your dear old brother doesn’t want any of our atrocious attempt at baking-“

Tony rounds the corner, eyes falling on Peter, mouth full of icing and cookie dough.

“Oh, I’m too late. Great.”

“Hey, Tony.”

“Hiya, Pete. Enjoying your snack?”

Peter carries on chewing on the food his mouth. “Mhmm. Definitely. Good job you guys.”

Tony shakes his head. “Nuh-uh, not a good job, not at all. I just got off the phone with Pepper, turns out you actually have to partially bake the cookie dough first. It honestly just seems like a lot of extra work if you ask me, but she’s the boss.”

“You’re starting again?” Peter asks.

“Yep, and since you’re here you can actually make yourself useful,” Tony snarks but there’s a fond smile on his face. Peter nods willingly. “Don’t just stand there then, kid. Grab the flour from the cupboard would you?”

Peter grins and turns to grab the flour like Tony requested. He doesn’t even have to think about it anymore, he knows exactly which shelf to reach for with the same sort of instinct that he has in his and May’s apartment.

(Even with all three of their hands on deck, the second round of cookie pops only end up looking mildly more appetizing than the first, but at least all of Morgan’s tiny friends won’t have uncooked, crumbly cookie dough forced on them so Tony claims it as a win - he’s never had the patience to deal with other kids’ whining parents anyway.)

---

Peter sleeps in the next morning, and the house is silent when he wakes. The first thing he notices is the way he’s shivering, even in the balmy morning sun streaming through his windows. There’s nausea as well, constantly threatening to make its way up his throat as it sits at the bottom of his stomach, churning and rolling uncomfortably,

The second thing he notices is a note sitting on his bedside table as he fumbles out one arm to grab his phone and check the time. Peter recognises Tony’s scrawl immediately.

Morning, sleepyhead. Gone to drop Morgan off to her party. Be home soon. T

He’s content to lie there for a while and wallow in his own misery and how dreadful he feels while he’s all alone in the house until his stomach lurches violently and he’s hauling himself out of bed, sweaty covers pooling around his feet. The room around him is spinning, but the singular thought occupying his hazy mind is get to the bathroom, Parker. Just make it to the damn bathroom.

He does, even though his legs are shaky underneath him, and he just manages to stumble through the open doorway of the bathroom and drop to his knees in front of the toilet. He doesn’t even register the pain that shoots through his knees and up his legs as he slams into the tile.

A charming mix of gas station hot dog, Morgan and Tony’s tragic attempt at a cookie pop and the lasagna Tony made for dinner last night ends up swimming at the bottom of the toilet bowl.

Gross.

“Peter?”

That’s his name. It sounds like it’s coming from somewhere down near his bedroom. He tries to call back, but acid coats his raw throat and he can’t seem to get the words out. He retches again, before dipping forward to lean up against the ceramic of the toilet.

“Peter, oh, there you are-” Tony begins, but he drops off as Peter sees him appear around the corner of the bathroom door and take in the scene in front of him. “What’s going on?”

He blinks up at Tony through cloudy eyes.

“Think ‘m sick.”

“I thought you couldn’t even get sick?”

Peter tries to give a coherent answer, he thinks, but all that comes out is a whine. He looks up at Tony, eyes pleading. He’s not sure what he’s asking for, really. He just wants someone to make it better.

“Okay, okay, got it. That’s not really the point right now.”

Peter isn’t quite sure what he’s expecting as Tony hovers around the doorway. He wants comfort, he wants Tony, but he doesn’t dare to move far from the toilet.

“Oh, shit. Kid, you actually ate that garbage attempt of baking that Morgan gave you yesterday, didn’t you? There was raw egg in that.”

Peter just nods feebly, not entirely listening. His head is head still resting on the toilet seat. He doesn’t have the energy to lift it.

“I hate to break it to you, kid, but maybe Spidey is just as susceptible to food poisoning as the rest of us.”

Peter’s certainly listening now, his glazed eyes shooting open. Weak displeasure simmers within them.

“You poisoned me?”

Morgan’s surprise has now definitely landed on the bad side this week, leaning towards absolutely-fucking-awful.

“Technically, Morgan poisoned you. I just operated all the heavy machinery,” Tony says. Peter glares at him, but it’s so pathetic that Tony’s own stomach clenches in sympathy.

“You’re the adult-” Peter points out, feeble indignation in his voice before he cuts himself off with another round of heaving.

“Oh, Pete,” Tony sighs, stepping further into the bathroom at the sight. He lowers himself to the floor right next to Peter. A warm hand finds his back, rubbing in slow circles right at the base. A fraction of the tension leaves Peter’s body.

“You’re alright, bud” Tony soothes. His voice is gentle and calming, and Peter lets it wash over him. He’s always loved just listening to Tony talk. “You’ll feel so much better once it’s all back up.”

Peter finds that hard to believe because caught right in the throes of pain, shivering and feeling like a total and utter mess, he struggles to remember a time when he wasn’t wholly consumed by Morgan’s attempt to poison him.

There’s nothing left for Peter to bring up eventually, and he’s left gasping for air.

“Think you’re done?”

Peter nods, stomach still clenching painfully. He shoves himself away from the toilet, legs giving way underneath him as he slumps into a pile of shaky, sweaty limbs against the bathroom counter. This doesn’t seem to faze Tony though, and Peter watches through bleary eyes as he goes into Dad Mode. It all fades in and out in front of him, but he registers the corners of his mouth being wipes gently with a warm washcloth, the hair being brushes back from his sweaty forehead, a cool glass of water being tipped down his throat.

It was because of moments like this that after the snap, it took Peter a while to correlate his Tony with Morgan’s Tony.

His Tony had only ever cared from afar and he usually shied away from physical affection and comfort unless either of them were on their deathbeds. They always loved each other, but it was sort of a given. An undeniable fact with little physical expression. Now though? Morgan’s Tony tucks her into bed at night and smoothes kisses into her hair and lets her curl into his lap during lazy evenings on the couch with absolutely no reservations or qualms. He tells her he loves her at least five times a day.

It then took Peter even longer to realise that Morgan’s Tony wasn’t exclusively hers. He’s just Tony, softened around the edges a little with parenthood and settling down, but he’s Peter’s as well, still.

That’s evident in the way that instead of leaving Peter to his own devices once he’s taken care of him and cleaned up his mess, Tony just leads him gently downstairs instead, a warm solid hand wrapped around his forearm to make sure he doesn’t stumble forward and end up on his face.

Tony lies him down on the couch, before taking a seat himself. He lets Peter pillow himself against him, head buried into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. Tony’s hands trail along their time-worn path in Peter’s hair, the action almost second nature.

“I’m never eating anything you make me ever again, I swear,” Peter mumbles into Tony’s chest. His words are quiet, scraping against the rawness of his throat but Tony hears him loud and clear. He chuckles.

“Fair enough, buddy.”

---

Peter’s nap is only interrupted when Morgan bursts into the room sometime in the afternoon. He blinks slowly from where he’s resting against Tony’s chest, head tucked up against his collarbone.

Morgan has a goody bag clutched in her grip and a few flyaway pink streamers caught in her hair. She beelines for the couch.

“Petey, Mommy said that I need to apologise for poisoning you!”

Peter feels a deep rumble in Tony’s chest as he attempts to stifle a laugh. He can’t quite muster up the energy (and he’s far too comfortable anyway) to get up from his position resting against Tony to hug Morgan, so he just gives her the warmest smile he can manage.

“It’s okay, bug, I know you didn’t mean to. I forgive you.”

She beams up at him. “There was one cookie pop left so I saved it for you, see?” she says, rattling her goody bag around, which Peter presumes contains the cursed treat. “They’re really good, I promise!”

Peter’s stomach churns again at the thought.

“That’s really nice of you, Mo, but I think I might give cookies a miss for a while.”

#ask #anon #irondad #irondad fic #i actually really like this i might crosspost it to ao3 later idk #also i wrote this on a plane and i never write in public usually so that was super weird but also kinda fun #my writing

[bihansthot]

So I finished editing the first chapter of my Fate/Grand Order fanfic reworked as a Mortal Kombat fic. Most of the feed back I got from you guys was that you wanted to see it as a Bi-Han & Kuai Liang x female reader fic, so that’s what I’m working on. If someone has a min to just glance over it and make sure the names are changed accordingly and everything makes sense I’d appreciate it!

Author's Note: So this is a rework of my fic 'A Mongrel and Her Two Kings' which is originally a Fate/Grand Order fic. So that means SUPER NSFW

Mortal Kombat has been my favorite gaming franchise since it began, Bi-Han has always been my favorite character, but I've always been really afraid to do anything with him because a) my “relationship” with him started so innocently, I was 8 when MK1 came out so my only thought was “I want to marry Sub-Zero when I grow up!” obviously the older I got the nature of the “relationship” changed and now I'm just a thirsty disaster lol b) I'm terrified of doing a bad job writing for Bi-Han. I've only recently warmed up to the idea of exploring anything with Kuai Liang since as I previously mentioned I've been in a “relationship” with Bi-Han for nearly 27 years, and honestly never really liked Kuai Liang up until 11 but Kuai Liang looks fantastic in MK11 and I loved his ending so I want to explore a dynamic with a reader that is involved primarily with Bi-Han, but neither the reader nor Bi-Han seem to mind letting Kuai Liang join in.

