#kindred spirits my dudes

[prismatic-bell]

Okay so I never actually want to see Disney or Tim Burton touch this with a thirty-foot pole because they’d fucking ruin it, but. May I present to you The Nightmare Before Christmas 2 that lives in my head rent-free:

Jack Strikes Back.

It’s another ordinary year in Halloweentown when there’s a knock at Jack’s door. He opens it and there’s an extremely burly dude in a loincloth, a fairy, and a walking pot of burning oil.

They want to talk to Jack.

He has experience, they’ve heard, with a certain big red lobster man yelling about how holidays are supposed to give each other their space and not railroad over each other, and our motley band of new protagonists could use his expertise on the matter. Because it seems old Sandy Claws might be just a leeeeeeeettle bit of a hypocrite.

These three representatives have a favor to ask of Jack: help get Claus back where he fucking belongs and out of Chanukkah.

Featuring:

—a running gag where the Chanukkians go to utterly ridiculous, Rube Goldberg-like lengths to keep the pot of oil lit. It never goes out, but good lord at what cost.

—this gag finally pays off right at the very end when everybody thinks Santa’s extinguished the oil. After a moment’s horrified silence the flame appears again and everybody from Halloweentown loses their shit cheering, because it’s been thirty years and they’re STILL a little confused but they got the spirit.

—the mayor is absolutely delighted by the presence of gelt. Candy? Your holiday includes CANDY? How excellent! Forward-thinking, even! Kindred spirits!

—everybody is confused by the fairy, including the fairy. She tells people she wasn’t originally from Chanukkahtown, she was from an ad campaign. She thinks. She’s not really sure. Characters from Chanukkahtown who speak Hebrew don’t seem to notice she’s there.

—of course there’s a group of arguing rabbis. OF COURSE there is. And yes, it is of course implied that two of them are Shammai and Hillel, because they’re arguing about which way you’re supposed to light the chanukkiyah.

—Santa tries to blame Jack because after all, Jack wanted more Christmas! Santa’s just being nice! Jack is having none of this.

—Lock, Stock, and Barrel are basically in love with Judah Maccabee (the big burly dude, of course) because he enjoys catapults.

—Jack does actually try to learn about Chanukkah. The problem is, every question he asks, he gets multiple, wildly various, all correct answers. The only time everybody agrees is when he says “and when is this Chanukkah?” and Judah goes THE TWENTY-FIFTH DAY OF KISLEV and Jack goes “which is…when, exactly?” And everybody just stops and stares at each other before they all go “uh….we can check. Yeah. We’ll check.”

—the fairy is horrified to find out the reason she doesn’t remember where she’s from is because the answer is “Christmastown.” She was basically a Smurfette. When Santa tries to recall her she’s like “D: nope sorry I’m defecting I’d rather have no past and make people happy even if I AM an ad campaign”

—the rabbis thank Jack at the end by giving him “a traditional Chanukkah token.” It’s a pair of socks.

[glass--beach]

I've been a fan of your music long enough to remember when you used to identify as trans fem. what's it been like circling back around to that and figuring out your identity now that you're doing it sort of in the public eye?

honestly it’s been nicer this time around. i sense a kindred spirit in every trans woman i talk to and it’s really lovely hearing from those who related to my music and figured out their own identity through that. it’s giving me a space where i know i will be accepted. i still boymode pretty often on the road and before tour was nearly always boymoding… there’s almost a safety on stage but despite being literally a performance it feels more real than when i’m not presenting fem. i’ve also now been girlmode out in public a lot after shows and not attracted any negative attention which is nice. even when there was an alt right harassment campaign against the band account they were gendering me correctly.

years ago it was much tougher for me, wearing feminine clothes at random diy shows or whatever. it was often in spaces that were anti transphobia on paper but did nothing to enforce against transmisogyny in practice. even in explicitly queer spaces i felt outcast. online was even harsher - which is really what made me increasingly scared to present fem as there were more and more eyes on me. there were many many trans women i looked up to a lot then but i felt they were so much braver than me. being nonbinary and vaguely “masculine” became a shield at the cost of being called a dude or a guy or just assumed to be male absolutely constantly, and after enough of it i kinda just didn’t want to show my face anywhere… the irony of having made what many considered to be iconic transfem music while feeling so closeted myself was honestly insulting.

with the recent album release and tour it kinda hit a breaking point because i knew a big wave of misgendering was coming if i wasn’t just honest with myself and everyone else. even saying she/they was softening the blow a bit. lots of people just stuck with they. and plenty of writers & critics still seem blissfully unaware that there is anything queer about me or my band or are simply too scared to write about it, idk. but i feel like i’ve come out of my shell a good bit. i’m not just playing shows, i’ve been able to socialize and party on off days and speak my mind more freely and dress in a way that makes me feel pretty. it’s really like flipping a switch - not just for me, but everybody else. EVERYONE treats me differently when i girlmode and i love it so so much, i feel like others are more willing to open up and to treat me with kindness and (respectfully) compliment my appearance and i feel like women (cis and trans) relate to me more, which is a whole lot better than feeling like i relate to nobody most of the time. it’s an entirely different set of social scripts that just feel so much more “right” to me, so much easier for me to embody, than the male social scripts. i know a lot of people feel like gender is bullshit and bad inherently and good for them but for me that mentality was a way to hide it think. i feel absolutely liberated in embracing femininity! :) thank you for the lovely question, i have so much to say on this

#asks

[rfsak2]

Holy shit, guys! I have never had this kind of reception. Y’all have been so very kind and I appreciate it so very much! I love interacting with y’all so keep leaving comments and I’ll keep responding!

Spitfire; pt. 2

Everyone always thought Daryl was the rough one. DarylxOC

Warnings: it’s TWD so there’s a good bit of traumatizing stuff discussed, wartime atrocities, violence, etc.. And smut buried down at the bottom. Minors DNE

Part 1

**

“If y’coulda done anythin’, what would it’ve been?”

She shrugged and pulled her knees to her chest, rifle barrel-up between her legs. “I actually don’t know. I’ve sorta fallen into everythin’ I’ve ever done.”

“What’dya mean?” He hunkered down, arms across his chest.

“I can’t remember a single choice I have ever made free n’clear. There’s always been somethin’ forcing’ my hand.” She picked at her cuticles. “My grandfather, my father, my aunt, the US Government.” She sighed heavily. “Life has always been ‘point and shoot’. Someone points me and I shoot.”

He nodded vaguely. “That’s why y’don’t like Shane.”

She snorted. “That’s one of the many reasons I don’t like Shane.” She smiled at him. “He’s also a prick. Thinks he’s bigger than he is, better than he is, smarter than he is.” She elbowed him gently. “What would’ve y’done?”

“Probably been a mechanic.” He shrugged.

“That sounds nice.” She hummed.

He scoffed.

“What?”

“We woulda never met, not for all’a this.” He gestured vaguely.

She hummed. “I don’t know ‘bout that.”

He grunted, hands shredding a leaf idly. “How woulda we met? You with your military career. Me, wandering the backwoods of Georgia with Merle.”

She smiled and leaned to press against his arm. “I was stationed in Savannah and I explored a lot in my free time.” She caught his eyes. “I went hunting a lot. Liked to drive to small towns and spend time in the forest. We coulda run into each other.”

He watched her, quiet in his stillness. “And what would’ya have done if we did?”

She smiled. “Honestly?” He nodded. “Fuck ya if you were down for it.”

He blushed. “No y’wouldn’t ‘ve.”

“Hell yeah, I would’ve. Some hot dude carryin’ a crossbow or a deer you just shot?” She whistled. “I woulda jumped y’bones.”

“Y’don’t gotta lie t’me.” He sucked on his teeth.

She pulled back a bit. “Why would I lie?”

“Com’n.” he shifted, putting some space between them. “You wouldn’t ‘ve been interested in some filthy-ass hick.”

“I am, and often was, before this, a ‘filthy-ass hick’.” She huffed a breathless little chuckle.

He shook his head. “You were a captain in the Army, means y’went to college right?”

She hummed in agreement.

“So you had options.” He kept his voice low, maybe on purpose, she didn’t know, but there was intensity that she wasn’t sure was all for her. “You coulda done anything you wanted.”

“No I couldn’t.” She shook her head. “I went to college because that was part of the deal. They needed the time to expunge my record so they sent me to college. At least that’s what they told me.” She made a vague motion. “I think they just didn’t want to wait.”

“For what?”

“For me to make grade and qualify for Ranger School.” She shrugged. “They wanted to get me in the back way, make a big stink only when I made it. If I didn’t make it, there wouldn’t have been egg on their face. They set up everythin’, choice had nothin’ t’do with it.”

“Y’still don’t get it.” He scoffed. “You woulda took one look at me-“

“Daryl, we ain’t that different.” She nodded and caught his shoulder when he tried to turn away. “We are made of the same stuff. Just different flavors of redneck. So yeah, I’d like t’think that you’da had me at hello. I’d like to think that I’d see you for what you are.”

“And what’s that?” He seemed to soften, shifting back so they were pressed together, shoulder to boot.

“A good man. A kindred spirit.” She settled back against his side as he relaxed. “Besides, I woulda taken one look at you, with your arms, your shoulders, your pretty blue eyes…” She grinned, whistling.

He was looking at her mouth. “And?”

It was okay because she was tracing the line of his bicep down his arm with her eyes.

He leaned in closer. “And?”

Her eyes jumped from his arm to his eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

He nodded and leaned over her. Their eyes remained locked as she reached up to cradle his face. She smiled and bit her lip.

“You gonna kiss me or nah, Spitfire?”

She pressed an almost chaste kiss to his mouth. It didn’t last long enough, so when she pulled away, Daryl chased her lips with his, pressing her back against the tree behind her.

“That all ya’got?”

She threw her head back and laughed, before pressing him back and crawling over him. He grinned and settled his hands on her hips. She laid over him, elbows coming to rest on either side of his head.

She dipped her head down and caught his lips again, groaning into his mouth when he squeezed her hips.

Smiling, she slipped her tongue into his mouth. He lifted a hand and dug his fingers into her hair, loosening her bun and directing her head where he wanted it.

Daryl’s other hand drifted lower and squeezed. She laughed against his mouth and let him guide her hips against his.

His tongue followed hers back into her mouth-

Crack

Daryl sat up in a shot, his hand on her ass keeping her upright.

“Walker?”

He shook his head. “It’s an animal.”

“The deer!”

She turned back to him. He seemed to be withdrawing, some anxiety or another causing him to pull back, so she pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth. “Next time.”

He watched her for a brief moment and nodded. “I’ma hold ya t’that.”

**

Mitzi rested a hand on Daryl’s shoulder and hopped down behind him, eyeing the group standing in the clearing.

She frowned, trying to figure out why they were just standing there, weapons drawn. She saw the walker at the same time Daryl did. “Fuckin’ piece of shit.”

“Sumova Bitch.” Daryl strode into the clearing, red in the face. “That was m’deer!”

She was more hesitant, catching the apprehension in the way the men, one of whom she didn’t know, were looking at Daryl.

“Daryl…”

“Look at it, Mitz.” Daryl kicked at the walker. “All gnawed on by this disease-bearin’, motherless, poxy bastard.”

Dale sighed. “Calm down, son, that isn’t helping.”

