#welp here we go

[rightous-int]

#welp here we go #Two dead motherfuckers #my art #Art #sv #slenderverse #mh jam #mh tim wright #marble hornets fanart #jay merrick #tim wright #jam mh #jay x tim #Jam t4t #trans jay #trans tim mh

[ash-the-bee]

feeling silly

5 notes and ill start brushing my teeth more often

10 notes and I’ll start having better hygiene

20 notes and I’ll start going outside more often

30 notes and ill start to try to start cleaning my room

40 notes and ill start to eat healthier

50 notes and I’ll try to get better coping skills

60 notes and ill start to push my boundaries more (like. ill tell people if they’re breaking my boundaries!!)

70 notes and ill work on writing my stories more

80 notes and I’ll organize my rocks again

#hhhh #welp here we go

[good-night-dodger]

I finally gave in, fam. After weeks of seeing your posts about the show, I've started Lockwood and Co. yesterday. And I tried really hard to not ship these two, but I failed.

#welp here we go #especially ​looking at you @lurker-no-more #lockwood and co #locklyle #can they just kiss or something? the slow burn is killing me

[ineedahugtm]

#mama mia here we go again #my my I wish this would stop #ao3 #welp here we go #round 3

[saline-sp]

Aw yeah superheroes! (and some villains too but shh)

I had a lot of fun drawing these, I just really wanted to draw all of my designs from my superhero au and thought it'd be fun to draw them in the south park style. Also I know that they're meant to be teenagers in the au and I drew them as children but shhh just ignore that they look better as tiny little guys

#south park #sp #my art #sp superhero au #oh crap i need to tag all the characters huh #welp here we go #the coon #sp coon #eric cartman #sp mysterion #kenny mccormick #sp toolshed #stan marsh #human kite #sp human kite #kyle broflovski #professor chaos #butters stotch #super craig #craig tucker #sp tupperware #tolkien black #sp call girl #wendy testaburger #changeling red #red mcarthur #sp fastpass #jimmy valmer #sp sponsor #leslie meyers

[snowberai]

OKAY OKAY LOOK- I CAN EXPLAIN.

...... I really can’t, blame my friend. He forced me to do this.

#Honestly horrified to tag the fandom #i really dont want people to see this im gonna be honest #welp here we go #lego monkie kid #my art #Snow what the hell is this #you literally havent drawn in like a week and you come back with THIS?

[the-simple-creature]

TIER LIIIIIISSSST

Don't ask why "I love it!" and "Beyond crackshiping" are so small.

Here's your homework @carleenchoco, test is on Thursday/j

#murder drones #murder drones tier list #murder drones ship #too many ships #welp here we go #murder drones vizzy #murder drones N x Thad #murder drones Uzi x N #murder drones Lizzy x Doll #murder drones Khan x Nori #murder drones Uzi x Thad #murder drones Doll x Uzi #murder drones Rebecca x Lizzy #murder drones N x Uzi x V #I'm not doing anymore #murder drones OC's #oc ship

[not-poignant]

Daily excerpt from today's writing, chapter 13 of Palmarosa:

‘This hovel is nothing to the palace of my mistress, my stunning solar warmonger, but it might make a decent enough place to install the soldiers of our legions. At least some of them. I wonder if dear Raphael of the House of Hope has been avoiding me. And he left you here? What does he want with a vampire spawn, anyway? Well, you know he doesn’t trust fiends right now, don’t you?’ She sounded like someone who wanted to gossip, and Astarion wanted to cry from fear, but he wanted information too. ‘Why doesn’t he trust fiends?’ Astarion asked, his voice shaking, airless. ‘Oh, he hasn’t told you a thing, has he?’ Verillius did another one of those tittering laughs and walked over to a pillar before leaning against it, crossing one slender leg across the other. Her form was diminutive, but she carried so much power that Astarion had no doubt she ruled over legions of fiends herself. ‘Should I tell you? I don’t want him here, and Archduchess Zariel has given me leave to see just how powerful he is these days. I suspect not at all.’ ‘Because we defeated him?’ ‘It’s so cute, watching the mind of a grub at work. Filthy thing, not even a useful soul in you. A useless one instead. And yes, you killed him. He could never come back at the levels of power he had before. And he couldn’t have come back in his cambion form at all if it weren’t for the intervention of his dear father. I dread to think what that’s cost Raphael. We all know he feels about his father.’

#daily excerpt #palmarosa #thespectaclesofthor #bg3 fic #bg3 raphael #bg3 astarion #verillius receptor #welp here we go #time to find out more about raphael

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

I will never be over the fact that we didn’t get to see Mildred and Gwen’s first time, and here’s why:

This entire series, we have been building to this moment, and they didn’t show us??

