#FUCK THAT ORANGE IT WANTS ME TO DIE ALONE THINKING ABOUT IT

[knowlesian]

i was asked about my second favorite joke and i have finally decided: it’s the exchange about the the orange, because holy shit is that a textbook example of a slyer, more character-informing sort of joke construction than the set-up/escalation of the crystals.

(no shade to the crystals, which i wrote about here: it is my favorite for a reason. it is maybe The Perfect Joke.)

that said, tiiiiiiiiime to over-analyze.

shoutout to the leadup, which lampshades lucius pulling absolutely acres of emotional weight for the people around him (and then makes it even better by stede just jumping in to do it himself and lucius not actually having to lift a finger, wooden or not) and the deadpan chorus of ‘it’s a rock’ in response to stede’s delusional glee.

secondary shoutout to how ed starts to clean off the orange despite verbally letting down stede easy— if stede’s superpower is being oblivious to reality and sometimes that makes him do things like run the fuck off without fully explaining himself, it’s also what makes him beautiful and so fucking ready to evolve.

stede is A Lot, but he’s family. his ability to look at the world and say ‘actually, i think it would be more fun if we did it this way and as such: i will be dragging those around me into my delusions that life and the world can be better than it currently is’ is fucking... i mean. what a gem, you know?

so ed says: it’s a rock, it’s a piece of shit, and he still rinses it off carefully anyway to answer this irrepressible ‘but what IF’ because just being around stede seems to allow people to assume these emotional risks, either through proximity to his privilege or his open-bedroom door management style (in a way stede can’t quite seem do for himself until he goes back to fix things with mary the writing on this SHOW my god) and then ed makes the best face when he realizes that once again, stede’s delusional belief in his ability to make things work has panned out: the rock is an orange.

like jim says: the old tree still had some fruit to give after all.

(sustenance frozen in time? a family legacy? jesus fuck if i start asking myself what is the orange, really, in specific relation to the tree itself i will not GET TO THE JOKE JESUS FUCK I HAVE NOT EVEN GOTTEN TO THE FUCKING THING YET. okay: the orange. like nana and stede and everybody else on this show, it’s a lot, but also it means a lot and i love it.

i cannot speak of the tree. the tree is this whole other insane post in the making. everything on this show means like six things at once on TOP of the actual plot and i’m mad at it. all the time, mad at it.)

finally: the actual joke.

I suppose you should have it. It’s your land.

It’s cool. Finders keepers.

Oh thank god! I didn’t want to give it to you. I think this is my new favorite thing!

jesus christ they do so much heavy fucking lifting with so few words on this show. all the time forever, they pack a whole essay into the words they use and how they use them.

okay: i’ll start on the surface, where it’s not even about words. stede is dressed for a cartoon safari. that outfit is calling up some very purposeful imagery, and it’s about one pit stop shy of him having on a literal pith helmet for no reason. 

so just visually, we have stede looking like he’s ready to go discover someplace people have lived for centuries, literally digging shit up on jim’s ancestral land, and wanting to take it home with him.

stede: the new face of the british museum!!!! 

(don’t @ me, i know i know be accurately mad. ‘the new face of the new zealand museum’ just didn’t have the right ring.)

because they’re really good at this shit they take that obvious visual gag and use it to show stede’s grown as a person since the party; he immediately sighs and tosses the orange off to jim. he knows the right thing to do here.

then we get jim getting to solidify/close a character arc chapter with tossing it back: they’re all good. they’ve got olu, they’ve got nana, and family isn’t something they need concrete evidence can exist for them anymore.

(plus: it’s very obvious stede wants it.)

this last part is where it gets very, very cool: stede’s response.

one of the rules for writing comedy (if you want to maximize storytelling alongside the jokes) is that your jokes need to inform character. ofmd is a fucking masterclass on that.

level one: stede is saying the quiet part loud. someone telling the truth in a socially inappropriate way is a staple in comedy: always has been, always will be. it’s just funny that he’s brightly like oh good!!!! i never wanted to share at all!!!! fuck you guys i want this orange, come to orange papa!!!!! 

comedy math is comedy math.

it’s reminding us that stede is evolving, but he’s still stede: he pulled back the impulse to go full main character syndrome and ignore the part of his miraculous orange discovery where the orange didn’t belong to him just because he dug it up while jim asked him what the fuck he was doing, but he really goddamn wanted that orange!!!!

which takes me down to the next level: stede doesn’t just love nice things, he defines himself by his love for/ownership of them. the first part’s fine and good with the narrative, while it seems pretty solidly against the second. 

sidenote: ed chucking stede’s generational wealth overboard is also ed giving them a space free of stede’s old life where they can figure their shit out together under the gaze of mary’s lighthouse, one day. i’m mad at the writers. VERY MAD.

if i had to guess where the show is going with this stede still loving/one day re-obtaining fancy pants and having plans to match won’t be an issue, so long as he knows who the fuck he is without those pants.

(...i did not intend that to be a sex thing but i stand by it now that i have made it so, your honor. tits AND ass, your honor: we want them both.)

stupid sex jokes aside, here’s where it gets really cool: this fucking miracle of a metaphor of an orange is now stede’s favorite thing.

not his riches; not his fancy pants. not something he bought with money he lucked into and inherited from his shitty father, not a symbol of wealth or class or status.

a humble orange. (consider: the humble lighthouse orange. fuuuuuck this show.)

a humble orange he obtained through honest means: jim gave it to him because stede’s a lot, but he’s family, and because stede’s fuckup with the oranges gave jim their family back in the form of nana knowing who they really are and accepting them in, cake and all, but also in the form of olu basically professing eternal love in the most wonderful way possible.

if stede wasn’t a dumbass with a fancy ship who picked jim up and didn’t know why oranges were crucial and wasn’t desperate to impress ed and the treasure map didn’t burn up because lucius was busy watching his dads fall in love right in front of his snake, does jim ever get this closure (or stede this orange)?

probably not. they had to be dragged kicking and screaming into the shore party, they did NOT think they’d find a welcome here.

and then: they did. nana had cake waiting, nana is more concerned about murder stats than pronouns, and nana absolutely loves olu. without this day trip, jim might have spent the rest of their life wondering if family was unconditional, or if family ends where honesty begins.

that orange is a gift; that orange is a thank you.

and now thanks to all those dominoes stede has this orange, granted to him because of the two sides of his habit of forgetting reality exists, not in spite of one of them, and because a lot of the time stede forgets the rules the world tells him he should care about are actually supposed to matter to him.

stede defines himself by things: he is entering the next part of this story with the orange that means family and love that embraces nuance instead of wanting to hide or smooth it over as his favorite thing.

i mean. i M E A N.

#our flag means death #ofmd spoilers #my ofmd meta #truly your honor: i love this show #AND I HAD TO LEAVE SO MUCH SHIT OUT HERE OR BE STUCK FOREVER MUSING ON THE ORANGE #FUCK THAT ORANGE IT WANTS ME TO DIE ALONE THINKING ABOUT IT #god i love this show #so fucking TEXTURED

[peachie-bumblebee]

Hiii your nsfw headcanons for FNAF SB was INTENSE. IT WAS SOMETHING I WASNT READY FOR LMAO

So i was wondering can you do nsfw headcanons for Sun/Moon too?

HOLY SHIT! My first ask on this account- I LOVE receiving asks on anything and everything- from comments to requests! As for your ask- of course love <3

NSFW SUN/MOON HEADCANONS

MINORS DNI

did i kinda snap with this one?? y’all let me know :))

CW: OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, SOMNOPHILIA, MILD EXHIBITIONISM, CHOKING

SUN

FUCKING BRACE YOURSELF!

oh no. oh nonononono. if he’s set his eyes on you you’re kind of in trouble because he-

he fucks like a rabbit. he’s the type to practically crawl on top of his partner and beg to fuck them.

as for his sex style? fast. i don’t think he knows how to take it slow.

he will rut his partner into the goddamn floor, breathing heavy and endless thank-you’s spilling out of his mouth

he’s absolutely insane over it. he’d be drooling if he could.

he’s the type who can’t keep his hands off his partner. if you came to visit him and y’all were alone he’s immediately snaking his hands down your hips and pressing his erection into your ass.

he can’t give head cuz he doesn’t have a tONGUE but you best believe that if he could he’d be down like a damn dog about it.

i’m thinking about them long ass fingers YEOOOUCH

if his partner worked overnight at the pizzaplex and needed to take a shower his spidey senses would fucking go off

you’d turn around and his fingers would be curled around the door opening like

“Can I come in? Please say yes. I’ll leave you alone if you want but please please if you’re okay please let me in please. Please.”

he can’t help himself. Pussy/Bussy drunk ass motherfucker.

FASCINATED by fingering his partners. He loves watching them slide in and out with a PASSION. If they left a mess on them he’d nearly die and go to heaven. I swear to god.

let’s be so fucking fr I know for a fact he’d like to be called a Good boy. It’d kill him.

worships the ground you walk on. Fucks like he’s trying to win the gold medal of making you feel good. Please tell him you did.

he can go forever. He doesn’t seem to get satisfied at all. If it was up to him he’d fuck until he straight up absolutely had to get charged.

literally he’ll fuck until his partner either taps out or (consensually ofc)

YEAH HE WHIMPERS. WHAT ABOUT IT.

call him out on it and it gets worse. he’ll tell you that he can’t help it- he can’t.

it’s a orange to yellow gradient with a flushed pink-orange tip. long and skinny. i was solid on this before and i’m solid on it now.

for those who are wondering NO i don’t think any of the animatronics have metal genitalia. think dildo/fleshlight material that gets warm.

he definitely jerks off into some of your clothes if you left them there for him. if you caught him he would be embarrassed but ALSO- if you want him to keep going he’s willing.

more than willing, even.

MOON

ALSO BRACE YOURSELF.

if sun fucks like a rabid animal who can’t keep his mouth shut, moon fucks hard and mostly silently. it’s almost spooky.

he likes to watch. he likes to observe.

he’d fuck his partner from behind with a hand over their mouth, hard and medium paced. but fuck it’s hard.

silently watching his partner’s eyes roll back, hissing through his teeth at the feeling of them clenching down- only one or two words ever coming out.

“Slut.”

“Good.”

you get the picture.

WITH prior consent (everything, and I mean EVERYTHING I write includes consent) he’d watch you sleep.

and jerk off over your sleeping body.

he won’t leave a mess, don’t worry.

…unless you’d like that.

if he knew you wanted it, he’d push a finger slowly in while you slept and work it in and out, careful to keep you slumbering

if you woke up, he’d hush you and tell you to go back to sleep.

he won’t stop though.

both of them are jealous creatures. but moon especially so. if something makes him jealous then it’s absolute brutal thrusts down into his partner with their legs up around his shoulder. maybe choking them out.

don’t worry though. he knows his strength.

he’s 100% the type to silently overstimulate his partner. you could be begging and sobbing and covered in your own fluids and he wouldn’t stop unless you safeworded.

dick is pale blue to white gradient with a pink flushed tip

he doesn’t even make much of a sound when he cums. he just hisses through his teeth.

ooooh if he feels like you like sun more? oh no. oh no you’re done for. he’s gonna prove why he’s the best. it’s gonna be a problem.

a problem you enjoy but STILL

remember: he’s always watching.

always.

I HOPE YALL ENJOYED! please comment, reblog w comments, and request!!! it really motivates me <3

#security breach smut #fnaf security breach x reader #security breach ruin #security breach #fnaf #fnaf x reader #fnaf x y/n #fnaf x you #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf daycare attendant #security breach daycare attendant #daycare attendant x reader #daycare attendant moon #daycare attendant x y/n #daycare attendant sun #fnaf moon smut #fnaf sun smut #sun and moon security breach #sun and moon smut #sun and moon sb #sun and moon fnaf

[infinite-orangepeel]

Behind every shitty hole in the wall is a story.

It’s a hysterical combination of luck and determination that lands Eddie Munson in the back alley of a dive bar five years after the world was supposed to end.

It's by chance alone that Steve Harrington is snuffing out a cigarette under his boot. Eyes fixated on a useless point in the distance. Off into space or wandering no man’s land. Distracted and distraught.

He’s never been the same.

He’s never known how to come back home.

He’s punishing himself. Has been for half a decade.

It’s the first anyone’s seen of him, since—

There’s a smudge of grease or soot or black makeup outlining his cheek. There’s gel in his hair—sticky and functional. He’s tangible. Real—somehow. Dusting ash off on his dirtied pants and trying to make the most of a blasphemously humid afternoon.

He wipes sweat from his brow bone, breathes deeply, seems to come to terms with the harsh underbelly of reality.

The sky is orange; afflicted by caustic heat. He doesn’t belong in a place like this. It’s time to bring him home once and for all. Of that, at least, Eddie is certain.

Eddie isn’t certain of much these days. None of them are. Not since Steve left and took their bleeding hearts with him like a dissolute trail of breadcrumbs.

Every moment without him has been spent painfully avoiding the mention of his absence. Setting his place at the dinner table was a habit they all had to unlearn, but sometimes Robin will forget—put out a plate and fracture at the realization.

And, then, the evening is ruined. The evening becomes a sinking ship. Blurry conversations swirling around how to convince him to come back. How to see it through. How to show him he has a God-given right to nestle into their world without making desperate apologies. There’s no need.

The desert’s on Steve’s side. Thinks it can outsmart Eddie by parching his lips, cracking the skin around them, drying out his tongue like the package of liquor store jerky he anxiously gnawed on while driving into town. Kicking up arid soil with his tires and blinding himself to fear—to the voices in his head that tell him to let Steve sulk and suffer in silence, because he’s the one who chose to leave in the first place.

It was a choice.

A fucking stupid choice, but a choice nonetheless—

Steve’s going to go back inside. He’s got a dish towel tucked into his apron pocket. A toothpick replacing the fallen cigarette between his teeth. Eddie’s been trying to muster up the courage to actually approach him for the past three days.

It always ends the same.

Steve’s fifteen minute break comes to a close, he disappears through the door on stage left to clock back in, and, as if looking through a broken kaleidoscope, the scene around Eddie fades into colorless obscurity. Everything else is void of meaning. Without Steve in the picture, life makes little sense. There’s no point. No clear way North.

He’d rather die than go through it again. The loss. Decay. Heartache and rage.

“Have you told your boss about the family emergency yet or do you need me to take care of that for you?” Eddie snarks, hiding his emotions behind a practiced smirk.

Steve looks up. Hand on the door. Stuck between two universes. One in which he hides and another in which he allows himself to be found.

“What are you talking about?” He chokes on a peach pitted fantasy in which he gets to briefly wake up and hit snooze–rub the sleep from his tired eyes, “Why are you—Eddie, you’re not supposed to be here. How the fuck did you find me?”

There’s uncertainty afoot. His chest rises and falls in shaky hesitation. One beat slow followed by two in rapid pace—standard procedure for someone who's been forced to confront his past in broad daylight. Out of the blue and into the unknown. Eddie wants to pin him to the wall and kiss him—drown his sorrows so he never has to feel them again.

But, it’s not time for that.

Not yet.

“Is someone hurt? Is it one of the kids? Robin? Nance?”

Eddie feels cruel for planting that seed in his brain so he cuts him some slack. Pushes past his own frustration, devastation, the scars on his torso that ache when he twists this way or that—reminders of who he was before.

“Everyone’s fine. Healthy and safe at home,” he swallows the gasp that wants to come out when Steve releases the handle on the door—when Steve makes the conscious decision to stay, if only for a moment, “You, however, won’t be, if you don’t march right up to your manager and let him know that you’re gonna have to throw in the towel a little early on this shift. We have plans and—unfortunately, for the big boss—they can’t wait.”

“I don’t understand—”

He starts to say and Eddie can’t help, but soften. Can’t help, but fall apart under his pretty eyes and pouty lips. Gaze catching and tugging on his heart strings when he notices the hint of Steve’s own scars lining his neck. Temporarily exposed by the breeze shifting the collar of his work shirt. Hidden unless you know where to look.

Eddie’s always known.

“Do you know how hard it is to say ‘no’ to a guy who looks like you—especially when there’s a sob story attached to that face?” He leans forward, exhales softly as Steve’s lashes flutter out of control, and bites the opposite end of his toothpick—stealing it and sucking it into his own mouth, “You have a family emergency. You have somewhere to be. You’ll be back tomorrow or you won’t—that part’s up to you. Knock ‘em dead, sweetheart. Go on. It’ll all make sense later. Just need you to trust me for now.”

He thinks of the bats. Of the fight. Flashes of the unforgiving war. The smoke and mirrors and nightmares that never fully went away. The cold sweat and salty tears. Memories that no one can verify, because time and space have made them intangible. Like monsters under the bed. Creatures that stalk the house in the wee hours of the morning. By dawn, they disappear, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t real.

There’s no confirming or denying. Steve doesn’t nod or give a final answer with his hand hovering over a big red buzzer. Instead, he moves forward, steps through the door, doesn’t look back over his shoulder to contemplate if Eddie was a figment of his imagination. Leaves without a trace.

Like he was never really there.

Like he’s a ghost haunting the untethered planes of Eddie’s memory.

—

When Steve climbs into the back of Eddie’s van, it’s comical.

He bangs his head on the roof. Mutters a curse or two. Almost tips himself backwards hopping into the passenger’s seat. The van shakes with laughter—amused by the boy who has grown out of his old polos and button downs, but has somehow managed to maintain his childish humor. Slipping back into an old tattered suit and finding it’s still tailored perfectly to his measurements.

“Are you kidnapping me? Is that what this is?”

“Pretty sure kidnapping implies taking a ‘child’ against their will,” he smirks at Steve rubbing the back of his head, “You don’t fit into either of those categories by my estimation. Try not to get any blood on my seats. I just got this baby washed—I mean, sure, it was ten years ago, but—”

Eddie slings his arm around the back of Steve’s headrest. Talking a lot of smack for someone who feels as protective over his aggravated passenger as he does. The van’s hot. There’s no A.C. It’s stuffy and awkward and all Eddie wants to do is kiss him.

All Eddie’s ever wanted to do is kiss him. Just once more. Once would surely be enough to quench a thirst that’s plagued him for five long years.

“People would come looking for me, y’know. I have friends. People in town who would notice…eventually,” Steve snaps, but his heart’s not in it. Sounds like a luckless penny hitting the bottom of a dried up wishing well.