Daryl got in his face. “What do you know ‘bout it, Old Man? Why don’t you take that stupid hat and go back to On Golden Pond?”

Mitzi sighed, arms cradling her rifle to her chest. “Leave him be, D. It’s not his fault.”

He backed up, turning back to the deer. “We’ve been tracking this deer for miles... Gonna drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison.” Daryl yanked his bolts from the deer and motioned to the large bite mark in the deer’s neck, staring up at her. “You think we can cut around this chewed part right here?”

“I would not risk that.”

Despite her avid dislike for Shane, Mitzi agreed with him, shaking her head at Daryl before focusing back on the new man in the circle.

Daryl straightened and faced the group around them, suddenly quieting, noticing the odd tension in the air. He caught her eyes, arching his eyebrows and motioning to the new person. He waited for her answering shrug, before turning back to the group.

“That’s a damn shame... Well, I got some squirrel, ‘bout a dozen or so. That’ll have t’do.” Daryl gestured with the bolt for Mitzi to walk ahead.

As they walked past the walker, it snarled, mouthing ineffectually in the direction of her ankles.

She stepped back into Daryl with a soft grunt, who maneuvered her out of the way, a bolt piercing the walker’s brain through the eye not a second later.

“Com’n people. What t’hell? Gotta be the brain.” Daryl tugged the bolt free and wiped it on his work pants. He shared an exasperated look with her and pushed her forward, eyes on the group over her head. “Don’t y’all know nothin’?”

They made their way towards camp, Daryl hollering for Merle. The tension from the clearing followed them into camp.

“Daryl, slow up a minute, I need to talk to you.”

She felt Daryl’s hand on her shoulder and turned as he answered, “‘Bout what?”

“‘Bout Merle. There was a… a problem in Atlanta.”

She hooked her hand around Daryl’s arm. “Shit. What happened?”

Daryl sucked in a breath and straightened his arm, catching her hand as it slid down his arm. “He dead?”

Shane shrugged and she had never wanted more dearly to knock his teeth in. She restrained herself, choosing to squeeze Daryl’s hand instead.

“Not sure.”

Daryl shifted forward, directing her slightly behind him. “He either is or he ain’t.”

The new man stepped forward, hands on his hips like he was used to wearing a gun belt. Another cop.

He sucked in a breath. “There is no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it.”

Daryl turned on him, pushing into his space, letting go of her hand. “Who’re you?”

“Rick Grimes.”

Mitzi’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. She found Lori in the crowd and Carl soon after, the kid the sitting image of the man in front of her. The ring Lori had worn on a chain around her neck ever since Mitzi had met her, was suspiciously gone.

Interesting.

Daryl was getting agitated, pacing like a big cat in a cage. Mitzi stepped around him, putting herself in between Daryl and this new cop. She set her hand on his chest and tried to catch his eyes. “Daryl. D!”

“Rick Grimes?” Daryl mocked, as he set his hand on her forearm, trying to gently push past her. “You got something you want to tell me?”

“Your brother was a danger to us all, so I handcuffed on a roof hooked into a piece of metal. He’s still there.”

“The fuck you say?” She turned and Daryl took the opportunity to step around her, continuing to pace. “You left him on a roof?”

Shane pointed at her, stalking towards her. “Stay out of this, Donovan.”

“Fuck outta m’face, Walsh.” She stepped around him, shaking his hand off of her arm. “Don’t touch me.”

“Donovan!”

She ignored him and moved closer to Daryl.

“Hold on. Lemme process this.” He swiped at his face with the back of his hand and made a vague motion at his head. “You handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there?”

Rick hung his head. “Yeah.”

Daryl threw the brace of squirrels he had been holding and moved to charge at Rick.

Shane charged Daryl, dropping his shoulder and knocking him off his feet.

When Shane had straightened, standing fully, she landed a punch to his jaw that sent him sprawling again.

Someone caught her around the middle, Dale, she thought, as Shane shot her a dirty look and helped Rick disarm Daryl.

She shook free of Dale and approached Rick and Shane, the latter of which had Daryl on the ground in a chokehold.

Rick was preaching about rational conversations just as Mitzi’s small, freckled fist landed on square on Rick’s 5 o’clock shadow. Shane cussed under his breath as she straightened and turned toward him.

“Let him go now.”

Daryl tried to shake free and Shane held him fast. “Or what?”

“I know you think you’re bad, Shane. Been in a couple fist fights, maybe got some training along the way.” She got in Shane’s face, bending at the waist to look him in the eye. “We aren’t on the same level though, Walsh. You let him go now or I demonstrate that for you and the collected constituents of our fine camp.”

Shane growled and released Daryl, who accepted her offered hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet.

Shane pushed into her space. “I’m gettin’ sick of your attitude, Donovan.”

“I’m gettin’ sick of the way you treat a man who’s gone outta his way to feed you.” She cast a look around at the camp. “Fuckin’ world is over and you dumb twats want to keep the Sunday morning judgement going. Fuck the lot’a ya.”

She felt Daryl tug at her shirt and allowed herself to be pulled back. She turned to Rick, who let out a hesitant, awkward chuckle before turning back to Daryl.

“Now do you think you can have a rational discussion?”

The question was half-posed to her, posted up in front of Daryl like a bodyguard, arms crossed over her chest.

She sucked on her teeth. “Don’t know why you feel entitled to rational discussion after you chained his brother to a roof.”

“That’s fair. What I did was not on a whim.” Rick looked Daryl in the eye, before meeting her eyes as well. “Your brother does not work and play well with others.”

T-Dog stepped forward. “Not Rick’s fault...I had the key and I dropped it.”

“You couldn’t pick it up?” Daryl growled, voice breaking.

T-Dog shifted nervously. “I dropped it down a drain.”

Daryl paced a couple feet and threw a fist full of dirt at the ground. “If that was supposed to make me feel better, it don’t.”

T-Dog nodded. “Maybe this will: I chained the door to the roof, so the geeks couldn’t get at him.... with a padlock.”

Rick hesitantly, conciliatory, approached. “Gotta count for something.”

Daryl wiped at his face and motioned to the camp. “T’Hell with all y’all! Just tell me where he is, so’s I can go git him.”

“He’ll show you, isn’t that right?” Lori turned away, disdain clear in her body language.

Mitzi whistled. They are definitely married.

Rick nodded, shying away from his wife’s eyes. “I’m going back.”

Shane huffed and shook his head as Rick walked toward his- Lori’s tent.

She looked up and caught Shane’s very angry eyes. He snarled at her, slapping his hat on his thigh. She arched her eyebrow and he flipped her the bird. She laughed.

A couple minutes later, Rick returned in uniform.

“So that’s it then?” Shane rumbled. “You just gonna walk off? T’ hell with everyone else?”

Rick buttoned his shirt, shaking his head. “I’m not saying t’hell with anybody. Not you Shane, Lori least of all.” He walked away, towards the camper.

“Tell her that.” Shane shot back.

Rick turned to face Shane and sighed. “She knows.”

Shane stalked up the small incline after him. “Well look. I don’t, okay, Rick? So could you just- could you throw me a bone here man? Could you just tell me why? Why would you risk your life for a douchebag like Merle Dixon?”

“Hey!” Daryl pointed at Shane with the bolts he was cleaning, before sitting on a milk crate next to her. “Choose your words more carefully.”

Shame dismissed him. “No I did. Douchebag is what I meant.” Shane shot Daryl and Mitzi a dirty look.

Mitzi returned it, drawing a whetstone over her hunting knife. “Remember what I said about the end of my patience, Walsh.”

“Be quiet.” He pointed at her and she pointed right back. Still glaring at her, he turned to Rick. “Merle Dixon.. the guy wouldn’t give you a glass of water if you were dyin’ of thirst.”

“What he would or wouldn’t do, doesn’t interest me.” He leaned into Shane. “I can’t let a man die of thirst- me -thirst and exposure. We left him like an animal caught in a trap. That’s no way for anythin’ to die, let alone a human being.”

Lori spoke up from where she sat near the adjacent fire. “So you and Daryl? That’s your big plan?”

Glenn sighed. “Oh, come on.”

“You know the way, you’ve been there before.” Rick shifted his feet. “In and out, no problem. You said so yourself. It’s not fair if me to ask, I know that. But if feel much better if you came along. I know she would too.”

Mitzi wasn’t so sure about that with the look on Lori’s face.

“That’s just great. Now y’gonna risk three men, huh?”

“Four.” T-Dog drawled.

Daryl scoffed. “My day just gets better and better, don’t it?”

“You see anyone else here stepping up to save your brother’s cracker ass.”

“Why you?”

T-Dog straightened his shoulders. “You wouldn’t even begin to understand. You don’t speak my language.”

“That’s four,” Dale observed.

“I’m goin’.” She stood.

“Now, Donovan…”

“Mind your business, Walsh.” She caught Daryl’s eyes and held them. “I’m goin’.”

“A’ight.” Daryl nodded.

“Ma’am, I don’t know you.” Rick grinned wryly at her. “I know you can handle yourself in a brawl, but this is going to be dangerous. It could get ugl-“

“You ever done an exfil?” She crossed her arms across her chest.

“An exfil?” He frowned and looked over at Shane. “What do you mean an exfil?”

“Exfiltration, otherwise known as an extraction. Infiltrate, eliminate hostiles, remove MVP.” She smiled meanly. “They don’t teach cops that wherever you’re from?”

“Have you done an exfil, Donovan?” Shane’s lip curled. “They teach that in Basic?”

She answered his sarcastic smile with one of her own. “Not Basic, you tool. At Ranger School. Not the coolest name for a Spec Ops school, I’ll grant ya, but it does the trick.”

Glenn parroted, “Spec Ops?”

She nodded. “Special operations, special forces. I’m an Army Ranger. I’ve done literally hundreds of extractions. If Glenn can get me in, I can get us and Merle out. So kindly put your dicks away, boys, I win this pissin’ match.”

“You’re a Ranger?” Shane set his jaw. “Do they even let women in Spec Ops?”

“They let her.” Daryl rasped. “Recruited her special for it an’ everythin’.”

She reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

Rick seemed a little shell-shocked. “Why?”

“I’m going to assume you’re not being an asshole on purpose, Rick-“

“Thank you?”

She barked out a laugh. “The likelihood of you meeting someone who’s a better shot than me was laughable before the end of the world. Now?” She whistled.

It seemed to dawn on Rick at the same time Shane realized just who he had been fucking with this whole time.

Rick set his hand on her shoulder. “You’re a sniper?”

She grinned and confirmed. “I’m a sniper. A damn good one. I hold the current record in the Army for longest kill shot.”

“How far?”

She smiled at T-Dog. “3400 meters. Give or take. The presentation I was coming up to Atlanta for would’ve broken the worldwide record if I had made it- 3700 meters. I’ve been practicing for months.”

Awe lit up Glenn’s face, like a kid at Christmas, and T-Dog suddenly looked hopeful, less resigned to dying.

That is, until Glenn turned to him with a huge smile. “You owe me fifty bucks!”

T-Dog shook his head. “You said ‘special agent’. She’s Spec Ops. That’s different.”

“Closer than you!” Glenn grinned and turned to Mitzi, pointing at T-Dog with his thumb. “He thought you were a taxidermist.”

