#scotch skeleton

[mylarena]

EVERYBODY shut the fuck up. coffee shop barista au. soap is a barista and this one guy comes in at the same time on the dot every day and orders the same thing every time. (its straight black coffee with so much added caffeine that soap thinks it could kill a horse.) the man is like, 6′4″ and built like a brick house. soap is a pretty big guy himself, but god does he makes him look tiny.

his hair is blond, light enough that in some lighting it looks nearly silver. it seems to be a mess constantly- wavy locks that curl around the tips of his ears, fringe just long enough to partially cover one of his eyes. just long enough that someone could reach up and tuck it behind his ear. and soap wants to, if not just to get to feel his hair- it looks so fucking soft and smooth and soap wonders what his hair care routine is. (because surely you cant get hair that good without putting work into it, right?)

his upper face is littered with scars; over the bridge of his nose, across his cheeks, under his eye. theres probably more, but anytime he shows up he has a face mask on, one with some dumb skeleton design on it that would probably look stupid on anyone else, but somehow he makes it work.

and his eyes- god, his eyes. his left eye is a brilliant shade of blue with a shock of green at the bottom, something soap has never seen before. the two colors seem to clash and meld together all at once, an enchanting phenomenon that soap wants to study. his right eye is a deep, gorgeous chocolate brown, swirled with a lighter caramel tone that brightens his eye but makes his gaze no less intense. anytime he locks eyes with soap, he loses his breath- hes never seen someone so fucking beautiful in his entire life.

his voice is low and gravelly, a deep, accented rumble that soap swears to god he can feel in his bones. the man doesnt mince his words, but every time he does speak soap can feel himself shiver. he hopes it isnt visible.

the only name he gives for his order is ghost. that isnt enough for soap. he wants his first name- his real name, a name he can place to the beautiful face that lurks in his mind. (and in his sketchbooks.)

so he tries to pry it out of the man. he offers his own name first, john mactavish, but ghost doesnt give him his own name, instead opting nod and hum. he takes to calling soap ‘johnny’, something that soap has notably refused to let anyone call him, no matter how close they are. he allows ghost to call him it, finding the heat it spreads through his body pleasant and welcoming it. gaz, his fellow barista, is disgruntled when he finds out that soap is letting someone call him johnny when he was firmly denied the permission to do so himself.

every day soap asks for a name for the coffee, hoping that one day he’ll slip and tell him, but he never does. its always ghost, you know this, johnny. he keeps trying despite the ineffectiveness.

sometimes he throws out guesses. over time they get increasingly ridiculous, trying to get a huff or a snort out of the man when he looks at his cup. whatever name he chooses is accompanied by some shitty dad joke- one time ghost had told one that was god awful, but soap could see the glee in his eyes when he groaned and complained. he sees ghost look at the writing everytime he hands over the drink, and he adores the amusement he sees dancing in his gaze at the jokes, so he keeps it up.

their banter shifts from friendly teasing to flirting constantly- oftentimes mid-conversation. sometimes its soap who does it, (”the maaask... take it off?” “show my face?” “yes.” “no.” “are you ugly?” “quite the opposite.” “i doubt that.”) and other times its ghost. (”you like tequila?” “could use one right about now.” “id murder for a whiskey.” “you mean scotch?” “i drink bourbon.” “like a good ol’ boy...” “...  i love kentucky.” “yer out o’ yer mind, ghost.” “thats for sure.”)

(gaz is this fucking close to complaining to price about the sexual tension around them. if he has to deal with soap making eyes at this customer for one more fucking minute he thinks hes going to snap.)

#myposting #mydrabbles #soaptag #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #ghost/soap #soap/ghost #ghoap #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #btw ghost doesnt even like coffee that much he just really liked the look on soaps face when he first ordered some #overly caffeinated beverage so he kept doing it and its too late to change his order now #he was just really tired that day so he got the coffee. soap made a cute face and ghost decided he wanted to see it again so he came back #the next day and ordered it again #feel free to expand on this or anything bc i ran out of ideas

[skylarsblue]

✦Random C.o.D Headcanons✦

(Random Headcanons that I have no where else to put. Also because I can't properly wrITE WORTH SHIT, UGH)

✧Price can swing dance. And very well, mind you. ✧Johnny’s dad gripes at him for not drinking whiskey. “Bout the only Scotsman who won’t drink scotch! ‘hat’s like an Irish man not drinking Guinness!” He’ll say. But Johnny handles liquor really well. He could down three tequila sunrises without a single waver. ✧Gaz used to do ballet as a kid, gymnastics in secondary school. He’s less flexible now because he doesn’t stretch like he used to, but he could probably still manage the splits. ✧PRICE LIKES OLD WESTERNS AND COUNTRY MUSIC. TRY TO TELL ME OTHERWISE, I DARE YE- ✧Ghost’s autistic hyperfixations consist of; Birds, the chemical affects of drugs(of any kind) on the body, the process of decomposition, bones/skeletons, and how different cultures view Death. (Ex; Grin Reaper, Cu Sith, Thanatos, etc.)

✧Gaz is the one that has the most vast music taste, but admittedly he’s got a bit of a favorite spot for what I call “ass shaking music”. Things like Doja Cat to T-Pain, ya know?

✧Johnny whole heartedly believes in ghosts, and while he likes horror, he’s most scared by paranormal ones.

✧Ghost’s go to snack is apples. He is so obsessed with apples he can differentiate each kind with one bite.

✧Price hates being called Johnathan, the only one allowed to call him that is Laswell. And she only uses it to scold him. Like a mom. ✧Alejandro owns a cowboy hat. He bought Rudy a matching one, but he assumes Rodolfo got rid of it since he never wears it. It’s not true. Rudy is just really worried he’ll ruin it, so he keeps it pristine in his closet. He’ll even ensure it doesn’t collect dust. ✧König has a fear of horses. He had a Celtic mythology phase, read a spooky story with a Kelpie in it, and now they scare him. ✧Horangi used to have a gold tooth, and at one point his gambling debt got so high, he pulled it out and sold it. Also Horangi has bad teeth, lots of fillings & cavities. ✧Diabetes runs in Gaz’ family, so he constantly watches his sugar intake. But it’s really hard because he loves sweets. ✧09 Ghost is a trans man. This isn’t a Headcanon, it’s just true.

✧Johnny has oddly soft hands. He doesn’t do anything to them, and objectively, he should have tons of callouses. And yet? Nah, super smooth.

✧Gaz runs warm and prefers warm weather, Price runs warm and prefers cold, Johnny runs cold and prefers warm weather, Ghost runs cold and prefers cold weather. ✧Ghost hates being spooned cause he’s usually bigger, and the feeling of a body against his back, even if warm and alive? Reminds him too much of the feeling of a deadman pressing on his spine. He’d prefer to be the big spoon if he has to cuddle like that.

✧Rudy owns playboys & playgirl magazines. He just hides them SUPER well, because he’s kinda ashamed. He thinks people owning porn is fine, but his mother visits often and she’s a bit of a snoop. ✧Piggy backing off the last one, that’s also why Rudy is so sneaky. He wasn’t necessarily a super bad kid, and his parents weren’t necessarily unbearable. But he often got roped into trouble by others, and his parents were a bit strict, so he got good at sneaking. ✧Valeria & Alejandro are exes, and while there are many reasons they broke up? One was Valeria realizing she’s hella sapphic.

✧Valeria has a collection of naked women paintings. Like, super expensive ones? No one questions her because she’s a cartel queen, they think she just likes art. And she does. But she also is hella biased towards pretty painted ladies.

✧Gaz definitely has at least one crazy ex. Like “I’ll stalk your number, call your mom, and make a scene in public even if we broke up three years ago” crazy. ✧König was a pot smoking metalhead in high school, I will not elaborate. ✧Ghost tends to be clean shaven because the sensory feeling of stubble is uncomfortable, especially under his mask. But he likes facial hair on other people. ✧Farah is on the aroace spectrum. She’s not completely closed off to romance or sex, but like…it’s very very rare for her to experience those kinds of attractions. (Personally I think Alex is her exception, but I’m biased) ✧SPEAKING OF ALEX, man owns a cane. He decorates it, he also decorates his leg. With stickers. Some of them are kiddy/girly cause his niece gave him them. Do not question the Pinkie Pie on his prosthetic, reminds him of what he needs to come home for.

✧Nik & Price definitely have sucked each other’s dicks at least once. Look, besties bestie however they please. Also, c’mon. They’re military men.

✧Johnny somehow manages to miss something someone is telling him when they’re right by his ear. Yet! He’ll catch a random comment from across the room.

✧Also. Johnny is afraid of dogs. But he also likes dogs. It’s a very hard thing to deal with when he wants to pet what gives him heart palpitations.

✧König doesn’t talk to his mother at all. He occasionally talks to his father, but not much. But his grandma?? Every day. He will won’t miss a single day of contact.

✧Gaz writes poems or short stories sometimes as a coping mechanism. But he hides it cause he's embarassed. ✧Johnny had a full out punk phase in high school. He had spikes on a denim jacket, he had an anarchy pin on his rucksack. Full out. And though he didn't get caught, he probably did some teenage delinquent shit like graffiti. Thankfully, the more destructive stuff is more out of his system...mostly anyway. ✧Price didn't have a full hippie phase when he was younger, but he did have friends in that circle, so he picked up one or two things. ✧Ghost didn't have any aesthetic specifically growing up, but he thought Trad Goths were super cool to look at and he definitely got a lil inspiration from them in his everyday life. ✧Gaz also didn't have a particular aesthetic he fell into, but for some reason he was picked up by a group of scene kids in middle school. If you go through his oldest music playlist, EDM is in there a suspicious amount. ✧König is allergic to bees, so, anytime they're around he'll freak the fuck out and sprint away. If it weren't for the fact he had a reason to fear them, it'd look really silly. ✧Soap has ADHD, Ghost is autistic, Laswell has OCD, Rudy has AuDHD, and König is autistic.

#call of duty #call of duty headcanons #modern warfare #modern warfare ii #modern warfare headcanons #captain john price #john price #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish' #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost call of duty #rodolfo rudy parra #valeria el sin nombre garza #alejandro vargas #team 141 #kate laswell #farah karim #alex keller #nik cod

[mikhailwrites]

Well, that's done. Uh... I don't think this was narratively very good tbh. Which is maybe a good thing because the ending didn't ruin me as much as I feared it would (didn't even drink all that much of that scotch).

Anyway, I'm just going to straight-up ignore that ending. There will be more Ghost/Soap fics from me and know that I'm a sucker for happy endings.

Also, yeah, The Silence in Between finale dropping sooooon. Here, have a random sentence:

I'll have you know that my closet is a walk-in, and there ain't nothing but skeletons, Johnny.

#call of duty #ghost mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soap mw2 #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 10/10/2023

by dry volume, this post is 80% talking about gallery walls. tl;dr : do not buy or hang up things you do not like in a vague attempt to make your house look more grownup ONLY put up things you love, mat your art to give it visual room to breathe.

listening

had a playlist of the james bond theme songs on while i was deep cleaning my kitchen and the line "YOU GOT TO GIVE THE OTHER FELLA HELL!!! " from SPECIFICALLY the guns 'n roses cover of live and let die (even though the playlist had the correct mccartney version) has been THOROUGHLY stuck in my brain for forty eight hours.