“Well, you’re worth caring about,” Eddie feels the edge of a splinter graze his tongue off the toothpick, “Always have been. Shouldn’t be such a surprise.”

It’s too honest. God, he knows, it’s too honest.

Steve doesn’t say anything. Eddie half expects him to throw a punch.

A few miles pass and the only interruptions to the weight of their shared silence are the bumpy groan of a shallow pothole and the lonely howl of a coyote on the horizon.

Maybe he's been separated from his pack—

The thought is almost too much to bear.

“How’s business?” Eddie tries to change the subject, turn back the clock, pretend it’s just another weekday on the way home from school.

“Does it matter?”

“Guess that all depends on if you’re planning to stick around this dust bowl or not, but I don’t think you’ve quite made up your mind one way or the other.”

They’re almost to Eddie’s hotel. He can see the flashing bulbs of the sign down the road—The Saguaro Inn. It’s not the nicest establishment. The sheets have moth holes, he’s had to kill a spider or two, but the guy at the front desk gave him a six-pack of beer on the house and that, alone, was worth its weight in gold.

“Where else would I go? I live here. I work here. This is my home, now.”

If Eddie looked over and saw Steve running lines off a Hollywood script, he’d believe it. Authenticity evaporates from his voice like everything else that the blistering desert sun destroys in its wake. The only things meant to survive in such an unbearable climate are cacti, insanity, and dread.

Even the coyotes are lost and out of touch.

“Hmm. Funny,” Eddie raps his knuckles against the peeling steering wheel cover—needs to get it replaced, but in the face of an unearthed Steve Harrington it’s the last priority on his list, “We clearly remember things differently. As I recall, you’re a Midwestern boy. Born, bred, and raised on Indiana corn. Not whatever the Hell they serve at that dump you work at.”

“Fuck off. I’m happy,” Steve argues hotly, fists balled at his sides—tension working through his jaw like a flame on an inevitable collision course with the end of a stick of dynamite, “I’m fine. I’m not some damsel in distress who needs you to come rescue her. I chose this. I want this.”

It’s clear he doesn’t.

If only he had the wherewithal to look himself in the damn mirror and tell the truth. Tell it without leaving out the obvious—the lie written all over his face.

Steve undoes his apron, tosses it in the back, and throws a sidelong glance at Eddie as if sizing him up. As if searching for the minute details that have shifted, collapsed, grown in prominence. Like one of those ‘spot the difference’ games on a children’s menu in the back of an old diner. Illuminated by lightning bugs, grease, and splattered syrup.

Eddie doesn’t think he looks much different.

Eddie doesn’t think he’s much of anything to look at.

Old soul. Dark curls. A leather jacket that’s seen better days. He aims for mystery and shoots blanks. Comes up with mediocrity, a sense of macabre discontentment, the bitter taste that hangs around on the back of his tongue.

He practically jumps out of his skin and bolts when Steve, unexpectedly, runs a thumb over the Demobat scar on his cheek. It’s hyperreal. Throttles him through the past and future. Merging together hopes and dreams that he hasn’t allowed to see the light of day since those scars first got bandaged up at Hawkins Memorial Hospital.

“It suits you,” he hums thoughtfully, “I like it. Gives you an edge.”

Dizzy doesn’t even begin to define it.

In some universes, in this one, he might have fared better if Steve had the guts to hit him instead. To draw a knife, send a bullet flying, be a force of conventional violence rather than whatever the fuck this is.

This is worse.

This is a death he’ll keep reliving until the day he actually finds rest.

Or, perhaps, this is the afterlife and Steve is his eternal punishment for being stupid enough to care.

—

The short journey from the van to Eddie’s room is blissfully uneventful. Mundane.

They chat about vending machine snacks. Steve gets a candy bar and Eddie gets a pack of sour gummy worms. They split them. Share in the sugar coating, the sour bite, the milk chocolate that gets stuck in the backs of their teeth. It’s a dinner two little kids playing house would ‘cook’ up.

Only understanding later why their parents always advised them to save dessert for later. To end things on a sweet note.

Eddie’s room is 111 which prompts Steve to ask about El and the kids while he’s working at the keycard. The scanner’s finicky. Won’t budge unless the plastic’s inserted at just the right angle. It’s fucking annoying, but the place was cheap and, frankly, he didn’t know how long he’d be in town when he checked in.

He tells Steve about their accomplishments. Sounding like the proud father he never had—sounding like Wayne who made up for the lack of one. Max’s studying sport’s medicine at the community college. Dustin’s starting his summer engineering internship. Will’s got an art showcase coming up in October. Robin and Nancy’s new apartment is close to the city. Eddie crashes there most weekends and takes them out for coffee on Sunday mornings to show his thanks.

By the time Eddie’s done recounting the events Steve’s missed out on, their shoes are off. Tucked side by side next to the door.

Steve checks three times to ensure the latch is secure. Blushes when Eddie tells him its’ safe. Its’ okay to rest and close his eyes if he needs to.

Life isn’t what it used to be, but old habits die hard.

Eddie gives him the last gummy worm in the pack. Does it wordlessly. Automatically. Steve goes to decline, but Eddie does him a favor—closes his hand around it and nods.

It’s an act of love. It’s an act of faith. It’s the only way he can figure out how to say that bitter thing on the back of his tongue.

The mattress creaks obnoxiously to announce their arrival upon it. There’s a modest amount of space between them. Left vacant so their secrets have a place to run and hide. So they don’t have to speak them aloud.

“Do you ever miss it?” Eddie bumps Steve’s shin with his foot.

Cartoon sound effects curate the fantasy. Glowing orange and yellow from the rabbit eared television set—out of date and grainy, but that’s part of the appeal.

The screen casts desert colors across the headboard and suddenly, this is their life. A shared life. One they’ve built together. Nothing separates them anymore, but the itchy floral sheets and the inconvenience of clothes. Memory loses its ache.

“Which part?”

Steve looks at him through glassy eyes, marbles rolling across the floor.

“Whichever part you miss, I s’pose, if there is one,” Eddie shrugs and prays to a divine entity he doesn’t know the name of, “I’ve always wondered. ‘s hard not to.”

“Sometimes,” Steve reaches over the nightstand to grab a handful of ice—sets it on his chest over his shirt to cool off, “When I get off work. When I’m on the bus ride home and I’ve forgotten my headphones. Those times, I miss it—the sound of everyone talking over each other in Mike’s basement. It used to be like wrangling a bunch of wild animals. They drove me up the fuckin’ wall, but that sound? That sound was home. That sound was family, to me. No matter where I go, I don’t think I’ll ever find that again, but I was lucky to have it for a little while.”

“It’s not, like, that door over there,” Eddie points to the overly complicated latch that was designed to keep out intruders and cockroaches alike, “You’re not locked out unless you have a special key. The door—back home—it’s wide open. It always has been,” he studies Steve’s grimace; the evident pain he feels at that ‘too good to be true’ promise.

In the cartoon, it’s sunny. Steve’s bathed in a fictional variety of yellow optimism.

The character’s smile, laugh, and dance around in the middle of a playground. The swing’s never swing higher than they’re supposed to and conflict is resolved by the end of each thirty minute segment.

It’s a cruel juxtaposition to pay witness to as Steve’s cheeks become stained with tears. It hurts to see him curl up onto his side. To sit idly by as he goes about the wretched business of breaking his own heart.

“They’ve moved on, Eds. They’re onto bigger and better things. I’d just be holding everyone back. It’s okay.”

“It’s not—”

“Eddie,” Steve inches closer to him; knees knocking together—mirroring each other, “let it go. I’ve made my peace. Why can’t you do the same? Why can’t you let me–”

“Because, watching you leave was the single worst moment of my life. Worse than the bats. Worse than Vecna. Not a day goes by that I don’t replay it in my mind. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about what might have happened if I’d been brave enough to stop you.”

Kissing him is wrong.

Kissing him resolves none of it.

Kissing him tastes like sour gummy worms and chocolate and the satisfaction of finding a final resting place.

Kissing him is anger, spite, love.

Kissing him is the only thing that’s ever mattered and, maybe, that’s okay—

Steve startles. Keeps his lips perfectly still and Eddie thinks he’s really fucked this whole thing up, until he feels him break.

Until he feels him crack wide open like one of those novelty geodes Wayne used to bring back from his trips to mining country.

As the next episode begins and the cheesy theme song plays out in the background, Steve yanks Eddie towards him and sobs. They ground each other through twisted limbs, the rough meeting of lips, and the active avoidance of any moment outside of this.

They kiss and it’s both Heaven and Hell. It’s the promise of what could be and the mounting fear that the second they pull apart, the bonafide shelter they’ve created will crumble.

Steve whines openly. Sighs into Eddie’s mouth and slots a desperate knee between his thighs—a generous offering from a dead man walking.

Eddie grinds against it. Finally loses control. He rides Steve’s thigh in earnest—hips bumping, moans dripping from his lips like saccharine honey, cock throbbing and making a sticky mess in his boxers. Everything tastes like salt and sound and fury.

“Taste so good,” Steve licks over his mouth quickly, “Taste sweet. That part’s stuck with me—Eddie Munson’s real sweet.”

“You bit my tongue when we—”

“You probably deserved it,” Steve jokes and slaps his cheek playfully, “C’mon. Don’t stop. Kiss me, again. Want you to taste me like I taste you.”

He fucks his tongue into Steve’s mouth and the remembrance of a night he’s only been able to dream of, for the past five years, plays on.

He’s kissed Steve once before. Left a violet hickey on his neck. It was the end of June—concrete sizzled, mosquitoes swarmed, an ending should have been obvious, but it wasn’t.

They’d been scared. Afraid for the future. Afraid of how the past would follow them around in the shadow of tragedy. Afraid to press onwards, to lick over each other’s teeth, to make a mistake.

It’s different now.

Eddie doesn’t hold Steve like he’s fragile. He holds him like he believes he’s strong, because he is and he does. He’d have to be to start all over. To press restart in the middle of nowhere.

Steve’s hands roam his body ceaselessly. Wrinkle his clothes. Tug at his belt. He’s possessed by hope and the taboo Mirage and who can blame him? It’s gorgeous and awful.

“I haven’t touched anyone—” he cries, “I haven’t let anyone touch me since you kissed me on the night I left Hawkins. Remember? In my driveway–”

The confession sends a pang of agony racing through Eddie’s chest.

Nobody’s held him. Nobody’s kissed his neck and left behind a brutal memory. Nobody’s taken the time to wash the suds from his soft brown hair or dab the soap from his hazel eyes.

“Shh,” Eddie hushes him, laps at his tears and makes a split second decision, “I’ve never forgotten. How could I? I hardly ever think about anything else,” Steve whimpers from where he’s found a spot to rest his head in the crook of Eddie’s neck, “Shh, baby. Will you let me wash your hair? Will you let me help you clean off? Is that okay?”

Clinging to him and refusing to let go, Steve shudders and nods. Eddie knows this is significant for him—to relinquish the tired role of martyrdom and permit someone else to take care of him. To shoulder the responsibility with gentle hands.

Slack in his arms, Eddie carries him to the dim bathroom. The cartoon characters scramble around on screen—chasing each other around with hammers and wacky laughter.

When the water warms to the point of comfort, Eddie undresses the two of them in tandem.

First, Eddie’s shirt. Then, Steve’s. A breathy kiss in the interlude—they savor this practice. This delicate waltz. Their hands tremble. Steve’s shockingly sensitive. He breaks skin on Eddie’s shoulder when he circles his nipple and bites down just to tease.

“Nobody’s ever done that—”

“I don’t care about anyone else. No one. This is about me and you. Let me be the first. Don’t let there be anyone else. Me and you. Yeah?”

“Yes. Only you, Eds. No one else.”

“There’s my boy. My sweet, sweet boy.”

He cradles Steve’s sleepy face in his hands, pecks at the corners of his mouth as he helps him out of his classic Americana blue jeans. Levi’s or Lee. Brass buttons, deep pockets.

In the humid steam of the shower, they melt into each other. Eddie guides Steve to stand in front of him under the spray of the water and folds his arms around him. He strokes a hand over the flat plane of his stomach, toys with the pretty hair there, and sways with him to the tinny sound of the end credits. Conclusion. Finality. It is decidedly so.

He scrubs away the dirt, tears, grime, and misfortune with the prepackaged bar soap. Supplied by the manager at the front. Handed to him alongside the six pack and finicky roomkey. Steve lets Eddie rub out the knots in his shoulders. Thanks him unnecessarily as if this isn’t the greatest gift Eddie’s ever been given.

“Let’s do your hair, next,” Eddie presses lingering kisses to the column of his throat.

“I’d like that.”

The shampoo isn’t great. It’s in a miniature hotel bottle and opens with a snap. Smells like a pink petaled flower that would never survive this heat. Mildly delusional peonies with a whimsical flair.

“Tilt your head back. Rest on me,” Eddie whispers, flattening his palm over Steve’s heart—swearing an oath, “I’ve got you. I’m not gonna let you fall.”

He listens. Obeys readily. As if having waited his whole life to be instructed to do so.

“That feels nice,” he whines high in his throat while Eddie lathers the floral shampoo and works it through his hair, “Want more. Please, Eds. Please—more.”

“I’ll give you more, sweet boy,” he’s deliberate about the way he subtly scrapes against Steve’s scalp and tugs at the tendrils swooping around the nape of his pretty neck, “You’re so perfect,” he kisses his ear, nibbles on the lobe and revels in the resulting moan, “so kind, so smart, so lovable.”

Love—

Eddie wasn’t supposed to say love.

Shit.

He really wasn’t supposed to mention that.

“Fuck,” Steve sucks onto Eddie’s jaw—groaning and nipping along the full line of it, “Do you?”

“I’ve gotta rinse it,” he pretends to miss the question, “You can switch spots with me or–”

“Eddie,” Steve grinds his ass against Eddie’s dick and it’s no fucking accident, “I wanna come home. I wanna be yours. I don’t wanna be here anymore,” he turns so they’re face to face and Eddie sees Steve’s hard and leaking onto his hand where he’s lazily stroking himself as he crowds into Eddie’s space, “But, I need you to tell me. Do you love me? Do you love me the way I love you, because if you don’t—I can dry off, I can get my stuff, I can go back to the bar—”

“I love you—Jesus fucking Christ, Steve! Of course, I fucking love you! I’m not capable of loving anyone else! Don’t leave—”

“I won’t,” Steve caresses his cheek and wipes away his tears—the years of pent up heartache, “I love you.”

Breathless, Eddie’s back hits the cold tile wall and Steve’s fucking against him. Using the place where his hip meets his stomach to rub, press, and plead. Eddie grabs his hips, pulls him closer, gasps when he feels Steve spurt pre onto his pale skin.

“Say it again. Tell me why, so I believe it. So I know who to call when the voices in my head get too loud. So I can learn how to come home. Please, Eddie, please.”

Taking them both into his fist, Eddie pumps Steve’s dick alongside his own. Slow and steady. He thumbs the slit as Steve’s knees buckle. Grits his teeth and grins dumbly when his boy hisses at the heat and building friction.

“Honey, I dreamed of you. I ran after you a million times. I begged and prayed to whoever would listen. I’m nowhere near religious, but, fuck, I devoted everything in me to finding you,” he slots their lips together and feels Steve’s smile before he sees it, “You’re my home, Stevie. It’s empty without you. I’d rather die, than drive back alone.”

To have him like this is a million times better—a Goddamn miracle, compared to what Eddie’s envisioned night after night alone in his bed.

Moaning brokenly into his pillow as he chased after the punishing gossamer threads knotted in the hair of his phantom lover.

To untie him meant freedom and, at last, Eddie has the filthy pleasure of being the one to make Steve Harrington come undone.

“Gonna make me cum, Eds? Gonna let me be good for you?”

Steve’s thrashing wildly. Thrusting into Eddie’s fist and digging his nails into his back. Babbling sweetly about how badly he wants to shoot off over Eddie’s hands.

“Not yet, angel. I need something from you first,” he catches his breath, forces Steve’s hips to go still, and does his best to keep it together, “Promise me you’ll get in my van when we wake up tomorrow morning. Promise me you’ll forgive yourself.”

Steve’s quiet.

The water’s running cold—you get what you pay for.

The coyotes and cartoons fight for dominance. Lone rangers, lone wolves, trembling in the dust.

The dim bulb flickers—one, two, three; it’s fading fast—

In the pitch dark, Steve traces Eddie’s mouth with his fingertips, peels off his scars, draws whimsical shapes and crisscrossed stars with the very top of his tongue. An odd ritual and not a word to explain it.

As Steve finds the path to Eddie’s goriest scars—those that line his ribs—his curiosity gets the best of him.

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Steve kisses the tops of his knees and that makes Eddie horny and madly in love. Even madder than he was with Steve’s cock in his fist.

“Not to me, no.”

His laughter is infectious. Eddie giggles—genuinely giggles like a blushing schoolgirl.

“I’m making a map,” Steve licks the head of Eddie’s cock and he shivers, “memorizing you, so I’ll always know the way back home if I get lost. It’s a promise.”

—

They stay up later than they should for a drive as long as the one they have ahead of them. But, it’s worth it.

Eddie cums down Steve’s throat in the shower. Steve thanks him. Licks up every last drop and kisses his knees like a forbidden secret.

Getting dressed isn’t an option. It never had a chance to be part of the agenda.

Steve falls apart in Eddie’s lap on the bed—fucking himself at his own pace. Deep and perfect. His moans belong on an album. Eddie tells him he’ll make him one some day. Burn a CD and terrorize the neighbors by blasting it in his car with all the windows rolled down.

Afterwards, they brush each other’s teeth and make a mess of the counter. Cackling like crazed animals because the light’s still fucked and Steve can’t find the toothpaste cap. They decide to leave it there—a piece of themselves for whoever rents the room next.

—

An hour into the drive, Eddie reaches for the map over Steve’s lap and looks at it for a moment before shrugging and throwing it out the window.

That gets Steve’s attention.

“What the fuck? Did you mean to do that? Was that on purpose? Tell me that wasn’t on purpose—”

“We don’t need it. I know where I’m going. I have everything I need right here with me,” he winks at Steve and steals a handful of gas station sunflower seeds.