“A taxidermist?” She tilted her head in confusion. “No one told y’all that I was military?” Both men shook their heads and she cast a look at Shane, who was looking down at his boots. “How interesting.”

T-Dog stepped forward. “Didn’t mean nothing’ by it.”

She waved him off, chuckling. “T, that is the least offensive guess I have heard thus far.”

He nodded, relaxing. “Sorry about Merle.”

She nodded, catching Daryl’s eyes. “Shit happens. Let’s go get him.”

**

“When we get there, I’ll take point.”

Rick puffed up, preparing to argue. “Mi-“

She shook her head, checking the railroad ahead of them through her scope. “I’ll take point, Daryl will have my shoulder. We have quieter weapons.” She turned back to Rick. “We’ll clear the ground floor, room-by-room until we get to the stairs. On the off-chance we miss one or one comes up behind us, you’ll have our backs. Try to avoid firing that Python, Sheriff. It’s too loud.”

Rick sighed, nodding. “Okay. Then what?”

She turned to Glenn and T-Dog. “If we enter the building where you want us to, is it a straight-shot to the stairs?”

“No.” Glenn shook his head. “No, we have to go through the department store, the stairs are on the other side of the elevator.”

She made a face. “Directly behind?”

“More or less. There’s a small hallway.”

“How many doors?”

“Three, I think.” He looked up, counting in his head. “Yeah, two bathrooms and a utility closet.”

“The doors on the bathrooms, they push open or do they latch shut?” He shrugged and she nodded. “No problem, we ha-“ she paused and lifted her rifle, aiming over T-Dog’s shoulder. Looking down the scope, she whispered, “Stay still, T.”

There was a thud and she turned back to them, lowering her rifle.

T-Dog looked over his shoulder at the walker ten yards away. Shakily, he turned back. “Thanks.”

She ignored the slack-jaw looks. “We have a major blind spot, but that’s okay. We’ll clear the department store and pick a side around the elevators. If the bathroom doors are open or they don’t latch, we’ll deal with it then.”

Daryl nodded. “Not like geeks are all that smart.”

She smiled. “Definitely easier than armed hostiles.” She turned back to Glenn and T-Dog. “What are the stairs like?”

Glenn looked confused and Rick supplied, “concrete?”

She chuckled. “Are they open to the basement?”

“And a sub-basement, too.” T-Dog nodded.

“Okay, then. When we get there, I’m gonna cover the basement. Daryl will lead you up the stairs. We’ll go flight-by-flight. It’ll be slower but we won’t have any surprises.”

Glenn just stared. “I wanna be you when I’m older.”

She grinned and opened the bolt on her rifle. She slid in a couple rounds and cocked the rifle. “A’ight. Let’s go.”

**

“You’re not doing this alone.” There was a note of authority in Rick’s voice that was already driving her up the wall, but he was right.

Daryl huffed and interjected from somewhere over her head. “Even I think it’s a bad idea and I don’t even like you much.”

Mitzi studied the crude, sharpie drawing. Sucking on her teeth, she shook her head. “I’m still not-”

Glenn cut her off, irritated. “It’s a good plan, okay, if you just hear me out.” He looked up at Rick and sighed, squatting over the drawing. “If we go out there in a group, we’re slow, drawing attention. If I’m alone, I can move fast. Look.” He focused down at the map, setting a binder clip and a balled-up sticky note on one of the ‘streets’. “That’s the tank, five blocks from where we are now. That’s the bag of guns. Here’s the alley I dragged you into when we first met. That’s where me and Daryl will go.”

“Why me?”

Glenn nodded. “Your crossbow is quieter than his gun.” Daryl quieted, nodding, and Glenn moved back over his map, placing a blue post-it flag dispenser in the alleyway. “While Daryl waits here in the alley, I run up the street, grab the bag.”

Rick seemed slightly appeased. “You got us elsewhere?”

“You and T-Dog, right.” Glenn placed a pink rubber eraser in another connecting alley. “You’ll be in this alley here.”

“Two blocks away? Why?”

“I may not be able to come back the same way, walkers may cut me off. If that happens, I won’t go back to Daryl. I’ll go forward instead, all the way around to that alley where you guys are. Whichever direction I go, I got you in both places to cover me. At the same time, Mitzi can pick off walkers that get too close with her rifle.” He placed a paperclip in the same alley as Daryl’s blue post-its “There’s a fire escape up to a small balcony that runs almost all the way around the building next to this one, Mitzi will go there and watch my back. Afterwards we’ll all meet back here.”

“Hey kid.” They all swiveled to look at Daryl. “What did you do before all of this?”

“Delivered pizzas. Why?”

Mitzi hummed and regarded the kid with an assessing eye. “You’dve made a hell of a strategist. Better planned than half the missions I went on.”

Rick smiled. “You recruitin’ right now, Mitzi?”

Mitzi grinned. “Wanted to be like me, kid? I can put ya through the paces, make a soldier outta you.”

Glenn rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Maybe another day.”

**

“We can still go with my plan.” Mitzi checked the bolt on her rifle and then slid her handgun out to check the clip. “Wait a bit longer and I can just sneak on in-“

Rick shot her a look. “I’m not sending you in alone. Stop.”

She grinned. “I can take Daryl with me?”

“Mitzi, no.”

She made a face and mouthed, “Mitzi, yes.”

Daryl grinned and gripped her knee. “Simmer down.”

Miguel scoffed. “What are you going to be able to do all by yourself, GI Jane?”

She laughed and leaned forward. “You should ask your friend… Jorge, was it? I’m a damn good shot. I didn’t miss. He’s alive because I didn’t want him dead. You should remember that.”

He recoiled.

Thirty seconds later, they assembled in the courtyard.

“That’s the bitch that shot me!”

Mitzi nodded. “I sure the fuck am! I don’t like it when people beat on my friends...”

Jorge snarled, pointing a gun at her. Only to have Guillermo push him back.

Guillermo approached Rick, eyeing the guns then giving Mitzi a quick one-over. “I see my guns, but they’re not all in the bag.”

“That’s because they aren’t yours.” Rick shifted slightly. “I thought I mentioned that.”

Felipe moved closer to Guillermo’s ear. “Let’s just shoot these asshole’s right now, ese. Unload on their asses, ese.”

Jorge took a couple steps forward. “I get the bitch first.”

Daryl leveled his rifle at Jorge as Guillermo waved them off. “I don’t think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation.”

“No. I’m pretty clear.” Rick cut the cord around Miguel’s wrists and pushed him lightly forward. “You have your man. I want mine.”

Guillermo set his jaw and stalked forward. “I’m gonna chop up your boy..feed him to my dogs. Three of the evilest, nastiest man-eating bitches you ever saw. Picked ‘em up from Satan at a yard sale. I told you how it has to be! Are you woefully deaf?”

Mitzi frowned, something itching at her intuition.

Rick settled his rifle against his shoulder. “My hearing’s fine. You said come locked and loaded.” They all followed Rick’s lead, clicking their weapons. “Okay, then we’re here.”

Guillermo backed up, his men raising weapons simultaneously.

Mitzi sucked her teeth. Something was definitely not right.

There was a shuffling from the back of the crowd of Vatos. “Felipe? Felipe?” called a frail, reedy voice as an elderly woman emerged from behind Guillermo.

With his gun still raised, Felipe half-turned to regard the woman. “Abuela, go back with the others - now.”

“Git that old lady out of the line of fire!”

Guillermo turned to regard the woman as well. “Abuela, listen to your m’hijo. This is not the place for you right now.”

She didn’t listen, instead addressing Felipe. “Mr. Gilbert is having trouble breathing. He needs his asthma stuff... Carlito can’t find it. He needs his medicine.”

She stepped forward, nose of her rifle dropping. “Asthma stuff?” She whispered, then louder. “What the fuck is goin’ on?”

Guillermo shot her an anxious look but ignored her. “Felipe, go take care of it, okay? And take your grandmother with you.”

Felipe led the woman away, speaking to her soothingly in Spanish.

Daryl caught her eye. “What?”

She nodded at the vatos. “This is all just ball-bustin’. Half of these idiots can’t even aim at us properly from where they’re standing.”

Rick turned towards her. “What?”

She lowered her gun, keeping her voice low. “This is all bullshit. Intimidation.”

Rick’s jaw worked noiselessly, mind putting pieces together like hers.

“Who are these men?”

Felipe’s grandmother had noticed them, stopping their conversation short.

Rick lowered his weapon and she took a couple steps forward. “Ma’am.”

She caught sight of Rick’s uniform and twisted her hands, distressed. “Don’t you take him! Felipe’s a good boy. He had his trouble, but he pulled himself together. We need him here.”

“Ma’am, I’m not here to arrest your grandson.”

“Then what do you want him for?”

Rick met her eyes and she huffed. “They ain’t gonna kill us. Would’ve already done it. Somethin’ ain’t lining’ up.”

He nodded at her, turned back and stuttered. “He’s... helping us find a missing person... Fella named Glenn?”

“The Asian boy?” She smiled. “He is with Mr. Gilbert...Come. Come, I'll show you.” She began to lead them into the crowd. “He needs his medicine.”

Sensing defeat, Guillermo grit his teeth. “Let them pass.”

Daryl fell into step behind her, Jorge glaring at them as they passed. Daryl glared back, his hand landing lightly on her lower back as he guided her forward.

The woman led them into a nursing home, past a number of individual rooms complete with old people and into a large main room where a small group was watching Felipe administer an inhaler. There in the middle of the group was Glenn, unharmed but anxiously staring at the man.

Rick marched straight up to him. “What is this?”

Glenn looked at him then turned back toward the man in the wheelchair struggling for his next breath. “Asthma attack. Couldn’t catch his breath all of a sudden.”

T-Dog clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “We thought you were being eaten by dogs, man!”

Glenn arched an eyebrow and they all turned towards the corner of the room, where three Chihuahuas sat on a pink and leopard print dog bed.

Mitzi sucked on her teeth. “The fuc’-“ A little, old lady caught her eye and Mitzi winced. “The fricken gall.”

**

She wiped her face with an old shop rag and hung her head.

“I say we put a pick-ax in his head and the dead girl’s and be done with it.” Daryl stood behind her, his knee pressing against her back as she sat back against him.

She opened her mouth, trying to breath through her mouth and not her nose, the smell of burning rot- human rot -thick in her throat.

Shane shook his head. “Is that what you’d want for you?”

Daryl’s hand landed heavily on her head, as if he was trying to silently check on her. Without hesitation, he answered. “Yeah and I’d thank you while you did it.”

Dale sighed heavily. “I hate to say it, I never thought I would, but maybe Daryl’s right”

Rick stepped forward. “Jim is not a monster, Dale, or some rabid dog...” Dale tried to cut in and Rick spoke over him, “He’s a sick, sick man. If we start down that road, where do we draw the line?”

Daryl squared his shoulders. “Line’s pretty clear: Zero tolerance for walkers or them to be.”

Mitzi shook her head. “We’d have to watch Jim night and day. Whoever watches him would have to be on- no dozing off, no bathroom breaks. There’s no way to quarantine him safely.” She shrugged weakly, head still swimming. “I hate it but, there’s only so many options.”

Rick cut in. “What if we can get him help? I heard that the CDC is working on a cure.”

“‘Working on’ and ‘has’ are two very different realities.” The breeze blew over them and she felt bile in her throat.