Before anyone freaks out about brother incest, this ISN'T that kind of fic, yes BOTH Bi-Han and Kuai Liang will be fucking the reader TOGETHER, but there is NO incest dynamic between the brothers. They AREN’T together, they aren't going to be involved with each other, so don't worry about that going into it, it's just going to be like two best friends banging the same chick. If it still bothers you that both brothers are fucking the same girl at the same time, this probably isn't the right type of fic for you. Don’t @ me if you get pissy because you didn’t read the notes.

That being said I'm probably going to do yet another version of my same fic involving some Kronika time fuckery with Bi-Han Sub-Zero and Noob Saibot, so if you saw my tumblr post about this fic idea and are bummed it's not that pairing, don't worry I gotchu. Reader is a fellow Lin Kuei, this can pretty much be set either pre Mortal Kombat Mythologies: Sub-Zero or after Kuai Liang's MK11 ending, whichever you prefer, but Sub-Zero is Bi-Han and Tundra is Kuai Liang to avoid confusion in the story. Ok, so with unnecessary author background and necessary warnings in place let's get to the fun!

Tagging those who asked to be notified (HMU if you wanted to be tagged in updates): @kawaiiteigen

Super Sub-Zero Brothers: Ice Cream Sandwich

“Oh god, I can't believe they're actually willing to do this.” you thought to yourself while trembling lightly, trying to keep your balance atop Bi-Han, you couldn't tell if it was nerves or the increasing cold. This was hardly the first time you had been in this situation with Sub-Zero, so you were used to the overbearing cold that rolled off of his perfect body, being part cryomancer gave you some resistance to it when it was just you and Bi-Han. Sub-Zero was still significantly colder than you but it was the addition of the second cryomancer that had you flushed deeply, breath coming out in cloudy puffs and shaking. “It's just the additional cold, that's all...” you kept telling yourself, trying to calm down. “Relax Y/N.” Bi-Han purred as the bed sagged under the weight of a third crawling onto the bed. You gasped as your head was turned from looking into cold, icy blue eyes to warm chocolate colored ones, you gulped audibly. The younger brother chuckled softly as he cupped your cheek and pulled you into a kiss. It was soft and gentle at first, as if the newcomer was asking your permission. You whined as you felt his cool tongue prodding at your mouth, once you felt Bi-Han's reassuring hand on your thigh you parted your mouth. Bi-Han gave a low chuckle as he reached his other hand up to lightly toy with your breasts, “It's alright to enjoy yourself Qīn*.” You gasped against Kuai Liang's mouth as his cold lips connected with yours, and let out a soft moan as the younger brother's tongue managed to dart inside your own. As the younger cryomancer deepened the kiss you couldn't help but whimper against the his slightly over eager yet skilled mouth, his tongue curling against yours. “Mmm?” Tundra replied breaking his kiss with their protege “It's true Y/N. You don't have to be ashamed of your desire to lie with both of us. It's been just been Bi-Han and I for so long we're no stranger to sharing.” he gave a predatory grin before flashing a smirk toward his older brother. “Isn't that right, big brother?” You reluctantly slide off Bi-Han to sit up against the head of the bed next to the two. Biting your lower lip, worrying it between your teeth before replying with a soft, “Really?” Bi-Han sat up as tangling his hands in your soft (hair color) hair and hungrily attacking your mouth. The kiss was heated and passionate; despite being almost numbingly cold, all teeth and tongue; utterly dominating your mouth. “Of course, even if it wasn’t, you know I’d never deny you anything.” Bi-Han breathed out against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Holy shit.” you breathed quietly in between gasps of breaths, shifting your thighs back and forth uncomfortably, trying to alleviate the growing desire. You were used to Bi-Han being in dominating and in complete control of every aspect of your sex lives, but throwing Kuai Liang into the mix seemed to draw out his aggressive, if not feral nature even further. Tundra beckons you over, Bi-Han not yet letting you fully break away from his demanding lips. You gasped as the Kuai Liang shifted behind you, grinding his clothed erection against you shamelessly. Kuai Liang let out a low groan, “It's been far too long.” he murmured as he pulled you away from his older brother, running his thumb against you lower lip. “Maybe for you Kuai.” Bi-Han snorted his retort as he reached for their student, “I on the other hand, was satisfied this morning, and afternoon.” he said smugly. “Well then, you don't mind if I go first this time, then would you?” Kuai Liang shot back, almost as though he was challenging his brother. “You little shit...” Bi-Han snarled, glaring at his younger brother. “Bi-Han.” you started. Bi-Han huffed indignantly, “It's up to my little Qīn to decide what she wishes, don't get ahead of yourself; little brother, it is because she wishes you to be here that I allow it.” “And what I wish is to have both of you, at the same time.” you look down, unwilling to meet either of their eyes as you continued, “I think you're both aware though, that I've only ever been with Bi-Han, so I'm not exactly sure how to do this.” Bi-Han pulled you towards him and brushed his lips against yours, “Don't worry Y/N, we'll take it slowly.” he rolled over and rummaged around the dresser drawer for a moment before throwing a small glass vial onto the bed next to Kuai Liang. “Um Bi-Han, what's that for?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow. “For your comfort Y/N.” Kuai Liang answered for him, pressing a lazy kiss against your neck. “Oh!” you flushed deep red, “For that...” you trailed off, you had only done that a few times with Bi-Han, and while you had enjoyed it, you weren't sure how you would be able to accommodate both of them.  “Relax.” Bi-Han commanded as he pushed you flat against the bed, tugging your underwear off in one fluid motion. Before you could protest, or worry further, all coherent thought was lost as he rolled his icy tongue along your hairless mound. “Ahh! Bi-Han!” you cried out, gripping the bed sheets tightly.

You couldn’t help but squirm around under the sudden attention as Kuai Liang appreciated the show. Your face flushed deeper by the moment as your eyes darted back and forth between the brothers handsome faces. You bit back a low whine at the embarrassment bubbling up from being so exposed in front of both of them.

After a few moments of being mesmerized by your adorably embarrassed face Kuai Liang turned his attention to your breasts. He palmed one lightly before squeezing it as his mouth lowered to lavish your other breast with his wicked tongue. Bi-Han pushed your legs apart further, swirling his tongue skillfully around your clit before pushing it deep inside your core. Goosebumps broke out all over you body, pulling a whimper from your slightly chattering lips, you instinctively bucked up against Bi-Han's mouth, you threaded one hand in Kuai Liang's hair, and the other in Bi-Han's. The younger brother bite down lightly on your nipple before sucking on it briefly before pulling away making unnecessarily lewd noises. “Tell me, my pet are you this sweet everywhere?” Bi-Han growled low at the use of ‘pet’ but let it go for the time being as he then hummed against you, causing you to cry out again, “Care to find out Tundra?” you could feel Bi-Han grinning against your thigh. Sub-Zero leaned back, his chin glistening with your juices. Not one to back down from a challenge, Kuai Liang gripped Bi-Han's chin as he languidly licked a thick stripe up to his brother's mouth before pulling away with a smug look on his face. Before you even had time to process this you felt two of Kuai Liang's cool, thick fingers push their way into your dripping hole before sucking greedily at your clit. “Kua-Kuai!” the noise he tore from you would have normally embarrassed you, but you were too worked up to care at the moment. He twisted his tongue around your nub before flattening it out before undulating again as his fingers curled inside you, almost immediately finding your sweet spot. “The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.” you couldn't help but think; Tundra, like his older brother, certainly knew how to please a woman. You moaned loudly again as his fingers twisted inside of you and his tongue refused to slow down. “Un. K-Kuai.” you shakily stuttered out, “I'm so.. I'm..Kuai....” you whimpered. Kuai Liang was groaning against you as he kept up his relentless pace, he reached back to palm himself through his underwear to try alleviate his growing arousal. As he began to slow down his pace a bit, he was a patient, well disciplined man who was in no rush to end this quickly. He pulled his face back momentarily to watch the desperate, almost distraught look on your face, cursing to himself that Bi-Han got to see that face whenever he wanted. His cool breath ghosted over your glistening cunt, eliciting a shiver and a startled gasp.

A needy whine pushed its way past your lips as you felt him withdraw his fingers. You looked up at him in confusion, but before you could even question him, Tundra took your entire cunt into his mouth, the new and welcomed sensation of his facial hair nearly overwhelming you in an instant. “Ah!” You cried out as he greedily forced his tongue deep inside you while his strong calloused hands groped and man handled your beautifully thicc ass. One of his fingers, still slick from your dripping pussy circled your tight asshole as his tongue pushed in and out of your core. His thick facial hair was rubbing over your soaking folds, leaving you a trembling mess before you had even gotten off yet, there was no way your were going to be able to last long. Reaching out a shaky hand you feebly tugged at Kuai Liang’s dark locks, “Kuai...” you managed to get out in between condensed puffs of breath. He batter your hand away dismissively as he opened his mouth a bit wider allowing him to gently scrape his teeth against your clit. “Please...” you gave a sharp tug this time, trying to warn him of your inevitable orgasm. This time he pinned your hand to the bed as a few more well timed thrusts of his tongue and another scrape against your clit was all it took.  A sob was torn from your lips as every muscle in your body locked at the same time, and all at once everything was black before bright dots burst in front your eyes as you everything came crashing down around you. You couldn't stop shaking as Kuai Liang pulled his finger from your behind as he sat back on his knees.  He made a show of licking his beard as clean as best he could, when Bi-Han couldn't help but ask “Well?” Kuai Liang chuckled, “Indeed, you are sweet everywhere little one.” the younger brother replied, earning a knowing grin from Sub-Zero. Bi-Han pressed a teasing kiss against your lips as you were coming down from your high, “So tell me Y/N, which brother do you desire in which of your lovely holes?” “Bi-Han!” you cried out, you could feel your face heating up, almost feverishly hot, despite the heavy chill in the room, “How can you even ask me that?! I... I don't know! I've only even been with you, how am I supposed to decide something like that?” “It's precisely because you've only been with Bi-Han that you need to be the one to decide this little one. If you feel uncomfortable with letting me fuck that tight little cunt of yours, then you need to say so.” Tundra said decidedly as his thumb absentmindedly stroked your prominent hipbones. You squirm under the bluntness of his statement, but take a deep, unsteady breath as you decide.