“You’re such a sap,” Steve snorts, “I can’t believe you made me promise to come home with you and now, we don’t even know which direction leads to home.”

“I’m a romantic,” Eddie pats his thigh affectionately, “and, I may or may not have convinced Robin and Nance to fly out for a family road trip. We’re meeting them at the next rest stop. Nancy has another map. Hope that’s okay?”

“As long as you’re there. I’m there,” Steve takes his hand, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

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#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #fruity four #stranger things #steddie brainrot #steve harrington/eddie munson #eddie x steve #steddie ficlet #steddie au #steddie hurt/comfort #steddie angst #steddie fanfic #steddie writers #steddie fanfiction #steddie ao3 #eddie munson/steve harrington #the steddie brainrot is real #steddie thoughts

[radiosummons]

My sister has been showing me episodes of OG Trigun--mostly in preparation for Trigun Stampede--but also because it's one of her favorite manga of all time.

And holy SHIT I cannot even begin to explain how fucking batshit this show is. Just hearing Johnny Yong Bosch's voice alone immediately sent me back at least fifteen years.

I have watched all episodes of OG Trigun while drunk, high and sober. And regardless of my state of inebreiation, I was always left with the exact, inescapable feeling of wanting to fucking die from the sheer nostalgic cringe and insanity of it all. I hate this show. I love this show. I'm fucking obsessed.

So, to all those who are curious (or would just like a mini idea of how to compare OG Trigun with Trigun Stampede)--here is my comprehensive list of things that ACTUALLY happened in Trigun that make me go absolutely batshit just thinking about them:

The sheer insanity of the--balls to the walls, barely held together with ducktape, spit and shoestring--of a plot, all with apparently little to no accuracy to the manga whatsoever. This both amuses and horrifies my sister.

The absolute refusal on the part of the anime to actually explain literally anything. Like the fact that the show takes place in space. Or why humanity is on a desert planet. Or what Plants are, why they're important, why they're there, literally ANYTHING.

Seriously, if you've only ever watched the anime you would have no fucking clue what the Plants are or what they even do. And THEY'RE LITERALLY ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT BITS OF LORE/A HUGE PART OF THE PLOT OF THE ENTIRE FUCKING MANGA.

A major bit of Trigun's lore/setting is just straight up the events of Wall-E.

Johnny Yong fucking Bosch as Vash's English VA. Enough said.

Vash--by simply existing and (mostly) through no direct fault of his own--is capable of wrecking such sheer and complete utter devastation that there's an actual insurance policy people can file after their town is destroyed in the aftermath of him visiting. Iconic.

Monev is just Spiderman's Venom but with a purple and orange reskin. This was intentional on part of the creator as he is obsessed with Venom. Good on him.

This is only specific to the English Dub (we switched to the original sub for the more "serious" episodes, calm down), but HOLY FUCK the absolutely atrocious line deliveries somehow make the show even worse and yet ultimately so much funnier all at the same time!

Millions Knives is the name of Vash's twin brother.

Vash is bisexual. There are multiple occassions where he will call a random male character "Cute" or "Cutie." Somehow, I am not the least bit surprised.

Christianity exists. And the Church trains orphans to be assassins. This makes perfect sense.

"LUUV AND PEEEEAAACCCCCEEE!!!!"

In the second episode of the series (English Dub), there's an actual scene where an old man and his grandson LOUDLY lament the absolute devastation of their home in the most inappropriately cheerful and candid way possible. And then the fucking kid follows that up by just singing out of fucking nowhere "~Bad times are here LALALALALA!!!!!~"

Vash is part gun.

According to "company regulations," as insurance workers Milly and Meryl are not allowed to take part time jobs. They later take part time jobs. My broke ass resonated too fucking hard with this bit.

"Oh, maaaan! Why can't I just get a break?! Death and poverty like me so much, they've brought friends!" Fucking. Mood.

At one point, Vash does the crab walk to dodge a barrage of bullets. This is, surprisingly, quite effective.

"I'll whack you, mister!"

Legato's introduction is him sitting down on a bench and then PULLING A HOT DOG OUT OF A PAPER BAG WITH A HUMAN HEAD IN IT!!!!

Legato has his own personal saxophone player that just follows him everywhere???????

"Oh my. I'm about to go down in ~fllaaaaaammeesssss!~"

Wolfwood.

In EP 16, someone just starts randomly scatting in the background for no reason. No explanation is ever offered.

"My name is .... VASH DA STAMPEDE-DUUUH!!!!!"

Also in EP 16, one of the villains for that episode sounds, deadass, exactly like Jar Jar Binks. I am not joking.

Legato can blood bend.

There's a mini episode dedicated to Milly and Meryl. Vash shows up for five seconds hiding in a trash can. The joke writes itself.

"The DEADLY DODGEBALL HEAD!!! A simple technique to hold the ball in place with INTENSE SUUUCTION!! Try this at home! ;)"

Knives eats an apple, cuts his own hair and enters his impromptu emo arc.

Legato gets horny over the idea of Vash crying. Idk what to tell you, man.

Wolfwood shoots a child. Granted, said child was gonna try to kill Vash and a bunch of orphans. But still.

Vash makes up a dark song about murdering and killing people. The villains of that episode proceed to roast him for his shit lyrics.

Wolfwood doesn't understand why everyone is mad at him for KILLING A CHILD.

"I meditate diligently every morning. The subjects are life and love ... I quit after three seconds."

The actually downright amazing OST, that has no right to be as good as it is. No joke, one of the best anime OSTs I have ever heard in my life.

"And if you're still having doubts, check out my 100% accurate gunmanship!" *proceeds to shoot directly at the sky only then for a black cat to fall directly on his head. The cat's fine btw*

At a certain point, Vash fakes his identity, gets a disguise and goes under a false name. Said false name being "Eriks." He looks like if someone ran Hohenheim through the washer and then hung him on a clothesline for a week. I have ... no fucking words.

"What is this strange phenomena? Is it some sort of strange and twisted Christian science!?"

For as menacing as they make Legato out to be, he sure does shit all in the grand scheme of things. Also he looks like he raids Seto Kaiba's closet on the DL and duels monsters on weekends.

Vash will randomly have Bishie eyes. Arguably, his most Bishie moment is right after Wolfwood punches him in the face. I'll let you infer what you want from this.

Rem randomly appears out of nowhere to taunt Vash with nonsense riddles and haikus. No explanation is ever given until EP 17 for who Rem is, why she keeps reappearing in Vash's mind, if she's even a real person or just someone Vash made up, etc. Because of this, it just looks like Vash keeps receiving American Beauty-style rose shower psychic attacks while a random woman just spouts absolute nonsense at him. There is no way this explanation will prepare you for the actual experience of watching it.

 "I am known as Valentinez Alkalinella Xifax Sicidabohertz-" *prolonged pause* "-Gombigobilla Blue Stradivari Talentrent Pierre Andri Charton-Haymoss Ivanovici Baldeus George Doitzel Kaiser the Third. Don't hestitate to call."

Vash gets adopted by an old woman and her granddaughter. It's actually kind of sweet.

A minor villain in EP 18 demands that Vash strip and then act like a dog. He proceeds to do both without a single objection. Wolfwood pulls down his sunglasses and leers at Vash's naked ass. My sister has informed me that this is actually canonical.

Rem is a hyper Christian.

Wolfwood takes personal offense to a burlesque dancer being absolute shit at dancing. Honestly ... I can't even argue with him.

"Hey, 'Thou Shalt Not Kill,' REMEMBER!? WHAT KIND OF CHURCH MAN ARE YOU!!!?"

Vash saves a town's Plant through the power of Bishie.

While trying to save a child, Vash and Wolfwood both get sucked into quicksand. Said child just watches them go into the ground. I would have done the same.

Milly, Vash and Wolfwood decide to share drinks and before any of them even take a single shot, Milly decides to strip naked. Vash and Wolfwood are very pleased by this. Meryl is not.

"WHOSE idea was it to USE THE GRENADE!!!?? He can't be identified for the reward if he's a pile of pulp, YOU DUMBASS!!!!"

Wolfwood calls Vash pathetic. This kickstarts yet another existential crisis within Vash.

"Thank GOD you asked! It's a long story, although it's kind of a short one."

For literally no reason at all, child Knives decides to embrace his Anti-Christ symbolism and goes full Joker mode. This is not at all accurate to the manga.

Vash and Knives are aliens/Plants. Rem thinks they're actual Christian angels. Deadass.

Milly forces Wolfwood to pretend to be her baby daddy for a whole episode. For pudding. Yup.

Vash enters a dom/sub relationship with a Pokemon gym leader looking lady and they engage in extremely explicit pet play.

Anyway, watch OG Trigun. If you've ever watched any sort of anime abridged series, it will definitely make things a little easier for you. There are definitely too many points at which this show feels like a YouTube Poop and I mean in that best and worst possible way.

Also Meryl is Best Girl. I will not budge on this.

#trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #trigun vash #og trigun #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun wolfwood #trigun milly #trigun meryl #johnny yong bosch #90s anime #radio talks #radio loses his goddamn mind more like #y'all have no fucking clue #how wild it was #to experince this show for the first time #it's absolute insanity from one episode to the next #but it's never fuckig boring #so in a way #i have to give it credit for that at least #bisexual king vash #what an icon #what a fucking mess

[lolahauri]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Take All of Me

Ship: Statue of Ares/Reader (Fornite Kneeling Statue from Tiktok)

Type: Smut, Gender Neutral Reader, Porn with Plot.

Contains: Sex with a God, Deep Throating, Rough Oral Sex, No Penetration, Mild Dubcon, Power Dynamic, Size Kink, Statue Comes (to life)

Words: 1.8k

Requested?: Kinda...

You were walking through a crowded pine forest, not exactly sure where you were going anymore, but it was too late to turn around now. You’ve been searching for the mythical Statue of Ares, said to bless any warrior lucky enough to find him. Was is it even real? You wanted to believe so. Despite the amount of men and women alike who’d vanished trying to find him, you wanted to believe. You couldn’t explain it, but you felt an almost magnetic draw to the god. 

But it’d been three days at this point, trudging through the mud and grass, looking for any sign of the shrine. It was believed that leading to his statue, a path of torches would lead directly to him, lit purely from the energy of his warriors spirit. 

~

You were breathing heavily, exhausted but trying to maintain your speed. Things were looking hopeless though, the sun had already set for the third time, you were running low on rations, and you were pretty sure you were just walking in circles now. Maybe this was a mistake, a delusion you should have never fed into. You were going to die like the hundreds before you, alone in the woods, looking for an urban legend. This was just how it was meant to end, i suppose...

“Shit!” you yelped and gasped out loud, nearly landing face-first into the ground, just barely catching yourself by your forearms. You couldn’t see what you tripped over just yet, but you didn’t have to wonder for long.

Your eyes widened in disbelief as you saw sparks of orange and yellow light flickering from the forest floor. As you got onto your knees, you couldn’t believe it. Is this some kind of hallucination? Were you about to die soon? Hopefully it happens quickly. 

Two parallel rows of torches flickered and danced wildly, now creating a lit path right in front of you. It seemed to be leading to a clearing about 50 feet ahead. You stood up, legs shaking and heart racing. Stumbling down the path and into the clearing, any thoughts occupying your mind seemed to vanish, a new energy was taking you over. A strong, warm energy. 

The clearing was just in front of you now, a circular patch of untouched grass, surrounded by elderly trees and lit torches. Despite it being the middle of the night, it was almost light over there, you would’ve thought the sun was just beginning to set if you hadn’t seen what the rest of the woods looked like. 

Fireflies were dancing in the air as you stepped foot into the secret area. Your nerves were beginning to settle now, but your body still trembled. You could see the statues figure now, the outline of a tall, muscular spartan soldier becoming more clear. 

~

You could feel your heart pounding through your entire body as you got closer, just a few meters away from him. You were embarrassed to think so, but he was honestly gorgeous. He had to be at least 7 feet tall standing up, with a set of six-pack abs, and a body that looked like it was hand-crafted by the universe herself. 

Standing right in front of his legs now, you carefully reached forward to place a hand on his torso, not really sure what you were supposed to do now. But you immediately jumped back as the statue began to emit crackling sounds. 

Did you really just break the fucking statue?

You tried your hardest to stay calm, praying you didn’t just do what you thought you did. This must be normal right? You barely touched it… 

Pieces of stone were chipping off as the ground shook. Looking closer though, you realized the statue wasn’t just crumbling, it was uncovering something. Well, more like uncovering some one… 

Chunks of rock were flying off now, just narrowly passing by you. The light tan color of his skin much more visible. Ares started to stand, cracking the remaining stone that encased his toned body, letting it pile onto the ground below him. 

You looked up in awe, so entranced that you didn’t even realize he was looking right at you now. A smug grin was spread across his strong face as he gazed down at your small frame. You were somewhat snapped out of your trance as his deep, booming voice spoke out to you.

“Ah, so you’ve found me.” he stretched his limbs, sore from the thousands of years he was trapped, “I never thought I'd see the day…” 

Your words were trapped in your throat, distracted again by his large chest, which was just above your eye-level. A warm tingling sensation flooded your body as you heard him chuckle above you. He was amused, but not surprised, by your lingering stares. 

“Um…” was the most you could manage to get out at this point, lower stomach becoming hot. You hoped he would carry this conversation instead.

Unfortunately for you, he knew exactly what was going through your mind. Not that he minded at all, he knew he was gorgeous, he never expected a mere human like you to be anything but awestruck by him and his presence. 

“I take it you’re nervous, aren’t you?” he laughed again as he saw your cheeks turn pink, “Don’t worry, young warrior, just hand me the offering and i will give you what you were searching for.” 

Your stomach dropped and your blood ran cold after hearing this. “Wait, what? What offering? I never heard anyone mention that!” This can’t be happening… 

Your mouth was hung open as your eyes darted around the area in a panic, you had no idea what to do. You’d come all this way just to learn you couldn’t receive the blessing? This must just be some kind of horrible nightmare, right?

“Well?” he was leaning over slightly, looking you in the face.

“I, um, I don’t have an offering…” shame washed over you as you attempted to make eye contact. “I swear, my lord, I had no idea that was necessary! I would’ve brought something if I knew!”

He raised an eyebrow at your remarks, leaning back upwards. “Very well, then. You should get on your way back home then, soldier.” 

“Wait!” you pleaded, grabbing his forearm as he began to turn away “Please, Ares my lord, I’ll do anything!”

He was a bit shocked by your actions, looking down at you in surprise. But as he saw that desperate look in your eyes, an idea came to him. “Hm, anything, you say?” a mischievous smile covered his face.

“Yes! Anything, really.” you nodded quickly, not knowing what he was really implying. 

He thought about it for a moment longer, before deciding that he knew exactly what you could offer him instead. “Alright... On your knees, then.”

“Wait, what?” you thought to yourself, heat pooling in your core. Did you hear that right? He smirked at your expression, he kind of liked how shy you were being, as if you weren’t just eye-fucking him a few minutes prior. 

“You said you would do anything, did you not?” his hands trailed to his skirt after seeing you nod your head, loosening it and letting it drop to his feet. “Go ahead, then. Give it all you got.”

You could feel yourself getting wet already as you looked at his cock. It was fully erect, at least 9 inches, and thick. You looked up at him one more time, seeing from his expression that he was waiting for you to do something already. 

You slowly knelt down, sitting high up on your knees, your face just inches away from his throbbing cock. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his tip, bringing up a hand to start stroking his shaft.

He sighed above you, “Don’t tease, now.” 

You nodded, squeezing your thighs together to relieve some of the aching pressure building up. Quickly putting the first few inches in your mouth, you swirled your tongue around his tip and bobbed your head, trying to adjust to the first couple inches before you dared to go further. 

Ares’ head was thrown back a bit, deep groans flowing past his lips. He can’t deny how much it riles him up seeing how small you look from this angle, struggling to take his massive cock.

You pushed further down, allowing yourself to take in over half of his length. As it began to hit the back of your tongue, you tried hard not to gag, eyes watering a bit as you continued to suck, jerking off what you couldn’t fit in your mouth yet. 

“You’re doing so well, dear. Keep going for me.” his tone was more gentle than before. He weaved his large fingers through the strands of your hair as he pushed your head down even further. 

Your hands gripped onto his thick thighs tightly. It probably shouldn’t have even been possible, but you were now throating his entire length. It stuffed every bit of your mouth, causing drool to spill down your chin. Your eyes were flowing with tears from the way he was making you choke, but you loved it. 

He kept his hand behind your head, fully taking control. He was completely fucking your throat now, his other hand cupping the side of your face as he slid himself in and out of you. 

What was happening now was truly pornographic. Mascara was running down your cheeks, and all that could be heard now was your gargled moans. You looked up at him through your lashes, admiring his chiseled form. He locked eyes with you briefly, groaning loudly at the scene below. 

Though you honestly didn’t want to stop, your jaw was becoming painfully sore. But thankfully for you, he could feel himself steadily reaching his climax.

Soon enough, his hips stuttered a bit. Giving a few more pumps, he shoved himself all the way back down your throat as he painted it white with his cum. You gagged hard at the feeling of him harshly stuffing you full, a mildly salty taste coating your mouth. He kept in place for a moment, coming down from his high. 

You were gasping for breathe when he finally pulled out, swallowing any leftover cum in the process. You wiped your spit-covered mouth with your shirt sleeve and attempted to get off the ground. Noticing you were shaky and stumbling as you tried to stand, Ares picked you up by waist and set you down on a nearby log. You still looked dazed and totally cock drunk.

He chuckled at the sight, “You did amazing, dear. Here,” - he handed you a brown satchel. It was filled with little bottles of sparkling blue liquid - “you earned it.”

#fortnite #ares #statue of ares #x reader #smut #one shot #not my screenshot #alternate ending coming soon

[unicyclehippo]

Bubbles

[for @possibilistfanfiction started out as smth soft n goofy for u, then tilted toward sad :/ sorry. also i guess this is canon divergence where ava doesn't go through the portal but also she's fine? cannot emphasise enough that im not Thinking just vibe w me]

//

there's a bath in jillian's safe house, a really good one. it's deep and fancy, in the way that really expensive things are where they're sort of deceptively simple—it doesn't have a billion dials, or jets, it's just a comfortably large tub made of some heavy, smooth material that your fingertips glide over when you touch it.

you're dying to fill it to the brim with burning hot water and just. soak. for one hour, maybe twenty. you heard somewhere that a hot bath is good for aches and pains and that sounds like exactly what you need. you hurt now, everywhere. your body, your skin, your heart.