I know it’s not /about/ her budding lesbianism. I KNOW it’s not. However. It kind of really is?? We’re in the room when she tries to shove it down by having sex with a man. We’re in the room when she is battling with the treatment she’s giving those women. We are in the room when she tells Gwen that she has feelings for her. We are in the room when she confesses that she is a lesbian to Huck. We are in the room when she tells Gwen that she loves her. For their first kiss. And then it just magically hops forward a month and they’re casually making out in bed and that’s great. Don’t get me wrong. That’s /great/ and I will never complain about lesbian content. But this entire show we have been following this journey. And while it isn’t the main plot of the show, it is ONE of the main plots. And it runs under EVERYTHING, constantly. So to time jump right over this huge moment?? Everything was building to /this/ and they cut it right out. See, here’s the thing— If you’re not going to show me the first time she has sex with a woman, don’t show me the two sex scenes she has with a man. I don’t need something explicit (although if I have to watch her lower herself down on a man I feel like it’s only fair) but I just need that MOMENT. The one where she decides that she is ready. Because she tells Gwen, plain and simple, I have feelings for you but I need to take this at my own pace. So SHOW ME her pace. Because now I have too many questions. Did they fuck right after their first kiss?? They had the whole house to themselves. Or did they wait? Did Mildred say she wasn’t ready? Or did Gwen make them stop so that she didn’t push her? To me, that first time is a CRUCIAL point in their relationship. Show me Gwen trying to slow her down. Show me Mildred saying no, pulling Gwen’s fingers to her mouth, sliding them down between her legs. Show me that glorious moment of consent when Gwen’s brow pushes up and she whispers “Millie...” and Mildred NODS and Gwen absolutely devours her. I want to see all of it. I want closure to their story. Something that leads me along the path /the creators/ set out and doesn’t pull giant pieces of the road out from under me on the way. Again, they don’t even have to be explicit. Just them making their way to the bedroom and Gwen pushing Mildred down on the bed and crawling over her while they kiss. Or Mildred slowly unbuttoning her shirt while Gwen sits on the bed. Or ANYTHING. Just show me the INTENT to sleep together that first time. I just need to know when it happened and who cut that final line and said it was okay, and what actually happened in Mildred’s mind. Was it too much too fast? Was it like the puppet show where she pushed herself to make Gwendolyn happy? I want that moment when she realizes that being with a man was just as wrong as she always felt it was, where Gwendolyn spoils her and pampers her and makes her feel safe and warm and loved. I mean— we had some pretty harsh sex scenes with her and a man. Show me her realizing how different it could be. How incredible it is supposed to be. How loved she feels. I WANT TO WEEP, OKAY? Don’t get me wrong, they’ve given us great opportunity to write fanfiction and take it in our own directions, but I finished the show and there was still this... hollow space in me that felt incomplete. I followed this woman’s journey for eight episodes, the back and forth, the on and off, the struggling... and I had better not be missing this crucial moment because someone somewhere thought it would hurt their ratings, because so help me. I am so sick. And tired. Of lesbians being cropped out of media to make straight people comfortable. If this sex scene is on the cutting room floor, I request it kindly at my doorstep by tomorrow morning, Mr. Murphy. And if not... well then shame on the writers for not understanding the importance of THIS moment for THESE characters. Because then that means that they don’t understand or care about the characters like they should, and that absolutely breaks my heart.

#oops I just realized I never posted this #welp here we go #ratched #Mildred ratched #nurse ratched #gwendolyn briggs #ratched netflix #Sarah Paulson #cynthia nixon #I’m sorry for the rant but HONESTLY #what were they DOING #also hi hello I missed talking about them 🙈

[petcr3]

Perchance to Dream | Eliot Spencer x Reader

summary: When Eliot’s partner doesn’t hear from him (or Hardison) during The Experimental Job, they get worried and contact the team. When the information they find doesn’t paint a pretty picture, Eliot and the reader have a somewhat emotional reunion.

word count: ~4.4k

warnings: frank discussion of sleep deprivation tor.ture, mentions of ptsd (though it is not explored in depth), mentions of medical abuse (insofar as it is depicted in the show)

a/n: i’m on my hurt/comfort shit again, but this time it’s eliot spencer flavored. very much had heal me by lady gaga on repeat in my head while writing this. funnily enough, also, eliot doesn’t mention the convo in this gif but it’s definitely on his mind, for what it’s worth.

You haven’t heard from Eliot in three days, and that spells trouble. 

There are jobs where it’s expected, where cell service is bad or the cover is too deep for him to reach you, but any time other than that, the rule is every three days. Eliot always makes sure to show some sign of life, even if it’s a one word text with the agreed-upon sign off. Barring that, he has Hardison contact you to reassure you he’s all right–– or at least that he will be.

You argue with him, sometimes, that as scary as it can be, not knowing where he is or what he’s doing–– it’s what you signed up for. Eliot always counters that you didn’t know at the outset, and that’s the problem. You didn’t know what the hell you were signing up for when you took the job at McRory’s, and you didn’t know who you were getting into bed with the first night he touched you. You don’t know about the cons until they’re over and you don’t know–– don’t really know–– that he’s coming home until he crosses the threshold into your apartment. 

Naturally, you have an answer for everything: that you may not have known Eliot’s past when you took him home, but you sure as hell knew the man. That you don’t need to know the details of every job because you know he and his friends are best at what they do. That you know he’ll always come home to you because he’d promised you that he would.

When you get on that particular jag, Eliot knows there’s no arguing with you, so he gives in. (Or, at least, he does his version of giving in, which consists of a sour expression and a minute or two of the silent treatment even though he’s inevitably got an arm draped around your shoulder or a hand on your knee.) For your part, you’ve learned to give him a little grace with regard to that particular insecurity. You may not agree with his idea that he’s bad news, but you can’t expect him to rid himself of it overnight. But you’re always firm: you’re with him because you want to be. Because you’ve heard the bad parts and weathered the difficulties and decided you’re all in.