#Bi Han #Kuai Liang #Bi Han x Reader #Kuai Liang x Reader #Bi-Han & Kuai Liang x reader #Sub Zero x Reader #Tundra x Reader #Mortal Kombat #MK11

[sarinataylor]

Joger ask: how would they cope with Roger having a crisis about the fact that John has written hit singles including their biggest ever hit and he has yet to pop his a-aide cherry? Is he rubbish? Is he really just a pretty face? He knows he brings lots of musical input & the sonic volcano & ‘the girl for everything’ for the band but really, who is he kidding? And John can’t deny that he aced his degree or does the finances or wrote hits... Thankfully Radio Gaga comes along and all ends well...

hmmmm ok. this got? long. very ramble-y. apologies

so like. roger is so fucking proud of john y’know???? and it’s not john’s songs being more successful than his which is cutting deep (because, well, commercial success is somewhat ehh to roger now that they’ve already made it big. the music he’s writing and creating, off on the side, is more about the music than anything else), it’s that he didn’t see it coming

100% did not see aobtd being a hit. hated recording it with his drums taped up, and thought the whole thing was a waste of time which.... it obviously wasn’t because john’s latest royalty cheque was big enough to have even freddie blinking in surprise

and. well. roger’s kind of always been the one with his finger on the pulse, so to speak. roger was riding the early waves of punk before the sex pistols had so much as looked at a safety pin and thought, “hmm, i wonder”. and his ability to keep up with, stay just one step ahead, of the trends has been invaluable in the past and now.... he might be slipping behind?

because even though he fucking hated half of the lines in ymbf he... he knew it was going to be a hit in the US. that sort of soft poppy feel, with a funky little bassline? the american’s eat that shit up in spades. of course it was going to be popular.

but, yeah, he didn’t see aobtd being a hit and now he’s starting to wonder if maybe the reason he isn’t writing hits isn’t because he hasn’t been trying to appeal to the broader audience, hasn’t been trying to write songs that will get massive air time or be played in clubs, but because he’s got no fucking clue about what people want anymore

‘girl for everything.......... except knowing what people want’ doesn’t, uh, sound as good

and it’s not? it’s not a Big Deal, not really. he just gets a little quieter about voicing his opinions on tracks because, well, maybe he doesn’t actually know what the fuck he’s talking about?

and so, hot space

brian’s losing his gd mind arguing with everyone and everything because he feels backed into a corner, freddie isn’t playing the peacekeeping role he usually does, john is being Just a Little Bit of an egotistic shit, and roger is........... not getting involved. which works kind of awfully because both brian and john take his silence as tacit approval of their position, which boils over into a lot of misunderstandings about just what it is roger thinks about what’s going on in the studio

(and mostly what roger thinks about what’s going on in the studio is that this album is going to be a Fucking Disaster because instead of ripping apart one anothers songs and building them back up stronger all they’re doing is ripping into one another and calling it creative differences)

and he tosses up a couple of songs and lets them do what they will with them (and oh my god if you haven’t listened to action this day performed live???? do urself a favour and do it oh my god i fucking hated that song until i listened to it live) because well. they probably know better than he does at the moment, because he doesn’t quite trust himself. and tensions are high enough that inserting himself into the cockfight when he isn’t actually Sure about his opinions just seems an unnecessary risk.

and. uh. hot space...................................................... does as it does

and john is pretty mortified about the whole thing because.... ???? all of that work and fighting and it’s flopping which is. made all the more worse by brian’s oh too casual sympathetic comments during the press junket, and then even worse by the way that roger. doesn’t seem surprised?? because. well. even when it was a love song written about roger roger was honest about what he didn’t like about it, but now there’s a whole fucking album that john pushed really hard for and roger a) didn’t like it and b) didn’t tell him

he thought they respected one another more than that. he thought they were more secure than that. 

which sort of........ simmers uncomfortably between them as they gear up for the tour and sort of. explodes when roger starts making suggestions for changes to some of the songs for the live performances that. annoyingly sound much better and why didn’t you bring this up when we were recording the fucking album, roger (look aight atd sounds SO MUCH BETTER LIVE, IT’S BEEN MONTHS AND IM STILL SHOOK)

and roger’s sort pussyfooting around it because oh well... you know you and freddie really wanted to this one as a sort of concept album..... and brian and i didn’t want to interfere...... (brian: very much did want to interfere) ............ so ya know................ it’s not really my style so i didn’t wanna stick my foot where it doesn’t belong.........

and john’s like???? its music what the fuck are you Talking About? you know music you know what sounds good and what doesnt and it’s not like you’ve ever been shy about voicing your opinions before, so forgive me if im a bit confused about the sudden reticence 

regardless, it’s Not a Big Deal. no really. roger will insist this til the day he dies

and things calm down? they take a break and, as they are wont to do, the tensions of the band slowly start slipping from john and roger’s day to day lives? like, when they’re not living in close quarters and feeding off of the energies that brian and freddie and mack and everyone else is putting out. it’s just them, yeah? 

but anyway, roger’s still been writing music and ha enough for a new solo album so he’s like. yeah. think imma do that and john’s a bit taken aback because? fuck, you’ve been busy then you said you didn’t have much of anything for hot space??? and roger’s like. uh, yup. been busy. busy bee, me. ya know. while ur out painting the shed i gotta keep myself occupied somehow

except. well. john’s obviously lending a hand with bass and mixing, and brian’s in and out too, so’s freddie and. it’s freddie, actually, who picks up that roger had been working on the beat of  I Cry for You (Love, Hope and Confusion) back in the studio when they’d been working on hot space which.   doesn’t make sense, because he definitely hadn’t shown them it to them which is odd, because roger usually shows them everything he writes in case they want it for queen? 

and then brian chimes in because, actually, he recognises the lyrics for killing time? 

and john is like what the FUCK is going on because this is just? weird? 

so john ends up lowkey cornering him at home in a totally not cool sneaky fashion (read: he gives him a fucking mindblowing orgasm and then is like [head propped on roger’s chest] SO)  because???? ofc he supports rog’s solo career but also? why didn’t he share what he was writing with him? what’s going on? music’s always been a language they’ve shared, even if they tended towards different dialects, and now it... well it doesn’t feel very good that roger seems to be inching him out of something that john knows is so very important to him

and roger’s like huh no idea what you’re talking bout. been really busy writing recently. shame though, means i might not have much for the next queen album

and john’s like? do you want to leave queen, if that what this is about?

and roger’s horrified because what the fuck no i’m just not sure i’ll have much to contribute is all which has john like?? because. it’s roger of course he’s got something to contribute what the fuck are you talking about

but roger’s like oh well ya know nothing im really writing at the moment is much of our current style so. that’s cool, though. that’s fine

but john is confused bc well. hot space was a bit of a failure so they’re probably headed back to more consistent waters so that’s not a problem, and hey, maybe if roger had injected a bit more of his style into the album things might have been better right?

ANYWAY basically john’s like yo my man like. if u dont wanna write any material for the new album that’s? fine ig? but we kinda Need You to be a little bitch about the things u dont like because.... things work better when ur being a nitpicky little bitch than when ur being silently supportive of me :) though that was sweet

and rogers like oh i was 100% not being supportive of either u or brian’s bullshit tbh i just. disco isn’t my forte ya know i didn’t wanna chat shit ab smth i know nothing about like, god, imagine if you’d listened to me about aobtd????????? 

which. john’s like. i? i mean, i did. fuck sake, the whole thing got rewritten to be about our dog (steve) bc u made a joke about it? i.     i did listen to u about aobtd

and john has honestly NO IDEA what any of this is about? because roger has an awful tendency to sit on things until they’re Much Bigger than what they were to begin with. like, john’s actually not great at that? he’s not very good at hiding that he’s angry or upset, not for the long term. roger’s a lot better at it in the worst kind of way, because unless you pick up on it right at the beginning by the time you’ve figured out something’s wrong it’s months down the track and so many micro interactions or events have been tacked onto the Original Problem that it’s a sprawling mess of “i dont want to communicate that im feeling vulnerable about something so instead im gonna try and turn my vulnerabilities into armour” - like deciding to turn all of your writing, not just the stuff that won’t fit on your main project’s albums, into solo material because your solo stuff doesn’t have to be successful 

but also, ok fine. 

and so he sort of? lets it go? because tbh once roger latches onto something, when u havent go in there early enough? your best bet is to just wait for him to.... get over it. which he generally does. he doesnt have the patience for decade long grudge matches, not really.

and then it all comes to a head when brian writes and shows them all machines (or: back to humans) which obvs came about from an idea of roger’s and. well. freddie thinks its amazing, john is nodding along even as he sends him small little side eyes and well. fuck it, right?

and so the next week he comes in and slams down the first rough draft of radio gaga, the music heavily influenced by I Cry for You (Love, Hope and Confusion) which freddie had been complaining about being used up on a solo album 

and then he goes home and tops the hell out of john, the end.