Shane shook his head. “I heard that too.. heard a lotta things before the world went to hell.”

“What if the CDC is still up and running?”

“That is a stretch right there.”

She leaned over, her eyes screwed shut, shop rag pressed over her face. She felt Daryl’s hand on the back of her neck.

“Mitzi? You okay?” It was Carol.

She waved her off with her free hand.

Shane sucked his teeth. “You are being uncharacteristically subdued.” He grinned. “Kinda nice.”

She caught Daryl, before he could step forward, hand on his thigh. She breathed deep one more time and dropped the hand holding her shop rag to her face.

“Fuck you, Shane Walsh.”

He laughed. “There she is! Done being dramatic?”

Rick frowned hard at Shane and Lori shoved to her feet. “Shane!”

He made a face, shrugging. “Big, tough Spec Ops sniper? Fuck outta here.”

“You smell this before?”

Everyone turned to Mitzi, who had set the rag down on the cooler next to her thigh and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

Shane shrugged. “No.”

“I have, a couple times, before all’a this.” She looked up. “Last time was a year ago, in this tiny little mountain village in Afghanistan. We had holed in this village a number of times. It was a farming community, vibrant and generous. The people were nice. The kids use’ta bring me little trinkets, cool rocks, wind-polished desert glass.”

She paused and dug her keys out of her pocket, holding up a smooth, green, translucent piece of glass on a keychain. Daryl pressed tighter against her back.

“The last time we were there, insurgents had wiped the place off the map. Piled all the townsfolk in the center of the town; men, women, children… and set their bodies on fire.” She looked up at Shane. “Denying them a proper Muslim burial because they had colluded with the US Army. Because they colluded with me. So yeah, I’m feeling a little subdued, present circumstances considered.”

He shrunk back. Everyone was quiet for a solid five minutes.

Rick placed his hands on his hips and sighed. “If there’s any government left, any structure at all, they’d protect the CDC at all costs, wouldn’t they? I think it’s our best shot. Shelter, protection, rescue...”

Shane huffed in frustration. “Look, Rick, we all want those things. I do too. If they exist, they’re at the army base at Fort Benning.”

Mitzi shook her head. “Fort Benning is not going to prioritize civilian lives. If they are still operational, their mission is reestablishing authority and control. They’ll stick us in a camp, off-base, with limited supplies and security, and we’ll have to trust that they have checked every civilian. That no one is bit.”

“You sure that’s not just because you don’t want to go back to work?”

She sighed, reaching in her pocket for her brass knuckles. She slipped them on and launched at Shane.

Rick and Daryl must have been expecting it, because before she could take a step, Daryl had popped her off the ground, Rick using his upper body and arms to press her back into Daryl.

“Mitzi, breathe.”

“He fuckin’ has it comin’.”

Rick caught her eyes and held them. “Breathe.”

Daryl pressed his face into her neck and whispered. “Com’n, Spitfire. Calm down. We’ll get ‘em another time, right? Breathe, baby.”

She breathed deep.

“M’Fine. Fuckin’ put me down.”

Rick nodded and they directed her back onto her cooler.

**

She leaned up against the door of the office she would be sleeping in. Catching his hand, she pulled him over, waiting for the others to move past them. “Want to conserve water with me?”

He blushed and knocked his forehead against hers. “Conserve water?”

She nodded. “Jenner said to take it easy on the hot water.”

He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You’re drunk.”

She shrugged and fisted a hand in his shirt, pulling him into the room behind her. “Tipsy, more like, but if you feel uncomfortable, we don’t have t’do anythin’ but shower.”

He chuckled, closing the door behind him. “Don’t chicken out on me now.” He reached back and pulled his shirt over his head.

Her shirt hit the ground shortly after his and she hooked her finger over his belt buckle, drawing him into the bathroom behind her.

He briefly pressed his face to her very functional bra and teased his teeth over the swell of her breast.

Smiling, she directed his face back to hers and pulled his bottom lip into her mouth, sucking gently. He groaned, reaching down and grabbing at her ass and lifting her onto the sink.

He paused to squeeze one more time before leaning over and turning the hot water on in the shower.

He turned back to her and paused, watching her. She ran her hands down his chest, running her fingers over the old faint scars that littered his torso.

“You’re pretty like this.” He didn’t give her time to respond but leaned over and caught her lips with his, slipping his tongue into her mouth with a gravelly moan.

She returned it, drawing him between her legs, cradling his face between her hands. He pulled away, moving instead to press wet kisses to her neck and shoulders.

She moaned and moved her hand to squeeze and grip at his arms and shoulders.

He stopped, pulling back a bit.

“What's wrong?” She rubbed her hands through his hair and jumped a little when his thumb pressed into her shoulder, just shy of the ball of the joint.

“You got shot.”

She nodded. “Lucky shot, just outside my Kevlar.” She lifted her opposite arm and motioned to her bicep, where another scar marred the yellow rose tattooed there. “Same guy got me there too. Pissed me off. That tattoo was only a month old. Never did get it touched up.”

He pressed his lips to her shoulder and then her bicep, before leaning up to catch her lips again.

She grinned as he pulled away and patted her thigh. “Got one here too and that one almost killed me.”

Chuckling, he reached for her belt and opened it. “Best git these jeans off too.”

She pressed a kiss to his mouth and reached up to open the closure on her bra. He groaned as she shrugged off the garment and pressed their chests together.

Wrapping an arm around her, lips still locked to hers, he supported her and she shimmied down her pants and underwear.

She hummed as he stepped away again and leaned to press a kiss to the round scar in the top of her right thigh, eyes locked on hers.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot,” she blurted out in a rush, before reaching for his belt and opening his fly.

He grinned and popped her off the sink. “Git in the shower, baby.”

She did, casting a look at him as she stepped under the water.

He stepped free of his pants and underwear and followed her in. He caged her up against the glass, shielding her from the water and wrapping an arm around her.

His free hand found her nipple and worried it between two fingers. She arched hard against her and teased her teeth over the arch of his jaw. Moaning, his hips stuttered against hers before beginning to roll in earnest rhythm.

She slipped her hands around his side and dug her fingers into the muscles of his upper back, pressing flat against him.

She paused when she encountered raised scar tissue. He flinched away and she kissed over his sternum, dropping her hands to the small of his back. “You don't gotta tell me anythin’.”

He caught her eyes and held them, nodding and leaning in to resume the kiss. A breath later, he pulled away. “You still want this?”

She nodded. “Hell yeah.”

He favored her with a small smile and grabbed her hand from his hair. Touching his forehead to hers, he guided her hand down. “Show me what y’ like.”

She moaned and caught his hand in her much smaller one. “Your hands, not mine.”

He kissed her, carding his fingers through the hair he found there. “Why?”

“Bigger.” She moaned into his mouth as he slid his index finger lower, calloused finger tip rubbing lightly over her clit.

Lips still attached to hers, he slid his finger deeper yet, finding what he was looking for and slipping the tip of his finger inside of her.

She moaned again, lips moving against his, sloppy and out of rhythm as he petted at her with barely there touches.

“Stop teasin’.”

He pressed a smile to her lips. “Who’s teasin’?” He sunk two fingers into her in one motion, swallowing her high moan.

They spent the next few minutes locked together, his fingers wringing moans unchecked from her.

She teased her fingers over the head of his cock and dug the fingers of her opposite hand into the meat of his hip. “D, please.”

He grunted and removed his hand from between her thighs, swallowing her protest with his mouth. He hooked his hands around her thighs and lifted her against the cool, wet glass.

He kissed her as he balanced her weight and smoothed his thumb over her clit.

She hissed as he guided his cock into her. He chuckled, mouthing at her jaw. “Make a man feel good, reactin’ like that.”

She laughed, breathy and distracted. “Make a woman feel good with a cock like that.”

He blushed and ground his hips into hers, partially in retribution.

She caught his eyes, pressing her forehead to his. “How you can blush with your dick inside me…”

He shot her as baleful a look as he could in such a circumstance. “You always sayin’ wild shit.”

She dug both hands into his hair and kissed him, full and deep, before pulling away and whispering against his lips. “I like it when you blush.”

He grunted and hooked her legs over his arms. He took advantage of the new position to snap his hips against hers.

She moaned out a shaky, “fuck!”

“Not blushin’ now.”

She smiled and bit her lip. He watched her face as she moaned, smiling against her mouth as the heat and humidity built.

“Touch y’self.”

Her eyes opened, half-lidded and dark and she hummed like she hadn’t heard him.

“Touch yourself. Com’n baby, help me get ya’there.”

He groaned as she sucked her index and middle finger into her mouth and then hissed when he felt them against the base of his cock. She panted, fingers working furtively at her clit.

“Daryl-“

“I know, Spitfire. You’re squeezing’ me. I gotcha.”

He followed her a handful of thrusts later, lips sealed to hers, each swallowing the other’s pleasure.

Part 3

#twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon

[msgexymunson]

Stray

Description: Eddie finds a kindred spirit.

Warnings: as far as I can tell, none! Pure fluff, gender neutral reader

A/N: Just a cute lil idea I had and I had to let it out so my brain would let me focus on mu next big fic. Enjoy!

700 words

Masterlist

"Eddie, where the hell have you been?" 

Flushed and panting, Eddie flops down onto the chair in the cafeteria, one arm held almost protectively across his chest. 

"What do you mean? I'm right fuckin' here!" 

Rolling your eyes, you shove his shoulder. 

"I didn't ask where you are, I asked where you were, doofus!" 

"I had shit to do, God, don't get your panties in a twist." 

You know you should drop it; being Eddie's best friend, you know him well enough to know when to stop. When his neck tightens like that, and his nose scrunches a little, you're sure he's being serious. 

It seems however, his little sheep aren't as perceptive. 

"Eddie, did I just hear a meow? Don't tell me you've brought a feral cat into the cafeteria?" Dustin says, arms waving in front of Eddie's face. 

"Just drop it, dude!" You see his flustered attitude, the tightening of his shoulders. 

"You found a cat Eddie? Fuck." Gareth says, hand reaching out to Eddie's jacket but he flinches from the approaching grip.

"You've all lost your minds. What's wrong with you? Imma have a smoke." And with that, he leaves just as mysteriously and abruptly as he arrived. 

The guys all stand in unison, each loud mouth expressing some theory or another. 

"Ok boys, enough chatter. Lemme speak to him." You wave your arms in a calming gesture to placate the growing hubbub and make your way to the bench where Eddie did his deals. 

Enveloped in the quiet whisper of the woods, you inhale the deep pine scent and cast your eyes on your best friend.

There he was, like he always was, sitting on the bench, cigarette in hand. Only it seems his face is halfway in his jacket, deep in conversation.

'Eddie?" Your voice rings a question, and he answers with a quick whip of his head. 

"It's OK, I'm just checking on you." You raise your hands in mock submission, inching closer to him, to take your obligatory seat opposite him.

He sighs so deeply you feel it in your marrow. 

"I'm ok, just, can you keep a secret?" He gazes at you with earnest eyes, eyes you'd been in love with for longer than you'd care to admit. 

"Eddie, it's me. Of course I can." 

His shoulders visibly relax at your words. At the same time, a very curious nose makes its way out of its leather jacket confines, sniffing the air. 