Today, though, it’s particularly hard.

The fourth day is the wiggle room day. Often, if you haven’t heard from Eliot in this long, you check your phone at the end of a shift and find an apologetic text or a hasty voicemail from him or, if he’s really stretched thin, from the team’s resident hacker.

But today, for whatever reason, things at the pub are painfully slow and you’ve got little else to do but idly clean behind the bar and check your cell phone near-constantly. You’d sent the other bartender on shift home early and since it was a weekday, no one would be in the kitchen until four to start prepping for dinner. There’d been no sign of anyone, not Parker or Sophie or Hardison or even Nate, and you’d only had two customers all day, both regulars.

By a conservative estimate, you were checking your phone about three times a minute and eventually you decided you’d be of no use to anyone if your hands were shaking so bad you couldn’t pour a beer. With a flip of the sign so it read that you’d be back in twenty, you were on your way up to Nate’s apartment.

You weren’t a part of the team by any stretch of the imagination, but as the longest standing member of McRory’s staff you weren’t not a part of the team. There were certain things you were made privy to, partly because it made sense and partly because it was, frankly, too difficult to hide everything from you. With the pub acting as the de facto front offices of Leverage Inc, (as the team was still affectionately called in some circles) it makes sense to have someone behind the bar that’s a little higher up in the ranks. Sophie had trained you to become an excellent liar, Parker’s shown you a few emergency escape routes in case a job follows them home, Hardison taught you the ins and outs of the pub’s beefed up security system, and even before you started dating, Eliot had insisted on showing you some self defense, in case any criminals (not the fun kind) decided to show up.

But all that doesn’t quite extend to apartment access. You know Nate lives upstairs, and the other tenants have all come down for a drink at least once, so you’d long since figured out that the elusive Tom Baker listed in the directory was none other than your boss. Taking the elevator to the corresponding floor, you try not to storm down the hallway in abject panic. Once at the door, though, you can’t help but knock a little frantically. After a few seconds of nothing, you lift your hand again, only to be met with a somewhat bewildered looking Nate.

“What?” he asks, just this side of irritable, plucking his earbud out, “what’s going on, why aren’t you downstairs?” Over his shoulder, you can see Hardison, slumped forward over a desk, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. You ignore Nate, zeroing in on Hardison only to hear a murmured apology and something along the lines of I know this has gotta be hell for you, man, but you got this. You start forward, but Nate crowds you out of the doorway.

“Hardison,” he calls, glancing over his shoulder, and once he has the younger man’s attention, he mimes taking something out from his ear. Hardison blinks slowly at him, then straightens up, removing his earpiece once he sees you.

“Hardison, what the hell?” you cry, pushing past Nate, who lets out a blustery sigh. Hardison frowns at you, confused. “It’s been more than three days,” you continue, “and I haven’t heard a word from either of you!” The realization seems to come to him slowly, as if through a fog, and he sighs once it hits him. 

“Shit,” he hisses, eyes squeezing shut with frustration, “I knew I was forgetting something.” You look at him expectantly, leg jiggling anxiously in place. “Eliot’s fine,” he says, “job’s just running a little long. We got him undercover.”

“It’s gotta be hell for him?” you protest, throwing his own words back at him–– and feeling a little guilty for being demanding like this when Hardison is clearly exhausted. But you can’t help it; even in the worst of times, Eliot and Hardison are constantly trading jabs–– If the hacker is extending that much of an olive branch, it means they’re about to be on the ropes… if they aren’t already.

“He’s fine,” Nate says, a little more firmly than kindly, before Hardison has a chance to go on. “He’s just undercover doing a sleep study. You know how he is. Why don’t you go back downstairs, huh?” He fixes you with a look, and though it’s a little stern, you also get the sense that he’s pleading with you to get out of their hair.

“Just let me talk to him,” you try. Nate almost laughs.

“Listen,” he says, “that’s about the last thing Eliot needs right now.” As much as the sentiment irks you, you know Nate is right. If Eliot knows you’re worried about him, it’ll distract him from the con. “Let him focus on the job,” Nate appeals, as if he’s reading your mind. “The sooner we get done what we need to do, the sooner you get him back, all right?” After studying him for a few moments, you grit your jaw and give a curt nod. You start to leave, but you catch Hardison’s eye on your way out.

“I need another update tomorrow,” you say. “Please?” Hardison nods gravely.

“He’s all right,” he says, “you know I’d tell you if he wasn’t.” He holds your gaze for a moment, and for all the frustration you feel, you nod. Of all of them, you know Hardison will give you the truth.

Back downstairs, the kitchen crew has arrived and is getting set up for the dinner rush. It winds up being surprisingly busy, considering the slow morning, but you’re grateful for anything to keep your mind off of Eliot and whatever the hell it is that he’s dealing with.

The next day you’re on the closing shift. You receive a text from Hardison around noon telling you that Eliot is okay. You thank him profusely before getting started on the things you need to get done before work. Finally, around the time you have to leave for your shift, you’re starting to feel better. Maybe this job is a tougher one, but with communications smoothed out, you feel reassured. It won’t be the first time Eliot has come back to you a little worse for the wear. And if he’s actually doing a sleep study like Nate said, maybe he’ll find out a few useful tidbits of information. A happy accidental byproduct.