#lo talks #joger hc's #headcanon asks #Anonymous

[toasttz]

From the Tabletop #6

As of the end of the last session, where #5 left off, we've been doing alternating games, between D&D and a new Exalted campaign, swapping every Saturday. So, I'll start with D&D as there's a bit less to report on at-present. We're in an original world of the DM's design, with a design so subtle that the instant he described it to me, I was like "Wait, so the world is all on top of a giant, like Xenoblade Chronicles. Except this is a woman laying on her back?" The main town we operate out of literally has a name meaning "Belly Button". So, for context, a fellow of this party and I were inspired by JoCat's amazing "Crap Guide to D&D" video series and decided to take his advice, form a party of holy class heroes called the A-Men and rock the world around us. This never came to fruition as two of the supposed party fo 4 never showed up for a session. So this is how our party ended up with two clerics out of four players. I guess I'll go first this time. My character is Laga, a Half-Orc Solar Cleric, who follows St. Helbram, an original deity of the DM's. I decided to make Laga as an example to the other half of the party (the same half that was the problem half in Exalted in previous installments), to demonstrate how one plays against type and expectation - by playing a Lawful-Good version of a creature strongly associated with Chaotic-Evil stereotypes. It's a very different mindframe, as I play her as excessively goody-goody in her nature and a strong desire to use diplomacy to get by, rather than force. Our other cleric is Lucius, a Human Forge Cleric, who actually is quite openly racist against non-human characters. He acknowledges Laga, on account she's a lady of the cloth and also in that, despite being half-orc, she's still half-human too. He's been unable to join us for a few sessions, but already set himself up as quite the forceful personality, being the spear to Laga's olive branch. Next is Laguna, a male Drow (apparently those exist) wizard, who runs a pawn shop as a front for the mafia. I actually need to give mad props to his player on this one, as not only has he actually worked really hard to make the character interesting, but he also has very gracefully endured the ribbing the other characters give him. Apparently he is an incredibly beautiful male and, thus, is often mistaken for a woman. And lastly is Kaz. No, that's not his full name, but no one particularly cares. Kaz is the party's munchkin, who decided to play a Aarakocra Monk (and fuck you, where-ever you are right now, Kaz, for making me bother to look up how that stupid race's name is spelled). If you're not familiar, this means that he basically fudged it so he had 20 on Dexterity and then he tried to stack every movement he makes based on Dex. He even tried to argue that Natural Weapons (key word: WEAPONS) counted as unarmed attacks and, thus, should be based on dex. And he also really, really likes the words "BONUS ACTION", on account he's trying to just play himself as a living pinwheel of dex-based attacks. Seeing as he sucks at everything else he tries. So, taking a nod from Rising of the Shield Hero, in town, we find a countdown to the next disaster in town square - 7 days. The people of Belly Button (fuck you, DM-san, that's its name for the sake of these blog posts!) are honestly so used to this that they've become incredibly jaded towards the countdowns. This actually alarms Laga, who finds that the apathy worrisome, as one disaster being worse than the previous ones would be all it takes to cause untold harm. She meets with Laguna, who she has a brief history with (teasing him playfully that he should give up his 'sinful' pawn shop, due to the shady history some of the merch has) and they, more or less accidentally meet Kaz in so doing. Long story short, Laguna and Kaz agree with Laga's assessment, and they set off to try to learn what they can of the impending disaster and what they can do to deal with it. Long story short, they sign up to take on work at a sort of hunter's guild, resulting in a very impromptu battle against a freakin' dinosaur inside the test chamber. Due to... reasons I've honestly forgotten already, Laguna actually wasn't present for this. Laga, seeing this unarmed and unarmored idiot bird-man in harm's way, swiftly takes to the front line, shield and mace at the ready. For reference, Laga's AC is 18, between chain mail and a shield. Due to the aforementioned min/maxing, Kaz has 20. Kaz also wears just a karate gi, essentially. This ultimately results in Laga getting ragdollized as she attempts to protect said idiot bird-man. Thankfully, she has HP for days and, thus, took it like a champ as Kaz rolled 2-3 attacks in a row (this was before the DM and the rest of the party realized he was rolling his talons as unarmed attacks) and easily dropping the beast where it stood. Turns out, it was mechanical and the test was just to see how we'd react, but it was treated as a win, so we were largely satisfied with the results. Some faffing about later (the nature of each impending disaster seems to vary greatly between each instance of such, so information was sparse), so we decided to restock supplies before we leave. There, we meet Gunther, a stout fellow with a shop full of odds, ends, and everything inbetween. He even has wyrmstone, a magically-potent element semi-rare of this world, legendary weapons and tomes, and more. Laga purchased a book that, when united with the other Dragon Ba-- I mean -- copies of the same book, will grant the user a wish. She admitted fully that she wasn't 100% sure she trusted wish-granting magic, or that she could even phrase the wish such that there was assuredly no trouble from doing so, but the mystique won out and she bought it anyway. The entire time, Laguna, default rival of Gunther, kept attempting to... um... smooth things over between rivals. Or... trying to at any rate? On account that everything he said came off as a veiled threat, and it was only because Laga vowed to keep him on a short leash that Gunther relented and let us shop peacefully. Afterward, we ultimately headed to the bar to regroup. There, Laga spotted a proud hound in the corner of the bar. Squeeing like a small girl at a boy band concert, she asked permission to pet and feed doggo. Doggo approved. Turns out he was a mighty hound named Regnar, who the party would soon briefly recruit. I confess this scene made me irrationally happy, even out of character, as the idea of this large, thicc half-orc completely losing her marbles over a cute dog was too endearing not to enjoy. While at the bar, a girl from the DM-original race of Warcur, sought out our help due to a missing sister. She was last seen in the company of a noble, so our goal was clear: we needed to get into the ritzy part of town. No small fear due to us all being demi-human races in a town that really frowns on that. Ultimately, I was able to sweet-talk the guard, on my honor as a cleric. We then spotted the noble in question, and we devised a plan. ... Not... not a particularly SWIFT devising of plans, mind. While Laguna and Laga were largely on the same page, Kaz slowed deliberation down a bit and often confused the nature of the scheme. By the time we broke huddle and prepped to put it into motion, the DM joked that the man was already several blocks down the way, forcing us to race after him in a mad dash. After a brief, but ultimately fruitless, confrontration, the noble went on his way. But not without leaving a note behind. Laga was able to read part of it - something about "Four Sacrifices". Immediately, we put it together: the missing Warcur girl was likely to be killed off in the name of some dark deity! There was murder afoot and it was taking place just outside of town, beyond prying eyes, that very same night! We swiftly recruited Regnar, for his master tracking, and made way for the destined place. There, we saw goblins. Hundreds of them! We approached as stealthily as we could muster, well aware that one misstep would result in us being rushed by hundreds of the green menace, but also the deaths of four innocent maidens! Then, Laguna had a plan. Laga, due to her orc/cleric combination, actually spoke the most languages in the party - common, orc, goblin, and giant. This is important for several reasons, not the least of which was Laguna's plan was to mask Laga as the goblin's primary deity of choice, and then have her, speaking the goblin language, talk down this murderous army from their attempts at sacrificing maidens. His set up was masterful and I actually thought the plan was pretty concrete. We even saw the four girls in question, on a raised platform of some sort at the center of the gathering. Then I screwed up my charisma roll. Laga: You must not proceed with this! This is terrible! Warcur Girl: HEY! How dare you call our band terrible! We only just started playing! Laga: ... WHAT?! Y'ever... have your DM just pull a fast one on you? Well, ours sure as Hell did. And it all started because of a wry observation I made, out of character. In the D&D 5e manual, it lists the available languages and the alphabet they are written in. Turns out that dwarven, golbin, giant, and a few other languages all are written in the dwarven alphabet. DM-san then informs me that he fully planned the dwarves of this world to be very much akin to feudal Japan. Which is a pretty neat idea. And so he began joking that goblin language would be akin to Korean. And if you haven't put it together just yet, we had just walked into a multi-ethnic goblin-pop idol sensation band. G-Pop. And, due to the misunderstanding, Laga herself became something of a pop idol sensation, despite having yet to sing or dance yet. "The Four Sacrifices" was a band name and we had just inadvertently heckled their concert. When they returned to town, bootleg Laga merchandise had begun to make its round, much to Laga's deepest regrets. Not long after, Lucius joined the party, just in time for us to find a help wanted poster. When we sought out the interested party, we found a jilted lover situation - where a terrible witch had seduced and taken away her man! The client wanted us to steal something, which Laga admittedly had a hard time rationalizing away, up until Lucius clarified that liberating items from the witch and turning them over to the church would be a means by which furture generations could be better prepared against black magic - and that set Laga's indecision to rest. We agreed to break into the homestead and "liberate" the item in question. We entered using a magic doorway and this lead us to agreeing to always asking more questions about the nature of our work before we get underway. We were transported into an unsettling and otherworldly library, with strange entities keeping watch over things. Kaz attempted (and spectacularly failed) stealth, nearly knocking an entire bookshelf over on Laga and Lucius - the latter of whom was bopped over the head with a book that he would then claim as his own. We quickly made haste into the hallway, where we engaged with... God-damn Demons. The one race I decided would be fine for Laga to harbor a racial hatred of. The fight was brief, but brutal, as we easily laid them to waste. Then the puzzles began. Each door was guarded by an enchanted, speaking plaque which had a question about the lord of the manor. And, instead of using the... y'know, room FILLED WITH BOOKS AND KNOWLEDGE THAT CLEARLY WOULD'VE HELPED US... we decided to brute force the solution. One instance, when asked what the lord held in highest regard, this exchange actually happened: Kaz: Money? Plaque: No. Lucius: Gettin' laid? Plaque: No. Laga: Love! Plaque: I... y-yes, technically. ("It was actually his 12 wives. But, whatever." ~DM-san, after pointing out how fucking stupid we all had been.) Eventually, we get tired of guessing randomly and head 'forward' best we can manage. This results in our being prompted to roll for perception, which only Laga passes. I then get to be sole witness to a massive, gaunt, nigh-invisible figure approaching us. I desperately attempt to explain what's happening to the others as it nears, and it finally dawns on me (Huehuehue) that one of my basic cantrips is to make objects I touch glow. So, upon nearly getting strangled, I set the figure aglow and the battle begins in earnest, most of the damage being dealt via the two clerics and their divine powers (CoD of War indeed). Eventually we banish the killer and make our way to the safe, which Lucius pries open... only to then have a tiny, cat-like creature (which the DM informs us is called a Poogem) roll out and begin sounding the alarm. With its mouth. Too stunned to think straight, Lucius takes the gambit of the session: Poogem: I'm an alarm! WAY-WOO-WAY-WOO! Lucius: No, you're not! You're my best friend! DM: Roll charisma. Lucius: 20! DM: ... Poogem: I AM?! YAY! Then, we recovered the item and fled as quickly as we could, to the satisfaction of our employer. Afterward, the party split up as Lucius and Laguna went their own ways and Kaz and Laga went to the bar, met by bands of Warcurs. Kaz immediately humiliates himself by failing to understand cultural nuance more complex than "This race is typically NG" and spends 10 real-world minutes trying to fumble a name for his character's father (not a joke). Laga, meanwhile, sits with the female Warcurs and is offered a drink from one after hearing that they spent all day slaughtering demons. Now, due to meta-knowledge, I knew this drink was not safe for consumption. However, I throw my hands up and went with it, having Laga bottoms-up that tankard into her maw. DM: Okay. Roll Constitution. Me: 20! DM: ... Well, alright then. You enjoy it but it has a weird aftertaste. And, holy crap, this has gone on way longer than I expected so, join me next time as the D&D party undertakes a new mission and: Kaz is useless again! Laguna goes on one hell of a trip! Laga seduces a dragon and gets embroiled in TEEN GIRL SQUAD political movements! Laguna gets cursed by MegaSatan! Kaz nearly gets the party killed by offering a dragon a potato sack dress! And Laguna dies in boiling magma! See you there!