-

reading

academic transphobia to follow:

an anti-reading section, for once. Retraction Watch (site that tracks academic paper retractions and major academic beef like when someone is stripped of tenure for fraud, formerly my beloved) published an op-ed by an anthropologist TERF who is Big Mad she got called out by her professional association for trying to submit a conference talk that amounted to hate speech against her trans colleagues in the name of the stupid fucking largely disproven sexing skeletons thing. the comments have devolved into the professor sock puppeting anyone who goes "hey RW why did you platform this?"

would be very interested to hear from RW about how a retracted conference talk has the same impact on the scientific community as a retracted paper, but we'll fucking see. i think RW provides an important service to the scientific community (they are the most indepth and thorough tracker of retractions, more so than the actual publishers) but this is a fucking weird move

-

watching

rewatched Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (1988, dir. Zemeckis) for fic research. GOD this movie is fucking good. it performs a minor animation miracle every thirty seconds.

-

playing

nothing to report

-

making

by popular demand (four people), some thoughts about gallery walls. some discourse on the method, if you will. i went with a gallery wall bc i like the look and i had an extremely large blank wall to fill bc this apartment is slightly too big for me. the string lights remind me very much of my dorm rooms but cool lamps have been few and far between down here.

how to get art (and why/caveats)

i honestly don't have a ton of direct collecting advice here other than "have you tried going to a lot of thrift stores". i cheat bc both my parents were architects who collected art, everyone in my family dabbles in fine art, and my sister has her bachelors in art history. so i am awash in paper, constantly. i grew up with a set of flatfiles and a closet full of spare frames. i recognize most people do not grow up like this.

with that caveat out of the way, how do i actually get my art? usually one piece at a time over a very long period of time. there's a postcard on my gallery wall i got in 2009. this is a game you will be playing for the rest of your life as you discover things you like and your tastes evolve.

it is VITAL that you love every piece on your walls. no filler ikea canvases unless you actually like them. the instant you start thinking "oh i need a landscape to look Grownup" you have to strangle that thought in the cradle. there are no rules, especially in art. put whatever the fuck you want up on your walls with no regard for the public's taste.

i feel like "i should buy and put up more art" is something that often falls into a vague Grownup Improvement Goal (like budgeting) bc it is an Grownup Improvement Goal and not bc they actually want to buy and put up more art. fortunately for everyone, you do not have to buy or put up Morally or Socially Improving art that will impress some vague category of grownups, bc we don't fucking live in victorian times.

most importantly you do not need to spend much (or in some cases any) money to put things on your walls. getting the effect you want (fancy washi tape, matching frames) may take some money, but using the printer at work and stealing some scotch tape is free.

how to get art (actual advice this time)

i feel a little silly typing this all out but i really like reading other chewsdayposters' processes, and it is really helpful for me a lot of the time to have someone say: actually there is this complete other way of doing something you have never considered bc u did not grow up with it

i ask you: do you have a stack of sentimental papers somewhere in your home? congrats you have some frameable items. a thing does not need to be Fine Art to be in a frame to go on the wall and make you happy. tape up a birthday card. put a quilt up on your wall. pushpin a label from a jar of pickled herring bc it reminds you of your grandma. frame a beloved tshirt. this is a martha stewart ass statement but things that are not traditional paper art on your walls will add variety and whimsy to your home.

other places for art that are not thrift/estate/yard sales:

i do believe that making your own art, including a $3 paint-by-numbers kit, will fix something in your brain. it's very similar to how i personally have to go stand with my feet in a body of water twice a year or THE SLUDGE smothers my brain

your favorite weird indie bands are almost certainly selling posters on bandcamp even if they're not currently on tour

i like the artists' co-op justseeds for art that deals with "social, environmental, and political engagement" like my beloved "fuck space tourism" poster

start a "good lines" or equivalent "art i like" tag on here and buy prints when u have the money. even if artists here don't have a shop open or don't have the specific piece u want as a print, ask if u can throw them an appropriate amount of money on venmo or something and get it printed locally or online. ive had good luck with vistaprint and they have rolling sales

do you like a piece of art in the public domain, like something from a museum? print it out. put it in a frame. no it's not as nice as a professional print but it's free if you do it at work and now it's on your wall

fuck around on wikimedia commons and the internet archive. i particularly love pulp magazine covers and little illustrative insets for out of date astronomy books

non- and semi-consumable supplies

if u put $25 into supplies u can use for many many other projects (i assume you probably have some of the following list), you can make any frame nice and save approximately a gajillion dollars.

good utility knife and extra blades

hammer

tape measure

level (comes with most command hook packs, you can also use your phone)

stepstool, sturdy chair, or patient tall person

assorted nails (you can buy a little tackle box with assorted nails from most big box stores)

little squeezy tube of DryDex spackle ($5) and putty knife or honestly old credit card to fill in nail holes when you move out

OR command strips and hooks

matboard that is white on one side and black on the other (~$8 at big box craft stores). you can use this to cut your own mats and/or replace a kind of weird back on an otherwise good frame

most printer paper these days is acid free. steal some from your workplace.

assorted small brushes

little thing of acrylic paint in whatever color you want your frames to be (~$1.50 ea). you can also spray paint your frames for a different finish but i don't have the space or patience in this apartment

sandpaper or sacrificial emery board

i would further recommend a little set of letter size desktop drawers/mini flatfiles like this to keep all the small stuff you want to frame in one place. i have sentimental art i don't want to frame in one drawer and things i do want to frame in the other. this has been very good for my brain bc it's all safely and flatly contained out of sight, and it's easy to flick through a stack of things i already love when i need one more small thing or one warmer thing to fill a gap

frames

the good news for us is that frames and art are a fucking bitch to move and people frequently give them away. your local discount and thrift stores are going to be fucking awash in small frames 8.5"x11" and under for under $3 each. when you are thrifting or estate saling or yard saling or generally gallivanting about on a weekend, pay little attention to any art actually in a frame. is the frame in okay shape? can you repaint it without too much trouble? will it clean up all right? does it have the glass? can you insert the glass from a different frame into the one you actually want without any thrift store employees noticing?

for weird sizes above 8.5x11 and outside poster size that cannot be easily found at thrift stores, the big box craft stores here in america have roughly quarterly frame sales and frequent coupons. do NOT get your shit professionally framed at michaels bc they upcharge by about 3x compared to other local framers (both on the east coast and here in tx).

i went through two periods of seriously buying frames (last year of high school and the year i moved into the original lair, when/where i thought i was going to stay for a few years) and ive swapped in out and between those dozen or so total. once you have built up a little stock of frames that fit the general sizes of art you tend to collect, ur pretty good for a while. the only new "frame" i bought for my gallery wall was a little floating shelf.

mats

the absolute biggest fucking thing u can do to make your art look nicer is mat that bitch, which gives it room to breathe. if your art does not have a built in border or a lot of white space (see 9, 12, and 13 in the gallery wall below, as well as 8 which has a ton of negative space with the car door), you need a frame bigger than your art. you can google the suggested proportions yourself or decide with your heart.

i am a big fan of a very slapdash floating mat, which means cutting a piece of printer paper to size or flipping around the paper that tells you what size the frame is and slapping your art right on top of that, sometimes with a lick of gluestick to keep it in place. generally a floating mat means a sort of 3D matting technique but we don't have time for that. do not do this printer paper technique long-term with a particularly beloved or expensive piece of art.

u can also buy pre-cut mats at Michaels or Joann’s for not too too many dollars, or cut your own with the acid-free matboard ($10 for a poster board sized piece) and a new utility knife blade and a steady hand. or, if you're lucky, it comes with the frame.

gallery wall specific advice

there aren't any rules. actual galleries and museums tend to put the center of a piece or group of pieces at 57" from the floor. you may want to fuck around with that depending on your own height, the space you have, and the pieces you own.

a gallery wall does not need to be 24 pieces like this one. it can be any number.

this is the first one i have done mostly by myself and it is the most color-restricted one i have ever put up. it is also the one with the most successful repeating motif (circles). usually i grab the art i want most to go together and send pics to my art historian sister who will then arrange it for me and say shit like “do you have another small blue thing for the top left” or “do you have two pieces that are warmer and larger” or "different frame for the middle left"

look at a lot of other gallery walls. personally i like the ones that have non-framed and non-square things in them. ideally mine would have photographs and taxidermy in it for maximum weirdness. but u cannot go wrong with a grid, or all horizontal pieces, or all vertical pieces. for a full wall puzzle piece like this, u do not generally want an american southwest four corners meeting situation. stagger it. lay everything out on the floor and move it around eighteen times (this is the worst part). the gallery wall as a whole does not have to be perfectly aligned to the ceiling or the back of your couch or what have you. it can be sort of an organic blob shape along the top and bottom edges.

my wall

this soothing blue and green wall with wood tone pops has pieces from almost half my life. it skews later in college/recent acquisitions, as i sharpened my taste for limited-number prints and had a car to go to thrift stores with, but that’s just how this specific wall came together

the list below should tell you what each piece is, how much i paid for it (and the cost of the frame if applicable), and when i got it. this wall has most of the Nice Art in my collection that is signed/numbered/in some way slightly fancier bc it is the wall i stare at when on my couch.

embroidered Scorpio constellation hoop, birthday gift from my sister (free, came with hoop, i used some makerspace felt and batting to properly back and finish it much later so free with my tuition), nov 2016

numbered and signed print of an italianate cityscape, $5 and came with the frame and mat from an estate sale, i put a new back on it with scrap matboard so the back of the print wasn't just naked, fall 2021

signed print of a new england landscape, came with the frame and the mat but is stained right over the signature :( $2.50 from salvation army, one of the last things i bought in spring 2023 before i moved

signed original multimedia on board collage by my sister from her like second ever gallery show, $69 in winter 2022 for the art, the frame was from a free pile i gave a new acid free back with scrap matboard. that was such a good free pile i got a huge pile of frames from that

magazine page (idk which one either) i saved in high school (i graduated in 2013) or very early college, frame was from a free pile by the side of the road in summer 2021 and repainted with some white acrylic paint. it is float matted with printer paper. maybe a dollar for the paint? i definitely did not buy the magazine

this is an out of print poster by one of my favorite living artists (Josh McPhee) so i emailed him and asked if i could get it printed myself if i threw him $25 and he said yes. i think it cost $22 to get it printed professionally, the frame is basics by studio decor ($20 for a 2-pack) (i spent so much money and time on this one bc i wanted a very specific look for a very specific space in my kitchen in the old apartment), feb 22

signed numbered woodcut by Roger Peet ($20 in august 2020), another studiobasics frame that was i think $8 in summer 2022. float matted with acid free matboard and not printer paper.

gigantic fuckoff unsigned unlabeled poster i bought bc she reminds me of the Barnes & Noble murals, $10 at goodwill (came with the frame, half off) sep 2023

star chart from the US Naval Observatory that was on a free shelf at Amherst College when i was taking a class there in fall 2018, another studiobasics frame (idk when i bought this one) so under $10. float mount on acid free printer paper.

plaster frog mirror from an estate sale in spring 2021, i do not remember how much i paid for it but it was not more than $5

oh goddamnit this is a new block so of course it restarted the numbering. fatal off by a power of ten error, very typical for astronomy. poster from a show i went to in college spring 2015, do not remember when i bought this sub-$10 studiobasics frame either, float mount on acid free printer paper.

signed poster from my roommate-at-the-time’s cousin’s band in fall 2014 (i can’t actually find the receipt but i did find an email from her cousin letting me know he shipped me and my roommate’s orders together lol) let’s say $20, another sub-$10 studiobasics frame of mysterious provenance.