The day is actually going pretty well until you practically crash into Sophie on the sidewalk outside the pub.

“Oh, bloody Nora!” she cries, one hand pressed to her chest as you bend down to pick up your keys, similarly startled. When you straighten up, you can tell right away that something’s wrong. Sophie may be an expert grifter, but you’ve caught her unawares.

“Sophie?” you ask, “What’s going on?” She studies you for a moment, biting her lip, and eventually sighs.

“Now listen, I’ve got to go or the whole thing is blown, just–– they’re all safe now, Parker’s taking care of Hardison and Eliot’s out of the experiment, all we have to do is––”

“Experiment?”

“It’s… really, all things considered, it’s not that bad, it––”

“Sophie,” you cut her off again, “please just tell me.” She frowns.

“Eliot went undercover into a university experiment where they were…” she sighs, “they were running sleep deprivation torture on groups of homeless men.”

Your eyes widen and you swallow thickly. Eliot hasn’t told you everything about his time in the army–– in fact, you doubt he’s told you most of it–– but he’d told you about sleep deprivation torture. How he’d been on the giving and receiving end of it, how he wouldn’t wish it on anyone, how he only understood just how evil it was once he’d been through it himself. And now he’s going through it again.

You notice, distantly, that Sophie has taken hold of your arm.

“I need to go, or the whole job could fall apart.” She levels her gaze at you. “Listen to me,” she says seriously, “Eliot is okay. Hardison’s okay. We’ll all see you tonight.” And with that, she’s off, leaving you struck dumb in the street.

Everyone at McRory’s can tell you’re on edge. You deliver the wrong orders to the wrong guests, you pour pints that are all foam. The crowd tonight is mostly regulars, which you’d be grateful for if you weren’t so preoccupied. Your coworkers pick up some of the slack, knowing you must be worried about Eliot. They don’t know exactly what he does, and no one believes any of the lies he spouts–– you keep telling him to stick to one, but he only grins and shakes his head: now where’s the fun in that?–– but they’ve all been around long enough to have seen him coming in black and blue, cut up, or worse. There are all kinds of theories floating around about the team, though none come close to the reality–– or at the very least, those who have figured it out are smart enough to keep their mouths shut.

With your relationship with Eliot being pretty much an open secret among the staff, no one bats an eye when the team straggles in and you go flying into the hitter’s arms. “Eliot,” you say, breathless, “thank god.”

He receives you with a quiet grunt at the impact, and where he might normally be a little wary at such a public display of emotion, you feel him sigh, relaxing into your touch.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your hair.

“Hi baby,” you croak in reply, the sound muffled against his shoulder. Eliot presses a kiss to your temple and you force yourself to pull away and look at him. The others file past you, and you reach for Hardison with one hand, catching his arm. Eliot lets you out of his hold, and though you miss the contact, you’re stunned to see Hardison is more bruised and battered than Eliot. “Holy shit,” you mumble, “what happened to you?”

“Joined a frat,” he says with a tired smile. You frown, concern pulling at your features as you look him over. “Don’t worry,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze, “your boy and my girl got me all patched up. I’m good.” He winces. “Or I will be.” You nod, letting go of his hand.

“Thank you, Hardison,” you say, “Really.” He winks.

“Any time, chica. I’ll see you later, all right?”

“See you,” you reply, already seeking Eliot’s touch again before you’ve even turned back to look at him. He takes your hands and studies you.

“How’d you find out what was going on, hmm?” he asks gently, thumb running over your knuckles. “You never get this worried unless someone gets in touch.” You sigh and lean into him again.

“Well, when I didn’t hear from you or Hardison, I got worried. I stormed up to Nate’s apartment and then I ran into Sophie, and…” You shake your head. “I just had to know you were okay.” He nods, though the look in his eyes is a little far away.

“I’m okay,” he says, though his voice is a little rougher than usual. You frown.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He hesitates, like he’s about to say more. He takes your hands in his, looks down at them like they’ll do the work for him. After a moment, it comes. 

“Hey,” he says, “think you could, uh… take me home?” 

The question practically strikes you down where you stand. Instead of doing what you want to–– instead of wrapping him in your arms and marching him out to your car, you throw a nervous glance over your shoulder.

“I–– I’m on shift,” you offer hoarsely, but before you can manage an apology, your coworker Natalie (who has been standing a little closer to the proceedings than you may have liked) interrupts.

“Are you kidding me?” she quips, “Jake’s already on his way to cover you. Get the hell out of here.” Gratitude and relief flood your features all at once.

“Really?”

“I already clocked you out, like a minute ago, so. Go. Seriously.” You look back to Eliot, who has the decency to look a little sheepish, and then skitter over to the bar to wrap your friend in an awkward hug across the lacquered wood.

“Thank you, Natty. I owe you one.” She waves you off.

“Oh, whatever. Cover my Saturday morning sometime next month so I can actually go out on a Friday.”

“Done.”

“Then we’re even,” she replies with a wink. You turn back to Eliot and he nods at the two of you.

“I’ll meet you outside,” he says, and you hurry to the back to get your things.