'ava?'

beatrice is hovering in the doorway. she looks totally serene but that's a fucking lie and you know it is because there's no way she can be calm, be serene, because you fought and killed an angel (big question mark there) and saw and rescued god (two big question marks) and you kissed her (you kissed her and she kissed you back) and no one was supposed to die but michael isn't here in this big house that his mum bought so that she could lock herself away in it and rip open time and space and save him and she let you back into her house even though you let him die and beatrice is standing in the doorway of the bathroom and there's two strands of hair knocked loose from her bun and the sight of it saves you, a little bit. you're going to lose your mind thinking about angels and gods and the halo in your spine and the way your whole nervous system feels like a livewire right now, stinging you raw from the inside out, but beatrice is here and you want to touch her hair. tuck the strands behind her ear. maybe, if you're lucky, she'll let you linger. twist one around your finger so you can feel the silken slide of it.

'yeah,' you croak, 'hi.'

beatrice smiles. her eyes roam over your face. she can't look away and you knew that she loved you before you kissed her, before you left her, because everything she wouldn't let her hands do, she did with her eyes instead. beatrice wants to touch you now—you want that too, of course, but you don't know how yet and you're hurting—so she stares.

'i can run a bath,' she offers. 'i can do that for you.'

you'll do anything for her. you'll die for her. you'll strip down out of your bloody clothes so that she can look but not touch. you'll let her run a bath for you.

'please.'

beatrice steps into the bathroom. it's about as big as the whole apartment had been, back in your little mountain town, but it doesn't feel like it. there's nothing in the world but you and beatrice and the four paces that separate you; the world is closing in around you and your shoulders are shaking from holding the collapse at bay. atlas, you think, was lucky. he was all alone. but there's a girl in front of you who wants to take some of the burden off your shoulders and you want to let her, except the burden is you and you don't know how to hand it off gracefully, you don't know how to divide the weight evenly, you don' t know how to split the world into orange slices and hand her just the northern hemisphere, or just your fear and trust. you don't want to hurt her but it's crushing you.

the taps open. water spills from the spigots, steam curling up toward the ceiling. she pours something into the water—lavender? its dusty, dusky in your nose, on your tongue. white froth builds in the base of the tub and grows.

beatrice is pouring you a bubble bath. you're going to cry, definitely; it's not a matter of if but when.

you sit on the edge of the tub and start to peel off your armour. it takes time to figure out how; teeth gritted, fingers curling stiff and unhelpful into your palms, you have to ask for her help.

'does it hurt?'

'no,' you lie.

beatrice stares at you hard but pretends to believe you, which is nice of her. she opens you up, peels your armour away like the skin of an orange. maybe there's something citrus in the bubbles she poured out, maybe you're hungry, maybe you're tripping fantastic on jillian's pain medication and thinking way too much about the gold light of adriel's church and how kissing beatrice had stung, just a little.

'stand up,' she says instead, and helps with your pants too. she's touching you, so she's looking away, eyes averted. you wonder what it would feel like if she let herself look and touch, both at the same time, and then quickly stop when it makes your head spin more than it already is. 'careful getting into the tub.'

her hands are on your elbows. they always seemed like weird body parts to you, useful only for bending your arms, helping you reach out with your hands. now, when she is touching you there, you think they might be the best thing god (huge question mark) ever invented. you tuck the feeling away for later, for some fun alone time, and refocus on the way her fingers tremble and her hair isn't perfect.

'i'm okay,' you tell her, because she hasn't looked at you, and you think she might not realise—the divinium is gone, the shrapnel tugged out of your chest and belly and legs, even the little bit by your wrist. then, you step into the tub and the water is hot and you feel like it's searing away all your fear-sweat and blood and as you start to half-fall, half-sink down into it, you say, 'will you stay?' because you got exploded a little and if there's ever a time to capitalise on that, it's now.

beatrice keeps her eyes on the ceiling as she lowers you down into the water. it sloshes over the side, splashes a line at beatrice's thigh where she's leaning against the side of the tub to help you.

'you don't have to. you don't have to do anything. you don't.'

'i'll stay,' beatrice says, and now that you're covered by the water and bubbles, she looks at you. looks at your lips and lifts her hand to touch your cheek, thumb at the corner of your mouth.

you want to kiss her again. you want to fall asleep. you want to sit in this bath and cry and hold her hand. you think, wildly, with a little luck you will get to do all of those things and more.

'do you want to get in here with me?' you ask, because if you believe in anything in this world it is pushing your luck. pulling your knees up to your chest. the water is deep enough that they only barely break the surface.

beatrice smiles. 'yes.'

'holy shit.'

'but i won't.'

'totally fair.'

'but...' she strokes the corner of your mouth, and you swear you feel the water heat up another degree around you. 'i want. i want to stay.'

#prompt fill #tagging my stories #avatrice #warrior nun

[beansprean]

OK I've babbled about this in a few tags already BUT u know we all love episode 7 it's great it's awesome this is happening BUT something that struck me from the first time I watched it was how...weird Ed was acting. He was grumpy, dismissive toward stede, resistant to doing fun activities, just wanting to wallow, talking for the first time about LEAVING the revenge. It was weird!! He seemed a little off!!

(gif via @joeal-kaysani ty)

So what happened between e6 and e7 that could have made him start to doubt his place on the revenge? That would make him feel conflicted and despondent? That would make him want to distance himself from stede when all he's been wanting is to get closer??

Izzy left.

Like we all know Izzy is an unpleasant fuck and not the best influence on Ed’s mental health. But I’ve never doubted that Ed, in whatever way, CARES about Izzy a lot. Their relationship is so weird and codependent and we don't know quite enough about it but! What we do know is they have been together (as captain and the hand) for a long, long time. We know Izzy is unfailingly loyal. We know Ed trusts Izzy to protect his reputation, kill for him, and run things when he can’t be bothered, and Izzy has privileges with Ed that no one else has (or had, before stede).

And in the last episode Izzy and stede fought to blows against the right to be at his side. And Izzy LOST. and Ed let him leave. LOOK AT THIS:

(gifs courtesy of @sambridges ty)

For a moment…Izzy looks over at Ed. Expecting, maybe, for him to step in. To say No, Izzy, you can stay. To touch his back and say I need you here. To leave with him. To Choose Him. But Ed just shrugs.

And in the very next episode, Ed is without Izzy for the first time in who KNOWS how long. He never thought Izzy would EVER leave him; Izzy was probably one of the only stable things in his life before now. He feels BAD. He feels LOST. He doesn't know where he fits anymore. Maybe he should go back to his ship. Maybe he was wrong not to tell Izzy he could stay. Maybe he should go back to before, where at least, even if he was unhappy, things were familiar. He never wanted to choose between Izzy and Stede (between one life and the other) and now the choice has been made for him.

So he's being a grumpy fuck all day, trying to convince himself he has to leave, feeling like shit for abandoning his friend(?). Unknowing what his next steps should be and how and when. Stede awkwardly tries to cheer him up. Lucius points out that if he keeps acting like this he will lose stede too (and die alone in his piss). So he has his "oh" moment and seems to settle into the path he has ended up on: he chooses to stay. He accepts the role of co-captain. The washing/revealing of the orange.

Like there’s so much here I’m gonna stop before I get off track but!! Izzy and Ed. Sooooo much there so many layers! They’re a big fat codependent onion and it makes me insane to think about.

#ofmd #our flag means death #not art #izzybeard #blackbonnet #my post. #ofmd spoilers #ofmd meta

[nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius]

TBB Incorrect Quotes, Part 15

*at the water fountain* Echo: *fills up bottle and drinks from that* Wrecker: *brought 4 bottles of water so this wouldn’t happen* Omega: *drinks straight from the tap* Crosshair: *dehydrates* Hunter *drinks from the puddle of water on the floor* Tech: *licks the tap, doesn’t even need a drink*

Crosshair: I truly hate it here ❤️ Wrecker: Now replace “it” with “women”. Not so funny now, is it? Hunter: Now replace “it” with “women”. Not so funny now, is women? Tech: Now replace “funny” with “women”. Not so women now, is funny? Echo: I’m having a fucking stroke. Hunter: Now replace “stroke” with “baby”. Congratulations!

Tech: A person can really hear themselves think out here. Tech's mind: Did you leave the stove on? The front door unlocked!? WILL YOU DIE ALONE!? Tech: Well, that was a mistake.

Wrecker: What's your greatest fear? Crosshair: Being forgotten. Wrecker: ... Wrecker: Damn, that's deep. Wrecker: Mine is the Kool Aid man, but I feel kinda stupid about it now...

Crosshair: Everyone thinks you suck. Tech: I think you have the wrong number… Crosshair: Hunter? Tech: Nope. Tech. Crosshair: Well, you probably suck too.

Tech as a child: I can’t wait to grow up and have cool adventures! Tech now: I can’t wait to go to bed.

Hunter: Guys it’s a shooting star, let’s make a wish! Tech: I wish for good grades. Crosshair: Nerd. Tech: Never mind, I wish upon the shooting star to fall down at a 30° velocity aiming for Crosshair. :) Hunter: Tech…

Crosshair: I don’t care what anyone thinks about me. Echo: Ok. Crosshair: Wait, why such a muted reaction? Did that not sound cool?

Hunter: Oh, they left the bowl out? Hunter: It says, “Take two pieces of candy.” Wrecker: Nobody around though… Wrecker grabs the entire bowl and runs off with it Hunter: NO—

Echo: Okay, how do I look? Be honest. Wrecker: There’s no critic more honest than Crosshair! Crosshair: Bad.

Echo: Uhh.. Crosshair just asked if we want to… Echo: “Fell the mighty before their time and display their carcasses in our homes?” Tech, not even looking up from his datapad: He's asking if you wanna cut down Christmas Trees. Echo: Oh, that makes more sense.

Crosshair: Echo, what are you doing tomorrow? Echo: Having my day ruined by whatever you’re about to ask me to do.

Echo: Does everyone know their job for today? Hunter: Water the flowers. Tech: Vacuum the carpet. Wrecker: Wash the dishes. Omega: Pretend to be a wolverine. Echo: Close enough.

Crosshair: I would destroy the world for you. Hunter: Okay, can you do the dishes? Crosshair: No.

Crosshair: I love cooking breakfast. It makes the whole house smell like bacon. Hunter: That’s true, but it also smells like fire and panic. Crosshair: You and the smoke detector need to get off my case.

Omega, with her hands cupped over each other: I found a cool spider! Wrecker: Oh? Lemme see! Omega, opening her hands to see nothing there: …hm. Hunter: …where’s the spider. Omega: *looks troubled and stares at her hands* Wrecker: Oh no. Hunter: OMEGA, WHERE’S THE SPIDER?!

*Wrecker and Hunter are in a mirror maze* Wrecker, seeing Hunter: C'mon, you got it! Almost through! Hunter: I see you! *runs straight into a mirror, shattering it*

Crosshair: Wrecker, you look deep in thought. What’s wrong? Wrecker: Did you know you can look at any object and know what it’s like to lick it? Even if you’ve never touched it before? Crosshair: I’m never asking you anything ever again.

Echo: Hi could I ask how exactly does one accidentally set a lemon on fire? Tech: Microwave for 40 minutes. Hunter: WHY WERE YOU MICROWAVING A LEMON?! Tech: I read boiling lemons helps cover up bad smells and I wanted to cover up the scent of burnt oranges, but I didn’t own any pots… Wrecker: Did you burn an orange too? HOW?! Tech: Microwave for 40 minutes.

Omega: I’m taking a look at your numbers, and it doesn’t look good. You have a lot of measurements. Quite a few variables. Wrecker: Is that…bad? Omega: Variables are the #1 risk factor for outcomes. The past is a big contributor to the future. Wrecker: Isn’t that just causality? Omega: Causality is the leading cause of death in this country. Wrecker: So what are my odds? Omega: Do you have a family history? Wrecker: Of what? Omega: Just, in general. Wrecker: …Yes? Omega: Oh no.

Echo: Hey bro, what do you want to eat? Crosshair: The souls of the innocent! Wrecker: A bagel. Crosshair: No! Wrecker: Two bagels.

Tech: I hate to say ‘I told you so’— Crosshair: No, you don’t. You would marry 'I told you so’ and have a baby with it and buy adjoining burial plots.

Hunter: What are you guys playing? Crosshair: Go Fish. Hunter: That’s a nice, safe game. Hunter: But don’t you need cards? Tech: Where do you keep the spear gun?

Echo: What did you get on your shirt? Tech: Rust. Echo: From what? Tech: Weapons. Hunter: Time for more adult supervision.

Wrecker, playing a video game: This game is so frustrating! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! Tech: Ok, I think it’s time to turn off the game for a little while. Wrecker: But I’m having fun!

Tech: I don’t think our death ray is working. I’m standing right in it, and I’m not dead yet.

Crosshair: What starts with F and ends with Uck? Tech: No it doesn’t. Omega: Firetruck! Wrecker: FUCK!

Hunter: Go to hell! Crosshair: Where do you think I come from?

Crosshair: Hey I got you food, pick a number between 1 and 10. Hunter: Uh 4? Crosshair: Wrong, no food for you. Hunter: Wait what?! WHY?! CROSSHAIR PLEASE—!

Wrecker: Care to give a free sample to a pretty person? Echo, manning a bake sale and tired of his shit: Sure! You know one? Wrecker: Wrecker: Care to give a free sample to an ugly person?

Crosshair: Just trust me. Have I ever put you in an unsafe or uncomfortable situation? Tech: All the time. Crosshair: Then you should be used to it by now.

Omega: If I fall… Echo: I’ll be there to catch you. Hunter: *looks at Wrecker What if I fall? Wrecker: Then I’ll fall with you, never leaving your side. Tech: *watches these two interactions* Tech, to Crosshair: And if I fall? Crosshair: I’ll be the one who pushed you.

*The Squad is on a hike* Hunter: It’s beautiful out here. Tech: And quiet. Hunter: Too quiet. Tech: Did we lose someone? *cut to Wrecker with a bear in a headlock*

Crosshair: I wonder who’s ruining my life. Crosshair: *looks in the mirror* Crosshair: So we meet again.

Tech: Jellyfish have survived for 600,000 years without brains… Echo: A ray of hope for Crosshair! 

Wrecker, watching the news: Some idiot tried to fight a squid at the aquarium today. Echo: *walks in covered in ink* Well maybe the squid was being a dick.

Wrecker: How do people stay inside ALL day? Crosshair: All my stuff is here and I don't like people.

Tech: In my defense, I was left unsupervised. Hunter: Wasn’t Wrecker with you? Wrecker: In my defense, I was also left unsupervised.

#part 15 wahoo #tbb incorrect quotes #incorrect bad batch quotes #the bad batch #star wars #tbb #incorrect quotes

[callmearcturus]

the au everyone but me is sick of

so while i was super depressed and sad, i did the Extremely Predictable and wrote more fallout AU to comfort myself. someone left a comment suggesting i write out the full epilogue so I started doing that just to ensure I was writing SOMETHING.

i have no idea if I will finish, so here is what I have so far for your amusement.

this will make literally no sense if you haven't read out here the good girls die.

Even now, Karkat had never learned how to be a morning person, and so assumed he was just never going to make that switch. Here in the late California summer, the mornings were blessedly cool and forgiving while his beloved nights were balmy until the moon was high in the sky. For comfort's sake alone, he should have adapted.

But no. Like clockwork, every morning found him here, sitting at the kitchen table with his eyes mostly shut, his head heavy on his neck in a way that let him doze for a while, yes, but also ensured he was going to get a knot lodged right at the top of his spine. This was the devil's bargain he took Monday to Friday, except for the Fridays where he decided the office could just open later, he didn't care.

"Are you conscious, ranger?" 

"No," Karkat said, managing to make one syllable into a vehicle conveying his ire.

"Poor baby," another voice said, and something was set down in front of Karkat. He blurrily opened his eyes and looked at the plate. A nice little pile of roti with a generous scoop of chutney. 

Karkat smiled to himself at the sight. He'd missed his father's breakfast as soon as he left home some ten years ago. Getting to have it again as Dave picked up on a few recipes was heartwarming in a way that threatened to cause a brush fire in his chest.

Tearing one roti, he dabbed it through the chutney. "The lemons came in?"

"They're, like, almost oranges? I dunno, your dad says citrus crossbreeds a bunch." Dave knuckled his hip and looked across the kitchen at Rose.

She shook her head silently; Rose didn't eat breakfast most days. Apparently that was the default for her, divorced from her life in the Mojave where everyone ate whenever they could, unsure of when their next meal would be. "The free lovers of the produce world," she offered in bemusement.

"Ugh," Dave said, nose wrinkling.

"Contain your prudishness."

"M'not a prude, I just don't want to think 'bout the orchard orgies this early, it's perfectly fuckin' reasonable." He held out a spoon to her. "Will you just try this, it's the first one pops let me do on my own without hoverin'."

"It's good," Karkat confirmed as he ate.

"Your constant need for approval is truly your greatest failing," Rose told him sternly as she bent to taste the chutney. Dave tried to swat her; she dodged nimbly. "Don't, I just did my hair." Swallowing, she gave him one brisk, prescribed nod. "Tart. Anise?"

"Yeah, I don't dig anise, but baba fucking insists on it."

"It's good," Karkat said again.

"What is his name?" Rose asked suddenly. 

"Who?" Dave picked up a roti for himself and spooned in some chutney, rolling it like a little burrito.

"The elder Vantas."

"Dunno. At this point, I'm playin' the long game, seeing if I can go the my entire life without knowing."

Rose crossed her arms and looked at Karkat, eyebrow lifted.

Shrugging, Karkat chewed slowly and offered no answer.

"Fine, please yourself," Rose said. She always referred to Karkat's father with dignified appellations, Father Vantas and Monsieur Vantas and such. Karkat was pretty sure her mouth refused to form diminutive sounds like *baba.* It was fun to watch her verbally dodge each one while Dave tacked more on.

He wasn't about to spoil that for them.