moon map out of an old science book in high school, let’s be generous and say $10 for both the book and the frame (another studiobasics)

numbered but unsigned new year’s print from a local-ish print shop in massachusetts, $12 at savers with the frame, fall 2022

cover of a very fragile vintage paperback copy of raymond c/handler’s The Long G/oodbye i acquired in high school (could not have been more than a dollar or two), with a frame and mat that came in an ikea multipack my dad bought me in high school bc i had a set of l/ackadaisy miniposters i wanted to hang, looks like the closest modern equivalent is the EDSBRUCK, a single will run you about $12 today

postcard inherited from my grandpa’s collection of loose paraphernalia in 2010 (free but at what cost etc), frame is a studiobasics that come in a pack of 6 for $20 (less if you have a coupon) so let’s round down a smidge and say $3. don’t remember when i bought this frame either, it is matted with real matboard bc the postcard and the back of the frame are so thin

“my heart is a fish” cross stitch (a reference to the imperial radch trilogy of books) i made this and did not date it but i know i blogged about it on here at some point between 2014-2018, i remember having to buy five colors of thread but owned the hoop already, again back and finished it properly much later with maskerspace batting and felt, let’s say $5 not counting my time

postcard from @believerindaydreams last winter in another studiobasics frame and float mounted with acid free matboard.

tiny moon mirror from salvation army in early spring 2015, under $5

CD mirror from Vapor95 ($125? preorder in fall 2021), came with velcro command strips which was very nice of them

a $300 original multimedia collage (the first one my sister ever made, when she was in middle school) i bought in spring 2021 from her first show, sitting on a $5 acrylic shelf from five below i bought last month

22-24 are national geographic maps, 50c each at an estate sale last month, had to buy $7 worth of binder clips and pushpins to put them up bc i don’t fucking know what box they’re in and didn’t have time to rip the whole closet of boxes im ignoring apart

a slightly longer tl;dr: do not buy or hang up things you do not like in a vague attempt to make your house look more grownup ONLY put up things you love, thrift and repaint your frames if possible but you can get very cheap studiobasics ones if you want them all to match, acid-free mat your art for preservation and to give it room to breathe, keep a little drawer or box of stuff you love and might want to frame

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #a month and a day out from my birthday which feels momentous

[mywingsareonwheels]

1974.

Morse is interviewing witnesses to a murder at one of the colleges, and one of them is strikingly familiar. He's a man in his early twenties, a recent medical graduate back visiting friends before heading off to move into a totally different career. He has a posh accent, a friendly smile, warm brown eyes.

Oh he's truly, desperately familiar, and Morse isn't looking too hard into his own motives when he lets the younger man talk him into a drink out, and then a one-night stand, and then something rather more like a friendship played out over Scotch and crosswords and literary quotations.

[More behind the cut....]

He does mention, briefly, that his new friend reminded him of someone else on first meeting. And somehow that turns into a discussion of ancestry, and the young man discusses with some glee the skeleton in his family cupboard: the fact that his paternal grandmother when barely eighteen had a dalliance with a working-class ruffian of the same age from Mile End, of all places. That she'd got pregnant, but her parents wouldn't let her tell the lad, but instead got her engaged to a somewhat stuffy friend of theirs called Richardson.

"Dad hates to talk about it," says Morse's friend, "he's rather a stuffed shirt, especially for a surgeon. But Granny used to love telling me stories. She did come to love my Granddad, I think, but she missed that boy from Mile End all her life." He chuckles, but a little shakily, because he has yet to learn the effortless-seeming confidence he'll spread before him one day. "I'd give anything to meet him."

Morse swallows, heart suddenly in his mouth. And something in his face makes the young man carry on, more intensely.

"Granny told me that she named Dad after him, though he doesn't know. So that's what I have: Frederick, from Mile End. Fathered a child around 1930 when he was just a lad and doesn't even know he did." He laughs, wryly. "Not much to go on, is it."

"Douglas," says Morse, and his voice is shaking but there's a smile in his eyes. "I... I'll need to look into this, but I think. I mean. I think I can help."

The postcard is of York Minster, which is only a half hour drive from where three exiles from Oxford have settled. On the back it reads just:

"Sir,

Un bel di, please could we talk? There's someone I think you should meet. Bring 2 rounds ham and tomato sandwiches. --"

At the day and time thus ordered, Fred Thursday finds Morse standing admiring the rose window, and follows him out to a bench in the Minster gardens. He's torn between confusion and shame, though above all trying to hide how overjoyed he is to see the rusty curls and those haughty, sea-green eyes again. When Morse explains, and introduces the young trainee pilot with a face Fred remembers from his mirror as a long-lost grandson... well, it's good he's already sitting down, is all.

The years past, and they are gentler than they might have been.

Fred lives to see his grandson a captain, to meet his great-granddaughter. To introduce his grandson to his uncle and step-grandmother and eventually even his aunt. To become friends with Morse again, even if quietly, and for the most part only by letter. To relish that Douglas and Morse, despite occasionally enraging each other beyond reason, seem to be friends for life. (He suspects that they might once have been more than that; if they aren't going to tell him though, he's not going to point it out.) Something healed in him that day in York, and it never breaks again.

When Captain Douglas Richardson puts down the bottle, in an attempt to salvage something of his career and his relationship with his daughter, perhaps it's partly because he's still grieving for his grandfather, dead some ten years now, but most of all because he's still grieving for his friend and one-time lover, and doesn't want to die so young himself.

When First Officer Douglas Richardson meets his new captain at MJN's portacabin in Fitton, he's a little strikingly familiar too. He's shorter, and more pompous, and vastly less good at word games, but there are rusty curls and haughty sea-green eyes.

He's no relation of Morse's at all though, it turns out. This is, eventually, rather a relief.

#ficlet #itv endeavour #e morse #endeavour morse #cabin pressure #douglas richardson #fred thursday #martin crieff #well this rather ran away from me but hopefully someone else will have fun with it too ;-) #ridiculous crossover time #endeavour #roger allam #long post #tw alcoholism mention #tw canonical character deaths #tw complicated family history mention

[vanana-r0tat3]

another post because i have illness of the brain BATIM/BATDR characters and songs that remind me of them!! theres ah. quite a lot oops.. idk if some of these are ooc but idc 🕺

here's a playlist if youd like to listen to all the songs in the order ive listed

Joey Drew: The Main Character - Will Wood Mr. Big Shot - Anarbor Ruler of Everything - Tally Hall Fear & Delight - The Correspondents (go watch the music video btw its like a baby sensory video for people with autism /hj) What I Want - The Living Tombstone Dead Inside - Younger Hunger Art is Dead - Bo Burnham Sin Triangle - Sidney Gish Young Stars - The Struts Ghost - Nelward Everybody Likes You - Lemon Demon Season 2 Episode 3 - Glass Animals Pools - Glass Animals Money On My Mind - UPSAHL Wrecking Ball - Mother Mother Jesus Don't Like That I'm Gay but Satans Cool With it - Lil Boodang

Other characters below the cut :)

Henry Stein: Rules - The Hoosiers Community Gardens - The Scary Jokes All the Dying - Mother Mother Make the Grade - Jack Conte Black Swan - The Struts Stress - UPSAHL Clockwork - Palaye Royale Don't Panic - Coldplay Nightmare - Set It Off Frying Pan - Mother Mother

Sammy Lawrence: Homunculus - Trickle God's Whisper - Raury Your body, My temple - Will Wood Touch Tone Telephone - Lemon Demon SPLIT! - Jhariah This Is Love - Air Traffic Controller UP TO SNUFF! (I'm On Fire) - atsuover People I Don't Like - UPSAHL What Good Am I - Johnny Manchild and the Poor Bastards Hospital - The Used phony - kafu (Will Stetson Cover) (my bf suggested this one!)

Audrey: Could Have Been Me - The Struts Mr. Maker - Crimson Apple Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land - MARINA Imposter Syndrome - Sidney Gish

The Ink Demon: still feel. - half•alive Cabinet man - Lemon Demon It's All So Incredibly Loud - Glass Animals Punching Bag - Palaye Royale Gestapo - Johnny Manchild and the Poor Bastards Terrible Ride - The Queenstons Boogieman - Sock.clip (YES I KNOW THIS IS AN FNF SONG FIGHT ME) Monster - Bassetfilms (yes yes another fnf song LISTEN lemon demon/monster fits for the ink demon leave me alone im right) What You Do - The Queenstons Bad Blood - Creature Feature Inside of You, In Spite of You - ThouShaltNot

Buddy Lewek: Soda - Nothing But Thieves No Love in LA - Palaye Royale Radio - Johnny Manchild and the Poor Bastards Let Me Down Slowly - Alec Benjamin Why Worry - Set It Off Fine, Great - ModernBaseball

Malice/Twisted Alice: Snuff Out the Light - Eartha Kitt Miss Baltimore Crabs - Hairspray OST Kill Your Darling - Cloudy June

Henry & Joey: You're All Scotch No Soda - Sarah and the Safe Word Lost Kitten - Metric The Ol' Switcheroo - The Struts I Know You Better Than That - Johnny Manchild and the Poor Bastards Sick On Seventh Street - Sarah and the Safe Word You'll Be Gone - Yonkagor Pork Soda - Glass Animals One Big Beautiful Sound - Johnny Manchild and the Poor Bastards Fallacy - Yonkagor Your Love (Déjà Vu) - Glass Animals Skeleton Song - Kate Nash Oleander - Mother Mother Drink - Destroy Boys No Children - The Maintain Goats

#batim #bendy and the ink machine #batdr #bendy and the dark revival #creatorship #joey drew #henry stein #sammy lawrence #batdr audrey #audrey drew #ink demon #bendy #buddy lewek #daniel buddy lewek #malice angel #alice angel #twisted alice #headcanons #? #i dont think that counts biut whatever #henry and joeys songs can bve viewed as romantic or platonic idc #might edit this to add more later #but for now its sleepy time for me

[kit-williams]

You all can thank @bispecsual for this

I tried doing it like how other people can seemingly condense their headcanons I just wasn't liking how it was coming out

"I have acquired thrones." Horangi states as he enters the shared room with the others. Like a pack of wolves all their heads perk up as the tiger saunters in.

"Is that right Mgio..." Price says lazily as he is reading some after action reports and filling in his share.

"So ye gonna spend it? Or just have it?" Soap said rolling over from his perch.

"It is several thousand thrones so it is probably wise to spend it." He says calmly as now eyes are all on him.

"Well... are you going to tell us?" Konig finally spoke up as molten brass hissed onto the floor below.

"I do not know. I only have a few things I wish to possess. I only wanted to play a few rounds..." He says with a bit of shame in his voice as the lingering taint of the Slanneshi demon prince caused him to become excessive in his pursuit of... relaxation? "So perhaps I can have you all help me spend it."

----

The inquisitorial section of the ship was it's own small microcosmos of trade and businesses. People with strong enough wills to adjacently handle the horrors of the universe but are combatively unable to serve. The radical hereticus section of the ship the boys were not so very out of place given the fact that there were several "redeemed" agents and persons.

Horangi bought a face mask to cover up the scar on his jaw. But it was hardly a dent in the excessive amount of thrones he had... oh if Lord Khorne knew what was going on... Mgio is certain he would be ripped a new one. Ghost got some of his skull faced baklavas... all 27 that were available in the store as well as 6 pairs of skeleton hand gloves. He was trying to help Mgio to spend all those thrones. Price bought himself a couple more hats.

Rudy and Alejandro know of several places to eat... they could always get something expensive but they know that is an end of the day. They ask if they could use his money to buy their Chiquita a gift, they are disappointed by the lack of brass baubles but they could just make something with the pool of cooled metal in their shared room.

Soap was enamored with the expensive bottle of scotch... one of the five on the whole ship and now there was one in the common room of the bloodthirsters. Ghost got some bourbon and then this trip turned into stocking the room with an actual alcohol cabinet . Price got himself some expensive cigars, several packs in fact and then some cheap ones and 2 fancy lighters.