When you step out into the cool air, Eliot is leaned up against your car, waiting, brow furrowed in thought.

“Hey,” you say quietly, though you know the odds of startling him are slim to none. He looks up, and though he seems weary, he smiles at you. “I never got to give you a kiss,” you continue, “if you want one.” His smile widens a little at that.

“C’mere,” he says, the word caught halfway between an invitation and a plea. You lean in and take his face in your hands, pressing your mouth to his and he meets your tenderness with searing heat. You gasp softly against his lips, fingers of one hand sliding back into his hair, his hand fitting snugly against the small of your back. He kisses you like he’s afraid it will be the last time, leaving you breathless when he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours.

“Whoa,” you manage. Eliot lets out a clipped chuckle.

“Sorry,” he says, stealing another kiss, this one only a chaste peck, “sorry, I…” He shakes his head, the ends of his hair tickling your cheeks. “Felt like I was never gonna see you again.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you counter, “that was… I needed that. Trust me.” You offer a small smile as you skim your thumb across his cheek. “Now how about we get out of here, yeah?” Eliot gives the slightest of nods, a hum of agreement, but it’s a moment before he can make himself let go of you to head for the passenger seat.

The drive isn’t long, and Eliot tilts his head back against the seat and shuts his eyes. You don’t know it, but this is the first time since the university that he’s felt safe enough to do it for more than a few seconds. He doesn’t sleep, though, only listens to the quiet sounds of the road, the barely audible hush of your breathing.

With a little luck, you’re able to park close to your building, and Eliot hovers close as you make your way into the apartment. An almost tangible relief settles over the both of you once the lock slides home, and Eliot settles heavily onto the couch as you step out of your shoes. Wordlessly, you climb astride his lap and he pulls you close, face buried against your chest. His hair’s a little tangled as you start to comb your fingers through it, but you’re patient with the knots, coaxing them free so you don’t hurt him. He thumbs absent circles at the base of your spine in fits and starts, sometimes stopping and just letting you comfort him.

You can’t be sure how much time passes like that, Eliot’s breath warm against your skin, your hands in his hair, but eventually you’ve got all the knots out. You press a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Hey,” you whisper, “you hungry, sweetheart?” Slowly, he lifts his head, hair mussed adorably, thanks to your involvement.

“I could make something,” he says, expression a little foggy, though you don’t think he’d actually fallen asleep while you held him.

“Like hell you can,” you counter gently, “you’re not lifting a finger tonight. We can do takeout, hm?” 

“All right,” he concedes, looking up at you fondly.

“What sounds good?” Eliot unwraps his arms from around you and begins to trail his hands lightly up and down the length of your forearms as he weighs his options.

“Indian?” he says after a moment, “Maybe Thai?”

“Ooh, let’s do Indian; that sounds good.”

“You got it, sweetheart.” You can’t resist ducking down for a quick kiss before you disentangle yourself from Eliot’s lap, swiping your phone off the coffee table.

“You want your usual?” you ask, opening up the delivery app. Eliot is up right after you and he steps behind you and slings an arm around your waist, kissing the top of your shoulder. Warmth blooms in your chest.

“Please,” he says. “‘M gonna go take a shower. That all right?” You twist your head so you’re looking at him.

“Of course it is.” He kisses the crease that forms in your brow, then your nose, and with that, he strides off into the bathroom.

You wish he didn’t feel like he had to ask permission. Sure, this may be your apartment, but it’s as much his now as you are. He’s made a home here and in your heart, and you know he knows you’d give him anything he asked for–– and feel fuller because of it.

You also know that Eliot is a man who feels he needs permission to walk this earth. You know that every day he struggles to forgive himself for the things he’s done, asks penance for every good thing he accepts into his life now. As you change into your pajamas, you wish you could make him understand just how deserving he is. Of life, of happiness, of love. 

When the doorbell rings, the water has shut off, and you buzz in the delivery driver. You’re doling the food out onto plates when Eliot pads into the kitchen, having traded his everyday garb for sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“Feeling better?” you ask, turning from your work to take him in in all his cozy glory. He hums the affirmative and stands beside you to finish making his plate. Once you’re both settled at the table, you finally broach the subject.

“El, do you wanna talk about it?” He gives a noncommittal shrug, takes a forkful of food.

“What’d they tell you?” He doesn’t look at you.

“Not a whole lot,” you admit, “but I know you just went through at least a couple of days of sleep deprivation.” You don’t say the word torture, but then you don’t really need to. Eliot nods. He doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“Kept telling myself it’d be easy. That I’d done it before and there was a clear end in sight.” He looks up at you meaningfully, now. “Somebody to come home to.” You frown, bottom lip pinched between your teeth, and nod. “But that’s the thing about it; you lose time, start feeling delirious. Had the team in my ear the whole time, but…” He shakes his head. “It was a little too much like bein’ back there for my taste.”

You don’t know exactly where this particular ‘there’ is, but you know there are a few dark places Eliot goes when he’s sleeping, or even sometimes when he’s awake. His trauma isn’t easy for him to talk about, but you know he grapples with it often.

