#<- not tagging them all noone posts that show

[motherforthefamicom]

uhhh heres a bunch of finished stuff from while ive been gone ig

[katsukikitten]

cum here

Warnings: spit, dub con

A Bakugou Birthday collab read the intro on the ML first!

A notification pulls your attention in your tipsy stupor as you collapse half dressed in your bed. Another successful night out with your girlfriends when your favorite pro hero posts a picture.

A thirst trap no less making you pop up in bed, the room spins delightfully as you stare down at the picture, screen shooting it without a care that he may get a notification for it but you were sure that you wouldn't be the only one.

Bakugou Katsuki, THE Dynamight with his shirt up exposing his abs, his Adonis belt and the vein that leads down to what has to be his fat cock.

You salivate over the thought of it and the several shots of tequila have you feeling bold, although your friends would argue you'd have been this bold sober simply because of how much you spoke about him even if most of the public thought he was an asshole you claimed that's what made him so fucking hot.

Pushing up your tits and angling your phone just right before you snap a photo and attach it to a very public reply before you slip into his dms to send a little something extra.

Bakugou's phone becomes nuclear to say the least, blown up from how many replies and notifications has gotten in such a short time. Each and every woman and the few male prospects are more than attractive and yet none make his cock jump to life, not fully anyway.

Until he sees you, tapping on the picture to make it full screen.

Soft fat tits pressed together, skin aglow in the ambient low light of warm string lights. Tongue lolling past pretty lips, wet muscle most likely fluttering before you took the picture. Obvious that you waited long enough for drool to drip from the tip in a silvery string as some droplets collected on those perfect tits. Pinching his screen to zoom in on your sexy mouth he imagines pressing his angry cock head against before he shoved his length until you gagged around him.

He groans at the thought, zooming out to take in all of you before he finally reads the caption..

Cum here.

“Fuck.” He growls, clicking on your profile, going to privately message you in hopes of more pictures. Palm moving to free his cock from his boxers when he sees you messaged him first.

Sharing your location with the pro hero like a fucking idiot. What if Bakugou had been hacked?

And here you were offering yourself up on a silver platter.

Cum here echoes in his head as he backs out to your selfie and before he can talk himself out of it he's jumping back into the tight black denim that never made it past his thighs.

You lock your phone falling back into your bed after you've seen that he's read your messages. Sighing as you hadn't expected much else, especially since it was his birthday and half of the feed were thirst traps of others tagging Dynamight in hopes of getting his attention. He ignored every single one of them, even from well known models and porn stars, so what chance did you really have?

Still, it was fun to be a little delusional every now and again.

Fireworks echo in the distance and you're surprised the spring festival was going this late into the night. Never one to miss a good show you rise from your bed, topless and half drunk to watch the last of the fireworks before you'd pass out, sleep well past noon before ordering a fat order or take out.

Leaving the sliding glass door open when the cool night air makes you shiver and regret foregoing a shirt. Eyes adjusting to the dark easily but your eyebrow furrows up in confusion. You hear the fireworks but you can't see them.

At least not well, a small orange burst that makes you wonder if maybe they aren't fireworks at all, that maybe it was just a villain making their grand escape.

Scoffing you turn, closing the sliding glass door only for it to be stopped in its tracks. Looking up for see a hulking shirtless man shrouded in darkness on your balcony. Smoke, caramel and whisky envelope your senses as the man breathes evenly behind you. You blink once, twice before you register his eye color.

Toxic, crystalline bromine.

"Dynamight?”

“In the flesh, Sweetheart.” He removes his hand from the frame of the door, takes a step towards you and you step back.

Stalking forward until you're both fully in the room and he delights in the mixture of emotions in your eyes. Fear, excitement, arousal.

“Haaah, what's wrong? Little kitty is acting more like a cornered bunny. Ya scared?” He leers over you, crowding your space, “Shouldn't be. Yer the one who invited the big bad wolf.”

Grabbing onto your chin to turn your pretty face this way and that, he doesn't even need to force his eyes away from your chest, your face captivates him that much. He runs his tongue across his teeth before he smirks.

“Now where am I supposed to cum again?” His large thumb swipes over your plush lips before he shoves it between them, forcing your mouth open.

He tries to recreate the picture you sent him, watches the wet muscle flutter and it makes him salivate. Makes him gather it in his mouth before he's pushing it the tip of his tongue letting his spit hit your tongue.

“Right here wasn't it?” He mixes his spit with yours with his thumb, pressing down on your tongue harshly. He watches your eyes widen before they narrow, into that hungry cat gaze that was in your photo.

Eyes that devour him whole as you hollow your cheeks to suck on his thumb. Swirling it around the digit before you pop off of him, the lewd sound echoing around the two of you.

You're fast, faster than Bakugou, especially drunk, expects. Jumping onto him and wrapping your legs around his waist, bucking your hips to make him fall onto the bed with a grunt as your tongue slides into his mouth. He paws at you heavily, grabbing at all your delicious softness as he growls into your mouth, calloused hands still warm from his journey here. Launching himself into the air that did little to sober him after he stalked your profile enough to get your apartment floor and balcony right.