Gaz bought himself some oils and balms for after battle as his way of thinking is that if they are stuck in these hosts they might as well keep them looking decent.

"Arnetrihts." Horangi said as König looked over as his black tongue licked over his chops as they were just now eating. Unaware of the growing panic that is happening as they've done their best to avoid being found. "What are you wanting."

"Ach. Your money cannot get me a Maus, a Krieger, or a Liebling." He said exacerbated before he rolled his shoulder again and Gaz's eyes glowed with an idea.

"What about a massage?"

-----

"Oh my you've got so many knots." The gentle voice above him said digging their elbow into his back.

"Ja!~" König moaned out. This was a wonderful idea! As his black tongue lolled out and his eyes unfocused. Horangi was able to spend a large chunk of the remaining thrones before Price suggested that he keep the rest for emergencies as he got them all a massage package.

The whispered giggles that ran rampant through the parlor today, 'The tall one is built like a space marine', 'they must be agents' flitted around as the 8 of them found themselves in the sauna as they made it inhumanly hot.

"Mein gott... someone help me pull on my skin it's loosened up enough." König said standing up after a few moments and they just watched his skin move in a way that flesh shouldn't move as the demon inside of the skin suit adjusted. He pulled on his cheeks and adjusted his face and he sighed as if he finally was able to adjust his rolled sleeve in his jacket.

Their tongues lolled out in the hot air of the sauna as they lounged so carefree feeling pampered like homecoming warriors. Their ears soon twitched as they could hear the muffled yelling as soon outside of the sauna they could see several demonologists and throne agents. Rudy and Alejandro's brass fanged grins met the weaker willed soldiers outside. All their eyes flashed and glowed, no longer the browns and blues that the non combatants saw only the molten brass.

The Interrogator no... the Lord Interrogator was the one to open the door. "Ah Lord Inquisitor... you come to join us?" Price drawled out as he let out a loud yawn showing off his fangs and the way his jaw just opened a little too wide.

"No I've just come to see what you demons have been up to." They hissed glaring at them.

"Auch," Soap started putting a hand on his right pectoral over the large covered symbol to Khorne, "Ye wound me. Demons? Hellions fer sure but demons?"

"Imvaassj..." The Lord Inquisitor started and Soap just started to hiss as his binding markings started up causing a cacophony of growls. With König's and Alejandro's being the loudest.

"Now now Inquisitor. Let us not ruin the good mood we are in." König huffed, "What do you want with us."

"It's time to come back home boys. We can discuss... outings if this is going to become a common occurrence." They said tentatively.

"Oh it most certainly will." Horangi said his chest puffing out, "But we have a half an hour left of our paid time." He said watching the Lord Inquisitor not say a single thing nor react only just shrugging and turning around.

"Your handlers will be making sure you all get back to your room safely. Enjoy the rest of your time." They said before leaving as they watched the outside room clear out before the flittering workers would poke their heads around the corner.

"Ach they really have to be a... what is the word? Killbuzz? Spielverderber... Buzzkill! That is the word." König slurred slightly just returning to his lounging position not caring about the flittering creatures outside.

Horangi left the sauna and gave one of the salon women 500 thrones, to be shared, for their problem that they caused.

-----

"Hello boys," Price's handler said as she looked over the relaxed and stretching boys, "you have a fun day?"

"Mhmm sweetheart." Price purred as he leaned against her and was just shamelessly purring.

Horangi would have to do this again... he could probably think of ways to spend thrones if given the time to think about what he wants.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40k au #bloodthirster #bloodthirster!141 #bloodthirster!los voquaros #bloodthirster!Kortac #demon!price #demon!ghost #demon!soap #demon!gaz #demon!konig #demon!rudy #demon!alejandro #demon!horangi #bloodthirster!price #bloodthirster!ghost #bloodthirster!soap #bloodthirster!gaz #bloodthirster!konig #bloodthirster!horangi #bloodthirster!rudy #bloodthirster!alejandro #captain price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #konig call of duty #horangi #rudy parra #alejandro vargas

[furbearingbrick]

proposal: an utdr au where Sans sounds like the Scotch brand VHS skeleton

#undertale #deltarune #sans #brick attempts to be funny #advertising #Youtube

[keyn-jender-bite]

Do It Scared

this side blog has been a place for me to reblog things i like. it's time to put ~content~ here i think. i've been seeing the advice to do it scared, and do it poorly, and do it weird. so i'm going to have some fun because i can do this whenever i want and don't need special software.

The Dark Early Evening in The City

The city is sharp tonight, like a knife or a chiseled jaw bone, and I'm in it like always. I'm not from it, who really is? Is anybody really born here or do we all exile ourselves here like wandering skeleton ghosts in search of a graveyard? I don't know. I can't answer it. I can answer plenty of questions but more and more it seems like the ones I ask myself go unanswered.

I'm a hard private dick in this hard cramped city. The blinds of my small untidy office slice the ugly streetlamp lighting into slivers across my dusty floor and messy desk. My own footprints are bare and obvious in the patterns I make in my little shuffles as I mutter to myself and ponder.

I'm alone this early evening in the big city except for the inevitable spiders and other bugs in and out of my desk and foldout couch. My books keep me company too but they don't talk much. I like a nice quiet guest.

An unquiet guest suddenly raps on my door, jerking me out of my stupor of sipping. A glass of something warm and smooth was in my hand, I set it down looking up to the door and the silhouette behind my frosted, filthy glass window inset therein. The silhouette is shaped, that's the best I could say about it.

I would say "Come in." like a cool person but the door is perpetually locked because I don't like disturbances and sometimes I don't wear pants. A private dick's office is a solitude and pants are a hindrance to the process of one's mental intuition sometimes, so this is a pants-optional abode. Also I sleep on my foldout couch pretty often since my apartment had the heat shut off and I can't stand the feel of pants on my sleeping legs, which are restless.

So I can't and don't say "Come in, it's unlocked." because it demonstrably isn't. I sigh a gruff ambiguous sigh and creak out of my old, worn chair to open the door and reveal the tall silhouette standing behind it.

This person is tall, much taller than me by a head at least with a long neck on broad shoulders and a narrow waist falling down into longer legs and high heels.

"What are your pronouns?" I ask brusquely, turning to walk again to my comfortable desk where I feel powerful.

"Who's asking?" the tall person asks, clutching a small leather clutch against their stomach and waltzing in gracefully, their long dark hair obscuring one of what I assume is two shining green eyes.

"You came here for some reason, you ought to know who I am." I say, taking a small sip of my delicious warm liquid, letting its amber soothing smokiness heat my throat.

"You don't get to know everything about me." the person says, eyeing the chair in front of my desk. I nod my head to it and they seat their long frame before me, crossing their elongated nylon legs at the knee.

"My name is Aurora Hildebrandt. What are your pronouns, detective?"

"They, them, theirs." I say, setting my empty glass on my desk. "But sometimes folks use It Its. I'm not picky." I take off my hat, a weathered and creased fedora, and casually toss it towards the coat rack behind me where it misses every hook and lands in the waste paper basket unceremoniously.

"You've thrown out your hat." Aurora remarks, looking impressed and timid.

"What brings you here, Aurora?" I ask, getting to the meat of the interaction.

"That's pretty presumptuous of you, detective. You can call me Hildebrandt, no honorifics. I'm here on the suggestion of a friend of mine and I'll have you know I'm not convinced the advice was any good. Your floors are filthy, your scotch looks cheap and your aim is bad."

I nod, unfolding a small notebook and searching my open desk drawer for a workable stylus.

"You'd got me dead to rights Hildebrandt, but let me see if I can assuage your apprehension with my own observations." I remark, standing up and slowly circling Aurora's figure sitting tall lean and rigid in my old wooden chair.

I breathed in deeply walking behind and around, taking in every detail with all of my senses. Upon returning to my own seat I close my little notebook and lock eyes.

"Well, detective, what have you learned about me in your little pirouette?"

I pour half of my glass full again with my inexpensive scotch and take a comforting, steadying sip before licking my sweet lips and speaking, my eyes shaded by my brows.

"Well, I can tell you like the color red because you're dressed head to to in red except for your heels which are patent leather black, like your dark black hair which is long and glossy and smells like smoke and strawberries.

You wear a ruby ring on your left hand, outside of your black opera glove. It's not a wedding band but an engagement ring, probably your birth stone. Your purse couldn't possibly carry anything larger than a cigarette case and some lipstick, which is also probably red because your lips are red and we've established you're fond of the color.

You have seasonal allergies exacerbated by the rain. You have piercing green eyes and a slight accent from what I think is the upper Northeast, so you're not from here."

"Are any of is really from here." Aurora comments. I continue.

"You've got bad hips from growing too fast as a kid, same with your shoulders. You come from money. You're scared of letting people into your life because you've been hurt before and you speak a second language fluently. You're here because you've lost something or someone and your friend, who is a physician, told you to try me out because I'm the best damn private dick at sniffing out missing items of interest. How'd I do?"

Aurora sat silently staring at me, a slight quiver trembled across their lower lip as they chewed on their inner cheek.

"My pronouns are He Him." he says after a pregnant pause. I nod, notating it.

"My friend, Dr. Jury, said you could help me, and that you wouldn't...well, that you would be discreet, and professional."

"They don't call me the hardest aroace private dick in the city for nothing." I quip, jotting down notes as I listen actively.

"It's my fiancee, they've gone missing and I don't know what to do. We were scheduled for a vacation getaway to the coast before the wedding next weekend. We were supposed to be packed and prepped by tomorrow, but they never came back from work two days ago and I'm at a loss."

"The police of no help?"

"Are they ever? They all laughed like buffoon jackals, joking that my fiancee got cold feet or ran away with the help or something like that and I just got so furious at them."

I nodded. "Police are all jackass idiots. I never touch them so much as to splash them with my tires when I have a car, which I currently don't."

"So Dr. Jury gave me your name, assuring me you can find anyone in a week and half, which would put us past the time for a full refund regarding our vacation but we could still make the wedding-" he stopped, gasping a bit and reaching into his clutch to produce a small kerchief which he used to gingerly dab at the corners of his damp eyes.

I felt bad for him. I could tell he was in love, deeply, even though it wasn't anything I had experience with personally. You learn to read allos when you're a cold-cut, hard-nosed private dick. I leaned forward, about to say comforting words, when he interrupted me.

"Do you have pets, detective?" he asked between sniffles.

"I have five Bavarian Eagle-Hounds."

"That's so many Eagle-Hounds." he sniffed.

I nodded, it was.

"Do you love them?" he asked, looking deeply into my brown eyes.

"They mean a great deal to me." I said, following his questioning.

"What would you do if they went missing? If even one of them left to go to work and didn't come back?"

"They don't have jobs like that, but I can see what you're getting at. If one of them found gainful employment and the means to traverse to and from work safely and left to their job one day and didn't return within a reasonable time-frame for a dog with a career, I would worry terribly. I would stay up nights worrying and it would make me sick with worry." I explained.

"Now suppose you were engaged to be married to one of your dogs."

"I won't do that."

"What I'm saying detective is I need you to find them!" he implored, clutching his fists and letting a glimmering tear loose to roll down his now-ruddy cheek where it collected, hesitating, on his pointed chin before falling to a dark stain on the front of his blood red skirt.

I swirled the scotch in my short, thick glass. "This liquor is cheap, but I'm not. My rates are reasonable for the work, but not inexpensive. And I ask a per diem to boot."

"Anything. I will pay anything to have my fiancee back again." he assured resolutely. I could feel the seriousness in his voice.