#Tabletop RPG #D&D #Dungeons & Dragons #That Guy Story

[roxaeri]

please tell me about your trash vamp tristan -candy pop anon

Alright buckle in coz I'mma tell y'all about my shitty vampire pretending to be a human pretending to be a shitty vamp. Tristan is the manifestation of a dumpster fire—and if there is a dumpster on fire it was most likely his doing.

((LONG POST IS LONG. I’MMA INFODUMP ABOUT MY SON.))

I believe I have a post or two that has dialogue from him, in which he’s not his usual self. He’s got some profound wisdom hidden in him somewhere, and some repressed sad from his life, usually buried down until he connects with literally anyone on a deeper level than: “Tris, why the fuck is there a skeleton in your cupboard?”

I'mma come back to Profound Wisdom and Repressed Sad later because let me first get y'all to the subject of Tristan’s cupboard skeleton.

Now, when I say trash vamp I mean that he’s not really a good guy. Like, he’s not evil, but he’s not good either. He’s a mess whose day job ((night job, considering he’s a nocturnal vamp)) is being a Certified Spook. It’s in his job description to cause just enough chaos that the supernatural is plausible in case anyone fucks up their cover, but still make it easy for the supernatural to be denied or debunked by humans. He maintains that stupidly specific balance.

Shitty Vamp = he’s got a lot of debilitating, stereotypical vampire traits that makes it super hard for him to do his job when the sun’s out

His cover is he’s a human from Ireland ((which is true, he was born in Ireland who knows how long ago)) but he’s pretending to be a stereotypical vampire from Romania ((half true due to him first being stationed in Romania due to his eldest adopted brother)).

So, technically he’s a supernatural government worker. But, again, he’s a fucking mess. There’s shit he’s repressed, or has been helped in repressing. There’s a lot of advantages to being adopted into a magic family. But there’s also a lot of disadvantages to being adopted into a magic family that descends from a hell realm.

So’s, he wasn’t raised with the best morals, and with some abstract-ish laws from a realm that birthed The Boogeyman and The Big Bad Wolf and Death’s Daughter and the Mother of Shadows. But he was also able to complete all requirements from two foreign governments and their realms to be able to have the job he does. So even if he doesn’t have the best morals—depending on your own standards, honestly—Tristan does adhere to local laws. Mostly.

Which brings us to Cupboard Skeleton aka F??? aka Frederick aka Tristan-doesn’t-remember-the-guys-name-other-than-it-starts-with-F-and-he-was-an-ass-in-life-so-Frederick-it-is

Frederick McCupboardSkeleton is the skeleton that someone—Tristan doesn’t remember if it was him or not—shoved into his cupboard in between all the cereal boxes and liquor bottles. He has slowly become a cursed skeleton since his death. Tristan’s a vampire, he doesn’t have the power or magic to banish an angry spirit or seal non-human bones to trap him. But he can contain him and keep an eye on him until he figures out who this guy was and why he (Tristan) was involved with his death (Tristan assumes). Thus he’s cursed and Tristan doesn’t keep him all in one piece.

So if ya spot Tristan anywhere outside his apartment or his eldest brother’s house, you can assume that there’s a skull in his bag and that it’s Frederick and you’d be goddamn right. They’re a pair until Tristan figures shit out OR Frederick enacts whatever revenge plot(s) he’s got stewing in his skull.

Tristan’s the one that’s usually shit on publicly and openly out of his brothers.

Ji’s the eldest and raised them all. He the one you truly have to look out for but no one’s gonna say shit to his face or even in his general direction. He’s That Guy. He’s old magic and hellfire. He’s got a reputation older than human civilization.

Isidore is biologically Ji’s little brother. Just basically runs Ji’s Estate, acts like an assistant, keeps tabs on Tristan whenever he’s home and will watch Frederick’s skull. Because he’s actually a witch that can deal with restless spirits. Not as intense as any of his brothers or his mother. The Calm One.

And the youngest is Luca. He’s a werewolf. No one truly knows if he was born that way or infected or born from infected parents. His origins are as unknown as Tristan’s. Luca was practically a baby when their mother brought him home. Just as traumatized and repressing just as much as his vamp brother. But Luca is Dealing with it, because he’s the Most Responsible of the four. Some-fuckin-how. (Izzy’s The Calm One, but don’t think he won’t go off the rails. You just won’t know until it’s too late.)

Luca works as head of personal security for the Song Siblings—who go between all the realms really. But they’re usually on Earth working with humans so he’s the closest to Tristan—also closest in age. Luca sees most of the shit Tristan ends up doing. He’s the first to point out Frederick’s bones to Tristan, actually.

But as much as he shit-talks Tristan’s bad habits—mainly mixing up the milk bottles and blood bottles and liquor bottles in his fridge when the vamp is having cereal in his presence because Luca can smell all the things—he does it out of concern. Tristan isn’t indestructible, and even as a vampire, the amount of alcohol and cigarettes he goes through a day has to be doing something to his body. Also the sugar in his favorite cereals can’t be mixing well with the blood Tristan actually has to consume to sustain himself. If sugar affects the being that blood came from, it’s probably doing even more shitty things to his brother. He’s the one that will fight you then and there if he catches you. (Ji causes paranoia because what the fuck is he up to and wHEN, and no one ever suspects Izzy until After the Fact.) ((You just can’t shit on Tristan just to shit on him.))

Tristan got fucked up by his birth family, and then by being raised in an environment where he only had one source of sustenance and it was heavily laced with things that are addictive to vampires. Addictive in ways it fucked him up even more. Namely magic, but There’s More. It’s a Big Concern for everyone who knows, because ya can’t exactly synthesize that shit. There’s More changes anyone who’s exposed to it long enough, and Tristan’s been eating it since he was a babby vamp. He doesn’t have much choice but to live off it and he absolutely hates it.