"You have an appointment with the teacher's union in an hour," Rose announced. "When you have sated yourself, let's be off, councilor."

"And who's your meetin' with?" Dave asked sunnily.

"What could you mean, brother-mine, I'm just the secretary." She opened the fridge and took out a nuka. Cracking the top of with a precise strike against the counter, she took a swig. "Hurry up, Karkat."

If working with the military had taught Karkat anything, it was how to march.

=

As of the last regional election, Karkat worked out of the council house. Vineyard wasn't such a political foothold in the Republic that it had been contentious, and there were enough other former military people peeled off the Navarro base that Karkat's commendation had actually meant something.

It hadn't been how Karkat intended to spend his retirement, but also Rose was right; he was civic-minded and liable to go fucking stir-crazy if he didn't have something to do. So in the end, he let the whole thing happen.

And here he was, his schedule peppered liberally with meetings, trying to figure out how to not piss off too many people, and to really piss off very specific people.

But on some level, he never stopped being a ranger and probably never would.

The representative of the teacher's union talked about their back order of textbooks from the closest press, how they'd put in the order two years ago and there was still nothing to show for it. It wasn't fair that children around Shady Sands had whatever materials they wanted while anyone even slightly off the highway had to make do.

Karkat asked what kind of books they needed, and took notes.

"Are we going somewhere," Rose asked when she caught Karkat in the living room with a map on the table.

"Another errand," Karkat muttered, walking his fingers from Vineyard to the spot on the map he needed. "You two can stay, it'll only be a few days."

"What sob story tugged at your overflowing bouquet of heartstrings this time?"

"School needs more books. Press is taking its sweet fucking time and kids are having to share texts."

"Sounds like the work of a strongly worded letter to the capital."

"Already sent one. Now it sounds like I can cut out the middle man and just hit this old vault for what they have."

"You hate vaults," Dave said from down the hall. "Why are we talkin' about vaults?"

"It's not really a vault," Karkat said. "Old Brotherhood bunker, remnants from a chapter that folded some fifty years back. All the tech got claimed by the Followers, but they'll let me have extra books for if its for education."

"And this something that must fall squarely on your own shoulders?" Rose asked, dropping herself into the armchair as she observed Karkat's manual cartography. As she did, Dave wandered in, his hair curling around the nape of his neck, damp from a shower, walking around barefoot with a towel around his hips.

"It's just…" Karkat frowned at them. "I know where to go, who to talk to, what to say. Why would I rope in some daytripper who doesn't know their ass from their elbow when I can just do it myself, the point is eliminating the middleman. I'm not going to add in another middleman for kicks."

Rose sighed loudly, leaning her cheek on her hand, as if Karkat was being disappointing in a predictable way. 

"You're staying here, I don't know what your issue is," Karkat said. "If I didn't know better, and I fucking do, I'd say you were concerned and were going to miss me."

"Luckily we do know better," Rose said dryly. "No, but Dave will, and I will have to deal with his longing looks and whimpering in your absence."

"Oh, fuck you," Dave said, turning right back around and leaving the room. "Bye, California, try not to step on a deathclaw's foot while you're out."

Pointing over her shoulder, Rose said, "See? He'll be like that the entire time you're away, and I will have to deal with it."

"Shut up, Rose," Dave called down the hall.

"I'm not even leaving yet, can you both relax," Karkat said with a sigh.

"Do try not to abandon us for too long," Rose said.

=

He didn't mean to abandon the twins for very long at all. The trip down southeast to the Follower operation was a two-book journey at most.

Karkat tended to estimate his time in that way. When he first was stationed in the Mojave, he got stopped at the Outpost. A security officer had gone through his stuff because generally speaking new people were only supposed to have one gear bag and Ranger Cancer had two.

"Is this thing just books," the officer had asked after awkwardly shifting the books around without removing them from the bag. They were very precisely arranged and stacked inside to maximize space, and the officer didn't seem like she wanted to fuck up the careful engineering.

"I'm on a two year tour," Karkat had said.

"This bag probably weighs more than a bodybag."

"Yeah." Karkat had already had this argument with his superiors back east. If Karkat was willing to carry the fucking thing, he could do what he wanted. However, if he dropped dead of exhaustion from carrying an extra bag through a goddamn desert, they'd leave him behind and write his cause of death as Stupidity.

Karkat hadn't dropped dead, and he'd read through his entire bag during his tour. He'd even given some books out to First Recon as gifts; he knew sniper work was a whole lot of waiting around in boring places.

But now, in California, Karkat took two books with him. They were perfect for passing time before nightfall; the perfect barometer of when he needed to get moving was the necessary light level for reading a yellowed Old World novel. As soon as he started to squint at the words, it was time to go.

Walking through California was different than the desolate quiet of the Mojave. Back in Vegas, Karkat had walked with his rifle in hand. The sight of anyone or anything moving on the horizon was a possible threat; raiders, mutated animals, motherfucking cazadors.

And there was still danger in California, but things were less…. ornery, as Dave would say. People were less willing to tempt death by ambushing a guy in ranger gear.

At Olompali, Karkat checked into an cabin. After cleaning up, he deliberated exactly how he wanted to handle this one. The Followers of the Apocalypse were not fans of the New California Republic, but generally they respected the rangers as a self-managing volunteer group. If the Followers believed in anything, it was anarchic altruism.

Karkat left his helmet and his mantle, keeping his armor light, with his patch on his shoulder. After more deliberation, he left his service pistol and kept his rifle on his back, hoping that would be a sign he was here to be useful but not a threat.

Rose was mortifyingly right about him, Karkat thought with a scowl. The careful picking and choosing of himself to make sure he got the reaction he wanted, it was all very political of him. Thank fuck she wasn't around to see it, to needle him and ask him to explain his precise choices.

Sighing, Karkat went to the old bunker.

The whole ordeal was familiar; the Followers were very sympathetic to Karkat's plight and were openly interested in providing assistance to educational efforts. And what a coincidence, they did have most of the hoarded library the Brotherhood had collected.

But there were just a few things they'd appreciate help with, if Karkat had some time. After all, he did bring a rifle.

Karkat liked the Followers but for fuck's sake, this wasn't his job anymore.

Dave and Rose:

Made it to the Followers safely. Stuck with their honey-do list before they'll give up the books. Will be a little longer than expected. Please remember to actually go shopping and pick up food so you don't starve.

Love you, see you as soon as I can.

California

For ten minutes, Karkat deliberated on the sign off. He'd been witness so many times to the particular distaste the twins had to outright shows of affection and emotional statements.

But it was a letter and he wouldn't be there when they got it, and thus would dodge all of their sarcasm and irritated hissing.

Sealing the letter, he found a courier on the way to Navarro and asked him to detour to Vineyard.

With that handled, Karkat geared up and stormed out on the trail of the raiders the Followers wanted to disappear.

=

The little venture out to the Followers took a few weeks, which was both longer than Karkat intended and shorter than he feared.

These things usually wound up being worth it in his experience. There were times when he showed up in the name of the NCR, carrying some kind of orders from on high, and knew the way people bristled at him, at the way that kind of control chafed against them.

He also knew if he showed up and did shit like this, crossing out items from the honey-do list with blood and dust under his nails, he'd usually luck into a more longterm relationship. People who actually did shit were the truest currency of the New World, more than caps and dollars.

So with a lingering sense of satisfaction, Karkat talked to the doctor running the outpost and verified there would be a caravanner up to Vineyard soon with all the books a brahmin could haul. And just as a bonus, they'd send one of their own instructors along to give a few lectures on science and medicine.

Perfect. With that promise secured, Karkat put his back to the camp and headed home.

By now, he'd traded his books for new ones. He barely read them, eager to get home and traveling straight through one night and into the next day.

Karkat enjoyed being a ranger, but he also enjoyed being home. Having a home still carried its own novelty bias.

With the accelerated pace, Karkat had the good fortune to return to Vineyard at night. As he walked through the streets, one watchmen wandered his way, suitably concerned about someone in full armor with a rifle just out and about in the city.

Karkat waved to him, and got a thumbs up. Just the local ranger, nothing to see here.

Well, ex-ranger.

Arriving home quiet as he could, Karkat divested of his gear in the living room. It was much easier to walk quietly without the extra tonnage weighing him down, less of a risk of waking the twins when the house was dark and quiet like this.

Drinking a full glass of water and washing up briefly, Karkat wandered down the hallway. Checking the double bedroom, he found both beds empty.

Frowning silently, Karkat walked over to his own bedroom, and nudged the door open further. To his relief, someone was sleeping there. The covers were pulled up high enough that he could only see the curve of an ear and some cornsilk white hair, so saying definitively who was impossible.

He could hazard a guess and slipped inside.

When he finally put a knee on the bed, there was a sleepy mumble from under the blankets, but nothing else. Which felt a bit like dousing the warmth in Karkat's heart with moonshine. He was prepared for the usual consequence of disturbing the sleep of a New Vegas citizen, the flash of a knife, the viper's strike. But all he got was a muffled slur of consonants that might've been Rose's name with a question mark attached.

Moving over Dave, Karkat dropped himself down behind, his body fitting into the space under the windowsill, back against the wall. He couldn't help the deep sigh loosened from him at the feeling of finally being off his feet.

For a few moments, he assumed that was that, and it was time to sleep. He certainly could just fall the fuck asleep now, the weeks of work and travel coming up from behind him to smother him into slumber.

Then, Dave shifted, and the back of his hand thumped against Karkat's chest, turning to let his fingers coast over his clavicle. "Not Rose," he muttered, turning more and opening his eyes, pale little wet crescents in the dark. "Look what blew in with the tumbleweeds."

Karkat closed his hand around Dave's, pulling it up to press his lips against the knuckles. "Hey."

"Been a while." His fingertips touched Karkat's jaw. "Mammillaria."

What? "What?"

"They don't got razors in the F-O-T-A?" There was a huff of laughter. "You are so prickly."

"Was kind of busy doing their goddamn busywork," Karkat grumbled. "Didn't have time between the raiders and setting up gecko traps and investigating their water filter theft thing."

"Fuckin' itinerant do-gooder." Dave pressed his thumb against Karkat's scratchy jaw, eyes shutting again.

"Shit got done." Karkat was perfectly fine with the little touches, the point of connection stretching across the gap between them, a soft landing after so much time away. "Where's Rose?"

Dave sounded drowsily amused. "Prob'ly shouldn't tell you."

"Why?"

"Think she's, uh. Having a sleepover with the hospitality guild. Talking about… plans."

Karkat's eyes popped open as he considered that. Rose out for a clandestine 2AM meeting with the local sex workers. Which, he would probably be supportive of whatever the fuck that was about, but also he needed some plausible deniability. Karkat was a terrible fucking liar. "Yeah, don't tell me that."

"Sorry, councilor," Dave chuckled. His fingers were still skating idly around. A little considering noise escaped his mouth.

"What's wrong?"

There was enough of a pause that when Dave said, "Nuthin'," Karkat knew he was lying. Squinting at him in the dark, Karkat watched Dave press his head further into the pillow. "You know how the dust out there can make someone's skin all shiny? You're rockin' that look pretty nicely, California."

He did know it pretty well, how there was that grace period between fresh-washed to grime where it was almost like every speck of dust caught some ephemeral light and shone, making someone look like they were carved by some lost Old World master. Many times, Karkat had seen that sheen over Dave's skin and had stared for way too long, wanting to touch but certain he'd smudge it, ruin it.

Also, that was back when touching Dave was less of an inevitability.

Closing his eyes and soaking up the attention, Karkat hummed quietly.  Curling his hand around Dave's arm, he thought he could definitely sleep like this. It had the possibility of being the best sleep of his life.

"Are you for real tired?" Dave asked. "You, mister sun hater? Mister night tripper?"

"I've been traveling for almost two days straight," Karkat pointed out mulishly. "I wanted to get back to you."

"Oh. Well." Dave blew out a breath, and sounded almost a little disappointed, which made Karkat squint at him. "If you are going to conk out then you at least gotta give me somethin'."

Bracing with his elbow, Dave slid in closer to Karkat and kissed him, hands curling around his neck, thumbs stroking Karkat's cheeks.

#dumb fallout au #davekat #my fic

[yourbestpalpercy]

Sludge (Canon).

‘Th-! This isn’t supposed to be happening! The mech isn’t-! Percy’s not supposed to-! What’s with all the wires-!’ Pal’s panicked mind darted, trying to figure out what to do. One moment, he’s battling Nick in a fit of rage because the jerk left him behind to go work at his dream job. Next second, his mech is about to blow up! Not to mention the weird substance dripping from his mouth! Wh-What was this stuff-?! Pal could barely think, holding his head in a whimper. The wires wrapped around his limbs tightly.

Nick stood before the mech, seeing it enter a crisis mode, beeping and shaking. Pal was inside there-! Nick had to make a choice, either run up and risk being damaged while saving Pal, who, remember, betrayed him and tried to kill him with the exact mech that was about to blow or run and take cover! Nick watched Pal struggle with something inside the mech. Well then again, was this even a question? Nick ducked behind some rubble to protect him from the explosion.

Flames licked at Pal’s skin. The inside of the mech was beginning to light up with flames. “Gah-!” Pal panicked and stood up, kicking at the hatch. See-through, green tears dripped from Pal’s eyes. “Wh-What the..?” Despite the blaring alarms and burning orange of the inside of Percy, Pal felt nothing but calm confusion. Pal stared at the wires wrapped around him. A voice rang in his head, “We are one…”

Nick covers his ears as the mech blew. Fire filled the area for just a moment. Pal’s scream echoed through the air followed by a sharp crash as he hit the ground. Nick turned to where Pal landed. He was angry at the small..creature.

Pal heaved, blood dripping from his forehead. A buzzing, not unlike that of a ruined speaker, blared in Pal’s ears. Static filled his eyes along with messages. “Ghh….” Pal laid his head on the ground. “E…rror…Nick not…what am I saying..? F-Found…” His tears covered the ground, his pupils leaving his eyes. “Pal.” Nick’s stern voice woke Pal from his daze. Pal groaned and held his head before looking up at Nick.

“…Eheh…” Pal nervously smiled up at Nick’s angry face. “Pal. What the fuck WAS THAT?!” Nick pulled Pal from the rubble. Nick’s furious eyes glared into Pal’s glowing green eyes. Pal sputtered, feeling Nick clean his head wound. “You are LUCKY, you got it, Pal?! I should leave you here to die after what you did! YOU BROUGHT ME HERE TO KILL ME!”

Pal growled before snapping at Nick, “SO WHAT?! YOU DESERVE IT FOR WHAT YOU DID!” Pal tried to stand up only to immediately crumble due to his leg. Pal glared around before finding a piece of Percy’s arm and hand to use. “Oh yeah?! What did I do then to justify tricking me into coming here to kill me?!” Pal jabbed him in the chest. “YOU LEFT ME BEHIND! YOU-! YOU-! YOU FUCKHEAD! YOU ABANDONED ME FOR SOME STUPID DAYDREAM! I was your best PAL! AND YOU LEFT ME BEHIND!!” Pal screamed, green tears streaming down his face, staining his cheeks. “I HATE YOU! Get away from me! GET OFF MY PROPERTY AND NEVER COME BACK!” Pal shoved Nick, barely knocking him off balance. Nick hissed before shoving him back and knocking him down. “I’ll have you know that if I had your morals, I’d shatter that bad leg of yours more. But I don’t, because I’m not a FREAK!” Nick screamed before turning away and storming off back to his car.

Pal seethed, turning away. His mind was fuzzy and prickly with pure anger. Then, his and Nick’s words began to sink in. Pal stopped and turned back, “W-! WAIT! NICK! Don’t leave me!!” Pal reached out his hand for him. “I-! I’m sorry-! I-I hadn’t meant it-! DON’T LEAVE ME HERE!!! We’re—! BEST. ….Pals…” Pal watched Nick pull out of his driveway and leave. Pal slowly brought down his hand as the green tears flowed faster. “Don’t… please..I don’t want to be left alone,” Pal fell, curling up and crying.

The Tamas approached, curious about Pal’s sobbing. Shockingly, despite knowing him for a while, they have never seen Pal cry. Bruti approached and gently poked Pal’s chest. With a quick motion, Pal wrapped his arms around all four of them. “I’m a freak-! I’m awful-!” Pal sobbed, soon falling asleep in the rubble, sniffling and trying to rest his burns. The Tamas cuddled him back.

Pal groaned, holding his head as more tears streamed down his face. The tears dripped down his face, into his hands, and into the void below. “…I’m probably alone here..alone in this void..” Pal sniffled with a sigh. “I wouldn’t say..alone per say,” A voice murmured. “I mean-! You’re never alone when you have your best friend, Percy with you..!” Pal froze before quickly looking up. “P-Percy? But..you exploded..” The animatronic grinned a dead grin as it revealed its large form from the darkness. Wires wrapped around all its limbs like it was mocking Pal’s own appearance before the explosion. Its empty eyes bore into Pal’s own, causing a sharp shiver to head down his spine. The large hole where the cockpit was was completely black with wires that spread out from it. It was..an ominous void to say the least.

“Mostly. Yes. But not completely! What else do you think that goop is?” The animatronic continued, having chosen its own, eccentric, and cheerful voice like..like a clown or something! At least a mocking tone of sorts. “Radiation..? I think I used something radioactive to power you.” The animatronic immediately seemed annoyed, scoffing, “You used car batteries. Many, many car batteries. The explosion must’ve messed up your mind..” The animatronic rolled its nonexistent eyes.

“I-I wouldn’t be surprised if it did..I flew into my backyard..! And judging by the explosion and the power behind it,” Pal began to do some quick math. “I-I should be dead..!” Pal quivered. “I noticed!” There was a pause in the conversation, calming Pal with its silence. The animatronic suddenly slammed its paws together, causing a loud clap that startled Pal back to attention. “Anyways! I have a job for you!” “I uh..don’t take building commissions.” Pal shook his head. “Can’t focus.” “It’s partially a building request but it’s mostly just a threat!” Percy laughed excitedly, throwing its hands around as its tail wagged. “Here, you see how you’re alive now? You shouldn’t’ve been able to live through that explosive OR crash! But that substance... It let you live through that! However, considering I helped you, you have to help me! Or I’ll kill you off right now!” Percy giggled excitedly, putting its face into Pal’s face, clearly trying to scare him. Pal gulped and looked around.