"We'll fill out the paperwork and I'll start right away. Uh, one more thing, Hildebrandt-"

"Yes, detective?"

"Why haven't you told me that you're polyamorous and there's a third in your relationship?"

His eyes went wide, or the one I could see that wasn't hidden behind his perfect hair.

"You were clever to wear your opera gloves, but your other ring is still visible beneath the fabric. Is it a promise ring or is it to be a triple wedding? Congratulations, of course, either way."

"I-we-" he stuttered.

I interrupted "You don't owe me any explanations, I don't care. I can guess it's your wealthy parents who do care. Their antiquated expectations of a young couple strangling your deep and abiding love for more than one person, or something like that? I'm not being crass, but I don't care one way or another.

I just need you to promise me you will be honest with me moving forward and forthright with information you have, or I will be hindered in my ability to find your fiancee for you."

He nodded and swallowed, his eyes shut tightly. "I will be honest with you detective. I'm sorry I assumed you would be-or you might-"

"No worries Hildebrandt. Let's fill out the necessary forms and get the down payment. I will do my best to find your fiancee, for all involved."

These hot, damp streets spit out sad and desperate people all the time, all day every day like a goddamn day job and some of them find their way to me. He was just another one, lost and seeking some sort of justice. Whether or not I could deliver it remained to be seen

#do it scared

[adelaidedrubman]

really a wip really a wednesday!

i was tagged today by @ishwaris @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @derelictheretic for wip day today, thank you! (only citing tags from today since it’s been a minute since i shared a wip.) sending tags out to @henbased @unholymilf @florbelles @poetikat @belorage @heroofpenamstan @roofgeese @confidentandgood @purplehairsecretlair @strangefable @corvosattano @shallow-gravy @sukoshimikan @jackiesarch @indorilnerevarine @fourlittleseedlings and of course anyone else can @ me!

unfortunately after so long without sharing a wip all i have been working on lately is in fact the valentine’s day bad head fic:/// sorry. excerpt sfw just some drinking and johnjess behavior.

“Can’t believe this is the only fucking whiskey you have,” Jestiny complained with a disparaging glare towards the tumbler filled nearly to the brim with expensive amber liquid. She brought it to her lips as she ascended the stairs, the rich smokiness lavishing itself along her tongue. “Scotch fucking sucks,” she said decidedly, savoring the lingering flavor as its smooth burn faded. “Get some fuckin’ bourbon, a whiskey fucking worth a damn.” 

“I’m happy to start keeping whatever you’d like in stock,” he hummed, curling the fingers threaded in her hair from his place clinging to her back, guiding her through the unfamiliar house while obligingly upholding the illusion she was in lead, herding her through the door to the balcony — she knew he must just want to show off the vista, there was no way he built this stupid place so that he had to go outside every time he wanted to get to the bedroom. “Now that you’re finally visiting.” 

“I’m not gonna be making a fucking habit of it,” she spat back, kicking open the door he’d tugged her skirt to signal to pause at without asking his permission to enter. “This is a one time only thing, a —” 

“A special occasion,” John offered in agreement, a laugh falling into the cascades of hair he buried his face in. “For the —” 

“It’s not for the fucking holiday,” she spat, shimmying her feet free of her boots and purposefully kicking them into the dead center of the bedroom floor. “It’s ’cause Mary May was ignoring my drink order for some reason.” She punctuated the assertion with a swirling of the scotch in her hand, ice cubes clinking against the glass. “And this place is closer than the next bar.” 

“Of course,” he said, reaching to gently pull the glass from her hand and set it atop the nightstand, then flashing her a smile softened in artifice. “But how would you have known that?” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, cocked his head to the side in equally feigned confusion. “You’ve never been to the place.” 

She shaped the surprised cough catching in her chest into a dismissive grunt, snatching the whiskey back from where he’d placed it. She brought it to her lips, holding her glare at him as she drank in place of an answer. 

#somewhat missing for context is jessie’s earlier internal dialogue about finding his address to drive by his house and see how tacky it is #normal not creepy girl stuff #also yes i’m taking this as an opportunity to take issue with the impossible fucking ranchsion layout. #wip

[feverinfeveroutfic]

the skeleton key | chapter four: smoke and mirrors

My eyes never left him as Marcy and I were seated right there before the edge of the stage. He towered before us with his guitar pressed up against his body and the light directed onto the crown of his head. I could scarcely take my eyes off the roots of his gray streak in all their pure whiteness: something told me that he had had a head of thick, full curly black hair when he was younger, and there was a big part of me that wanted to see him at that age. In fact, the more that he went on with it, the more that I wanted to see him with such long beautiful black curls.

I had my eyes on Alex the whole entire time but I also paid close attention to the bassist, Stu Hamm, with his long blond curls and starry tattoos all around his arms and hands. I couldn’t afford to look away from either of them; where I had been drawn in from the back of the room to the front of the stage, I soon found myself leaning forward as if to give them my full attention.

I thought about making a batch of cupcakes covered in stars like Stu’s tattoos as well as black and white ones like Alex’s hair. I then thought about adding a little bit of alcohol to those cupcakes as well, some wine with Alex’s cakes and some scotch with Stu’s starry-eyed cakes.

A couple of booze hounds and maybe a little romp in the hay and I could have them both around my little finger at the same time.

I then fluttered my eyelashes at that. It had been so long since I had thought anything like that, and I thought they had gone away a long time ago. The way I wanted anyone all to myself and the way that I often had difficulty in really bringing it into words, and yet when I watched those two men, I couldn’t resist the feeling. I wanted Alex especially, and I wanted him all to myself as well.

And in fact, once I thought it, the more I kept on thinking about it. I wanted Alex so much right then, such that it made my face grow warm from the mere sensation.

I leaned back in the chair and rested my hand on my knee. My chest rose and fell as if I had just run a marathon prior to then. All the while, I paid very little attention to the voices behind me.

When Alex switched guitars and Stu plugged in a new bass, I turned to find Marcy mingling with a guy. A heavier gentleman with long jet-black hair down past his shoulders and a face as round as the full moon, and he looked about as soft and round as a big teddy bear.

“Hi,” he greeted her.

“Hi,” Marcy returned the favor, complete with a little grin towards him. My heart fluttered at the sight of them there, and I had a feeling that I was going to have to bake them something as well soon enough. It was a fleeting feeling, but something that hit me once I thought it, however.

“I’m Eric,” he told her with a slight shake to his head: his black hair seemed to have an extra sheen to it when he did that.

“I’m Marcy. Everyone calls me Marcy Playground.”

“Marcy Playground. Sounds like hell of a good time.” For a second, I thought he flashed her a wink, but then again, it may have just been my own imagination. But Marcy inched closer to him as if to flirt with him some more, and I knew for a fact that I was going to have to make them something at some point. It was going to be my year of baking, without question, but now I had a bit of a direction.

I returned my attention to the stage, right as Alex lifted his head and showed off the center of his throat to all of us. He ran his fingers through his hair once more, that time to hold his hair back off the nape of his neck for a moment though it wasn’t very warm in there; and it was right then I caught the sight of his ears, little elf ears in junction with his soft round handsome face. Between his gorgeous neck and the way his shirt hugged his body, I could picture myself kissing him and loving every inch of his body. I wanted him so badly that I knew in my heart it was going to drive me crazy if I didn’t act on it all.

Those two men jammed for what felt like a few minutes, but when I glanced to the back of the room in search of the clock, I was stunned to find that it had been three hours. Indeed, when I returned my attention to Alex, he nudged his coarse black hair back and I spotted a sheen of moisture plastered on the side of his neck. Not a bead of sweat to be found, but I could tell that he had been at work all night long. If anything, Stu Hamm was the one who give up the sweat.

There was something so visceral about the whole show that I couldn’t help but let my mind wander.

They received a standing ovation as well; I glanced behind me to find Marcy and Eric with their hands over their heads as if they had just walked into a party. It was a party, perhaps more so than the Metal Allegiance show the night before.

When Alex and Stu ducked back behind the stage, I turned to Marcy who was being led by Eric towards the side of the room right behind us.

“Come on, Al!” she called after me over the wall of noise around us,

I followed them towards the edge of the room and a hallway which led to the backstage area. I was greeted by a loud whirring in my ears, which was then followed by the combination of wine and cleaners, and I knew that were looking at a nice little room behind the main stage.

Eric nudged a long black velvet curtain out of our way, and we were met with a cozy, warmly lit room with a pair of tables, a big comfy looking black suede couch, and Alex with a glass of wine in one hand and a dazed look on his face. He ran his fingers through his hair, and I was met with a white flash that were the roots of his gray streak. He showed us a little smile, followed by a nod of his head.

I ducked over to him to which he treated me to another glass of red wine.

“Thank you,” I said to him, to which he coaxed me over to the far side of the couch. “Where’d you put the rugelach?”

“They’re in a safe place,” he assured me as we sat down in unison. I peered back over my shoulder to find Marcy and Eric chatting it up about something; Stu was nowhere to be seen.

“Stu went out a little bit ago,” Alex explained with a gesture to the other side of the room. “He really wants to meet you.”

“Well, I really want to meet him,” I retorted to him, and he cracked me a smile at that. He sipped on his wine all while he kept his gaze locked onto me. Those eyes were so deep and hypnotic that I couldn’t bear to look away from him. He then showed me his tongue and his lips resembled to the ripest of fruit off the vine. I could see it on his face, the fact that he had been loosened up a great deal and he needed to relax for the rest of the night.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I asked him in a low voice. He licked his lips again, that time at a slower, more deliberate pace. How I wished to know what was going through his mind as he held the glass of wine close to his lips once again as if to take a sip.

“Nah, just thinking about what Queen records I want to play for you,” he quipped, to which I giggled at that.

“Some Queen and some Cure, too?” I asked him.

“The Cure! Man, I haven’t heard anything from them in eons, it feels like. Maybe that’s why you’re so warm—it’s all from the nostalgia.”

“When you’re baking, you’re going to develop a sense of nostalgia,” I explained to him as I sipped on the wine.

“I… absolutely love your warmth,” he said in a low enough voice so I could hear him over the two of them chattering behind us like a couple of birds. “You’re very warm, like how a baker should be.” He flexed his fingers at my chest as if he wanted to grasp at my breasts, but he never did touch me with his fingertips. I could feel it in him, the way that he could feel about these sorts of things. We had just met but the feeling could not have been more obvious to me.

“I’m that way because it’s how I bring it all out of my heart,” I explained to him. “Sometimes there are feelings that I can’t explain with either art or anything else.”

He cocked his head to the side at the sound of that.

“You’re the second girl I’ve met with a skeleton in your closet,” he told me.

“The second? Who’s the first?” I showed him an unsure grin.

He then pursed his lips, and his face fell at that. I leaned in closer to him, such that I could smell the wine on his lips. Where he had that spark of excitement in his eyes, it went away about as quickly as it came about. His eyes pointed off to the side and I couldn’t help but inch closer to him, and more so as he held the wine glass down to his lap once again.

“There is seriously something that’s hurting you right now,” I remarked.

“I’m dry as a bone,” he whispered to me with a slight turn of his head towards me.

“What do you mean, dry as a bone?” I chuckled at that.

“Dry… as a bone… I’m feeling thirsty.” He showed me his tongue like the venomous snake that lingered in the back of his mind. The smell of the grapes as well as his cologne was intoxicating; the way that he nudged a lock of hair behind my ear and moved his chest out towards me. I knew what he was thinking right then.

“Do you feel my love,” he whispered to me.

“Always,” I whispered back to him. He held closer to my face as if he was about to kiss me, but he never did.