Tristan has that habit of trying to kill something inside him he can’t see or remember. He’s picked up the habit of eating junk food that’s almost pure sugar, smoking, drinking anything. He’s a fucking neon sign of reasons why preternatural mental health is A Thing they should be researching more. But also the poster boy of: We should be taking a vampire’s physical health more seriously than Just-Feed-Them-Blood.

But catch Tristan passing on some profound wisdom to school kids and anyone that reminds him of Luca. Partly because he feels like a shitty brother so here kid have some advice. Also because Ji won’t let Tristan suspend too much time with either of his kids, even with Ji’s son being 20-something now. Like, he gets it, and he’s not proud of it being that, but he’s not really changing because he has Luca and the Song Siblings. He has his friends in Louisiana. He’s buddies with Willy Shakes--

Now I’m spewing all this bullshit because a lot of it comes from a story I scrapped where Luca’s a teenager and Ji has the one kid and you meet the Song Siblings before they’re ever—Celebrities, I guess??

Because Tristan was worse. He was the brother you absolutely hated. There, you had the rest of the brothers who followed the law and then Tristan who was headed towards a Dead End. But when it came down to it, he was there for Luca. Because he was the only one there. Tristan risked himself for this baby werewolf and his friends.

And that’s where my tag in that one post comes in. Where it ties in with my dialogue posts.

It has to do with Tristan watching sad scared little witch Celia Song growing up confident-in-herself Song Seonmi.

Tristan has a habit of flirting with everything, mainly dating ghosts so far, so he has no fucking clue when she got under his skin. And as much as Luca tells him to back off his friend (and boss) he really can’t be mad that Tristan dropped The Worst of his habits to keep seeing her. Because the first time she walked out of his life completely was a disaster until Tristan figured out that she would keep disappearing before he ever reached her again so long as he was being a complete bastard. Because when she left she took her brother and his own with her. And he really didn’t want to go back to living on lockdown with Ji—or worse, with his mother in the hell-realm. Isolation does shit to you.

So the Tristan you see in the story is a better off vamp than the one from Alex and Celia’s story. That was. . . Bad. As in that story probably won’t ever see the light of day because I cried every time I sat down to write that Tristan. Like, maybe I’ll incorporate bits and pieces into other stories, and most of the TrisMi growth is written in their interactions. But I just can’t do it, yo. I love my trash vamp because there’s hope to him and just watching the change in him as he grows in the background of everyone else’s stories. I can’t write him being an Absolute Asshole.

What sealed the deal was when I wrote about Tristan losing control because of There’s More in his diet and Seonmi—still going by Celia at that point—does her damned best to try and snap him out of it. Like, my girl had hope in him and didn’t give up so I couldn’t either. Now here we are.

Tristan is as On Brand as I’ll ever be. Horrible Past, Trauma, Found Family, Walking Shitpost, Angst, and Hope. He don’t really know what he’s doing but he’s still going.

I mean yeah, I can get real deep about Tristan as a moment’s notice—i.e. this whole post because I’ve been in my feels tonight. Like, Tristan will do a bunch of shit to comfort himself. Dumpster fires. Speaking at preternatural schools (like cryptid academy I brainstormed with @ladymaliwan). Setting out food and drinks for Frederick’s skull because he feels awkward leaving none for the skull when he has his own.

Catch Tristan smokin cigs with the skull in a dumpster, both wearing sunglasses. Find trash vamp poppin out like Oscar the Grouch for advice. It’s not always good or profound, but he always got something. But also save him—because he’s sensitive to the sun as a ginger nocturnal vamp raised in a dark hell-realm, later an cold fog realm where a sun doesn’t really exist. Toss him in your trunk or a body bag to help him get home.

Dear lord, I can keep going and dump everything about him but this is long as it is. He’s one of my oldest characters. I created him before Isidore and Luca, but not too long after Ji and their mother—and Ji and their mom are fucking old. As in I’m finding scraps of paper where they’re mentioned. But it’s also telling that I’ve written Tristan on my blog more than any of my other OC’s for an original story.

#roxawrites #candy pop anon #tristan æfentid #song seonmi #luca æfentid #isidore æfentid #jianael æfentid #frederick mccupboardskeleton #listen I'll reblog this later at a more decent hour but currently the godless hours of 3am just feels right #also because i can't schedule an ask anymore?? #but I can't write tags on asks on desktop anymore either??? #i have such a large cast of characters that i gush about to friends #currently reworking some shit in worldbuilding but Tris won't change much I don't think #at least not as drastically that I'll scrap the story again and leave it at vague mentions #ladymaliwan #your tag since I mentioned cryptid pta story that I joked about tossing Tristan in once upon a time #also for adoring my trash vamp as much as i do #when the formatting gets fucked up after editing between devices because of the fuckin tags h el p

[dukeofriven]

Hussie, Hitler, And Boy I’m Tired

I said earlier that I didn’t want to put on my hip waders and muck about in the Homestuck tags. *pulls off hip waders* I went anyways. I went even though I was feeling pretty good because I had a nice dinner and got to watch the New Years Bake-Off special. I went anyways, and I did it for you, my eight followers who aren’t pornbots. It turns out the Homestuck fandom of Tumblr is as scary and hyperbolic as ever, and has taken one lousy bit of badly written crap and extrapolated that backwards into ‘Homestuck has always been a racist anti-semetic pile of garbage and everything about it is terrible and Andrew Hussie needs to die.” I’m not paraphrasing, by the way. Someone out there is chanting ‘die Andrew Hussie die,’ because he had the gall to... clumsily dunk on Hitler like a fifteen year old trying to impress his English teacher with edgy comedy? This new stuff is too dumb to be offensive, especially in an era with, y’know, Hitler-praising alt-right Neo Nazis actually being mainstream media figures.  Hey Tumblr fandom? Can you... mm not chill, chill’s not the word I’m looking for what is it... oh yes. Can y’all fuck off for once?