"Eddie, is that a raccoon?" 

He smiles. "Yeah. It's just a baby, I dunno where it's mom is, it was all alone." Eddie strokes at the baby raccoon's head making quiet shushing noises. It preens at his touch. 

"Jesus Eddie we should call animal control-" 

"No!" The strength of his shout nearly knocks the wind from you. 

He softens at your flinch, hand held out in supplication.

"They'll just put him down! Lucifer's not done anything wrong, just doesn't have his mother anymore but he's super sweet, he's just got a bad rep, you know? Doesn't mean he's bad, and why should we judge him anyway, just 'cause people labelled him a pest!" 

You watch the tears gather in Eddie's eyes as you finally connect the dots. 

"Oh, Eddie." You bite your lip, willing your own tears to retreat as you reach for his hand. He takes it gratefully, lost in each other's eyes for a moment. 

"He's not a pest. He's a little life. I tell you what, I know who could help. You know that Mr Clarke, the middle school teacher? Dustin talks about him all the time, I bet he could point us to a wildlife sanctuary, or a charity or something."

Eddie beams, face igniting like the rays of the sun. 

"You think so?" 

You stroke his knuckles, face turning a pale pink.

"I know so." 

Suddenly, Lucifer the Raccoon climbs out of the makeshift enclosure of Eddie's jacket and crawls it's way over to you. 

"See, he likes you!" Eddie grins. 

Taking the little ball of fur into your hands you hold it out at arm's length.

"I think you should think of a new name for Lucifer." You giggle, turning the baby raccoon this way and that. 

"Why?" 

"Because Lucifer's a girl."

Eddie laughs. 

"Lucy it is!" 

@eddiemunsons-missingnipple @munson-blurbs @zestychili @corrodedhawkins @indouloureux @cool-nick-miller

Masterlist

#ms gexy writes #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you #eddie x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie fluff #eddie munson fluff #stranger things drabble #eddie stranger things #stranger things fan fic #stranger things #stranger things s4 #stranger things season 4 #eddie

[theradicalace]

fun experience i just had at the bus stop: i was devouring a pint of ben and jerrys at something akin to the pace of a wild dog (bad day at work), dude sits down next to me and says something, but all i catch are the words "ice cream" and nothing else. i figure "oh he's probably just poking fun at my feral ice cream behavior", but then i glance over and he's opening up his OWN pint of ice cream (haagen dazs) and he doesn't even have a spoon like i do, he's just going to town face in the container. kindred spirits.

#ace rambles

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Thirteen

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Very strong language, NSFW themes (kinda smutty?), depictions of war, World on Fire spoilers

Word Count: 4.1K

Notes: The banner is absolute potato quality, soz. We’re gonna say hello to the Vaughns, but we’re with Tom for the majority of this chapter. If you’ve seen the series, you know what’s happening. Buckle in, my dudes.

Late May, 1940

“Up you get, Dadda.”

A hand tucked under each of Fergal’s arms and hoisted him from the pew. He looked blindly at the faces around him. Each solemn and unrecognisable through his grief. The only faces he knew where those of his daughters. Cora and Bess holding him upright, Dot rubbing his back as they walked him out of the church. Beautiful spectres in their mourning veils, the girls moved through the congregation, shook hands with the priest and entered the piercing sun of the June day.

A few of their friends and neighbours were gathered at the church steps. There was Dennis Warley, Mrs Mason and her children, Mrs O’Connell and Mrs Flaherty. Queenie Warren, Roberta, Hattie and Jude. Leading the sea of black was Lois, her bump growing by the day, and Douglas.

“Could you hold this?” Bess whispered to Lois, who nodded and took the order of service from her hands. At the bottom of the page, after the service readings and the parish notices, was a small note. Mass dedicated to the memory of Albert Michael Vaughn. Together, the group formed a procession that made its slow journey from the church to the Vaughn’s home. Occasionally, Fergal wobbled on his feet as a new wave of grief wracked him, and the procession paused as his daughters steadied him. A few people meandered into their own homes after kissing the girls and shaking Fergal’s hand. Mrs O’Connell and Mrs Flaherty brought round a selection of sandwiches for the mourners, and Queenie set about making tea. Douglas led Fergal to his armchair and set him down, while Lois cradled a hysterical Dot. Cora made her way to them, and along with Lois, held her shaking little sister.

“Bess, I’m off,” Queenie’s voice was quiet as she handed Bess a cup of tea. She tried to keep her voice measured as she spoke again. “He really was the best of them.” Bess removed her veil and nodded. Queenie kissed her on the cheek and departed. Roberta, Hattie and Jude were next to say their goodbyes, with promises to visit Bess in Manchester next weekend. Soon, the house was occupied by just the Vaughns and the Bennetts. Cora saw Dot to bed, then set about scrubbing the china more vigorously than Bess had ever seen, Lois helped her put away the remnants of the dreadful day. Douglas spent a silent hour with Fergal by the unlit hearth, holding his hand and sharing a glass of whisky. Outside on the front step, Bess sat alone, gazing at Tom’s photograph. When the front door opened, she hastily tucked it into the belt of her dress. Someone settled on the step beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Bess inhaled the familiar smell of laundry detergent and relaxed into the arms she had become so used to. She and Douglas sat there a while, neither speaking for there was nothing to say. Eventually, Bess whispered into the descending night.

“I just want to hold him.” With Albie’s body buried somewhere in France, the Vaughns had been unable to hold a funeral. Unable to see their beloved Albie one last time. The string had been cut, and Bess’ kindred spirit was no more. Beneath Douglas’ arms, she began to shake. “I feel untethered,” she choked out. “Like I’m going to float away.” For what felt like hours, Bess cried and cried into Douglas’ shoulder. He said nothing, merely stroked her hair and let her wail. When her sobs eased into hiccupping breaths, he took her face in his hands.

“You’ll make it through, I promise.” He kissed the top of her head, opened the front door and called for his daughter.

“Douglas,” Bess’ voice cracked with the effort of using it. “I have some of Albie’s old clothes. I wondered if you might take them for Jan, next time you visit the Chase’s?” The older man nodded with a sad smile.

“I’ll be round in the morning.”

Lois clung to her father’s arm as they crossed the road, and when they had shut the door to their own home, Bess retrieved the photograph from her belt. It was real. Albie was the first of them to die. How many more would there be now? It had started. She kissed Tom’s face and prayed. Keep him safe, keep him safe, keep him safe.

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

“God help the Jerries if that’s the look you give ‘em.” Norman laughed as he watched Tom read over his post. “I wouldn’t cross you in a month of Sundays.”

“I have a date with a solider from the infirmary. He’s called James. I think we’re going to the Palais. How are you managing with only men aboard ship?”

Tom’s bottom lip quirked with annoyance. “How long until the auxiliaries leave?”

“About an hour, I reckon.”

Tom nodded with resolve. That evening, the HMS Keith was to join Operation Dynamo in the attempt evacuate Dunkirk. In dock reloading with fuel and supplies for the men they to rescue, most sailors aboard were taking a few hours of shore leave before entering the fray. The air had been tense all morning. The resulting lack of crew meant that when Tom entered the mess hall, he found it empty. He took Bess’ photograph from its permanent residence in his pocket and placed it on the table with his paper and pen. This letter better be a good one.

But when he tried to write, nothing came. He stared at the blank paper, unable to escape the image of Bess and this James man dancing at the Palais. Tom smirked as an idea popped into his head. Lighting a cigarette, he picked up the pen and with a laugh, began to write.

Bess,

I know what you’re trying to do. Telling me all about your little date in the hopes it will make me jealous. Would it make you smile, love, if I told you it was working?

Tell me more about James, love. Is he tall? Is he handsome? Does he know you like I do? Does he know that you hate wearing pink because it clashes with your hair? That you sneak fudge from the picture house into your pocket? That you collected feathers and eggshells when you were small, or that you write secret letters to a criminal like me?

Can he read you like I can? Does he know that when you don’t wear make up, or curl your hair, you feel defiant? Or that when you’re angry, your eyebrows straighten? That you only smoke as a means to avoid speaking? That when your eyes darken and those perfect lips of yours part, when you blush and it spreads right across your nose, it means you desperately want fucking?

Can he satisfy you like I can, Bess? What’s it like when he holds you? Are his fingers long? Have they been inside you yet? I know I could do it, Bess, if you’d let me. I heard the way your breath hitched every time I touched you. I watched your chest heave every time I got close. I see the way you watch me, the way you’ve always watched me.

God, what I’d give. You’re all I think about. At night, when the other men are sleeping, or else touching their cocks and pretending no-one’s noticed, it’s you I see when I close my eyes. I replay the day I watched you changing behind the screen each night. The outline of your body. Damn your family for coming home. What would have happened, do you think? After I had pinned your body beneath mine? If I try, I can hear you moaning my name. I can feel your cunt against me. If your family hadn’t come home I’d have ravished you, Bess. I’d have fucked you with my mouth, my fingers, my cock. Watched you take me. Watched unflappable Bess Vaughn come undone by my body. Made love to you until your mind could think of nothing but me. Can this James boy do that for you? Can he satisfy you like I could?

I can’t take it anymore. I can’t kiss another woman and pretend it’s you, calling them by your name. I don’t want to imagine anymore what those nimble fingers of your can do. I’m tired of using my hand and pretending it’s your mouth around me. I’m mad with wanting you, love. I’ll kill any man that gets in my way to you. You’re mine, Bess. You tell James that.

Yours, hungrily,

Tom.

He stopped writing and reread the letter. His cigarette had dwindled to a stub and when he reached the end of the letter, Tom barked a laugh. At least that was out of his system. Perhaps, one day, he would give it to her. He folded the page, placed it in an envelope and wrote, simply, Bess on the front before tucking it into his pocket. When Tom took out the second page of paper, he hung his head and thought. Really thought, before placing the pen upon the page.

Dear Bess,

Thank you for the letter. Please, if it upsets you, don’t write anymore. Your letters are the best thing that happens to me at sea, but I couldn’t bear being the cause of more pain.

I’m sure you’ll have all heard back home, but we’re starting the evacuation tonight. I won’t lie to you Bess, I’m terrified. Thousands all herded onto one beach with us to rescue them. Feel like sitting ducks. We’re going into something big, Bess, and I’m scared I won’t come back.

If I don’t, know that I think of you every second of every day. And if this James fella doesn’t treat you well then I’ll haunt him until his dying day. I hope he makes you happy, Bess.

If I do come back, I’ll spend the rest of my days regretting what I did to you but know this, I will make it right. I adore you.

Think of me, as I’m forever thinking of you,

Yours, always,

Tom.

Tom rubbed the pen between his fingers. That was it. That was all. Writing Bess’ name and address on the envelope, he hurried from the mess hall back to the cabin he shared with Norman.

“Gonna get a last look at land,” he said as he opened the door and placed the two letters he had written on his bunk, one addressed and one not. “You coming?”

“Last look? You’re optimistic.” Norman lay on his side and watched Tom don his cap. “You’re alright, gonna stay here and get some rest before it all.”

“Right you are.” With that, Tom made his way to the __ deck and watched shadows of cloud drift across the French docks. Two minutes after he departed, a ratings officer knocked on the cabin door. Norman answered.

“Anything for the post before we leave?”