“Place was recruiting guys out of homeless shelters–– buncha rich kids offering three meals, a place to stay, and 50 bucks a day. Said they were studying PTSD, fuckin’ animals.” He’s getting more impassioned as he continues, but his voice is still quiet. “Pickin’ vets up off the street just to make ‘em relive the worst moments of their lives, trying to figure out how to break people––” Eliot cuts himself off, grits his teeth, and takes a slow breath. He looks at you, expression melting from angry to rueful. “Same kid behind it all had his frat beat the hell outta Hardison once they found out who I was. Got the location where they were keeping him outta the interrogator down there in less than two minutes.”

“Sounds like he got what was coming to him,” you say evenly. Eliot scoffs, and you can feel the way he deflects the vitriol away from you and onto himself.

“I’m no better’an them,” he says bitterly, not meeting your gaze, “not really. Gave me an excuse and I did the same thing they were doing.”

“El,” you say, “come on, that’s not true.” He makes himself look at you again. His eyes shine with guilt. 

“Isn’t it?”

You stand up and drag your chair closer to his and then sit back down, putting a hand on his knee. 

“Not for a second. Baby, you’re comparing yourself to men who used their power to abuse people already down on their luck. You did one bad thing to a very bad man, and you did it to save your friend.” He avoids your eyes again, jaw working silently. “And it’s eating you alive!” you cry. “Look at me,” you plead, “look at me.”

He does and your gaze is like sunlight. The warmth feels so good he can’t stand it.

“Bad people don’t worry about the things they’ve done,” you continue, “Bad people–– truly bad people–– don’t feel remorse the way you do. Bad people don’t break their backs to help people like you do. Bad people don’t love like you do… so fiercely. And so much.” Eliot is staring down at his plate, brow furrowed so deep it looks almost painful. But he nods. A little bit, he nods.

You don’t know if it’s because you’ve gotten through to him or because he wants you to feel like you have, but slow and steady has always won the race with Eliot. He reaches down to take your hand and continues eating dinner with his left. You drag your plate over, keeping your fingers laced with his, and finish your own food with your right.

Eliot insists, gently, on doing the dishes, and though you spend a few moments with your arms wrapped around him from behind, cheek pressed against his back, eventually you shuffle off to start getting ready for bed.

By the time he’s finished up, you’ve got the covers turned down on his side while you’re tucked under on yours, sitting up, waiting for him. He stands next to the bed a moment, looking apprehensive.

“What can I do?” you ask quietly. “To make it easier, I mean. Is there anything I can do?” His lips quirk into a small smile.

“You’re already doing it, sweetheart.” Eliot takes a breath and turns out the bedside lamp, crawling into bed beside you. As you lower yourself so you’re laying down, he holds out his arm, offering you your usual spot nestled against his chest. You lay your head down and he tucks his arm around you. Finally, you both feel like everything is right again.

“You sure you don’t wanna be the little spoon for a change?” you whisper, though you’re already making yourself comfortable–– an arm draped over his stomach, one ankle tucked between both of his.

“Nah,” he replies, leaning his cheek against your hair, “missed you. Missed this.” Carefully, you tilt your head back and place a soft kiss to his lips.

“You know you’re safe with me,” you say, though it sounds more like a question.

“I know.” He means it.

“I love you, Eliot.”

“I love you too, baby.”

“If you need me, wake me up, all right?” you say as you settle back into his chest.

“I’ll try––” he stops himself. “I will.”

“Good,” you whisper. It gets quiet, then, and you focus on the sound of Eliot’s heartbeat, the warmth of having him in your bed again, his arms around you. Eventually, you drift off to the sound of his slow, even breathing.

In the years that come, you’re fairly certain you can count on one hand the times Eliot has fallen asleep before you. This night is one of them.

#eliot spencer x reader #eliot spencer imagine #eliot spencer x gn reader #leverage x reader #leverage imagine #christian kane x reader #christian kane imagine #also tho; #christian kane / #welp here we go

[thelampisaflashlight]

The New You: That Devoured The Old

[Based on the horrible no good idea I came up with last night where Dew is not the same person as the water ghoul that once was. He is an intruder, or so he feels. Angst, manipulation, gaslighting, but ultimately hurt/comfort in the end... but this is not the end.] Below the cut.

The risk of failure was high to begin with, that's why they had the ghouls prepare for the worst outcome; That they'd not see their friend again in this lifetime.

Dew had agreed out of a sense of duty.

Or so he told the others.

It was more like... an easy way out.

"You're sure you want to retire so suddenly?" Papa had frowned, holding the water ghoul's hand in his own, "Without telling them?"

The ghoul nodded.

"I've spent enough time on the surface to know this place isn't for me... Every step I have taken since my arrival has been agonizing, and I would rather not continue to suffer, even for the dark lord's gain."

"And the others?" Papa asked, laying his free hand on his shoulder, "Your friends?"

A laugh.

"Friends?"

Cruel and bitter.

"They mean nothing to me."

They send him back to the pit, hoping to reuse his vessel, but it dissolves into foam and evaporates into a black stain on the stone.

Terzo drags his glove over it with a hum.

"La Sirenetta."

.

.

.

It's dark in the summoning chamber.

Cold.

So terribly cold.

He doesn't know why he's here.

He's scared.

Confused.

Papa approaches him, cupping his chin, turning his face side to side and huffs out an almost disappointed, "Close enough."

Close enough?

"Name?"