“I want a new body! Those Tamas you like to build..I want one of those!” Pal stopped, fully confused. “Wh…a tamagotchi? You- don’t think that’s even slightly a downgrade? You’re going from a huge, powerful mech that could do almost ANYTHING to a…tamagotchi..” “Clearly not everything considering I BLEW UP!” Percy hissed, shaking Pal roughly before roughly letting him go. “I still think it’s a downgrade..” Pal murmured. “I think it’s more versatile..! Faster! More..tanky..” Pal began to think. “There..are definitely gonna be some problems. I mean, transferring a powerful motherboard and other components into such a..small form..” Pal looked up at Percy and gasped when he saw a sharp wire pointed at his heart. “Look..you can either make the form..or just plain perish!” Percy giggled excitedly. Pal quivered, closing his eyes. “O-Okay…” He nodded before gasping awake in his bed.

Pal looked around, being careful not to hurt himself more. On his desk was a note. That note wasn’t there before.. Pal roughly stood up, stumbling a little as he placed his leg on the ground. Pal hissed and limped over to the desk to read the note. It was from Nick. Pal held the note tighter in both a rage and sharp depression. Pal pulled the chair out and gently sat down, staring at the note before reading it over.

To Pal

I bet you’re wondering why I’m writing this. I mean, I’m still angry at you, you did try to kill me. But you know, after I thought about it, I wanted to say sorry for what I said, I said it in the heat of the moment and I hadn’t meant to. Don’t take this as an invitation to try to be my ‘pal’ again. I don’t think I could ever be your friend again. Anyways, I know you don’t like the hospital, Leechtopia and stuff, so I tried my best to patch you up. The Tamas were really protective of you, screeching and hissing which yeah, I understand. Got a few bites and hits from them when I picked you up. I hope you’re doing better now. I don’t know how to fix your leg but I’m sure you’ll figure something out. I wouldn’t be surprised if you studied it. I swear you’ve studied everything.

There was a large space after the sentence as if inviting Pal to write something. Pal sighed and picked up a green pen before deciding not to.

I mean, you made a huge mech with- flamethrowers I think I saw (?Couldn’t tell what they were) and extendable limbs. Not to mention the music. Could barely hear it over the panic and fighting but it sounded alright. Anyways, I don’t know what else to say. Maybe we’ll meet back up in the future. Maybe you’ll have gotten better and less crazy.

From Nick

Pal stared at the letter, watching green tears start to drip from his eyes again. Pal sighed and laid down his head. “…I’m a mess…” Pal murmured before taking out a piece of paper to send back to Nick.

Dear Nick,

I got your letter. I’m glad that despite your anger, you still helped me. I could probably 3d print a leg replacement. I’m sorry for what I did. I guess that’s what no sleep will do to you. I’m sorry for trying to kill you. I’ll admit. Yes, the plan was to hurt you or you know, make you stay and never leave again. I hadn’t intended to try to kill you but by the third or 4th hit maybe? I remember you attacking me but I don’t know what with. Anyways, by then, I had lost myself to that blasted mech. Ha, see what I did there? “Blasted”? Ah, I’m not funny. I’m getting off topic. Once I had started up that laugh I got online, I felt something change inside my head like I enjoyed trying to harm you. I realize now that it was probably the strange substance that now makes me cry green tears. How charming, right, Nick? I’ll put some research into it. I gotta ask though, how’s your job? Was it just like you dreamed? I hope so. You looked excited 2 years ago when you got the acceptance letter. I’ll never forget that hug. Never seen you so excited. Wish I shared your excitement at the time instead of thinking of what I’d do without you. Oh, do you still have Popsicle? Your white cat?

Gah, I’m rambling. Uhm, yeah, those were flamethrowers. They took forever to figure out and correctly implement. I made the song myself, it took a while. Essentially, I don’t think I was taking the fight seriously for the most part. Maybe it was for fun? Don’t know. Hee, remember when I called you immature when we first met? Now look at us, you’re cool and mature and I’m even more of a nerd than back then and pretty immature. About the Tamas, please don’t tell me you hurt them. They’re special to me. They’re like…pets no. They’re..I don’t know. I’m ending this letter. I’ll make sure to improve myself for the future. Thank you for the letter, Nick.

Sincerely,

Pal

Pal sighed, sitting down in his seat and rubbing his eyes. He’d send the letter tomorrow if he remembered to. There were some tears on his desk that when Pal wiped away, made him realize how heavily staining they were, no matter how much Pal scrubbed, they were coming up. Pal groaned and sat back, burying his face into his hands before dragging his hands down his face. “Stupid tears- WHY do they staaain.” Pal hissed. Pal sighed and got up.

Pal walked into his living room and sat down on the couch, turning on his tv to find something to watch. The tv flickered and sputtered. When Pal took a moment to rub his eyes, Percy appeared on the tv. “What are you doing!?” Percy hissed, hoping from the tv and poking Pal’s nose. “You’re supposed to be making my NEW BODY!” Pal hissed and turned his head away a little, giving Percy a sideways glare. “I will start tomorrow. Right now, I’m taking a chance to think and register the crap show I was a part of..” Pal grumbled and stretched. “I can still kill you off.” Percy hissed only for Pal to quickly respond with, “If you can, why don’t you? I certainly don’t wanna be alive considering everything.” Pal then smirked and pretended to be shocked, “Oh riiight, because you’re not connected to anyone else. I’m your only chance to get that new body! And also the only one willing to put up with your bs and this whole, green, staining tears junk!”

Percy growled loudly, “Don’t get cocky, Pal. I can do many things with that substance flowing through you.” Pal sighed, “I don’t get cocky luckily for you. Anyways, I’m gonna watch Monster Academy or something. Something animated as right now, I feel crappy animated shows are the only thing I can fall asleep to.” Percy groaned loudly and sat back. “Why do you even watch it if it’s awful!?” Pal chuckled at Percy’s over-dramatic response. “It passes the time and well, it’s something to fall asleep to.” Pal got comfortable as one of the characters confronted a bully in a dramatic style, sobbing and whining for a reason. “It’s so boring and whiny..!” “You’re whiny…”

#playtime with percy #playtime with percy au #playtime with percy pal percy #playtime with percy percy #playtime with percy nick

[two-red-lungs]

I haven't watched lost boys in 100 years but as a kid I had dreams about Alex winters character and his beautiful hair. Do you have any headcanons for him?

I LITERALLY HAVE SO MANY MARKO HEADCANONS YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW OKAY LISTEN HERE THEY ARE

TLB Marko Headcanons (SFW):

Just like all the other gang members, he's a psychopathic adrenaline junkie with impulse issues but that surprises literally nobody

WAY more feral/animalistic than his blood-brothers. He'll bite people even when he doesn't need to feed. He just likes doing it for funsies and to see their reaction and fear/upset

Loves to catch/control things. People for hunting, but animals for fun

By this mean I mean he literally GRABS pigeons and crows and rats just to watch them squirm before letting them go. One time he caught an owl and ran into the lobby with this great big flapping nightmare in his hands, scratching the shit out of him, to show it off

The boys enjoy a good hunt. But Marko and Dwayne extra enjoy it. Like, too much

He cackles. Over everything. This isn't a man this is a hyena

For such a defensive, quick-to-anger, competitive, fucked-up little guy, he has a surprisingly dependable and amical relationship w/ Paul. Like, they are best best friends. If push comes to shove it's them against the world

He's Italian. I'll fucking DIE on this hill. A bit of a brat, and a beauty, always used to getting what he wants? This dude was a highly sought-after High Renaissance model in Florence (esp. considering the beauty standard in art at that time was youthful athleticism)

CAN and WILL cuss you out in Italian like a little blonde mobster, even while he's getting hauled away by Paul for Starting Shit

Short fuse. Bad temper. Again, brat.

He won't stop putting stuff in his mouth. Remember the biting thing? It doesn't just extend to people who annoy him. He'll bite on coins, the hems of his gloves, his nails. Bottlecaps and chopsticks, too

Is similar to Paul in the sense that he's gross. Real nasty man. He dropped a piece of orange chicken on the sandy boardwalk? Oh yeah. That's getting eating 100%

Marko comes off as the most overtly inhuman. In the animalistic way he moves, his little feral grins, the way he very obviously eyes people up. His aura is... weird. It's good that the other boys are there honestly bc alone he'd creep people out

That jacket is literally the prized piece of his collection. It reeks and he wears it every night: he's been adding shit onto it since he got it in the 50s, and by "adding shit" I mean "asking Dwayne to do it" because he's shit with a needle

His favorite places on the boardwalk itself: The arcade w/ Paul, the rollercoaster (he likes to stare at the people in front of him and make them uneasy), and the crowded beach (he roams between the bonfires, flirting and being a menacing little shit in equal portions)

Enjoys being a center of focus/attention, but often doesn't get to do it because he's part of a pack now, and David leads

Speaking of David, if anyone else told him to do something??? Marko would be like "literally fucking bite me, I'm not doing that" but if David tells him to jump he'll say "how high?"

I think he views David as the reason why he has brotherhood (and also looks up to the collected, dark, casual aura David has because he's got such a short fuse himself)

Real talk??? Genuinely??? Probably the vampire you would LEAST want to run into alone. You'd die. Probably with the others, too, but with him there is zero chance to negotiate. He will not listen.

If he has a target, he hunts it, and nothing you can say will change his mind.

I hope these resonate with you guys, I think about Marko all the time (✿◠‿◠) he is a terrible little lad. If anyone wants headcanons for the other boys lemme know and I'll write them!

#the lost boys #tlb 1987 #tlb marko #the lost boys fanfiction #my writing

[barry-j-blupjeans]

2022 Fic List!

This is a compilation of all the fics I've posted on Ao3 in 2022, plus some ficlets I like that I posted here! As always, Journal Pages is still being updated but I'm not gonna put it on this list because I made it last year (I think??)

Memories, Just a Bit To the Left

Being kidnapped was, honestly, not incredibly horrible. It wasn’t a good thing, for sure, for sure, but Barry could deal with it. Was he low on hit points? Yeah, and it was shitty. Did he feel like he was going to die? Occasionally, that’s just something that happens sometimes, you know? But it wasn’t all bad. Some of the gerblins were nice. They gave him some water, kicked him around a bit more, gave him an orange that they refused to peel so Barry just kind of spat the peel out as he went. A solid three out of five stars.

But he wasn’t too worried about the whole thing. Even as low as his hit points got, he knew that Taako would come find him. It was just a matter of if he would find Barry too late.

This was for the 2021 Candlenights exchange and it is killer, I think. I really enjoyed getting to write this and explore the space of this AU.

Archaeology Excavation on My Body

“How do you always know everything?” he asked instead of rising to her bait. “That’s the secret I want to know, ma’am. You’ve got prying eyes anywhere? Listening ears?”

"I run a secret organization on the moon,” the Director said dryly. “I’ve grown accustomed to knowing both everything and absolutely nothing at the same time. If you don’t want me to know, then I won’t know. I’ll never bring it up again. I’m simply offering us a way to, uh-” she glanced at the wall. It had been twenty minutes since the Reclaimers went offline. “Pass the time. And perhaps a way to help manage your pain a little better. No one else has noticed, Angus, but you do tend to limp a bit.”

Fuck, Angus thought.

This one was a pure vent fic, but I'm glad other people could relate to it anyway! I love giving characters I like everything that's wrong with me.

Tedious Familiarity

Déjà vu. Noun. A feeling of having already experienced the present situation. A tedious familiarity.

Barry Bluejeans woke up in a cave, fresh out of a pod filled with green goop, and saddled with an unsettling feeling that he had been here before. If you had asked forty-year-old Barry if he would follow instructions left by a talking coin, he probably would have asked you what type of drugs you were on. But, y’know, fifty… two? Fifty-one? How old was he? Fifty-two sounded right. But, y’know, fifty-two years old Barry didn’t really have that many other places to turn, so this couldn't be all that bad.

Barold my beloved!! I love any take on Barry's years alone and I thought I'd give myself a stab at it! Or several stabs, if we're going by death count. I really like how this one came out!!

Heart-Shaped Stickers

A collection of my blupjeans week prompts for 2022!

As seen on the tin sldkfsd.

Keep Your Friends Close (And the Lich Who Gives You Cryptic Advice Closer)

“There’s a lot you don’t know and I can’t tell you yet,” the Red Robe said. “And I’m genuinely sorry about that, Magnus, but right now, from the Bureau’s perspective, I’m not the good one.”

“From your perspective?” Magnus asked.

“From my- I…” he stopped again, contemplating, as if no one had ever asked him this question before. "I try to be, I think."

AKA: Magnus has questions and no one from the Bureau is giving him answers. He goes looking for the one person who will.

This baby is my pride and joy of this year, I think. It has always taken me Ages to write any chaptered fic but I'm very very proud of this one.

Autumn-Themed Notebook

Prompt fills for TAZ November Celebration 2022.

Again, as seen on the tin!

Now onto the Tumblr Ficlets!!

This list would not be complete without this ficlet about Magnus, Carey, and Killian discussing Magnus's top surgery or this one about a heart-shaped locket Barry picked up. Some other favorites from this year include:

Voidfished Taako interacting with Red Robe Lup and Barry (x)

June/The Temporal Chalice finding Barry's worst memory (x)

Merle and Hekuba talking post Story and Song (x)

Lucretia and Magnus talking about emotions and the stars (x)

Lucretia discovering the umbrastaff broke early (x)

Barry and Lucretia forming a truce to fuck over Governer Kalen (x)

Lucretia trying to discover who's stealing from the Fantasy Costco (x)

Taako taking the fall for all of Lup's deaths (x)

The Starblaster Crew stealing Magnus's shirts while he's dead (x)

Taako, Kravitz, and the mafia - Werewolf edition! (x1, x2, x3)

I gotta stop there or else this will go on forever sldfksdf. Let me know if you have any particular favorites from what I've written this year :D! It'd mean the world to me. My writing tag is #ise cube writing as always and my ao3 is IntrovertedHappiness if you wanna go check me out there!

#taz #taz balance #fic list #i am speaking #:D!!!!

[blxckdragonfly]

Alkaline (Darkness Finds You Universe #4)

(Song: “Alkaline” by Sleep Token. 

Warnings: Mention of overdose, suicide, drug use, slight smut on the page, and then some good old fluff af. 

Pairing: Chris Motionless & Lycia Winters “Pronunciation of her name-- Lai-shuh” (Played by Ana De Armas) 

Synopsis: After being consumed by the recurring nightmare that she gets every three days after the anniversary of the death of her first love, Marcus, Lycia opens up to Chris about the overdose that nearly cost her her life. 

Word Count: 2,924 

A/N: And we’re back! This is a pretty tough one to also begin with but I hope the romance that you read and the fluff afterwards makes this one easier to handle. I hope you enjoy. x Tiger Co-written with @blackrose-92​

Spotify Playlist: Linked Below!)

Lycia and Chris’s Home: Scranton, Pennsylvania– March 17th, 2022.  

Flames, they were bright as the sun– the tint of orange crossing my vision as I saw the silhouette of my first love and boyfriend, Marcus, every inch of his body being swept in them. The smoke filled my lungs and it hurt to breathe. I stood, frozen as the thorny vines wrapped around me, digging into my flesh when I wanted to move and escape. 

“Marcus! Marcus, no! Don’t!” I screamed until I felt my throat become raw.

“Lycia. Lycia, hey. Wake up.” I suddenly hear Chris’s voice but it’s distant, the vines releasing their grip on me and I see a light in front of me, I follow that light. 

I stir and my eyes open, making sure I don’t jerk my body as I see Chris in front of me. His eyes took on a look of worry. I wipe my forehead and I feel a warm sweat on my body, like I’d actually been too close to a flame. I feel his hand move to stroke my hair and he senses how warm I am. 

“Oh, not again,” I grumble. “You’d think I’d be used to this by now.” 

“Baby, this is not something you should be used to,” Chris said as I looked into his worried eyes, the warmth of the chocolate brown. “This isn’t normal, let alone healthy.” 

“If you want to talk unhealthy, babe. You don’t even know half of it.” I say as I sit up in bed, leaning against the headboard, I see a look of intrigue come across his face. 

“What do you mean, Lycia?” Chris asks as he sits with me. I take a deep breath. 

“After Marcus died, the shock lasted several days. I tried to find ways to cope with the pain and then it just got worse after that. Even after drinking, it didn’t help. I went out with a few friends to a party and there happened to be a few people offering cocaine so I took some. 

After the first line, it didn’t do anything. So I kept going until I was offered heroin. In my mindset, I thought that this had been the answer I was seeking. I lost a ton of weight and I was constantly tired. Until about a month later when that same dealer who offered me the heroin came back looking for payment. Even though I was loopy out of my fucking mind, I didn’t consent to what happened between him and I but he did it anyway. I remember him saying it was payment for the drugs. I couldn’t fight him off because I was so high on heroin.” I explained. 

I see Chris look almost sick to his stomach and I see anger crossing his eyes– I know he wasn’t mad at me. I know he was mad about the situation. 

“I didn’t care at that point. I wanted to die– I wanted to see Marcus again, even if it meant killing myself to do it. I filled the syringe up to the max and I injected myself with it. I wanted the pain to stop, so I begged to slip away without any more pain. My brother, Adrian, found me that day. He rushed me to the hospital while I was under, I had two strokes and a heart attack.” 

Chris’s anger disappears and tears come up to the surface in his eyes, as if he wanted to grieve my almost death. 

“I should probably stop, I can see the way it’s starting to get to you,” I murmured. I feel Chris take my hand in his own, he shakes his head at me. 

“No, honey. Keep going,” Chris whispers as he takes on a brave face. I sighed. 

“Even though I almost died, something kept me here. I didn’t know what it was at the time but as I recovered, I was told that I’d be transferred to a mental hospital, where I was put on suicide watch. I understood why though. The only option to get out was going to rehab, which I jumped immediately at and did everything I could to sober myself back up. Get back to a healthier mindset.” 

I felt Chris’s thumb tracing the back of my hand, I could see that he was trying to be strong for me but even then, a single tear fell down his face. 