“Just these,” Norman grabbed a letter of his own, addressed to his parents, and the two from Tom’s bunk. “Hang on, he hasn’t addressed this one.” Hastily, he copied Bess’ address from one envelope to the other and handed them to the man at the door, who looked at the name.

“Two letters to one girl?” He whistled lowly. “She must be a special one.”

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

Despite the calm water and pastel sky, by the eve of the evacuation’s second day, Tom’s agitation was reaching fever pitch. Arms resting on his knees, he watched the point behind Norman’s head where the horizon burned. Dunkirk. Tom was in half a mind to wrestle a paddle from an oarsman, just to give himself something to do. Their lifeboat, capacity 40, made its slow way back to the beach and the 300,000 people waiting to be rescued. From their position a mile off the coast, the evacuees looked like ants fleeing a magnify glass.

“What’s on your mind, Tom?” Norman asked. His back was to the beach and Tom envied his brief position of ignorance.

“How come our ship is called HMS Keith?” Tom tried to sound light, breezy. “Keith isn’t the name you give a fighting ship.”

“You what?”

“All the other ships are called Atlantic, Calcutta, Dreadnought, and we get Keith.”

Norman shrugged. “Well? What’s the problem with that?”

Tom leant down to fix his shoe in order to give his hands focus. “Well, Keith was always the name of the kid who wore a balaclava till April, candlewax snot hanging from his nose.” He thought irresistibly of Frank Smith and Norman laughed at him. The sound lightened Tom’s mood and he continued the jest. “How many trips back and forth have we done? Twenty? And not one tip all day-”

“Would you like it better if it was HMS Tom?”

“If it was called HMS Tom it wouldn’t be here, mate. It’d be cruising round the brothels of the Med.” Tom’s arms came to rest once more on his knees, head oscillating a little as he fixed his mouth in a smirk. Norman thought it made him look cocky, like he was gearing up for a fight. Tom knew that it was a nervous twitch, something to make himself seem bigger when danger loomed. He glanced behind Norman again. They were getting closer. Black smoke billowed in the town beyond the beach and the fearful shouting of the stranded filled the air like braying horses.

By the time they made it to the beach, Tom’s agitation had turned itself into reassurances to the soldiers and an eagerness to be as far away from France as possible. So close to England, it was almost as if he could smell home over the sea and gunpowder.

“Move it lads! Fritz is due to call again soon and he won’t be selling ice creams. You’ve had all day to sunbathe, just get on board, let’s go home, eh?” He called to the queue of soldiers shuffling into the shallow water. They looked like the living dead. Behind him, Norman and the oarsmen hauled them into the lifeboat. “Go on, here you are pal.” Tom gripped the shoulder of a man as he stumbled on the unstable ground. A young man in civilian clothing took his chance and pushed forward through the queue. Tom spotted him in an instant, pushing the man back as he tried to board the boat. “No chance, get to the back and wait your turn.”

“You can’t stop me,” The man looked like a ghost, eyes rimmed with purple circles and face ashen with tiredness. He wasn’t French, though from where, Tom didn’t know. The stranger lunged forwards.

“Oh yeah?” Tom pulled a pistol from the waistband of his uniform. “I can with this. Jerry’s only gone for his tea break. If we don’t get away on this tide, we get sunk, so killing you’s a small price if it stops all these fellas buying it too.” Tom hated this. He’d let him on if he could, but thousands of angry soldiers would end him before the Germans if he did. What’s more, with a tiny boat full of scared and exhausted men, he needed to assert that he was in control. It was chaos enough on the beach, God help them if it spilled over into the rescue boats.

The man stumbled forward and spoke lowly, pressing his chest into the gun. “I’m ready for death.”

“We’re all fucking ready for death, mate.” Tom scoffed and indicated at the men surrounding him. “We’re all ready for death.” Once more, he pointed the gun towards the man.

“SHOOT ME!” The man screamed. Before the war, it would have stunned Tom, but he’d seen too much to know that death was a welcome choice by many now. In the dark of the night, he thought about it too. Tom watched all hope fade from the man’s eyes and was about to take his hand when another solider grabbed the stranger by the shoulders.

“Get out of the way,” he growled, pulling him backwards until he fell into the shallows. “Get back and fight for your country, you Polish bugger.”

Thankful, Tom continued calling to the soldiers. “Right, behave lads. Any more hassle and we’ll be going home with a boat half full, alright? Now come on. I’ll put the kettle on for us, eh? Let’s go home.”

“You won’t want any of his tea,” Norman shouted as he pulled another man into the lifeboat. “Bath water tastes better.” A few soldiers let out half-hearted laughs, which for Tom and Norman, was an achievement in itself. They smiled at each other a moment and, there with his friend, Tom forgot about the war around them. For that second, they were just two friends on the beach at sunset. The sounds of war had faded.

A muted thud carried across the expanse of beach. Then another. The dull thumping of metal and rock. From the clouds above, Luftwaffe descended. Two from the east and two from the west, they wailed their battle cry. Sand soared into the air, each mound rising closer and closer to the boat. Tom froze. He looked around. Men were scrambling towards the boats, back up the beach towards the town. Debris from the already bombed out boats and trucks ripped through the air, through bodies. Like dominos men fell, or else were blown into the sky. Was Tom ready to die? If I don’t come back, know that I think of you every second of every day. He saw her. Sat at the piano. At the dancehall, tucked under the blankets and sat on the front step. On the carousel, hair aflame under the lights.

Boom, boom, BOOM. A missile struck the lifeboat nearest Tom’s own, and in a flash, he ran. From all sides, metal, sand and viscera attacked his senses. Weaving around scattered bodies, Tom ran as his eyes scanned the beach. What he was searching for, he didn’t know. Somewhere to hide? Someone sent to rescue the rescuers? The juddering of gunfire sounded and screams rent the air. Keep weaving. Bullets flew past his ears and he ducked. Through the mist of sand, he saw the metal hull of an overturned truck. If he could just reach it, he could clammer inside or hide beneath it. Twenty metres. His legs were burning. Ten metres. Next to him a man dropped. Five metres. Hot pain ripped through his shoulder. He could smell the burning of his own flesh. Taste gunpowder and iron on the air. The force of the bullet caused Tom to stagger and, breathless with pain, he collapsed.

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

The clattering of the ceramic pan rang echoed throughout the ward, and Bess fell into a seat by the soldier’s bed.

“What is the meaning of this?” The matron hissed as she stormed towards Bess. Joan and Helen looked at her from their nearby stations. Since the death of her brother, Bess’ ‘funny turns’, as Joan and Helen called them, increased but she had always managed to push through until now.

“I’m sorry, Sister Stern,” Bess knelt from the chair and fumbled to pick up the equipment. “I’m sorry-” A pair of gleaming boots entered her vision and she looked up. Sister Stern was staring at her down the bridge of her pinched nose.

“You’re white as a sheet,” the matron said, placing a hand on Bess’ forehead. “And burning up. Go home at once. You’re no use to us here in this state.”

“Yes, Sister.” Bess bowed her head, not looking at her friends as hurried away. Bess didn’t go home as the matron demanded. Instead, she boarded the first bus for Longsight. Something told her she had to get to the Bennett’s.

She heard him before she saw him. From beyond the turning to their street, Bess heard Douglas’ shouts through the fog.

“Anybody in?” There was the unmistakable thundering of fists on doors. “Hey? Are you in? Come on! Help me-” Bess’ feet hurried along the cobbles. More banging. “Hello? Are you in? Help me, help me, help me. Come on!” By the time she made out the man amongst the fog he was trembling, hands over his eyes and cowering on the pavement. Bess ran to him just as he slumped onto the floor.

“Douglas, ssh, come on.” She struggled to lift him. “Let’s get you inside.” Two more figures arrived through the haze.

“Dad?” Lois and Connie rushed forward and placed their arms beneath Douglas’.

“Help me get him in,” Bess said to Connie. “Lois, you get the door.” It was half an hour before the three women managed to get Douglas settled, and even then he muttered under his breath and stared into nothingness.

“I know it. I can feel it in here,” Douglas indicated to his chest, and Bess looked at the kitchen table scattered with newspapers and a magnifying glass. Another chip broke away from her heart.

“Any real news? Not one of your “feelings” like Gypsy Rose Lee on Blackpool Prom.” Lois said gently. She was just like Cora, and Bess gazed at her in awe. Pregnant and alone to look after her father, Lois Bennett was extraordinary.

“If anything’s happened to him, I made him go,” Douglas mumbled. “I told him to go. I…I made him-”

���Dad,” Lois tried to reason with him.

“I’m no dad. I’m no father. No father to you. No father to him. I’m no father, me.” Connie and Bess looked at each other as Douglas continued to spiral. “We just have to wait now.” He stood abruptly and made his way to the wireless.

“They’re not going to announce anything on the radio, are they? Not just like that-” Bess heard the plea in Lois’ voice but she was cut off by her father.

“Shut up, will you?”

Bess whispered to Connie. “I’ll back in a minute.” Connie merely nodded and watched Bess speed across the road. Dadda would know what to do. Wiping tears from her eyes, she opened the door to her childhood home.

“Dadda?” She called out. “Dadda?” No-one replied. Deflated, Bess realised that everyone would still be at work. Just as she turned to leave the house, a thud came from above her head. Tentatively, nervously, Bess made her way upstairs. “Hello?” The door to her old bedroom was open. Nothing. No-one. Across the hall, the door to her father’s room was ajar. “Dadda?” She pushed it open. Face down, drool spilling from his mouth, Fergal was asleep on the bed. One arm was flung out across the bed and beneath the hand that lolled over the frame, an empty whisky bottle lay on its side on the floor. She stared at his pitiful state for a moment, then her eyes drifted to the empty bed next to the door. Set out, perfectly folded atop the quilt, was a jumper and pair of moleskin trousers. A framed photo was propped on the pillow, and Albie smiled gently at her from the faded image. Bess wanted to scream. Instead, she stepped from the room and slammed the door to her old bedroom. She heard her father grunt. Good. She couldn’t care less about his sore head and sorry state. Sitting on the bed she once shared with Dot, Bess opened her purse and took out the photograph she always carried with her.

“Don’t you dare be dead, Tom Bennett. Don’t you dare.”

Notes: Woof. Writing this has been a rollercoaster. Just a little note again to say that I replaced Fred in the episode with lovely Norman. Poor Grzegorz too. I’m hoping we’ll see him and Tom interact again in WoF series 2, considering Grzegorz is now in Manchester. Also, the letter situation is very obviously inspired by Atonement, which incidentally has one of the best Dunkirk scenes in cinema!! Next chapter soon!

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @anditsmywholeheart @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #tom bennett x ofc #world on fire #ewan mitchell x reader #the seamstress & the sailor

[myarcadiandream]

My commentary on The Sign Ep. 7

-Arts forbidden love situation with Kao is so sad

-my face during the contemporary art scenes. Yeaaaah they aren’t my thing I’m sorry.

-During the art exhibition Phaya should have been standing in the back hes so tall he’s blocking the view.

-why is Dr Cha Cha slide stILL HERE MAN GO HOME THIS IS A CRIME SCENE

-Doc is LEADING THE WITNESS. No doubt making him see things when he put a hand on Arts chest.