Tumblr doesn’t deserve to enjoy things because it doesn’t know how to enjoy things responsibly. It lurches from adoration to hatred without pause, and as a writer it gives me nothing but an anxiety. I cannot produce anything imperfect, I cannot ever write crap because if I do then all my work will be tainted by it forever. On Tumblr you are always judged by your worst effort, which is a fucking god-awful standard for large media franchises of any kind. You know who one of the greatest, most thoughtful, socially-driven authors of the twentieth century was? Terry Pratchett. You know what’s kind of sexist and lazy and awful? The Colour of Magic. You know what’s weirdly colonialist and smug and all-around shit? Snuff! Neither of those shitty books invalidate the forty other Discworld novels. The existence of Anchorman’s bloviating nothingness doesn’t erase Will Ferrel’s warm and desperately human performance in Stranger Than Fiction. The Forced Kiss Equal Romance kiss in Blade Runner doesn’t erase the rest of the movie piercing question on the nature of what it means to be human. And on and on and on. Andrew Hussie’s sneeze-shart dogshit history rewrite that was so embarrassingly bad it got pulled from the internet didn’t erase Rose/Kanaya, or gay Dave, or Joey Claire tap-dancing her little heart out to try and defeat a monster. And even if Andrew Hussie does a JK Rowling and produces nothing but ill-thought-out crap from here until the day we all die in the great Disney Final Merger of 2023, it still won’t invalidate the good moments that made you happy. I mean if Andrew Hussie toddles out of retirement onto a talk show in a bathrobe to discuss his new revelations on the Puppetgrandmasters of Scion who all have worryingly Semetic names, I’m not going to be so naive as to pretend that his earlier media can be consumed in some kind of vacuum, that the future cannot affect the past. but I am saying that the good that happened in it - the things that affected you in positive ways - are not ethereal. It mattered to you then, and that’s okay. Tumblr’s hyperbolic responses seem to be rooted in embarrassment and self-flagellation. People seem so terrified by the thought that anyone might associate them as a fan of something - gasp - linked to controversy that they... well, they say shit like “die andrew hussie die.” Hey dude. Hey. You need to redirect that anger, my friend. There’s actual Neo-Nazis in the streets. On the TV. In the US government. I guess what I’m trying to say is... Woof. Okay. You know, to give Andrew Hussie partial credit here, its nice to see someone actually write Adolf Hitler the way he really was - a pant-shitting constantly whiny toddler of a human being who endlessly threw tantrums and got to where he was largely on the strength of other people’s bad decisions. Remember kids: the biggest myth Neo-Nazis have ever perpetrated is that Germany under Hitler was well-run, well-organized, and anything other than a collection of squabbling dysfunctional fiefdoms run by party hacks propped up by a bureaucracy and military too bound by inertia, ego, and cultural racism to do anything to stop a lunatic from ripping their country to shreds. That whole ‘trains running on time’ thing? It’s nonsense. Go study the conduct of the war once Germany had exhausted all its pre-war stockpiled resources and ran out of useful shit to loot, once it had to start relying on its leadership for the things that make wars winnable - supplies, reinforcements, fuel, winter clothing. Watch the way from 1942 onwards Germany stumbled from one disaster to the next, as Hitler fired more and more generals and drew more and more authority to himself and his fellow party cronies. Hitler should not be feared as a man of competence or skill - he was a buffoon, a clown of a human being fuelled entirely by petty, vindictive spite and an unlimited capacity for cruelty. And before anyone goes ‘well if he was so objectively pathetic how the fuck did he take over Germany’ I direct you to google the last two years of American politics and the words ‘Donald Fucking Trump.’ [I recommend, on these war subjects particularly, Sir Antony Beevor’s bleak and sobering works, particularly Stalingrad, Berlin: The Downfall 1945, and Ardennes 1944: Hitler's Last Gamble.]  Sorry this... kind of got away from me somewhat, but I really hate it when people get mad that someone didn’t take Hitler seriously (and, to be strictly fair, this is not what everyone is mad about in regards to Andrew Hussie, either). You should never take Hitler seriously. Take hate seriously - take violent words, and calls for purity, take his ideas of superiority and racial preeminence and anti-semitism seriously as the evils, the horrors as they are. But the man himself? He literally stank - a combination of his halitosis, chronic flatulence, and was constant diarrhea. [I am not exaggerating] He was a sad pathetic clown, and Andrew Hussie chose to write him as such. He just... went too far. It happens. It’s not good writing. It’s fucking shit, to be honest. Boring shit. The Minions movie decided to have the Minions sit out the entirety of WWII by having them get stuck in a cave or some such. Honestly that’s a better option than what Andrew Hussie went with - and ‘be more like the Minions movie’ isn’t advice I give that often. You want to be disgruntled that an author wrote something this bafflingly tone deaf and tedious? Sure. I know I am. But to chant for his death? Are you fucking kidding me? Look! Look out your window at those marching Neo-Nazis trying to establish a white supremacist state? What the ever-loving fuck are you people doing in here getting ready to string-up a man whose crime was making Adolf Friggen Hitler too petty???????? Tumblr. Tumblr, for the love of god this has to stop. This ‘Ceasar’s wife must be above reproach’ shit has to stop - it’s killing fandom, it’s killing good media critique, it’s burying proportional fan response, and its just exhausting. Why can’t you ever just let something be lousy without it being literal death warrant? There’s real demons out there - I can see them out the window, and every time I turn on the TV. Maybe - just bloody maybe - not every single crime deserves the exact same level of disapprobation and punishment? Maybe we could read some content and say “boy that sure had some lousy implications and also was just really poorly written” and then... stop there? Wouldn’t that be nice, for a change? We could dislike something without feeling like it required activism on our part. We could say ‘this piece of media was shit, but it didn’t advocate for a white ethno-state, so I will continue to think of it only until the end of this sentence.’ I am not advocating for an end to media criticism for anything that isn’t openly hate speech (but if you think that I am I am going to assume you’re already so needlessly enraged about this whole matter that I’m a bit puzzled why you’ve bothered to read this far since its obvious we don’t agree on many fundamental issues.) What I am calling for is the end to death threats against people who don’t mean you harm. Because that’s lunacy. That’s beyond the pale, actually, that’s really disturbing and sickening and you should seriously reconsider your relationship with media. Because there are people out there who do want to hurt you. Their lives are fuelled by hate, their philosophies are driven by it, as are their politics. I assure you that when a time traveller steps through a portal trying to prevent the rise of ‘the great Trump War of 2020′ the inciting incident will not be ‘Andrew Hussie trivialized the holocaust by citing its origins as a grudge Adolf Hitler bore Albert Einstein over a rivalry in secret clown ninja school before being taken on as an agent of a baking-obsessed alien space witch and bumped into power by the Peters principle.’ Because just by writing that sentence I have already reaffirmed a very simple truth: this is way, way too stupid to give the slightest shit about. So let’s tell Andrew Hussie that his new work is... mmm.... kind of like a shit if a shit had a shit that was itself shat out by a shit and then vomited on by another shit who had eaten nothing but shit since Sunday. Let’s tel lhim “hey dude, your clownish work summoned the spectre of anti-semetism, and you can do better.” Frankly, I think that message was already sent, since in the two hours between me going to make and eat dinner and then coming back to my computer, the new material was discovered, read, disseminated, and removed. Two hours. Sure, maybe a bit of lag due to what does and does not hit my feed but come on - this all took place in an afternoon. It’s already down. Our voices were heard - we didn’t think this was very good, and apparently Whatpumpkin agrees enough that they didn’t mount a defence of it. Rather than take the next logical step, though - which seems to be calling for the death of Andrew Hussie and removing all of Homestuck from the internet and maybe nuking Toby Fox from orbit just to be extra-sure? - we could do... something else. Talk about the release date for Stranger Things, maybe. Track down some local Neo-Nazis and punch them. Read some Antony Beevor books and really educate ourselves on what a smelly fuck-up Hitler was so we can chant that at Neo Nazis at their next rally. Or you could watch the New Years Bake-Off special. It was pretty good.

#homestuck #andrew hussie #hitler #hiveswap #hiveswap friendsim #whatpumpkin #skaianet #bake-off #terry pratchett #homestuck analysis

[forestwater87]

JERMY FARTZ (S2E4) MASTERPOST: NO BREAKING INTO PARTS, WE SCROLL LIKE MEN

I laugh at that name every time, and I’m not even sorry.

So I haven’t touched the 2 latest episodes because I’m lazy, but this was so much fun that I had to devote some time screaming to it! So get ready kids, because there is screaming (and spoilers) below the cut.

Though first: someone who’s never seen Camp Camp tell me what’s going on in this picture:

This episode has my favorite people. As in, Gwen and David. Yeah, there’s gonna be a lot of them in this post, and I’m not even sorry.

But first! Have some squished Nikki:

I love her.

FACE DOWN BOOTY UP

THAT’S THE WAY WE LIKE TO —

. . . Moving on.

Can we take a moment to appreciate Max’s sassy little wrist flip?

Also can someone explain to me how Camp Campbell won anything athletic against the Woodscouts? That seems to defy logic.

There are so many good things going on in this picture, but the most exciting is that GWEN IS SMILING! ACTUALLY SMILING FOR REAL!

Don’t believe me? Look at this saucy little zoom in:

LOOK HOW HAPPY SHE IS! Also, if we can indulge me for a moment (and I’d like to see you stop me): She’s not smiling because of the game. She’s not smiling because the kids are happy.

That smile is 100% aimed at David.

Girl’s in love, is all I’m saying.

Nikki, what the fuck are you doing?

A lot of this is going to literally just be a dumping ground for pictures I think are cute, because I still don’t really understand what a “masterpost” is. So in that vein, Max is cute. Space Kid, in the background: also cute.

Man, they kinda look like they’re reenacting a super low-budget version of West Side Story, huh? 

But I feel like it needs more ~camp.~

THERE WE GO! Thanks, David. Always there to sparkle things up when I need you.

One of the reasons I can’t stand Pikeman — besides the, y’know, all of him — is how he makes David sad. Look at David’s sad sad face and tell me you don’t wanna punch this twerp just a little bit.

Then again, he also makes Max make this face, and this is a great face.

Allow me to deposit in front of your eyeballs some Davids:

There we go! Aren’t we all feeling a little bit better now?

I HEARD MY BOYFRIEND COWORKER WAS BEING AN IDIOT AND CAME AS FAST AS I COULD!

Honestly, “Gwen desperately trying to stop David from doing something really stupid” is one of my favorite dynamics. They continue to be everything I need in life. Looking at this picture caused 75 new Forestwater Gwenvid stories to appear in the AO3 feed. (Ha, no. Wouldn’t that be awful?)

She so badly wants to save him (and her, let’s be real) from himself and I love it.

And that’s the moment you realize David is an incurable idiot. (Who totally gambles because Mr. Campbell does it and he wants to be like dad.)

I don’t even have anything to say, I just love this picture to pieces. Every expression is gold.

Here are some cute Davids:

And OH MY GOD LOOK AT MAX’S FACE:

LOOKIT HIM

HE LOOKS LIKE FUCKING GRUMPY CAT I’M WHEEZING

I’m not sure what’s the best thing about this: Gwen’s face, how proud David is, or the fact that literally everyone is just d o n e with his bullshit.

(Just kidding. The answer is always Gwen.)

I have a moral conflict regarding her, because on the one hand I want nothing more than for her to be happy, but on the other . . .

look

how great

her angry faces are.

Also take a moment and appreciate David. I think something valuable gets broken in his brain this episode, because he makes this face for a solid 45% of it.

Though I mean . . . I’m not complaining. It’s a damn cute face, and he looks like a sad kitten.

(Do I relate all things I find adorable to kittens? Mayhap.)

1) Gwen is precious. I feel like this is a given at this point but will continue to point it out because I have a need to.

2) What is up with David’s center of gravity? Am I the only person who wouldn’t be able to balance like that?

Let me show you: an emotional breakdown in 4 pictures:

This is not a well woman, guys. She’s not holding on to her chill even a little bit.

(Also the way David looks down at his chest after she pokes him in it, like he’s saying “me?” I love him so much, guys. He is kitten.)

Davey trying to win the family over with sweet dance moves and a charming smile.

It doesn’t work.

Though Lordy, I literally made a goose-like honk at Gwen’s face.

(It’s at this point, at 11 p.m. on a work night, that I decided not to break this up into separate parts like I did for the first episode. This might be a terrible idea.)

(Editing this at almost 1 a.m. on a work night: It was a terrible idea.)

These 3 pictures are less than 2 seconds apart. I fucking love the animation on this show.

(And hey, it’s my icon! Hi icon!)

Why is beat-up David so attractive? Is it me? Am I just a monster?

Not a single face here isn’t great. These beautiful babes.