Every once in a while, something changes

And she's changing me

It's too late for me now, I am altered

There is something beneath

“Babe, I know you’re trying so hard to be strong for me. I appreciate it, I do but you can let it out.” I whisper. He doesn’t say anything for a moment until he pulls me close, laying on the bed and wrapping his arms around me. I lay my head on his chest as I hear his breathing become heavy and he starts to sob softly. We clutch onto each other, shedding tears. 

“I fucking love you,” He says as he sniffs, laying his chin on the top of my head. “I love you so much, Lycia. I’m so sorry that you had to go through such horrible shit like that. Don’t blame yourself for getting into those kinds of situations. You were in such a vulnerable state and the people around you took advantage of that.” 

“I love you too,” My voice is soft as a realization hits me. I knew why I was kept here. I knew it all along. It was the man holding me in his arms. “I think I know what kept me here after all.” 

I leaned in and I wiped away the tears that fell down Chris’s face with my thumb. Our eyes lock as I rest my forehead against his. “You. I would have never met you or fell in love with you if I didn’t make myself recover. You’re the best thing in my life, Christopher Cerulli. You always will be.” 

She's not acid nor alkaline

Caught between black and white

Not quite either day or night

She's perfectly misaligned

Chris is silent for more than a few minutes and I see his face look so touched. He meets my lips in a tender kiss, I respond to him automatically, wrapping my arms around his neck– fingers moving through his blonde hair as he deepens the kiss. When he breaks the kiss, he keeps one hand against my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. 

“I cannot even tell you how many times I’ve had fans come up and tell me that I’ve saved their lives somehow with Motionless,” He murmured. “But this… This means the entire fucking world to me. Despite it all, despite the amount of pain that you’ve experienced, you still want to stay alive and overcome it. You want to be here and keep on rising. I’m so proud of you, baby. I’ll always make sure to be here for you whenever this time of year comes around. One way or the other.” 

I'm caught up in her design

And how it connects to mine

I see in a different light

The object of my desire

My heart starts to flutter in my chest as I pull him in for another kiss, I’m so grateful for this wonderful and kind hearted man being in my life. 

"I’m so happy I have you by my side, babe. You make me feel better everyday,” I whisper. I see a smile across his face as he moves in to kiss me again, he shifts so I’m on my back with my head on the pillows. I raise a brow at him and he chuckles softly. 

“I just want to love you, right now.” My heart melts as he leans in and kisses me as he moves on top of me slowly, wanting to feel me against him as my arms find their way around his neck. He breaks the kiss and starts his trail down my neck, making my body stretch at the warm feeling. My fingers reached for the black tee that he wore. I pull it off of him, leaving him shirtless. 

I will never fucking get over how hot he looks shirtless. He looks into my eyes, we both break out into smiles as his hand moves towards my face, the lightest touch against my jaw as he meets my lips again.

He reaches for mine and he carefully slips it off of me, our skin brushing against each other’s and it makes me shiver in pleasure. He moves his lips to my shoulders, a sigh leaving my own lips. 

He takes his time appreciating the skin of my upper body, kissing the center of my chest and then moving to my breast, making me run my fingers through his blonde hair as he focuses on both of them slowly. His hands touch my tattoos until he brushes the scars on my arm.

Our eyes meet each other as I see him do something I’d never seen anyone else do, the gesture bringing tears to my eyes. He places his lips onto the scars, kissing them.

That gesture of affection from him made me want him as much as he wanted me. We waste no time getting the last of our clothing off of each other. He kisses me again before going down to my ribcage and stomach, tracing the phoenix on my hip once more as he looks up at me. 

Ooh, let's talk about chemistry

'Cause I'm dying to melt through

To the hеart of her molecules

“After everything you told me, is that why you have this phoenix tattooed on you?” He asks. I run my fingers through his hair softly and I nod. 

“Yes,” I say. “It’s my reminder to keep rising up from the ashes of my past.” 

"Perfect," He whispers. He moves back up and with a warm and meaningful look in his eyes, he places a sweet peck on my lips before moving back down. I suddenly feel his fingers and I let out a soft moan, he grins at the sound that I make. He starts teasing me with his mouth too. 

“Oh, fuck,” I whimper from the pleasure as he switches from using his fingers to his mouth, the way his tongue sweeps me making me cry out and he smirks because only he can make me feel this way. “God, Chris. Fuck.” 

He looks up at me as he caresses my skin with his other hand as his fingers move back inside. 

“I love it when you say my name.” He keeps his pattern going, pulling the best cries out of me. Whimpers and moans that nearly make me almost want to climax right then and there. 

“Babe… I can’t. I need you. Please,” He pulls his fingers away and he moves back up, meeting my lips in a passionate and deep kiss before I decide to push him onto his back on the bed, taking him by surprise as I straddle his hips. I take both of his hands in my own and pin them above his head. He breaks away with a look of shock in his eyes. 

“Well, Lycia. Goddamn. That was hot,” He says and I start to giggle. 

Til thе particles part like holy water

If anything, she's an undiscovered element

Either born in hell or heaven-sent

Either way, I'm into it

I let go of his hands as I took that second to slide onto him, we both let out moans together. I start to move slowly, putting both of my hands on his tattooed chest. 

He lays his own hands against my hips, guiding my movements and tracing my skin as our lips meet in a sweet kiss for a moment, our eyes never leaving each other as he starts meeting my movements with his own. He rests his forehead against mine, I lean down and bury my face into the crook of his neck as our pace stays in this gentle and passionate atmosphere. 

“Babe... Don’t stop,” I whine softly as I see a seductive look cross his warm brown eyes, making me even more turned on if I could. I lightly pull on his blonde hair, a soft growl escaping from within his chest. He leans into my lips once more as he deepens our movements.

“Never, baby. Never.” He murmured as we kept our pace going until we reached our climax together-- me collapsing in Chris’s arms as we both were panting against each other. My head laying on his chest as I trace his tattoos with my fingers, his eyes closing at my touch.  

“I love you,” I whisper as Chris runs his fingers through the dampened strands of my hair, placing a kiss onto my forehead. 

“I love you too, honey. I always will.” I curl into his chest as he holds me close in his arms, never wanting to let me go. He rested his chin on my head as we both fell back asleep together. 

She's not acid nor alkaline

Caught between black and white

Not quite either day or night

She's perfectly misaligned

I wake up later that morning to an empty bed, I glance around for Chris as I sit up in bed. I then see the most beautiful bouquet of my favorite flowers, which are Queen of The Night tulips, they're a type of tulip that are so dark in purple that they look almost black and a note on my nightstand, my heart starts to melt. 

Had to head into the studio to finish the final touches on Scoring The End of The World. I’ll be home in a few hours with a surprise for you. I love you, my Lycia. Never forget how much I love you. 

“You’re the best boyfriend ever, Christopher Cerulli.” I say as I get up out of bed, seeking a shower, a clean set of clothes and breakfast, which is what I do. I changed into a pumpkin orange crop top from Fashion Nova, a pair of ripped black skinny jeans and pulled my hair into a ponytail before opening up my laptop and answering emails, responding to Jeremy about who we should feature for next month’s Outburn. 

I'm caught up in her design

And how it connects to mine

I see in a different light

The object of my desire

A few hours later, I hear the door open and close and my head snaps up as Chris walks into our living room with his hands behind his back. 

“Hi, baby. You said you had a surprise for me?” I asked. 

“I sure do.” He smiles as he sets down a black box with air holes in front of me, sliding it towards me. I hear what sounds like a whine coming from the box. I raise a brow at him.

“Did my present just whine?” I say and he shrugs at me. 

“Maybe,” He says. “Why don’t you open it up and find out, honey?” 

I kneel down and I open the black box and out pop two black pug puppies, their heads sticking out and looking at me with their big brown eyes. My heart melts as I squeal softly. 

“Chris! You didn’t!” I hear him laughing. “Oh, they’re so adorable!” 

I slowly pull them out of the box, I see that one has white on its chest and the other has white paws, the one with the white paws starts to lick my face, making me giggle. 

“They’re brother and sister,” Chris kneels down with the pups, stroking the other pug gently. “Ricky told me he had a friend who was fostering pugs. As soon as he sent me the photos of these two, I knew they were perfect for us. I also knew that you’d love them.” 

“I do,” I murmur as I look at him. “Oh, babe. They’re so precious. This is the best surprise ever.” I lean in and place my lips onto his, kissing him deeply as he moves to hold me in his arms. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you more, my Lycia,” He places a tender kiss on my temple. “So, what should we name these two?” 

“That’s easy. Fang and Luna,” I smile and he grins, kissing my lips in agreement as we watched Fang and Luna play together. “I love that they’re black pugs too. They remind me of Edgar, my friend Felix and his wife, Marzia’s pug. How did you know that I loved pugs?” 

“I talked to your friend on Instagram,” Chris tells me. “Marzia. She told me how much you love seeing Edgar and Maya when you fly out to see her and Felix. She told me that Edgar was really close to you. She helped me with all the essentials on how to take care of pugs too. You’re very lucky to have such lovely friends like her. So I knew that I had to get these two for you so you can have a reminder of Edgar when you’re home with me.” 

I couldn’t have asked for a more loving boyfriend if I tried. The fact that he spoke to my friends before surprising me with this… It meant so much to me that he cared so much. 

“This is seriously the sweetest thing you could have ever done for me,” I told him. “You’re the best boyfriend ever. Words are failing me because I’m so happy.” 

He smiles and kisses me sweetly on the cheek. 

“Good. Because nothing matters to me more than seeing you happy.” I hug him again, listening to the sounds of Fang and Luna’s barks as I close my eyes against him, enjoying this wonderful moment of time.

Not acid nor alkaline

Caught between black and white

Not quite either day or night

She's perfectly misaligned

I'm caught up in her design

And how it connects to mine

I see in a different light

The object of my desire…

(PS: Meet their pugs! This is Fang and Luna! x Tiger)

#darkness finds you #chris motionless x lycia winters #chris motionless #motionless in white #chris motionless fanfic #these two though. man I love them. #Spotify

[farmerlarrry]

Orange Slices (Joel Miller x f!reader)

masterlist | chapter three | chapter two | read on ao3 | playlist

story summary: A story about finding companionship and love in the midst of chaos.

a/n: **updated for mistakes**

word count: 4234

if you want to be notified when I post new chapters, follow @farmerlarrrylibrary and put on notifications! If you'd rather be tagged, just let me know.

Chapter Four

The nights aren’t as cold as they once were. There is still a coolness in the air that will send a chill down your spine, making you want to grasp at anything that will make you warm. However, nothing is worse than those below-freezing nights in the middle of winter, curled up in a fetal position, praying to whatever higher power, let it be God or Mother Nature, to put you out of your misery. As you sit on the floor in the far corner of the cabin, you begin to wonder how the winters are in Jackson. Thinking back to this past winter, you have no idea how you pulled through; usually, everyone was huddled in one big group, taking whatever spare jacket someone was willing to lend you and sipping on whatever liquor was available, hoping it would warm everyone up or at least numb their senses to the point where they couldn’t coherently think about how cold they were. You’re happy that it'll be something you won't have to worry about by the time winter comes around again. You knew snow was a given, but you wondered if there was heating in the homes, like before the world as you knew it ended. Honestly, a fireplace would be good enough for you, even just a thick blanket. Even after Tommy told you all the details about Jackson, you still weren’t sure what to expect. As a way to distract yourself from the current awkwardness that ensued between you, Joel, and Tommy, you let your imagination run wild, coming up with the most out-of-touch thoughts and ideas. You try thinking of things that were considered luxuries in the past, imagining them in Jackson, however, even that wasn't enough to fully distract you.

When you came inside earlier, Joel demanded to talk to Tommy in the only spare room this place offered. Even though the door was closed, you could clearly hear everything that was being said, to say the least, Joel was not happy with Tommy for bringing you back. How stupid could you have been, you should have kept moving, we could have been back by now, Tommy. You’re always trying to play the hero, you can’t save everyone you come across. Tommy stuck up for you though, it’s too late, Joel, this is nonnegotiable, I’m putting my foot down this time, you aren’t in charge of the decisions I make, and so on. They start talking quieter as the conversation drags on, even though it’s dead silent around you, you still have to strain your hearing to pick up anything that's being said. She was alone, low on supplies, had almost no ammunition, and her knife sure as hell wouldn’t have saved her, do you really think I was gonna watch her potentially die? I was just as involved in the situation as she was. You take your knife out of your bag, running your finger carefully along the blade—the one Tommy had sharpened for you willingly. What you call a fucking miracle, Tommy, is what I call stupidy, and it’s definitely not badass. Joel mocked Tommy for what he said early, making you feel awfully small. It only stung because you knew it was true, you weren’t badass, you were only one unfortunate case of ‘wrong place, wrong time’ away from being dead, but what other choice was there? It’s not like you willingly chose to go out on your own again with such little supplies to rely on. Tears brim your eyes as you kick the side of your foot on the wall next to you, trying to shake the feeling that crept up your throat. Maybe things would have been better if Joel wasn't here, and it was still just Tommy and me, you thought, feeling guilty about your wish. Sure, it would have sucked having to walk back to Jackson, you weren’t sure if you would've made it given the state of your blistered, swollen feet, and Tommy’s leg, but this situation with Joel genuinely sucks even more. 

Huddled in the corner, you look up at the night sky out of the broken window in the front of the house. Just as the night you met Tommy, the stars were shining brighter than usual. Turning to your bag, you pull out a small constellation pocket guidebook you snatched from one of the rest stops along the side of the hallway. When you first spotted it, you knew you had to take it with you. Besides, it really didn’t take up that much space in your bag, if you really needed to, it would have easily fit into one of the back pockets of your jeans. It was a small piece of your past, one that didn’t necessarily make your heart ache, and one you didn't want to abandon. You open up to the index page of the book, running your pointer finger down the page, quickly reading what each section has to offer. You look back out the window, dad would have loved looking at the stars now, there's no light pollution, and everything is so clear now. Thinking about it now, you can’t believe it took you this long to notice, the night you met Tommy, the night that finally opened your eyes to the possibility that you could actually start living instead of just surviving. 

You jump as the door makes a scraping noise against one of the lifted wooden floor planks, quickly averting your eyes in the opposite direction of the room. Joel comes barreling out of the room, anger radiating off of him. Every step he takes makes a loud thud and shakes the floor. He aggressively grabs the whiskey bottle and a small glass off the small kitchen countertop before taking a seat at the round dining table that was in the opposite corner of where you were, slamming the glass down. He filled it to the top of the glass, keeping his eyes fixated on the surface of the table, picking at the grains of wood with his free hand. You watch the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. A sense of anxiety washes over you. 

After some time, Tommy comes out of the room and limps his way over to the kitchen counter, where he placed the canned food earlier. A thick sense of tension quickly fills the room. Tommy begins opening the cans of food, splitting them into three different bowls, and mixing the green beans and the stew together. Your stomach lets out a small growl, causing you to cross your arms over your rib cage, lightly applying pressure to soothe the ache. God, I’m so hungry. You turn your attention back towards the kitchen when Joel stirs up some sort of commotion, refusing the food from Tommy, which makes the air even thicker. You watch as Tommy rolls his eyes, letting the bowl drop on the table, the liquid of the stew splattering up and landing on the table. This did not help the situation at all, Joel then swiped the bowl off the table with his arm. You’re fucking ruthless, Tommy spat as he picked it up off the floor, scraping the food back into the bowl. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tommy whispers, handing you your portion of the food. You don’t respond, but you do give him a sympathetic smile and nod. It’s not Tommy’s fault, and you don’t blame him by any means. Although, with how Joel is acting over your arrival, it's making you feel like you're a burden. 

“Hey Tommy,” you say quietly as he begins to turn away. “Do you need help with cleaning and dressing your leg, you never got the chance when we got back, and it should probably be taken care of, so it doesn’t get infected.”

He lets out a small chuckle.

“Haven’t even had time to think about that, honestly,” He looked over his shoulder towards Joel, letting out a quiet sigh. “But, uh, I can do it myself, just worry about getting some food in ya’”

“No, no , it’s the least I can do, I can eat afterward.” You rise to your feet, pulling Tommy’s arm around your shoulders, and walk him over to the worn-out red couch that sits in the middle of the room. Tommy points you towards his bag that was next to the front door on the ground, telling you where you could find the first aid supplies. Now getting a better look, the large gash in his shin looked quite painful, as it was now swollen and red. Cleaning it is going to be a bitch on Tommy.

“This is gonna hurt,” You peer up at him, preparing him for the pain as you drench a linen cloth with alcohol, Tommy simply nods in response. The state of the wound was causing you to feel slightly woozy. “Um, so, how’d you find this place, Tommy?”

You couldn’t really think of anything else to talk about to distract him from the pain, you thought maybe you could ask him more about his girlfriend, as that seemed to be something that made him happy, however, maybe it was too personal. You settled on asking about the cabin. You begin to dab his wound with the cloth, his leg twitches and tightens up as you come into contact.

“Well, uh, oh fuck,” He is gripping onto the cushion of the couch, from this angle, you can see Joel curiously watching from behind, obviously concerned for his brother. Tommy has his eyes screwed shut as he shortly recounts the history behind the cabin through gritted teeth.

Tommy found this place after he left the Fireflies, but before he reached Jackson. He said it seemed like it hadn’t been touched since the outbreak, so he decided to stay for a bit. After he reached Jackson, he used this as a resting point on longer journeys, like when he would scavenge and make trades in the early years of the community while it was still under development. Funny enough, this is where Joel and I found each other again, I guess we think more alike than we’d admit, he laughed, turning his head off to the side towards Joel, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Tommy was coming back from a deal when he noticed boot prints in the mud, it had rained the night before, and he had been shot at through the front window, hence the reason why it was broken. Long story short, the fight turned physical once they both ran out of ammunition, neither of them realized who the other was because daylight had already long faded. He put me in a headlock, about to choke my sorry ass, I was muttering ‘you motherfucker’ over and over under my breath, trying to get away. I guess in his fit of rage, he heard the familiarity in my voice and immediately dropped his arm, practically crying, “Tommy, Tommy?” Isn’t that right, Joel-y? It was dark, but I knew there were tears in your eyes. Joel groaned in protest, not saying anything in response, just pouring himself another glass. By the time he finished recounting the details, you were done wrapping up his leg with clean bandages.