“The blood runs cold through your heart and into the void within,” I breathed out to him, and he pursed his lips together again. He wanted to do it.

And in fact, I wanted him to do it.

“You’re desperate,” I said. “Something inside of you aches and it’s just making you so desperate.”

Alex ran his fingers through his coarse black hair and gazed back into my face. He shifted his weight and clutched at the belt loops of his jeans as if he was trying to test the fitting of them, even as he stayed seated in the spot next to me. Marcy burst out laughing at something, which in turn left me startled. I returned my attention to Alex right as he downed some more of his wine. He then set the glass down on the little coffee table before us.

“I need to go,” he confessed.

“Wait, where are you going?” I demanded.

“I have to get a move-on up to Seattle,” he quipped. “I have to get moving and I have to get an early start.”

“Alex, wait—” I sputtered out to him. He pursed his lips and held still before me with his shoulders hunched up a bit as if he had just had his feathers ruffled. I held onto his one shoulder by the crest to him steady. “Please. Tell me. Tell me what it is that’s haunting you so much and so deeply.”

“I’m getting older and it feels like the days keep going by so quickly,” he stammered out. “You know how when you’re a kid and it feels like everything is so slow and big. I miss that so much. I’m in my mid-fifties now and it feels like time just keeps on slipping away through my fingers.”

I never let go of his shoulder, and I knew he was in need of some kind of release. Even though he was in the heart of his fifth decade of life, he never struck me as being that old. If anything, something about his eyes and the way his skin seemed so clear and smooth as if he had just washed it struck me as ancient. He was as old as time itself.

“To think that you think you’re so old,” I chuckled, and he slumped his shoulders, and he rested his free hand in his lap.

“It’s funny because… now that I talk about it aloud I actually don’t feel that old,” he confessed in a single breath. “Maybe that’s what happens when time flies by.” He lowered his gaze down to the floor below us.

“Tell me what it is that you want,” I whispered to him. He turned his attention to me again, that time with a hooded look to his eyes.

“I need you to come with me,” he beseeched to me. “Not want, but need. I want and need you to come with me. Come with us. Come with us all along the West Coast here.”

“Alex, I have to think about it first,” I told him.

“Give it time but also don’t,” he advised me. “Unless you want me to rap for you reasons why you should come along.”

“A rock n roll guy who knows how to rap?” I laughed.

“Yeah! And…” He cleared his throat. “I can be very convincing, too. If you don’t take it, I could find a way inside of you.”

I sipped on my glass of wine, and all the while I kept my gaze fixed on him.

“Come with us,” he begged to me again. “Come with me on my tour.”

“Is there a catch?” I asked him.

He opened his mouth to say something when he was interrupted by Eric and Marcy right behind us. I was definitely going to have to think about, though, especially since it came about on such short notice. I truly loved Alex’s love of classic rock and old hip hop music when I thought about it. If I said yes, I was looking at an adventure that could change my life for the better.

I also wondered about Jerry and if he had any plans as well.

One thing was for certain and that was the fact that I had to be a nomad. I had a feeling I was going to have to go places anyway.

#the skeleton key fanfic #the skeleton key #fanfic #fanfiction #alex skolnick #testament #testament fanfic #testament band #angst #also on ao3 #writing #text

[angelasscribbles]

Eidolon Chapter 6: Encounter

Series: Eidolon

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake x Ghost

Rating: MA, NSFW 🍋🍋🍋

Warnings: HORROR, LEOMONS

Word Count: 1,999

A/N: This chapter should have been titled "Should have listened to Liam"

My other stuff: Master List.

Housekeeping had vacuumed up the salt and removed the selenite.

He didn’t want any barriers between them.

Drake and Liv didn’t understand.

She would never hurt him. He knew it.

He didn’t know how he knew it, but he knew it. Deep in his bones, in his very soul, he knew.

Drake poured Liam a tumbler of bourbon and handed it to him, then reached for another glass.

Drake preferred scotch whiskey to bourbon, so it wasn’t suspicious that he didn’t pour himself a drink from the same decanter, he never did.

He followed Liam onto the balcony and took a seat, “I got the results today of the body in the wall.”

“Yeah?” Liam lifted the glass to his lips as he waited for Drake to continue.

“Yeah. Female, skeleton is roughly three hundred years old.”

Liam stared down into the amber liquid thoughtfully. It was nothing they didn’t already know. “Liv already told us that much.”

Drake grunted. Liv had a fifty-fifty shot of guessing the gender correctly and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the body was placed there about the same time the throne room was sealed off.

Probably to hide their crime.

Which engendered many more questions. To seal off a throne room required input from a monarch. Was a king or queen responsible for whatever had happened all those centuries ago?

“She’s real, Drake.”

“She’s not, Li.”

“Agree to disagree. You’ll see.”

“I’ll watch you have a wet dream; you mean?”

Liam flushed, “Shut up. It’s real.”

Drake brought his drink to his mouth with a shrug. “Ok.”

They sat in silence for a while sipping their drinks and watching the night sky. They had developed a comfortable silence with each other over the years and it was valuable to both of them. The ability and the opportunity to just sit with their thoughts, to relax in each other’s company.

Liam drained his glass of bourbon. He tipped his head back to gaze up at the night sky with a yawn. He felt a little disoriented and a lot sleepy. Far sleepier than he should be from one glass of bourbon.

He recognized the sensation. His eyes went to his drink then to his best friend’s face in alarm, “What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean!” Panic sliced through every word, “You spiked my drink?”

“Not me.”

“Fine, Liv did it then, but you knew! You helped her, didn’t you? Distracted me by fighting about it while she did it?”

“Calm down, Li. You can use the rest.”

“Why? I thought you didn’t believe in any of this?”

“I believe you need a good night’s sleep.” Drake replied evenly. “Why are you so pressed by this?”

“I don’t want anyone else to die, Drake!”

“No one’s going to die, Li! I promise!”

“You can’t promise that!”

“I can! I’ve doubled the patrols, I’ve posted extra guards at the end of every hallway, I’ve added more cameras, motion sensors, I’ve taken every precaution-“

“None of that is going to work!”

Drake stood from his chair with a shout, “Just get in the bed, Li, you need the fucking rest!”

Liam stood too, stumbling toward the bed, “Fuck you, Drake! I’m never going to forgive you if I wake up and you’re dead!”

Drake’s anger drained out of him as concern flooded in. His best friend might be losing it. “I’m not going to die, Li. Just get some sleep, okay?”

“She’ll kill you.” Liam mumbled as he drifted off to sleep, “I could have saved you.”

There was a soft knock on the door. Drake pulled it open to find Liv standing in the hallway.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, “Shouldn’t you be out summoning your aunt, or grandmother or whatever?”

“I wanted to check on Liam.”

Drake stood back and let her in the room, “He’s asleep, as you can see.”

“He drank it?”

“He drank it.”

“Good. Here.” She thrust something toward him.

“What’s this?” He gazed down at the small, ceramic disk on a corded metal chain. It was blue and silver, embedded with bits of amethyst, moonstone, rose quartz and hematite.

“It’s a protection amulet.”

“Liv, I don’t believe in-“

“You don’t have to, Drake! Just fucking take it! Humor me, please!”

He watched the desperation dance across her face and relented. He pulled it from her hand with a sigh, “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“What do I do with it?”

“Wear it, put it in your pocket, whatever, just keep it on your person at all times.”

“Ok, Liv. Thank you.” It was sweet of her to care. Even if he knew there was no such thing as a succubus, or an eidolon or whatever she believed in.

He saw her to the door, closed it behind her and locked it.

He picked up Liam’s laptop on his way back across the room, tossing the amulet onto the end table next to the divan.

He was wide awake when the door to Liam’s room creaked open as if he hadn’t locked it. There was no mistaking his state of consciousness. He had been scrolling through Cordonian history when he heard the creak. He’d been looking up who was ruling three hundred years ago.

Not that he believed in any of it.

He stood to face whatever threat came through the door and found himself face to face with a woman. The most alluring woman he had ever seen in his life.

She was completely naked and breathtakingly beautiful. Long, dark tresses flowed down her back in silky ringlets. Her skin glowed with preternatural beauty, her cheeks pink, her lips redder than they should have been.

His cock hardened in his pants as his eyes fell down her body. The flawless, smooth  flesh, the curve of her ample bosom, full and inviting, areolas puckered, nipples erect. His tongue flicked out as he imagined pulling one into his mouth, sucking with his mouth as his hand caressed the other.

Her body curved in at the waist and flared out at the hips. Her legs were long, lean, toned. He imagined spreading them apart and delving between them. He was consumed by a sudden and overwhelming need to know how she tasted.

He mustered every ounce of willpower in his arsenal just to hold still. Every nerve ending in his body was screaming at him to touch her.

“Drake.” His name fell from her lips lyrically, hypnotically, a siren call. He wanted to go to her, lose himself in her embrace, drown in her, die for her if necessary.

“No!” A strangled whisper, a desperate plea.

“It’s ok.” She assured him, taking a step closer. “It won’t hurt. You’ll quite enjoy it.”

“Who…what…are you?” He breathed.

“I am a succubus of sorts, your friend had it partially right. I can feed on many things. Pain and terror, while effective, tastes bitter, acrid. I prefer to feed on fear and ecstasy,” Her eyes glittered with an unnatural brightness, “It tastes sublime!”

The tip of her tongue slipped between her lips and ran across them as she gave him the most seductive smile he’d ever seen in his life.

Fear struck through him, but so did desire. He wanted to say no. His logical mind was screaming at him that to give into her was death.

Drake Walker had excellent survival instincts. Drop him in the wilderness with nothing, and he would build a shelter, a fire, a fishing pole, out of materials he found in nature.

He was a decorated marksman, both with a firearm and a crossbow. He was trained and proficient in multiple forms of martial arts. He was passingly familiar with explosives. He had good instincts that had saved him, and his men, more than once.

Yet faced with this promise of blissful death, he was powerless to resist.

Drake shook his head in feeble protest, but his body betrayed him. The closer she came, the more he wanted her. The closer she came, the greater his terror. The closer she came, the less capable of rational thought he became, until he was simply radiating fear and desire.

Her preferred meal.

She pressed her naked body into his. His hands moved unbidden, against his will, to glide up the sides of her legs, over her hips, tracing her curves, his fingertips on fire, his body ready to combust.

Her lips met his and he did not resist.

Her hands ran through his hair, across his jaw and down his body. He shuddered under her touch.

His hands pulled her closer, tighter, every rational thought gone from his head, every survival instinct quelled, quieted.

She was all he knew. She was all he wanted. She was all he needed.

She shoved him and he let himself fall back onto the divan, his arms pulling her down with him.

She climbed on top of him, her hands working at the fasteners of his pants. He lifted his hips and shoved them down. His hands grasped her at the hips. He guided her over him and his moans filled the room as she lowered herself onto him.

His hands found her lush, plump breasts, his lips pulled at a taut nipple, his hips undulated under her. Pleasure burned through every synapse. Trance inducing ecstasy spread through his body, warming him, lulling him, trapping him.

With a strangled cry he thrust up into her as he exploded, wave after wave of bliss pulsing through him.

She leaned forward and began to feed, her eyes glowing a soft red as she pulled the sexual energy from the room and into her aura. She began to glow brighter as she drank him down.

As the euphoria began to ebb, fear started to build again. He felt his life force beginning to loosen as it flowed out of him and into her. Darkness clouded the edges of his vision as his grip on life began to fade.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered as she began to suck the aura away from his body.

Her voice echoed in the distance recesses of his soul.

The room spun.

He was in the palace, but not this room. A different room. A small, cramped room in the servant’s quarters. She was there. His sword and armor lay discarded near the door.