He opens his mouth to speak, but someone cuts him off.

"It's pointless to ask." An older woman dressed in black strides forward, "It's Dewdrop."

"I-"

"Say your name."

He tries to repeat his name again, but this time Papa squeezes his jaw painfully, "Try again."

"It's... It's Dewdrop."

"Very good."

Papa releases him, stepping away, looking him over once more.

He sighs, then grins, wicked and charming all at once.

For a moment... for a moment he's relieved and then Papa claps his hands and says...

"Congratulations, you're going to be promoted."

He's afraid.

A shadow moves in the dark, unrecognizable, formless even as it stalks into the dim candlelight.

Drink me.

A clawed hand caresses his cheek, pressing into the red marks left behind by Papa's fingers.

Eat me.

His nose twitches like a frightened rabbit, he pulls back slightly, but his back meets a wall.

Then you'll see the light.

...And then suddenly he's waking up in bed.

Not his own bed, but that... that's not abnormal for him.

He's been a sleepwalker since he was a child.

He has no reason to believe he didn't stray from his room in the midst of that... that nightmare.

It was a nightmare, right?

He looks at his hands.

Wiggles the fingers a bit.

Moves his feet beneath the covers.

There's a mirror on the far wall, and he catches a glimpse of himself, distant enough to accept the reflection he sees.

He's okay.

He's fine.

Just anxious from waking up in a new place after a bad dream.

He climbs out of bed and his legs feel heavy, like he hasn't used them in ages.

"Whoa..." his first steps are a bit wobbly, as graceful as a newborn deer, but he can blame that on having just woken up.

He stumbles, hits his pinkie toe on the leg of the desk chair that's sitting pulled away from where it belongs to face the bed.

He almost falls, yelping at the pain.

"Get it together... C'mon... Let's see where I am..."

He manages to make it to the door, fumbling with the lock, and then again with the knob itself which is apparently broken...

"What?"

He lifts the knob up slightly, turning it as he pulls the door open.

"...Someone needs to fix that."

Right.

Where is he?

He doesn't recognize this hallway.

It's fine, he's gotten lost in the abbey many times before and found his way back to his room!

But...

As he makes his way down the hall, he's confused to find himself in...

In someone's kitchen?

It's very homey and comfortable, not at all like the one in the dorms, and to his right...

"...A living room?"

"Dew?"

He jumps.

"Wha-?"

A blanket falls off the couch revealing an absolutely massive ghoul with thick horns and arms that look like they could rip him in half.

"When did you wake up? Should you be up right now? Goodness..." they fret, moving to stand to their full height, towering over him and then some.

He swallows and blinks.

"I... I'm fine. Just... Just a little confused?" he admits, "Uh... Where... where am I?"

The ghoul's eyes widen.

"Oh satanas... Papa warned us this might happen." the ghoul frets, then places a hand on his chest, "Do you remember who I am?"

He shakes his head.

"Should... Should I know?" he asks, panicking a little.

What did he do last night?!

"It's okay, it's okay... Deep breaths, breathe with me.''

He does.

"I'm Omega, I'm a friend." the ghoul says, placing a hand on their chest, "Terzo... ah... pardon, Papa asked me to take care of you until you're feeling better."

"Papa... But... But he! Last night he-"

Omega shushes him.

"Oh, Dew, it's okay, you've just been through something incredibly difficult on your body and soul, so, please, whatever you're remembering from before... just try to forget, yes?" Omega reaches out and tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear, his fingers gliding across his cheek...

There's a strange... strange tingle that accompanies it, and suddenly he's...

"Okay." he hears himself saying, despite the nagging feeling in the back of his skull that screams that it's not.

It's not okay, but-

Omega pets the top of his head gently.

"...I don't feel so good..." he mumbles, suddenly feeling dizzy, "I feel weird..."

"Oh, poor, Dew..." the ghoul frowns, continuing to pet him soothingly, "I think you should go back to bed, yeah? Let's get you back to your room."

"Okay, but... my room is... it's upst-"

Omega shushes him again.

"You really are confused... Don't worry, it will pass eventually. Come now, let's get you back to bed." the ghoul turns him around and places a hand on the small of his back, nudging him forward.

...And then suddenly he's waking up in bed.

He goes to the door, struggling with the lock, remembering for... for some reason that he needs to lift the knob to open it and-

"Go back to bed."

...And then suddenly he's waking up in bed.

He looks at the door.

He opens it with ease this time.

"You should rest."

...And then suddenly he's waking up in bed.

He isn't sure why, but this room feels...

Familiar now.

He stays in bed.

Wiggles his fingers and toes.

Glances himself in the far mirror and recognizes his reflection in it.

He almost stubs his toe on the chair by his bed when he gets up, but he tucks it in this time before he hits it.

For some reason he remembers that hurting a lot.

He walks to the door...

But he doesn't open it.

Instead he presses his ear to the flat surface and listens.

He can hearing breathing on the other side.

He lowers himself cautiously to the ground and peeks under the gap.

Someone is standing out there, facing away from the door.

He turns and looks to the window as if just realizing it's there despite this...

This is his room.

Why didn't he know there was a window?

He walks over and looks outside.

A tall person with long brown hair wearing a green apron is tending to some flowers.

He tries to open the window, but finds it locked.