After returning to your spot to start eating, leaving Tommy on the couch, you can’t help but stare at Joel. The lighting is casting a dark shadow over the corner you’re situated in, you doubt he would even be able to tell, not like he would care anyway. The moon was shining at just the right angle to illuminate where Joel is sitting, and this time you’re able to look more intently at his features than when you first saw him. Your breathing becomes shallow as you trace your eyes over his face, then his body. His hair is mostly dark, a little bit of gray has started to come through on the sides; his facial hair is slightly patchy, with a bit of gray peppered throughout, it looks like he trims it regularly. In the light, his eyes appear to be dark, the opposite of Tommy’s obvious green eyes; however, they have the exact same smile lines. His mouth is currently twisted, and slightly puckered. They look soft. Moving your eyes further down, he has broad shoulders, the flannel that he currently has on is tight against his arms, and when he moves, the buttons across his chest area strain. 

Look away , an unfamiliar voice in your head suddenly appears. You immediately look away, your breathing is still off. 

You look down at your bowl of food, flipping a piece of potato over with your spoon. Although your stomach aches, you’re no longer hungry. 

For the rest of the night, everyone keeps their distance. You, in the corner, Joel at the table, and Tommy on the sofa couch. No one says anything, all averting gazes from one another, well, besides you. Every once in a while, you steal glances of Joel. Watching him sit at the table, his microexpressions seem to change with every new glance. The stone coldness of his face, the pain behind his eyes, the way he sucks his teeth after every single sip from his glass. As he turns his head away from both you and Tommy, you strain your eyes a little harder and notice a scar just above his temple. Your hand shoots up to your own temple, you have one in the exact same spot. As you continue watching him, you rub your index finger over the scar, feeling the uneven ridges it left even after all these years. Sadness sinks deep within your soul, making your chest feel heavy. Tilting your head back and resting your head against the wall, you look up at the dark ceiling, trying not to think about anything in particular.

-

A loud snore draws you out of your sleep, causing your body to revolt, and you bang the back of your head against the wall. Bringing your hand up to your head, you rub over the sore spot, wincing as you look around the room. You realize the noise came from Tommy as he let out a softer snore, he’s asleep on the couch, body sprawled out, head tilted back, mouth slightly agape. Another loud snore. Maybe that’s what alerted the people on the highway that night, you think.

Joel is still at the table, it looks like he hasn’t moved since before you fell asleep. The once-full bottle is now considerably drained—not quite empty, but almost there. To the left of it stood a brand new, full bottle. He suddenly turned his attention to you, locking eyes, causing you to let out a small gasp before dropping your attention toward the floor.

“So, darlin',” He says, slurring his words together. You look up through your brows and watch him as he rocks his body toward the table. Your heart feels like it’s in the middle of your throat. “You just gonna sit there all nigh’ and stare at me?”

You couldn’t gather your thoughts and began to stammer. Joel is quite drunk based on the way he’s speaking to you, his tone is a lot more at ease than it had been earlier, throwing you off. You watch him as he gets up and stumbles towards the counter, retrieving another glass that matches the one he’s drinking from. 

“C’mon up here and join me,” He says monotonously, still slurring the tiniest bit, his southern twang is a lot more prominent than before. Joel pushes the sleeves of his flannel up towards his elbows before filling the empty glass half-full. You’re still sitting on the ground, watching him struggle to recap the bottle. When he finally gives up, he flicks it up into the air with his thumb and index finger, and it lands on the ground, rolling across the floor before stopping in front of your feet. ‘Shits gonna be gone by mornin’’ Joel barely audibly mumbled.

Slowly getting up on your feet, you tuck your belongings snugly into the corner you were just sitting in and glance over once more at Tommy, who is dead asleep. Joel is watching you intensely as you make your way towards the table, his consistent attention makes your stomach twist and turn. It must have been obvious because his expressionless face quickly turns into a smirk. He slides the glass to you as you take a seat in the chair next to him, your posture is stiff. Joel is still eyeing you with a hungry look in his eye, as he leans back in his chair, relaxing. You have no idea where to look. 

“What?” He playfully asks with a cunning look. “You can sit in the corner all night, for hours staring, but now... now you can’t even look at me?”

Running your fingernail along the grains of wood, you shyly look up, making direct eye contact with Joel. His hazel eyes look at you with a hard intensity, and you feel like all the air has been sucked out of your lungs, an electric jolt runs down your spine, causing your body to slightly twitch. A playful look dances across his face. 

God, I want to wipe that smug fucking look off his face, you bite down hard on your bottom lip. 

You roll your eyes, using the palms of your hands to push yourself up from the chair, it makes a loud screeching noise as the legs drag against the wooden floor. Joel quickly grabs one of your wrists—not painfully tight, but definitely firm. You can feel his calloused hands rub against your skin. The sensation causes you to choke on the air you quickly drew in. 

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart? Can’t let good whiskey go to waste.” He pulls you towards him, kicking the chair you were just in a little further out. As you sit, Joel pushes the glass towards you again. 

Your heart flutters when the word sweetheart rolls off his tongue. You close your eyes before taking a deep breath, clasping your hand around your wrist where he had previously been holding it.

You are so fucked, the same small voice from earlier chimed in. 

The two of you sat in silence for a long time. Joel downed two more half-glasses by the time you finished your one. He’s becoming more and more drunk, you’ve had to catch his glass from being knocked over more than once now. Every once in a while he’ll glance up to look at you, looking like he’s about to speak, before looking off into the distance again, sucking on his teeth. The longer you sit there, the hotter your face feels, you feel uneasy, and your stomach is still in a knot. 

You go to pour a few sips worth of whiskey in your glass when Joel reaches across with one of his hands and tips the bottle forward, filling your glass with a lot more than you want.

“Hey, no,” you gasp, before looking up at him in disbelief. “I didn’t want that much.”

“Drink up,” Joel smiles, raising his glass into the air. “Got a whole bottle and no cap, so between the two of us...”

“The cap is literally over there, you fucking... ” You say in a condescending tone, narrowing your eyes at him while gesturing towards it.

“ You fucking what? Cap don’t exist to me,” He says in a low, whispered tone before taking another sip. 

Now annoyed, you take a longer sip from your glass. The whiskey is sharp as it meets your tongue, but smooth as it goes down. The taste is horrible, it tastes like straight-up rubbing alcohol and smoked wood chips, your face twists in disgust as you force another sip down. You barely finished your first glass, whatever was in this new bottle is much stronger. 

“You not a whiskey kind of gal, huh?” He let out a gentle laugh before throwing back his head and polishing off what was left of his. 

“Not really an alcohol person,” you respond quietly in a bitter tone, he gives you a skeptical glare and a sense of anxiety overcomes you.

You don’t owe him an explanation, the voice said. But the way he was staring at you made you fold. 

“I had a really bad night at a party before... before this,” You cringe, running your finger around the rip of the glass, “Alcohol has never really sat well in my stomach since then.”

Joel raises his eyebrows and gives you a single nod, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the edge of the table.

“So you were a party girl?” He says neutrally, pointing at you in an accusatory way. 

“Well, no, I-” Stuttering again, Joel cuts you off. 

“Tommy was a partier, he loved to party, had to come to get him a lot, had to get ’im from jail sometimes. I couldn’t, I was always too busy taking care of- '' He abruptly stops talking, his expression going stone-cold again, and balls his hands into fists before lightly hitting them against the wooden surface. “Forget it.”

He said the last bit much quieter, with a hint of pain. You sigh, looking around the room with your hands folded in your lap. The two of you go back to being silent. Joel completely ditches his glass, now drinking straight from the bottle. Quickly, he has become belligerently drunk, nearly unconscious, laying his arm straight out on the table and resting his head against his bicep. Every once in a while, he would mumble something unintelligible under his breath, causing you to roll your eyes more than once.

You’re resting your chin in the palm of your hand, starting to close your heavy eyes. A sudden snort coming from your side makes you jump.

“Joel,” You poke at his arm and only receive a small grunt in response. Your annoyance from earlier has now turned into pity. People who haven’t gone through some seriously fucked-up shit don’t down alcohol the way he is tonight. I should at least try to get him to the bedroom, that’s what a good person would do, right? Or should I just take the bed all to myself? You think to yourself, going back and forth between the two options, as you continue staring at Joel. Drool is running down his chin, sticking to his beard hair.

“ Joel,” you say a little louder, more firmly, nudging his arm again. Your shoulders round in defeat.

Getting up from your chair, you move it out of the way, so Joel won’t trip over it. Then came the hard part of actually getting him up, first looping your forearm under the arm furthest from you, then pulling up with most of your strength, he follows your lead. He’s not reacting to anything you’re doing, making it ten times harder. You can’t tell if he is doing this on purpose, or just so fucked up that he can’t do anything. Joel stumbles as the two of you walk, tripping over his own feet, almost causing the both of you to tumble to the ground. Could you be any more helpless, you spit out in a harsh tone. You never understood what people meant when they’d say something about carrying dead weight, but now you do, and this is not an easy task. 

You finally make it past the door frame with him still leaning on you for full support, and for a split second you think about just letting him drop to the floor, but the bed was only a few more steps away, and a part of you thought that maybe, just maybe, Joel would figure out you were the one who got him there, and he’d ease up on this asshole act towards you. As you go to push off the wall to keep moving, Joel suddenly comes out of whatever daze he was in, pinning you up against the door with incredible force, his forearm pressed firmly against your throat. You feel your eyes shoot wide open, and when you go to speak, you can’t get any sound to come out. You motherfucker, anger fills every crevice of your body. You begin to reach for your knife, forgetting it's in the main room, lying next to your bag. Shit. 

Joel traces his eyes over your face, eventually easing the pressure against your throat, though he still keeps you in place. You are gripping his forearm tight with both of your hands, pushing as hard as you can, struggling as you try to get him off of you. The distinct smell of alcohol overwhelms your senses as he leans in close to your face, leaving less than an inch between the two of you. Your heart is now beating faster than you think it has ever beaten, and the thumping sound fills your ears. You let your arms fall to the side of your body, turning your head to create more space between the two of you. Joel is breathing slow, shallow breaths, and smirking.

“Now what do you think you’re doing, darlin’,” He leans in and whispers into your ear, you can feel his breath on your neck, causing goosebumps to appear all over your body. “Tryna get me into bed with you?”

read chapter five here!

painting divider | credit: @cottage-writings

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #joel miller x oc #orange slices #farmerlarrry #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x fem!reader

[danosrosegarden]

dust bunny

{trigger warning: this writing piece recalls my experience with drugs, overdose, self-harm, and suicide.}

I'm going to pass out in a pool of my own frothy spittle while my bloodshot eyes roll back and my weakened heartbeat withers. Either somebody is going to find my limp, bloodied body on the carpet in enough time to take me to the hospital, or I'm going to die here. I don't care anymore.

What's more freeing than being released of the need to keep going? I was ready to lay down and rest, sink into the infinite black of sleep. I'd had just about enough of swallowing a handful of Benadryl each morning and driving to class, feeling crusted, thorny sleep poke at the corners of my eyes while my stomach gnawed on the pink pills and sloshed its acid around side to side, hungry for anything other than half a bottle of over the counter medicine.

I didn't give a fuck what I had to take, what old, probably expired prescription I had to dig up in the depths of my pill collection. My old bottle of Xanax was probably somewhere at the bottom of the drawer being eaten alive by dust. I'd find it.

When I come to in the dark, moonlit early morning, a short-haired, tattooed nurse is wiping my thighs with something that burns like hell and my parents are staring at me from small chairs across from my cramped bed. They look crunched in and uncomfortable. They look impossibly tired, ashen bags nibbling at the skin underneath their eyes. I burst into tears, and it's like my throat is a skipping record; I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. They say nothing, so I keep repeating it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

There's no manual on what to say to your heartbroken and no doubt traumatized family after you survive an overdose, and that's all I could think to fill the air with. A thousand apologies soaked through with a warbling voice, salty tears racing down my pink cheeks, a bubble of snot popping from my right nostril.

I don't know what to feel now, recalling that late night/early morning with just a few scars left on my skin to heal and fade. Most of them are a burned, charred memory stuck in the back wrinkles of my brain.

I'm allowed to close my door and be alone now. I've been good. I went back to work at the end of the month. They say they missed me, give me cards filled with glittery, encouraging words and a pretty bouquet of blushing pink tulips.

I like to drive to the activity center and run on the track these days. I like to feel beads of sweat dangle from my hair and my heartbeat race, remind it that it's still here and kicking. Thank it for serving me so well when I cruelly raked it through the mud and carelessly picked at its veins.

I do what I can to remind myself I am alive, I am no longer collected dust at the bottom of the pill box. I am not the blackened rot that once ate away at my flesh, I am not the slashed skin or the chain-smoking on an empty stomach or the hungry acid eating away at my body. I am the cool autumn breeze blowing the tangerine orange leaves onto the yellowed fields of grass. I'm the tears welling in the eyes after a breath-stealing belly laugh. I am the light and the dark and before anything else, I am proud. Proud of where I go and what I do, proud of how I continue to exist despite it all.

I am here, and I have a life worth living. That's all I've ever wanted.

#eli's writing #personal writing

[t4tmoreid]

gimme your favorite cm headcanons

i will celebrate you posting again like a kpop comeback

omg hiiii hehe ok honestly it's been a hot minute since i've thought about cm hcs but:

spencer is a cat dad to the most evil little asshole in the world <3 he's got this white and orange cat that he adopted when he was working on his first PhD cause he thought the company would be nice, and he named it something that's frankly stupid and annoying like Proton or Sagan or something, and this cat is like, objectively a little shit. like, he claws up the furniture, hides under the sofa to swat at spencer's feet when he walks by, pushes his glasses of the counter, eats pages out of any books spencer leaves around, etc etc. and spencer loves him dearly but he is just beefing with this little cat CONSTANTLY. like he's always showing up to work with scratches on his hands and arms, dramatically monologuing and whining about how this little shit has it out for him specifically and how he's quite literally the devil himself in cat form. but then the second someone else chimes in and is like "yeah your cat is kind of an asshole man" spencer's just like i'm sorry what did you say to me. watch your mouth dude that's my fucking cat and i love him more than anything. fuck you.

speaking of cats, hotch is like, a cat magnet for a reason none of them can quite grasp. like he's really more of a dog person, never been that much of a cat lover if he's being honest, but any time he's over at spencer's or emily's their cats just will not leave him alone. and because the universe has a sense of humour, hotch is pretty much the only person who spencer's cat will cuddle with. like the first time spencer has the team over to his place, he's barely gotten the words out to warn them to be careful around his little demon spawn before he turns around to see his cat up in hotch's lap, purring obnoxiously looking for pets. traitor.

derek teases spencer mercilessly for his nerdy glasses, but he literally has reading glasses himself, he's just so far into it at this point that he'd rather die than admit it. he gives himself headaches constantly because he refuses to wear them and give spencer the satisfaction.

emily and derek get like, really extremely competitive over video games. you'd think it would be penny cause she's really the gamer among them, but when mario kart or just dance comes out derek and emily become people that they're honestly not proud of. and like the trash talk that comes out is quite frankly bizarre, so penelope prefers to just sit back with her wine and watch them bicker and sabotage one another like bratty siblings.

derek is always making mixtapes for spencer <3 i know i have a post about this somewhere, but like at least once a week derek is carefully curating a new collection of songs to burn onto a cd that he says spencer just has to listen to - because you're so uncultured about music it's honestly unacceptable spence - it's not at all because he has a stupid little crush that he can't quite seem to kick and he has no idea how the hell he's supposed to approach that when it's his stupid, awkward, gangly, endlessly endearing close friend doctor reid, and music is like the one thing he can fall back on as a way to get his feelings out so he doesn't, like, explode.

can i say homophobic jj. LOL like will people get mad at me if i say that. anyway jj is the girl who brags about having gay friends and tags along to the gay bar with penny emily spencer and derek cause she doesn't want to be left out and then gets grossed out when a woman tries to flirt with her SORRY ok i'm sorry. god.

whenever things are especially busy at the unit (or worse than usual at home) hotch tends to stays really late. penelope knows this, and she also knows that when hotch holes away in his office pouring over paperwork for hours and hours after everyone else has long since gone home, he very rarely takes the time to remember to get something to eat. so penelope has taken to bringing in an extra serving of whatever she takes for lunch, whether it's an extra sandwich or a second tupperware container of leftover pasta, and before she heads home she always comes up with some excuse to give it to hotch. she tells him she went out to lunch with derek so she didn't end up needing it, or she was half asleep this morning when she'd packed it and she'd made a second sandwich without thinking, and honestly hotch you might as well take it cause if you don't it's just gonna go in the garbage anyway and it's not good to waste food, hotch, there are people who are starving. and he always concedes, eventually, and accepts her food. she always looks so pleased with herself, like she's pulled the wool over his eyes, and hotch's throat kinda feels tight with the knowledge that someone cares enough to make sure he eats when he stays late, and also penelope is like a really good cook, so there's that, too.

when spencer has his hair grown out longer he lets penelope use him as a model to teach derek how to braid. derek has tried to braid penelope's hair before, with little success, and it's so much easier to show him on somebody else, but no matter how much she'd begged emily had refused to give in, so spencer it was. and honestly spencer thinks it's kinda nice, the feeling of somebody's fingers playing with his hair. especially when they're penelopes fingers, which move gently and lightly and don't pull too hard, and he comes out of it with a pretty french braid that has pieces falling out in the front because if they're being totally honestly his hair isn't quite long enough for this yet. derek is sort of less gentle when it's his turn to try, more prone to accidentally pulling so hard it makes spencer's whole fucking scalp tingle, but it's still nice to be sitting cross legged on the floor between derek's knees with derek's hands in his hair, so spencer only complains a little bit.

penelope keeps one of those "word of the day" tearaway calendars on her desk, and every so often she throws some word like "mellifluous" into conversation out of nowhere and everybody is just like 😐

#criminal minds is a show about copaganda and serial killers and murder and i'm like tee hee what if they braided each others hair like #little kids at a slumber party <3 #i tried to think of something for rossi but honestly i don't care enough about him to headcanon anything LOL #but thank you for asking this i loveeeee talking about this stuff <33 #ask #weird-hoodie-kid #anti jj #<- just in case LMAO sorry #hcs #ap