He lay on the bed smiling up at her. She was on top of him, legs spread around him as she leaned forward with a bright smile, her long locks spilling into her face as she crooned, “I love you, Gawain.”

He reached up to cup her cheek, love spilling through his heart, “I love you too, Rezna.”

Drake’s fingers weakly brushed her face and with the last bit of strength he possessed, he whispered, “Rezna…”

She pulled back like she’d been electrocuted, dropping the thread of energy connecting them, ending her feeding session while he still had life in him.

Barely.

She stared, wild eyed, into his soul. Past the trappings of his physical appearance, past his new name in this new life. With the taste of his life force still fresh on her lips and his aura still mingling with her own, she saw him.

The magic broke as regret and panic crashed through her.

The veneer of irresistible sexual magnetism was gone, replaced with the appearance of a very human and very distraught young woman. “Gawain! You can’t die! You can’t! Not again!”

Drake could only watch her, eyes tracking her every movement. He was too weak to lift his hand again, too weak to speak.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she caressed his face, a wounded animal sound issuing from her as she sobbed.

Suddenly her head snapped up, “I know! The witch can save you! Please hold on!”

With a faint popping sound, she misted out of existence as if she’d never been there.

His eyes fluttered shut as he fell down into darkness.

#eidolon #ghost story #trr #the royal romance fanfic #horror #angelasscribbles #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #trr fanfic #liam rys #drake walker #olivia nevrakis

[vampireninjabunnies-blog]

WIP Wednesday

Had another one to share because this scene wouldn't leave my brain, so here it is.

Tagging @strangefable @detectivelokis @strafethesesinners @direwombat @aceghosts @inafieldofdaisies @inquisitors-grave @nightwingshero @socially-awkward-skeleton @clicheantagonist @madparadoxum @redreart and anyone else I may have missed

It had been a lovely day, sunny and warm and full of laughter. Dozens of people had come by to wish Nick and Kim their best. Some invited, some not. All of them had brought gifts, new and secondhand. Things for the new baby that would arrive sometime in the spring. The baby they had waited for.

John had watched glaring from the shadows of the woods. His own bitterness sour on his tongue as he witnessed their joy. A joy he once would have been elated to see. This road had been a long one for them but it'd finally happened.

He had been among the people invited. Nick had insisted and he was heartbroken when the only response that came was an angry voicemail telling them fuck off.

John didn't watch for long before storming off to drown himself in Scotch. Hoping to find some solace at the bottom of the expensive bottle.

It was close to midnight when drunkenness and the anger burning in the pit of his stomach finally spurred him to action. He barely remembered making his way down the road or sneaking quietly into their home. Nor in his stupor did he realize he'd been followed, discreetly by Jim. He wasn't sure why they'd never bothered to change the locks. Surprised to find the key Nick had given him several years ago still worked. It didn't dawn on him that he hadn't changed his either.

For as theatrical as he generally was, John could be quite stealthy when he wanted. It helped of course that he knew their home almost as well as his own. For years he'd been a regular fixture here, just as they had been on his ranch.

They didn't stir as he watched them sleep. Happy and content. Basking in a dream that Nick had stolen from him. Jim stood at the ready, waiting to see what John was up to. His eyes widened at the sight of John's gun.

John's hand shook as he pointed the gun at Kim. Ready to fire and take from Nick what had been taken from him. He stood like that for what seemed like an eternity. Willing himself to do it.

Jim prepared to grab him, dampening a small cloth with just a little Bliss. It wouldn't take much. He knew had to. To stop his oldest friend from doing something he could never come back from. Something he knew John would regret the rest of his life. But then he saw John's arm drop back down to his side.

John's cheeks were wet with tears. He should do it but he couldn't. He couldn't comprehend just why he found himself unable to pull that trigger but he just couldn't.

Jim hid quickly as John turned sharply and left the room. He stayed hidden as he followed John downstairs. Watching as John stopped halfway through the living room.

Grabbing a nearby box John threw every gift that had so generously been given to Nick and Kim that day inside it. Shifting the now heavy box in his arms he hastily wrote 'fuck you both, J.S. ' on the notepad by the phone before rushing out the door.

Jim stayed close behind him unnoticed, hoping he wouldn't decide to turn back. Sighing in relief when John finally arrived back home. Through the window he could see John throw every toy, every item of clothing one by one into the fire and watching them burn.

It was petty and cruel but at least whatever dark thoughts had filled John's head seemed to have lightened. Jim stayed keeping an eye on him till he finally passed out on the couch.

He sighed. This situation was growing more volatile by the day. He had to tell Jacob. It was only a matter of time before John completely lost it and killed Nick. Or himself.

#john seed #nick rye #kim rye #oc:jim richards #angst #fic:roses on my barren soul

[the-californicationist]

Goldfish (SanSan AU) - 4/8

Warnings: descriptions of abuse, canon-mentioned abuse and domestic violence, mention of ramsay bolton, modern au, oral and vaginal sex

Sandor flipped on the small lamp on his dining table and moved into the kitchen, digging in the cupboard to find glasses. He set his eyes on a dusty scotch bottle he’d been hiding from himself for a while now. He’d kept telling himself he’d save it for a really great night. Tonight was as good as it was going to get. 

“Love your place. It’s quiet here,” she complimented him, dragging out a chair and sitting down at his table. 

He grunted in acknowledgment, letting her praise slide by him. It was a foreign feeling. 

“Here, little bird. I think you’ll like this better than that Wildling swill, hm?” Sandor poured her a generous two fingers of amber liquor, hoping she’d be impressed by the warm vanilla notes and comforting peaty smoke. 

She put her lips to the rim and groaned with pleasure. He almost dropped his cup at her delicious noise, recovering quickly but feeling his cock swell. Down boy, bad dog.  

“This is like heaven, isn’t it?” She whispered with disbelief. 

He basked in her praise again, more brazen this time,

“At least I could keep that promise, hm?”

He saw that she knew what he truly meant. It was self-deprecating. After she had been targeted by Joffrey and his demonic brutality, the Hound had offered to take her home, knowing it would cost him his job. She’d refused. Then, he’d left anyway, abandoning her there after he’d promised her she’d be safe with him. She wasn’t. And he didn’t keep his word. After all of their reunions over the years, it was the one secret between them that didn't need any commentary. A shared skeleton in their shared closet.

She fixed her glare at him, setting the glass down decisively. Then, instead of chastising him, she leaned forward and told him something else,

“You know, when you left, I always thought I’d made a mistake. I kept kicking myself, knowing that I should have come with you. But, after that awful accident in the Lannister’s lake house. The fire, you remember? Joff told me about you. About what happened. After that, I never blamed you for a moment. I would have left, too.”

The Hound swallowed the bile that had risen up in his throat,

“He told you?”

She nodded, taking a long sip and pulling her hair over to one side, fidgeting. Sansa wasn’t done with him though. She looked into her glass like it was a crystal ball, reading her past aloud to him,

“Joff would always threaten me with you while he beat me. He thought he could use you to scare me. ‘If the Hound were here…’ blah blah blah,” she laughed softly, “but I don’t think he realized that those words got me through it. I imagined that you were there. I fantasized about what it would look like when you came up behind him and stuck your knife in his neck.”

Sandor was shocked at her admission. It was so wrathful, but she had said it without any sliver of pain or discomfort. He frowned,

“I wish I had been there. I would have done exactly that. That fucking prick should have died many years ago.”

Sansa shrugged,

“He was nothing compared to Ramsay.”

The room’s silence became oppressive. They could hear the buzz of the bulb in the table lamp, the thrum of their hearts in their chests. His sank. He whispered to her,

“Little bird, I -”

She waved her hand again, dismissing his pity like a bothersome fly over her meal. She finished her scotch and looked deep into his eyes,

“He…I didn’t…I was just…” she tried to start her sentence and failed. 

Sandor wasn’t sure if it was the whisky or the last remaining ounce of courage he had buried in himself, but he reached over the table and took her hand in his. Her fingers were cold and trembling. Her skin was soft like a rabbit. Her bones were fragile beneath his grip. 

Her face turned hateful as she held his hand, gently squeezing him back. The wolf creature that lay coiled inside Sansa’s deceptively delicate body awoke to tell him about its recent vengeance. It spoke through her,

“I didn’t tell anyone this, but I guess it doesn't matter who I tell now," she took a long pause before continuing, "I watched him die. I told everyone I ran back up to the house, but I didn’t. I watched the hounds tear him apart. They shook him, hard. Once they found a place to bite, they would just shake and shake until that skin or that bone, whatever they had grabbed, broke off. Ripped off. They’d find another place to bite down into, and they’d shake again. It became almost funny to watch. He looked like he was doing some stupid kind of dance. Screaming. He was so pitiful, and his voice was so high pitched. He didn't even sound like himself. By the time I turned to run into the house, he was scattered all over the kennel in pieces. I should have been horrified by it,” she looked up at Sandor then, her eyes still snarling, full of ire, “but I laughed. The entire time. It was...fun. I had fun.”

She stopped for a moment and put both of her hands into his grip, holding him closer to her, smiling,

“You tried to scare me once. You told me that there was nothing sweeter than killing. I honestly thought you were crazy, then. Who would say that? But, you never lied to me. You were right, Sandor.”

A normal man would have mourned the loss of her innocence. It would have been normal to be worried and to pity her. To be disgusted by her cruelty. She was supposed to be a delicate rose - perfect and untouched, completely thornless. But, Sandor hated that. He had always wanted her to find her fangs. He hoped she wouldn't have to use them, but here she was, snarling with them. And she had used him for her strength! His chest swelled with pride and possessive desire. He'd been her mental anchor in all of her dark days? Unthinkable.

It was like he was seeing her for the first time all over again. No longer was he looking at a scared, helpless child. He had come face to face with the most violent, brutish murderers in the nasty little hell the Lannisters had created for him, but he had never felt the cold flood of fear like he did now. Her viciousness was intoxicating. Sansa Stark was more wolf than woman, and he wanted to taste her power.

He came undone. Breaking glass, scraping tile, and creaking wood filled the silent room in an abrupt calamity as he yanked her halfway across the table. He slammed his mouth to hers in a ferocious kiss, and she clawed down his neck, pulling him further over the tabletop. She tasted like the scotch, and she smelled like the smoke of the bar, and Sandor Clegane fell into her like Alice into her rabbit hole: violently and with no way to return. 

#asoiaf fanfic #asoif/got #asoif fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #sansan au #sansan #sandor clegane #sansa stark #house clegane #house stark #a break from our regularly scheduled programming #goldfish by the californicationist

[marvelcarbonara]

bucky barnes

icy hot pt. 2!

it’s fall, y’all, just how I’m falling for James B. Barnes!

same warnings as part one, and:

perceived home invasion, ptsd flashbacks, passing out, perceived kidnapping, blood, needles, drugging

both parts have not been proof read, they are older writings of mine, too

first part:

You stood shakily and threw up again at the memory of her bloodied face, almost split in two. Actually split in two at the jaw and fuck, you felt slimy bile on your tongue. Not like you had enough food to throw up a third time, it was all spit and bike and vile things. At least no blood showed up internally, that was good.

Your walk into the trailer was slouched and hazy, like a skeleton shaking on a windy day. You stummbled onto your porcelain throne and reeked in your own miser and stank, burying your head to your knees and sobbing. You cried til numb, reallly a few minutes, and stepped into the hydrophobic shower.

Taking off the clothes was just too much right now, a rinse was all you needed, so you just kept them on under the water. It was colder than you’d expect or enjoy, but it was a shower nonetheless. A sting in your left thigh reminded you of the stab wound adrenaline and panic and been ignoring.