He fiddles with the latch and it cracks open just enough to poke his head outside.

The person looks over and smiles, waving.

"Good afternoon, Dew." they say, sounding fond.

Dew?

Oh.

Oh right that's...

"That's me?" he says, still unsure.

The other tilts their head and then walks over, "Omega said you're a bit confused."

"I am."

He is.

"Do you know who I am?"

He shakes his head.

"I'm Mountain." the other says, then leans down, whispering, "If you think someone is lying to you, tell me right away, okay?"

He blinks.

"O-Okay."

Mountain pats his hand.

There's a weird tingle, but it doesn't make his head feel funny.

His cheeks do warm a little, seeing how small his hand is compared to Mountain's, though.

"You should lay back down, I think Omega is going to check on you again soon."

He nods.

"Here." Mountain hands him a little packet of green leaves, "Mint. It helps you focus."

And then, reaching in to pull the window shut.

"Chew a little when you're trying to remember something you can't quite recall... it should help with the confusion."

He nods, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He stuffs the packet inside of his pillow case and lays back down.

.

.

.

And suddenly he's waking up in bed.

#lamp rambles #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #mountain ghoul #omega ghoul #papa emeritus iii #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band fanfic #welp here we go

[thistleation]

Beyond our Space and Starlight: Chapter 1

It was 1 year, 2 months, and 7 days since they lost Shannon. Beatrice kept telling herself they should be past it somehow… and they were, in some ways. Lilith had taken over as leader in the field and fulfilled her duties with competence. Camilla’s smiles remembered how to bloom without sadness again — thank the divine. But something was still missing. There was an emptiness between them that she could not name.

It was like the bleeding had stopped, the flesh had closed, scar tissue formed, but the wound had been too deep. Whenever she reached out to touch, Beatrice still felt a gouge of missing flesh. Of missing her.  

Perhaps it wasn’t them. Perhaps it was only Beatrice. 

She was a soldier. Losing comrades was to be expected. But something about the way they lost Shannon rankled inside her. 

“Demonic Event.” The mere thought of the words still sparked a quiet anger. 

The Bright — supposedly — never caused such a thing, only the Abyss would be at the root of such horror, but nevertheless that night —1 year 2 months 7 days — their team had been called on to deal with precisely that. To fight monsters, people and creatures warped by energies from the beyond. Not the ones that fought with shadow and corruption — like them — as they’d been trained for, but brightly burning things of wind and fire and power. 

They’d been underprepared. Insufficiently trained by an institution that refused to acknowledge something like this was even possible. And Shannon had died for it. Died for the sin of trying to save one more life in the middle of a burning hell set loose. 

Beatrice’s faith had always been strong. Even through her trials, when she touched the Veil and the wrong side touched her back and her whole life had come crashing down around her, Beatrice had done the right thing, joined a convent, lived a life of prayer and penance to quell the darkness inside her. 

If anything it had made her more resolute in her faith, but now… since Shannon… 

Her faith was still strong. She knew that to be true. But she couldn’t help feeling like somewhere in the monolith of her convictions a hairline fracture had formed. 

CONT. on Ao3

#fic: BoSaS #warrior nun #warrior nun fanfic #sci-fi au with eldritch powers #avatrice #WELP HERE WE GO #first published fic with a real story #plz be kind #it has a metric fucktonne of worldbuilding #I apologize for this but also not really #if you like it you like it if you don't you don't

[atempause-art]

Vasil maybe stroke a deal with the god of death, maybe he's just cursed idk, either way he's here taking care of the graves and burying the dead correctly so they dont come back as monsters.

The existence of Samuel, Mája and Benzin as the undead implies he fucked up his job at least three times which is three times more than you should in this profession. skill issue

#welp here we go #atem how bout u put effort into refs #no never thousand shitty ref art attack #oc: vasil

[spacemoth-moth]

me: *stopped playing the ssum, because i stopped enjoying conversation with teo*

cheritz: *releases harry’s route*

me:

#the ssum #the ssum harry #welp here we go #i know now that it won’t last #because the problem for me is not with the characters #but with the game structure by itself #im still curious though #✨

[khalilccrawford]

Tomorrow I'm taking this most intense and important certification exam of my career, and I'm absolutely terrified. It's 4 hours long and with 180 situational questions covering an entire body of knowledge of management. I don't feel ready despite all my prep. I don't feel smart enough to do it. I don't feel like I'm up to par on what I should know. I don't feel like I'm going to pass by only a few points and that terrifies me. I'm genuinely scared to take it.

But I'm gonna do it scared anyway. I owe it to myself to at least try my best. That should be enough, right? Just knowing I put my best foot forward in learning, and practicing, and reviewing - and doing everything I possibly can to pass - that should be enough, right?

I'm at least telling myself that. And trying to calm my nerves. So, fingers crossed. 🤞🏿

#text post #personal #WELP HERE WE GO #i havent been scared or even nervous like this in a very long time #it reminds me of taking tasks as a kid

[bebopbells]

im going to be writing franky. im making him is own blog. dont ask me why he’s getting his own blog. I don’t have an answer to that. if you’re interested lmk and ill link him when he’s ready.

#𝐎𝐎𝐂 : ooc . ⧽ — — i have nothing witty to say here. #welp here we go