So the general plot of this episode (not that you come here for plot synopses. You come here for pictures and lots of screaming) is that everyone at camp has to be nice for 24 hours or they have to surrender their best camper to the Woodscouts.

It . . .

. . . doesn’t come naturally to them.

Wait, no. This is the picture I want described by someone who’s never seen Camp Camp before.

I cropped out what they’re reacting to in this shot.

That’s because I love you.

(Starting to regret this whole “not breaking into parts thing.” Will I be weak enough to cave? Who knows?)

(Editing note: Nope! I wasn’t! Oops!)

Is it me, or is Max more expressive this season? Maybe I just wasn’t paying attention previously, but it seems like his faces are way more entertaining in these most recent episodes.

In an epic battle of who can be the most charming while leaning, Nikki goes for a classic jazz hands approach that’s sure to impress the judges, Neil opts for a safe routine with minimal leaning but excessive raptor arms (points for originality), and Space Kid brings home the gold because he looks like an old-timey farmer holding up invisible suspenders/overalls, and that’s not easy to accomplish while wearing a space suit made out of cardboard and underwear.

Observe: 3 Very Angry Beans. You can tell they’re Very Angry Beans because of their Very Angry Mouths. Approach with caution.

I would die for David. Just wanted to throw that out there.

I wish I didn’t find Max’s suffering so adorable. (Editing note: I also wish I used a thesaurus. Oh well. Hope you like variations on the word “adorable!”)

Then again, I wish I was asleep and also I’d like some carrot cake, so it’s just an evening/early morning of disappointments.

Why golly, is it time for more Gwen faces?! I believe it is!

AWOOOOOOO

WEREWOLVES OF CAMP CAMP

shut up I think I’m funny

David’s making The Face. The Face that makes me think something’s broken inside him, because he makes it throughout this entire scene with very few exceptions.

But again, it’s a great face.

(Also look at Nikki and Gwen sizing each other up. Isn’t it cute?)

I think my favorite thing about this episode is, like in S2 Ep. 3 — which I’ll get to eventually! — we see Gwen genuinely does care. This is more than just a paycheck for her; she wants the kids to be happy and respect each other, she wants them to learn and even have fun (provided that fun isn’t ruining her life). She’s worried about Jermy, and she trusts and respects the campers to understand what she thought they were doing that was uncool and why.

She’s actually good at her job, and at any other camp she might even enjoy it to some extent. She’s just been very beaten down by the Campbell kids to the point of apathy and, ahem, “crippling anxiety and regret.”

Basically Gwen’s what happens when Max succeeds at what he was trying to do to David all season 1.

Pfft. Cute. I love Jermy just for the suffering he inflicts on the mains. (Also he’s surprisingly aware of what a disaster he is, without being depressed about it. I can respect that.)

David’s making that face again.

Why does he keep making that face?

David’s brain might have gone all Blue Screen of Death, but Gwen’s actually sets on fire:

I feel like maybe I should take back what I said about her being good at her job. She’s still not great with kids, okay? 

But she cares. That’s the important part.

I don’t know if Petrol will get the credit he deserves for this episode, but he’s just pure comedic gold. Every time he shows up it’s fucking funny.

The Most Important Things in Forestwater’s Life Right Now: A Triptych

David’s face

David’s moonwalking

Gwen’s face

(Also: Petrol. Continuing to make me giggle way too loud and disturb my neighbors.)

If you’ll forgive me a little shipping (and if you’ve scrolled this far, I think it’s pretty clear you’ll forgive basically anything): Look at her soul-crushing despair. That is a face you give someone when you’re close enough to communicate to them without a word.

Okay, I mean what she’s communicating is “kill me,” but I still think it counts. You don’t give that kinda eye contact to a casual acquaintance, is all I’m saying.

I feel like I haven’t properly communicated how much I love every expression this woman makes.

Is that clear yet?

Look how proud David is that his babies are participating!

This is entirely for @hopefullypessimistic84, who could always use a cute Nerris in her life.

MAX

MY BOY

My favorite part about the next few pictures is how you can clearly see every thought in Gwen’s head as she’s thinking it.

“All right, you’ll be fine. Just think positive! Be David!”

“Okay no, don’t be David. Never be David. But remember how much you like not living with your parents! Do it for the rent money!”

“Yeah, look at you, girl. You got this!”

“Please don’t let David or Max fuck this up.”

“Oh, Christ.”

“Oh, CHRIST.”

“Literally no one else is gonna take care of this shit. This is your job. You HAVE to.”

“Still better than living with your parents. Technically.”

Petrol continues to be very very good.

Max pulling out his hair in frustration at having to be nice is a beautiful thing and I want more of it.

He is an angry elf.

NURF! BABY! Why are you sad? You did such a good art! You should be so happy!

Please don’t cry, Nurf. I love you.

This shot is also for HopefullyPessimistic, and I hope she appreciates it because it was really hard to get. Nerris was onscreen for like 2 seconds and the cup was in her face for most of it.

Petrol.

Is.

Hilarious.

He somehow became one of my favorite characters? How the fuck did that happen?

This show is sometimes just so pretty, guys.

Pfft.

Some brief Preston appreciation, because I don’t pay him enough attention. With an appearance by Petrol.

1) David is pure and beautiful.

2) Gwen is fucking done. With everything, but especially David.

3) QM is . . . what’s he doing to his hand? Because it really looks like he’s ripping off his fingernail. That’s . . . I mean, I don’t wanna tell you how to live your life, especially since I’m pretty sure you’re older than most municipalities so clearly you’re doing something right, but I feel like that’s not a great idea, my man.

I didn’t know that Max slowly losing his mind was my aesthetic, but apparently it is because these pictures make me laugh my ass off every time I see them.

Nurf has Sassy Eyebrows. 

(Editing note: My thoughts started deteriorating around midnight. You might be able to tell by the quality of my commentary.)

I’m sorry. I know Dolph is a super controversial character and all . . . but goddamn it, he’s cute as fuck. I can’t help but like him.

*Daniel neck crick*

Max is such a force to be reckoned with that a dog pile must be created to contain his rage. 

Also I’m not sure where Ered or Harrison’s heads are in that nightmare, but it can’t be comfortable. That’s some serious dedication to the cause, kids. Nikki’s clearly having the time of her life. And Space Kid . . . uh, good effort, I guess?

These are pictures of a fully-grown man mocking a child who has been put under his care. Does that make them any less adorable?

No. Such is David’s terrifying power.

Tremble before his cuteness, bitches.

“I’m an asshole!”

But he’s a daggum lovable asshole, isn’t he?

Max’s relief at finally being able to call David a moron and tell him to suck a dick . . . I don’t wanna say he looks like a happy kitty.

Just know I’m thinking it very very loudly.

What a sweet child.

Final Petrol appreciation: he still has the whistle in his mouth. He is a good and loyal boy.

It’s The Face.

Again.

(Gwen is lovely. As usual.)

Look at this smug motherfucker. He even makes this little “hmm” noise which is so cute, like everything worked out the way he’d planned it. Anyone who says David isn’t a dick isn’t watching the show closely enough. He’s a selfish douchebag a lot of the time and it’s one of the best things about him.

Yes, Gwen. That is the appropriate reaction. (Also she backhanded him. That was no open-palm affair; that’s knuckles in his cheekbone. Gwen’s cold.)

Oh, and sorry about the volume slider. If it wasn’t 12:30 in the morning I’d totally fix that.

David makes a sad little “eunghh” sound when she hits him. It is also too precious for words.

Look at his hair floof! Look how it floofs!

(there is a nervous giggle here. I melted)

I once saw a man so beautiful I started crying?

Something these pictures will never be able to accurately communicate:

1) The way there’s this lovely light 1980s-sitcom Very Special Episode music playing in the background, like David’s going to impart a moral. (Spoiler: he doesn’t)

2) The way Miles’ voice kept cracking like a fa — a bunch of pine birch sticks this whole episode. You might be surprised to find that I think it’s adorable. I’m not sure how you possibly could be surprised by that, but you might be.

“Maybe I AM an asshole.”

“Just . . . sometimes, okay?! Sometimes!”

The best moral and possibly my new favorite line to randomly quote.

LOOK AT THE BLUSHY BOY

LOOK HOW HANDSOME HE IS

HOW PURE

HOW FLUSTERED

WATCH HIM STORM OFF WITH THAT LITTLE ANGRY POUT

HE’S PROBABLY OFF TO ANGRY-CRY AND WRITE IN HIS DIARY

MAYBE CALL HIS MOM AND ASK IF SHE’S DISAPPOINTED IN HIM

HE IS THE SWEETEST

Even if I didn’t love every minute of the episode leading up to this (and I do), these last 5 seconds would absolutely skyrocket it to one of my favorites of the entire show. Just look how fucking cute this is. Look at it!

David is bad at being a person and we love him for it.

And here ends the longest, stupidest thing I’ve ever written. I’m genuinely curious to see if anyone made it all the way through. If you did . . . you deserve a cookie or something. Definitely mention in the tags or send me an ask saying you did, because I wanna know who’s almost as nerdy and lame as I am!

#campcamp #campcamp season 2 #gwenvid #cc gwen #cc david #cc nikki #cc neil #cc max #campcamp masterpost #cc jermy #cc woodscouts #cc nurf #cc nerris #cc petrol #cc preston #cc space kid #cc dolph #cc pikeman