So, you sat on the floor to rinse off the cut. It wasn’t still bleeding enough to worry you despite being a pretty nice stab. Quickly, you rinsed it off under the water and stood up to get a towel. Stood up too fast and had to sit back down, then.

You know in movies where the two lovers are standing in the rain before a sex scene? The clothes all stuck to them, their while t shirts and ripped jeans? Cloth scraps were sticking to your bone-like frame that was noticeable despite the thicker towel wrapped around you.

From the mirror attached to the door you caught the blood stain growing on the towel, prompting you to take it off. The wound must be irritated again, even after a good rinse.

Great, you thought, walking over to a cabinet above the sink. With shaky hands, never a good sign before preforming an act like this, you dug out a needle, dental floss thread, and scotch tape. You also found a full bottle of whiskey, which you snagged vigorously.

Leave it to them to have whiskey hidden in the fucking restroom.

You wrapped some scrapes of thin toilet paper around the cut and wiped your face of new tears. Then, you left that be and took a thick wad of paper and drenched it in whiskey, the liquid running golden down your arm. You could smell the alcohol and it was tempting, but no. It would make tour blood too thin, and you want weed everything to coagulate.

More toilet paper and poured whiskey on it after some maneuvering on the slick shower floor. Your ass was sore from you hunching over to really see your thigh up close, so yeah, you shifted your weight.

You took the towel off your waist and shivered, put it between your teeth, put the drenched paper on your cut, held the whisky toilet paper down on your thigh, held your yells in with sharp teeth.

Once the slow burn was in your blood you sucked the paper soaked in blood and whiskey without knowing why. Just felt like it. The sting of both made your mind race with panic and a familiar, almost comforting sense.

After a few deep breaths, you put the towel back into your mouth, preparing to sew. Slowly, you managed to thread the needle after a few tries and prepared to stitch up yourself, Frankenstein seeing his creation. You drove the old, blunt needle into your skin and yelped from the pain like a prairie dog being shot. Hurriedly, you sewed yourself up and put more toilet paper over the cut, despite your cries. Clean and freshly covered, all you needed to do was tape the paper over quickly, like a homemade bandaid.

Not like you were gonna fucking fall or sniffle as you made your way on your feet and out of the small bathroom. Once you rose and left you aimed for the kitchen before deciding to take the whiskey with you. It was only seven pm, anyway.

You slumped to the living room-slash-kitchen and searched the fridge for literally anything. Yes, you had no appetite, but the blur in you vision knew you should get some food. 

Your stomach and brain settled on a water bottle, spray cheese, a packet of ketchup, and a piece of bread. You made a face-up sandwich of sorts and scarfed it down quickly before anyone could stop you. It tasted so bad but at least it looked worse.

“Ew, Jerry. That’s nasty.”

“Well, you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do!”

He then put the ketchup-maple sandwich in his mouth whole. You squealed in disgust and looked away, giggling.

“It’s still gee-ross!”

You turned back around and looked at him spitting into the trash, globs of some nasty, red good leaving his little mouth.

“You wasn’t wrong, y/n.” He replied goofily.

A woman walked in with her hands on her hip and a grin.

“He used the ketchup and syrup and made a sandwich then eated it, no- ate it all!”

You yelped in delight. She lowered down to his level and he smiled.

“It wasn’t good at all!” He spoke gleefully. He rubbed her nose with his and took the rest of the sandwich away.

“I bet it wasn’t. How about some real food?”

She reached for the fridge and he cheered with you.

Muscles constricted from swallowing and blinked rapidly, your eyes become misty. You set down your sandwich and lowered your head slowly.

You weren’t going to cry over a fucking sandwich. Not over something that happened years ago. Pathetic.

Despite the sentiment, a few tears slipped anyway. A hand flew to your mouth in an effort to conceal your cries. You sat straighter and swallowed down the last of your emotion. You returned to eating the offensive sandwich.

“I hate you.” You muttered to it under your breath. And yeah, you knew it was stupid, but you really did hate that sandwich. Stupid memory inducing tears. Stupid sandwich. Stupid fucking piece of bread.

You finished eating and drank all your water, then went to bed. Not like you could fall asleep. Instead, you counted spots on your door. Little nicks, splattered of something, or marks when you be thrown against it. After you counted nearly 100 different spots, you started to drift into a tense sleep. 💀💀💀

“What do you think your doing?”

You blinked quickly and wiped at your eyes before he’d see your tears.

“Nothing. Nothing!”

You yelled and tried to back away. You slipped the pack of crackers in your back pocket, but he saw your hand move behind you.

“What the fuck is that?”

He stormed over to you and wrenched your wrist painfully. Despite trying not to, you cried out loudly. He slapped your face. Hard.

“Do you want something to cry about? Huh?”

You shook your head and raised your palms to the roof of the building. The line between his brows lessened when you backed away and threw him the pack of crackers. It was better to just give him the food than to lie.

“No sir.” 

You swallowed sharply.

“Sorry, sir.”

He walked up to you and held your chin up. Your head faced him and his eyes poured into yours. His gaze softened for a moment as he spoke.

“You know how tough you’re gonna be? And your brother?”

You nodded slowly with wide eyes. He always did this right before he hit you, talking about how strong he would make you, how he’d build you up from the floor. He raised his hand, aiming for your face.

You squeezed your eyes shut fast, waiting for the slap. 

“Wake up.” 

He said softly. His voice was different, too. Not his. It was a little deeper and more raspy. His accent was also different; it was softer than before. You looked around and slipped out of his grasp. His eyes followed you as you left the room.

“Wake up.”

He said louder this time. You left the dark room and ran outside, running aimlessly. You stopped after a little and looked around. Hell only knew where you were. 

“Wake up, please!”

You gasped and saw him right beside you, shaking your shoulders now despite you running away seconds ago.

“We need to go!”

His voice was still different, but it was better than his old voice. You were still scared and-

Bolted up in bed. 

“Steve, she’s not waking up!”

He hissed right before you woke. You shrieked and hit him in the nose, having no clue who this guy was or why he knew where you were. You ran out into your trailer’s living room only to be caught by another large man. He wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off the ground, trying to carry you away.

“Let go of me!”

You yelled and flailed in his arms. He was clearly stronger than you, but you still tried to squirm out of his grasp. Another man came out of your room and sighed.

“I though we were gonna lose her.” He said to the other man. You paused for a moment when you recognized his voice. He must’ve been the one over your bed, trying to wake you up. You snarled and flailed again, really wanting to leave.

The one holding you nodded his blond head and then fluctuated his attention to you. You narrowed your eyes and kicked him in the knee. He looked away and to the other man. 

“Help?” He, the blond, asked the other man, the brunette with the voice. The brunette walked over to you and held your left arm firmly. You noticed he had a metal arm, and he was lifting it towards your forearm. Right before it got too close, you saw the needle he was holding. 

Your eyes went wide and you panicked. Without a second thought, you kicked to no avail. At this rate, you wouldn’t be surprised if your piped your stitches. All the adrenaline flowing through your veins made you mind foggy, so with no other good options…Sharply, you bit down on the blond man’s arm.

“Ah!” He gasped.

He recoiled and dropped you swiftly. You took the opportunity and ran to the door, jumping down the stairs and starting to run. You slipped on something slick and fell into it, the gooey substance caking your back. You tried again to stand but the smell alone made you weak in the knees. It hit you like a train; It was a puddle of your own vomit from earlier. You couldn’t help it and puked again right as the brunette got ahold of your arm.

“Sorry.” He muttered before injecting you with the needle. You tried to protest but fell limp into his arms. Slowly, your eyes became heavy and shut despite your need to stay awake. 

“What?” You mumbled, clutching his shirt to stay awake. 

“Steve, I got them.” He sighed and picked you up. The last thing you remember is being held against the brunette’s chest, walking somewhere. The cool metal of his arm wrapped tightly around your small frame and you blacked out, finally getting sleep.

a/n!

I tried to edit this lightly and make my oc gender neutral, if you see any places I can fix the pronouns please let me know! next part will be out…soon!

#marvel #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu #avengers #my fics #fics #fic snippet

[countlessrealities]

Send 🫢 for my muse's reaction to yours walking in while they are changing / getting dressed || Accepting !

@mcltiples sent: “oops!” { to Evil Rick from Weird Rick xD }

Despite what you would be pushed to think, Rick had his own bedroom in the bunker he shared with his partner. The place was spotless, in the way furniture on display was, betraying how little it was used. There were no personal items in sight, with the exception of a oddly shaped jar, filled with a fluorescent blue liquid, and a small device that supposedly worked as a projector, but that merelt laid on the nightstand, turned off and unused.

In that moment, there were other signs of life too. A fresh set of clothes on the bed, waiting to be used. A towel on the seatback of the chair. A half drunk glass of scotch on the desk.

And, of course, Rick himself, freshly out of the shower, standing in front of the full length mirror hanging from one of the walls. His body was completely bare, aside from the towel around his waist, and his hair was still damp, the usual spiky locks drooping backwards over his skull. The artificial flesh of his right hand had been removed, exposing the high-tech skeleton that lied underneath it, and he was busy recalibrating the circuits that gave sensitivity to his fingers.

The first thing that caught the eye were the dark countless scars that covered his flesh. A broad set of claw marks across his left shoulder. The slightly hollowed, large line that ran along his sternum, top to bottom. The ugly burn that decorated his left side, from his hip up to the border of his ribcage. The various scars littering his arms, starting from the ones that marked the whole circumference of the upper side of his biceps. A bullet wound, between his shoulder blades. And then so many others, standing out against the too pale flesh of his torso and legs. Rough surgical scars, for the most, but also deep cuts, smaller burns, even a couple of bite marks.

Normally Rick hardly paid them any attention, if not when they itched too much. And, since the start of his and his alternate's intimate relationship, also when their naked bodies were pressed together. He found the contrast between his ruined flesh and the other's flawless skin fascinating.

The sound of the automatic door sliding open briefly distracted him from his task. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know who had stepped in. After all, there was only another person had access to the bunker.

"I-I'll be with you in a moment, Rick," he spoke up, applying the last fixes to the circuits. "Is there something you need me for?"

He experimentally flexed his fingers a couple of time, before turning on his heels and heading for the desk. He set the tools on it, retrieving a small vial and carefully pouring his contents over the metal. In the matter of a few seconds, the whole surface was once again covered with muscles and skin.

"O-Or is it one of those times when you just like to stand and watch me?" He went on, draining what was left of his scotch as he tugged the towel off.

Not a trace of hesitation or shame touched his blank expression. Nudity was a taboo dictated by most Earthen societies and their mindset, and he couldn't have cared less about them. Besides, his partner had seen him bare plenty of times.

Once he had picked up his trousers and underwear, he finally turned to look at his alternate, head tilted slightly. Gray blue eyes studied those features carefully, trying to read the other's thoughts hidden behind them.

"Do you wish for me to guess?"

#[ ic :: Evil Rick ] #&& Prime/Weird Rick #[ v. Are you sick like me? ; canon div :: Evil Rick ] #[ You're my obsession. I'm your possession :: Evil Rick & Weird Rick ] #mcltiples #[[ he didn't bat an eye xD ]] #[[ but well that was to be expected it's HIM ]] #[[ tho he saw the chance to get subtly sassy and he took it x3 ]] #[[ it's not like he minds or anything ]] #[[ just every chance to call Weird Rick out is a good chance to do it xD ]] #[[ also don't mind me using this to list some of Evil Rick's scars xD ]] #[[ also did I make and edit a whole icon just to fit this? YES ]] #;; queue