-why ARE WE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION ABOUT AROUSAL IN FRONT OF THE INVESTIGATORS SALAD (side note I cannot get over how softly Tharn said Phayas name when he pushed him away from Doc)

-Doc is going for the THROAT man. He’s so smartly trying to discredit Phaya in both his personal and professional life.

-THIS CONVERSATION IN THE HALLWAY. someone needs to gif it now. Phaya is saying exactly what Tharn has been thinking. Phaya is braver than Tharn. He is verbally telling Tharn his fear of losing him. And Tharn just caves. There are literally tears in Tharns eyes

-I would answer any question Yai asked me in an interrogation room. I would say what he wanted to hear. Dude is fiiiiiine

-does Tharn look shorter to you? The height difference seems bigger

-please don’t touch the sex board please don’t touch the sex bo- his abilities are expanding?

-yo this convo after the interrogation is so on the nose 😅

-Tharns visions are so long now

-me thinks Tharn and Art are kindred spirits

-phaya: “I have a surprise for you” Tharn: 👀👀

-NAMAMI

-Grandma : “tell me has he ever done something funny to you?” Yeah i mean they punched eachother in the face

-Phaya just has a fucking unicorn in his art studio?

-POOL POOL POOL

-they left Billy’s beauty mark on his eyelid alone. YESSSS

-KISS KISS KISS

-Again with the purple lighting Saint CMON

-oh I cannot wait for the GIFS of this scene

-you know it’s Tharns fantasy bc Phayas got a vice grip on his neck and they’re in the shower.

-ope and we’ve slipped into Phayas fantasy. So soft.

-SHOULDER KISSES

-NO NEXT EPISODE IS THE DROWNING EPISODE NO

-But also ready for all the angst tbh

#thai bl #thai drama #the sign #the sign the series #phayatharn #babe tanatat #billy patchanon #phaya x tharn #bee watches

[un-father]

My dude - I love your posts and energy! I feel a kindred spirit! Keep fighting the good fight - just because we're kink doesn't mean we're assholes!

#un-father.txt #un-father anwsers

[notbangoose]

Instead of both being experiments, I think it would be really funny if the goldfinchduo were just mindwiped scientist from the federation.

Not really a theory or anything, just a au of mine. Though I do have to say, with what I know from the character lore (fandom osmosis due to being Jaiden Pov), it feels more fitting to me than project bluebird. That is, with Jaiden having implied to have helped cucurucho in the past and Foolish being an immortal being. Anyways--

Foolish disguises himself as a normal human and decides to hang with these group of scientists he found on some deserted island out of boredom

The Federation is still in its early stages, still small, but very much starting to turn more unethical.

Though through the weird human and animal experiments, he befriends a scientist going under the alias Bluebird

She's just another human scientist that helps create assets for the federation, having made some of the helpers on the island (I have conflicting headcanons on whether the federation workers are body horror nightmares or robots but I'm bad at articulating them so)

He thinks the bear guys are rad as hell and she thinks Foolish is a nice dude to talk to, fast friends

Though eventually, the federation gets more... federation-y and Bluebird starts to realize that things are kind of fucked up (she found the children in the basement/j)

"I dont think we're good people"

"Well yeah I'm pretty sure you guys go hand in hand with some of the other cults I've been in-- maybe with just more labcoats"

"What?"

Anyways, as things progressed they eventually get mindwiped for 'perfection' and get seperated

Foolish somehow gets off the island (back in normal totem shark form), though memory erased. While he gradually gets his pre-island memories back, he doesn't remember being a fed worker. Also Bad found him, Foolish just pretended to know him until the amnesia went away.

Bluebird gets bluebirded (Also my headcanon that the federation birds are basically uncanny valley freaks to any actual avians plays into this-- think a wolf seeing a dog, a being like you but dulled)

Currently, they have a weird deja vu feeling about the other, but they dont know why

They're kindred spirits either way

Also in this au the Feds don't realize that Foolish is their ex employee until before the point in canon where he gets (re)hired by them to arrest Pac and Mike

Im really bad at explaining the fics my mind creates so ill try my best to draw them out sometime

#qsmp #qsmpblr #qsmp jaiden #qsmp foolish #qsmp au #Bad: I haven't seen you in ages and the first time I see you again you're washed up on the beach #Foolish- having no idea who this man is: Yeah life is crazy like that... Man #Bad: Shame you didn't drown

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

I’m dying to hear about the your Norm and Tsu’tey HCs🤭🤭 (Side bar: I’m also so conflicted about Tsu’tey living hcs bc then we don’t get Jake’s imposter syndrome (?) feelings about being the leader of the clan (ik there’s a name for it but I don’t feel like looking up how to spell it) yk? Like I’m sure he’d probably still have it to some degree but idk it’s like on a lesser level yk? ) this is probably a grammatical nightmare I’m so sorry 😭😭

Hi friend, no, don't worry, I understand completely what you're trying to say.

First, you've completely distracted me with your side note, so we have to start with that. I see no reason why Tsu'tey living can't still involve Jake's imposter syndrome feelings, in fact, even make them a new and bigger beast. I think there are two schools of thought with Tsu'tey surviving the Battle of the Tree of Souls; one where he lives and remains clan leader and Jake becomes kind of like his right hand man, and two where he is severely injured in the battle to the point that he is disabled and he gives his role to Jake. I adore stories with both, and I see endless potential in both, but I kind of love the second one just for the pain and trauma and potential healing that it poses.

Like, come on. Tsu'tey is shot like a ton of times. I think they only way he could survive is like, Eywa intervention and also human surgery and tech. I'm thinking it would have to be that one of the humans finds him first, or once the battle was over Norm and Max had separated Jake's loyal humans out to help with some medical help just because so many people and Na'vi were hurt, and once they found Tsu'tey Mo'at encouraged letting them help? The logistics of how it would even work, letting the humans help, are a little complicated to me.

BUT ANYWAYS, I feel like that's like, double the imposter syndrome drama. Tsu'tey is still a badass, obviously, but he can't do things with the ease he used to. He gives his title to Jake because it takes him years to recover properly, and even then he knows he won't ever be like he used to be. There could also totally be a layer of mistrust in some of the older Na'vi, their leader should be dead but was saved by creepy human tech, and the new possibility is fucking Jake "used to be human" Sully? DON'T even get me started on the fucking ride Jake and Tsu'tey can go on, getting close over life changing disabilities, crazy leadership pressure, and being weird Eywa freaks. BUT ALSO Jake just stole this dude's job and fiancee, and now he's disabled? Please that has to be some imposter syndrome and guilt like crazy. And Tsu'tey definitely has some bitterness and guilt, but also feels useless and aimless? Like what is his purpose now, Jake and Neytiri have a family and the clan and he's just, like wandering around like half the guy he used to be, no family and should be dead?

AND THAT'S WHERE NORM COMES IN. Norm gets the weirs, jealousy, uselessness, I've-been-replaced-in-my-one-purpose feeling. My guy was hired with like seven degrees to do a job Jake came in wholly unqualified for and half assed his way through epically and changed the state of the world. Idk, I feel like in a ton of ways they are kindred spirits in a polar opposites way. Same feelings in different circumstances.

I've said this before, but one of the things I adore about Norm and Tsu'tey as a concept is neither of them is each other's first love. They both had their epic love story, their perfect person. They had their fairytale. And now they are both a little older, a little more jaded, and a little more broken and aimless. They also were both in a heterosexual relationship before. It's so far from a replacement of what they lost, it's learning to be a new person in the wake of the old and finding the perfect person for the new ones they've become. They're both stuck in each others world for the time being, what with Tsu'tey stuck recovering in the base and Norm now stuck on Pandora forever. I think that is a fun concept to explore. I've gone too far into this though, so here's this word vomit.

#this just came out of me at 6:20am on the train to work #and I love it #when I actually sit down and make time for the asks they are so so fun #norm spellman #tsu’tey #norm x tsu’tey #jake sully #max patel #mo’at #neytiri sully #avatar #avatar the way of water #james cameron avatar #melissa’s asks #melissa og #melissa on avatar (cameron) #we are mindmelding get in

[askmadcomcrew]

Do you all know what fluffy grunts are? If so, what's your opinion on them?

Hank: They're alright. I like them more when they eat people.

Sanford: Not much of an animal guy, but they're pretty cute I guess. Wouldn't want one as a pet though.

Deimos: I love playin' with 'em, even if they are bitey little guys. But hey, they're energetic and love to run around, so we're basically kindred spirits.

Doc: Unnerving. They are effectively a grunt with reduced mental capabilities, but biologically extremely similar to us. Imagine if you had cloned a human to have the mind of a dog. You would be disturbed, no?

Jeb: Strange creations. They aren't supposed to exist, but, ultimately quite harmless.

Tricky: FUNKY LITTLE DUDES!!! I HEAR THEY CAN STRIP A MAN'S BONES CLEAN IN 30 SECONDS FLAT IF THERE'S ENOUGH OF 'EM!!!

Sheriff: Ain't really my kinda thing, honestly I was always a little creeped out by 'em.

Crackpot: Gross creatures, all fluffy and cute looking. Who could love such a vile beast?

Phobos: I had considered strapping bombs to them and sending them out into the field, but there were...Complications.

Auditor: They aren't useful to my cause, nor do they belong here. Little more than a commodity.

#everyone answers #fluffy grunts #questions

[sherifftillman]

can i request eddiexreader where the reader is also lowkey considered a freak, she's a painter and plays dnd and wants to join hellfire? thank you! no worries if not!

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 735

You're listening to your Walkman as you sketch out your latest piece to paint when you're home. The sound quality of you taping a recording of your favourite album from the family record player isn't the best, but it's still listenable.

Something hits your headphones, knocking them askew. You look up to see a group of preppy girls standing around you, already laughing behind their hands. You simply smile sarcastically and carry on, hand on your headphones to readjust them when you hear, "Oh my god, isn't it pathetic? The way she tries so hard to act like she doesn't care. So transparent."

You shrug, "Don't know what to tell you, dude. Just go on and do your thing. I'll do mine. Never the two shall meet."

"Why do you talk so weird?" Another girl asks.

"Didn't you hear your little friend? Everything I do is in the desperate attempts that you girls will come over, disturb my peaceful existence and just harass me until I can't take any more," you reply monotonously.

"You think you're better than everyone just because you like your tiny, specific, insignificant things? Get real," the first girl scoffs. "It doesn't make you special, sweetie. Nobody's gonna pick you."

"Good! Let them leave me alone! God," you pull your headphones back on and turn away from them. The poor quality music doesn't drown out their laughs as they leave. You're back in the zone until someone taps you on the shoulder. You look up to see Eddie Munson's smiling face. "Can I help you?" you ask scathingly, now that you're not in the mood, as you remove your headphones entirely and pause your cassette player.

"Whoa, whoa," he holds his hands up, stepping back once, twice, before pulling up the seat opposite to you. "Just here to check on a fellow misfit."

"I don't need checking up on, thank you," you reply. "Just... Go on back to your little boys' club, it's fine."

He frowns, "Come on, you can't fool me. You and I, we're kindred spirits. You can talk to me." He looks down at your book, and points at one of your warm-up doodles. "Cat Lord? Nice. Haven't utilised him yet."

"Yeah, well. Neutral aligned, doesn't really care much for people, only cats. Doesn't sound like a bad life if you ask me," you shrug, and Eddie chuckles.

"C'mon, not all people suck that much," Eddie chimes.

Head still bent over your sketchbook, you look up at him. "Let me guess, you're the exception?"

"Well, I don't wanna brag, but..." He stretches out. "I've caught you peeking into the Hellfire clubhouse once or twice. I don't think you'd be doing that if you weren't curious." A deep blush forms across your cheeks, and it doesn't go unnoticed. "Hey, look up at me, I wanna see something."

You move to face him, closing your book and crossing your arms on the table. "Alright, fine. What?"

Eddie toys with his hair for a second before also leaning in to grin widely at you as he mutters quietly, "Kiss me if I'm wrong, but I think you want into Hellfire."

Your whole face turns bright red. "Excuse me?!"

His smile somehow gets even bigger as he leans back, "Knew it. All you ever had to do was ask." He rests an elbow on the table, lifting his fist up to lay his cheek on as he looks at you.

You can't bring yourself to look at him, because ever since he propositioned you to kiss him, you can't stop focusing on his lips. "Like I said earlier. It's a whole boys' club. I've not exactly seen any girls at your table."

Eddie shakes his head. "We've had oneshots with female players before. But you're right, someone's gotta be the first to stick around for a whole campaign. And I'd be honoured to have you be that for us."

You sigh in defeat. "Yeah. Alright, fine, you got me. If you really want me there, I'd... Actually kinda love to join."

Eddie does a little victory dance in his place. It's actually quite cute in its own awkward way. "Have you got a character in mind? I'd love to talk backstory with you sometime... Amongst other things," he leans back in closer to you.

Just as it was starting to cool off, your blushing makes a comeback. "I'd... Kinda love that, too."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #*myfics

[picturejasper20]

Least favorite Danny Phantom episodes from seasons 1 and 2?

Season 1:

"Splitting Images": Idk, the whole Poindexter plot and how the message gets handled is pretty weird. I understand Danny not trying to use his powers to not get attention but it doesn't make sense why he can't used them to defend himself a bit. Sad because i do like Sidney Poindexter.

"Teacher of the Year": I wouldn't say i dislike this episode? It's that i find it weird how Danny and Tucker are being rather sexist just because. I think it does makes sense to Tuck a bit but not Danny. The series had this habit of trying to explore gender in a way that was super strange.

"A Million Dollar Ghost": I wouldn't say "my least favourite" but like, this episode has some ass plot holes that don't make sense. Where is Valerie in this episode first of all? Why Vlad as Plasmius revealing to Jack that he has a ghost portal is never brought up again? Why instead of this we couldn't have an episode of Danny bonding with Jack and Vlad trying to interrumpt them? For an episode Vlad faces Jack feels weak.

Season 2:

"Memory Blank": What is this episode even about. How does this fit with the timeline. What is even the purpose of this episode aside from adding Danny a logo i have zero idea.

"Beauty Marked": The way this episode is written is... interesting. I like the idea of Sam being allowed to be herself. However, it isn't bad for girls to like cloths and alike? After all it is something that isn't rare for girls to like at that age. It doesn't make them stupid nor dumb. I think i could write an episode analysis about this one because it is just bizarre.

"Masters of All Time": The fuck is this episode. It is interesting the what if that is trying to make. The problem is that Vlad human! Contradicts the characterization Vlad has as character in general. The point is that Vlad turned evil after the ghost portal accident, he was a regular dude before the accident. Also why Jack's ghost form looks like Plasmius. How does make sense. The way the lesson is delivered is kinda mixed because Danny was just asking for his parents to not embarass him in front of his peers. It isn't much to ask.

"Double Cross My Heart": It's uh... i'm not a fan of Danny stalking Sam nor the "if someone likes Sam, it is because that person is lying" thing. It is like Danny is the only one who can like Sam, based on the impression i get.

"Reality Trip": While it can be entertaining, the whole thing is messy. I have commented about this episode before. I think the most frustrating part is the time reset of Jack and Maddie knowing Danny's ghost identity. It is going back to the status quo for the sake of going back to the status quo. It doesn't leave important consequences like Reign Storm and The Ultimate Enemy do. Another thing that bothers me is that it is one of the few times the GIW are actual enemies and it is mixed with this Freakshow gem plot. It could have been only about the GIW and it would have worked better.

From Season 1, the closest episode i come to dislike is "Splitting Images". Like Season 1 is overall pretty solid?

In contrast Season 2 is more messy. It has some episodes that have weird time resets or i just don't know how to add then in the timeline. Writing decisions that i don't get. Why Kindred Spirits couldn't be a two part special instead of one dedicated to a one-off enemy? Things like that that could have easily been avoided.

#danny phantom #dp season 1 #dp season 2 #masters of time is frustrating specially because we could have learned more about Jack #Jack maddie and Vlad's past friendship

[simonalkenmayer]

Fascists just won the Italian election, and in case you don’t recall…

1922 was the year Mussolini moved into power. 100 years. Exactly a century.

History never repeats, but it does rhyme. I get tired of being trapped inside a human long-form epic poem with no sense of humor.

Kids, guys, youngish folk, dudes, my kindred spirits, my gentle readers and friends…

Don’t let this happen again. Run for office. Stop this now. Call out liars. Do not permit false equivalency. Stop being afraid, or fear is all there will be. And so it goes. Another cycle.

[tidekissed]

UGH I’ll shut up after this but I’m genuinely so disappointed with how ratio turned out. I guess people comparing him to 🌿 got me too hyped up but my god. 🌿 is autistic and just doesn’t mask, but still is a kind person who does try to consider others when he speaks so that his meaning isn’t misconstrued. dude literally gets a frightened woman he has never met to open up to him about a secret that makes her hide in her house. ratio looks down on others, says he wants to teach and “cure idiocy” but all he does is fling insults at things he judges as stupid instead of actually trying to correct them, calls himself a scientific researcher and then states something that is blatantly wrong in many cases, and just generally gives the vibe that he leans into the ancient Greek Athenian aesthetic too much and that includes thinking everyone but others exactly like him are useless imbeciles. also decided the player was lying with no actual evidence and employed a guilty until proven innocent model, which actually led me to believe he was the perpetrator of the entire incident his quest revolved around. ratio does not read as nd to me…just an asshat. and even if he is nd that’s still not really an excuse to treat people that way. from personal experience and growth, being nd isn’t a get out of jail free card to treat others any way you want. just. jesus. I’m really sad because I was hoping this would be another moment like I had with 🌿—really feeling like a character was a kindred spirit. but. nope. instead there’s a guy who reeks of all the assholes I’ve had to work with that have asserted that they don’t believe “””””females””””” are as intelligent etc etc etc. to be clear ratio hasn’t said anything that leads me to believe he’s specifically misogynistic—it’s just the way he operates that reminds me of all the dudes I’ve had the misfortune of working on stuff with in academia that were.

anyway. tl;dr 🌿 sweep ratio is the cheapest most unfaithful knockoff imaginable and that’s good because he’s a different character but he lost everything that makes 🌿 so likable.

#tidepool chats #whew. Sorry. long rant now that I’m awake enough

[inkwell-intermission]

got any boxcars headcanons?

yessss :] I'll actually paste a thing I wrote a bit ago getting a little flowery about how I feel abt him, warning for mention/description of cannibalism and violence? but that's expected with Boxcars I think.

"I think boxcars is many things. enjoyer of soap operas and dime store romance novels, recreational cooking enthusiast, haver of competitive wrestling energy, amateur and heartfelt poet, rampant bisexual cliche enjoying romantic, violence doer with a near lack of erotic sadism and moreso schadenfreude and satisfaction, emotionally stable and happy as a person, and enjoyer of cannibalism through an almost spiritually fulfilling lens of consumption texture fascination and a boarish horrorterrors approval"

and

"it's actually so fucking romantic to work with a man who rarely smiles but seems to take great relish when torturing someone to turn to you and finally show a crescent of teeth as he threatens to loose you on him knowing the hedonistic joy you take in the taste of still trembling red meat" (droog and boxcars)

I think Boxcars has to practice his goon face in the mirror to look serious and scary, because he has such a good time with most things he does. He loves a good fight, he loves his work and his force of personality is magnetic, and it's more expected that he remain stoic and stone-faced but he's full of joy and genuine happiness, hes on warriormale shit, he's a huge ass guy who loves finding other big dudes to beat the shit out of.

He's the biggest ally in the intermission even if he doesn't know all the words he's got the spirit (he knows a lot of the words anyway). He'd stop fighting someone if they started having an asthma attack or panic episode and help them calm down and breathe before resuming the fight and ask ur pronouns before breaking your arm or something <3

Intense romantic and very bisexual, has a wide chivalric streak that Broad for example finds very charming- who wouldn't swoon a little over a huge guy delicately kissing your hand? (Dame doesn't. lol) He's probably the most stable of the Midnight Crew, he's got a strong moral principle (not saying it's always "good", but y'know) and he sticks to it pretty firmly, and defies orders he sees as violating them. As a big guy it's pretty hard to make Boxcars do something he doesn't want to do.

I'll also go over his horrorterror briefly: It's known as The Devouring Tusks, The Insatiable Boar, and The Patron of Empowerment. It's just how it sounds- A massive, consuming boar. I chose a boar partially due to their propensity for... eating people lol. It found Boxcars to be a kindred spirit who had previously discovered a fondness for carapacian, initially out of necessity in Exile- He needs a lot of food to keep himself up compared to his friends, and preferred to give them the game he could hunt down and take what was left or anyone who tried to kill him for the game on the way back as his own meal- very considerate of course, he loves his friends very much :]! And the boar sees him and sees that he understands, and they become patron and disciple. The Boar gives Boxcars the ability to draw the physical strength and life force out of his opponents through either physical contact and injury with focus, or automatically when consuming their body. By grabbing a person and digging his claws in he can kind of inhale the strength out through his jaws- this is the only way he's a match for Ace Dick once he's the STRONGEST MAN IN THE WORLD, in technicality- that title makes him almost automatically stronger than everyone else he encounters, until Boxcars extracts a slice of his strength, leveling the playing field and gaining an upper hand.

There's always more to say of course, but that's a big chunk to chew on right there!

In proximity I'll actually remark on Heedful Blandisher briefly. In my interpretation of mobswitch, Heedful is more of the outward face of the Meddlesome Company in terms of seeking sponsors and support. Scout is too notorious for his criticisms of businesses and appetite for dirt, and Deadeye is considered a bit stiff and awkward, and is usually the go-to for when illegal things need doing, specifically violence. If someone needs getting rid of, that's Deadeye, whether it's intimate and silent or a sniping, which he's skilled at. Blandisher is a good talker, he's charismatic and big and comfortable, and often finds himself comforting victims of various crimes they're investigating. He's a good hugger, very observant, and a bit of an armchair therapist. He also runs an advice show over radio in the late evenings, for various things but especially romance. Die listens a lot and calls in very regularly to give far too much information about himself and other cops whinging about how everyone bullies him and develops a big ol crush on Heedful haha

Ok now I'm done

#hs intermission #the felt #midnight crew #diamonds droog #homestuck intermission #shippy stuff #ace dick #hearts boxcars #heedful blandisher #mobsterswitch #mobswitch #hb06 #ddhb #headcanons #horrorterrors #deadeye detective #tw cannibalism