Your claws dig into the nape of his neck as you bring him into a sitting position parting the kiss slowly, letting the silvery string that connects the two of you snap on its own.

“Gonna let me take care of the birthday boy and his special request?” You practically purr, crawling down his body as your fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers and jeans. All but ripping them from his body even when he lifts his hips to help you free his cock while he grunts out a “‘Course.”

It stands at attention, jumping as your eyes fixate on the one thing you've fucked yourself to the thought of hundreds of times. Drunk all over again, eyes falling to half mast as your hand grips him firmly, listening to him hiss over the contact before you give him a few languid pumps.

Hovering over him for a moment before you look up, watching his pupils blown wide, wider than what they were at the door. Soft almost unnoticeable red tint to his cheeks as he tries to control his breath.

“Try not to fall in love.” You giggle, lolling your tongue out to swipe over the leaking slit in a quick stripe.

“Ya wish, Sweetheart.” But already his head is falling back, hands reaching to grab at your hair before you swipe him away.

Slowly taking him into your mouth, hand gripping what you can't fit into your mouth, letting his fat cock head gag so that your throat contacts the same way your cunt would. Saliva pooling past your lips to coat his shaft, gagging again when you hear him groan before you start a steady pace.

Bobbing your head, alternating hollowing your cheeks and letting him ram into the back of your throat. Giggling when you push his head into the pocket of your cheek, holding eye contact and he reaches down to pull his balls harshly.

He's never been this close to cumming with such little effort.

You let your molars graze him lightly before straightening him in your mouth again. Sure to hit your gag reflex purposefully so that his pre and your spit soak his neatly trimmed pubic hair that's starting to slick to his skin.

If you're lucky he'll stay long enough for your pussy to do that to him too. Cunt neglected as it soaks your underwear as you adjust your weight on your knees for some sort of friction.

Moaning around him when he groans loudly, at his hisses and growls of sugared curses that do nothing but encourage your sinful movements.

Katsuki is panting, the man with all the endurance in the world is fighting the building coil in his lower abdomen and losing.

Bakugou Katsuki never loses but tonight he just might.

Letting his fingers card through your hair before he's pulling harshly, still you don't budge. Lost in your mission to make this last as long as possible by changing from a speed that's bound to make his cum flood your mouth to a slow bob that has you gagging around his sensitive head every time.

Letting your eyes flicker to look up at him and his debauched face, throughly fucked out as his chest heaves eyes fixated on you even as he struggles to hold his head up as if he couldn't bare to look away from.the things you do to him.

The sight is enough to make your eyes flutter, to make you moan around him and the vibrations make his sac tighten, moving your hand so you can shove all of him deep into your tight throat, tears in your eyes that stick in long lashes and fall in fat droplets as you bob on his entire length, once, twice.

And he can't take it, the sight, your eyes all but begging him to cum as you choke yourself on him, as if his pleasure was more important than air.

“Oh fuck princess, just like that.” He groans, cupping the back of your skull as he presses enough to make you gag one last time before he bucks his hips up into you. Starving you of air as your nose is pressed to his pelvic bone while he paints your pretty throat in sticky white cum, your claws digging into the thick meat of his thighs deliciously.

Finally he lets you up and you gasp desperately for air even if you found his aggression as he chased his high undeniably hot. You expect him to smirk, expect him to laugh or to leave pulling up his pants in a hurry but he doesn't.

Instead his large hand grips your chin, pulling you to him as his free hand comes to wrap around your sensitive ribs. Closing the space so that he can kiss you, swiping his tongue over yours shamefully groaning into your mouth as he tastes himself mixed with your spit.

“Fuck.” He pulls you onto the bed, flipping the two of you so he can pin you to the mattress chasing your lips desperately. His other hand has a mind of its own as it rips your panties from your hot core, fingers quick to press and spread your glistening folds. Cruelly avoiding your clit before he shoves two thick digits knuckle deep into your drooling cunt.

Forcing you to arch off the bed, pumping into you with a harsh pace, fingers perfectly positioned to bully that spongy spot that has you seeing stars before he times it perfectly.

Pulling away enough to look you in your eyes before he slowly, roughly, swipes his thumb over your clit and makes you cum in a matter of seconds, faster than any toy. You arch off the bed with a moan so loud you're sure the neighbors know his name now, little do you know what else he has in store.

Removing his middle and ring finger from your fluttering cunt reluctantly, quick to press the digits to his tongue harshly. Smoky caramel fills your senses as his palm heats against the fabric by your head. Leaning over you again to swipe his tongue against yours to taste the two of you melded together in your hot, hungry mouth. He pulls away, hand gently cupping your throat as he holds your gaze, cock heavy and hard again as he aligns it with your still convulsing entrance.

“Sorry Sweetheart, guess I fell in love.” He bullies himself into you in one harsh thrust and you're seeing stars again.

“Now I gotta return the favor.”

[tpwk-formula1]

Biggest Fan - CL16

Requested by @nina-or-anna-or-nora "Heyy!! 💕 I saw you were asking some requests so I have one for an Smau!! (If you want to do it ofc) I was thinking about the reader being kinda like Sabrina or Olivia (a performer) and then Charles being like her biggest fan🤭just a super cute fluffy thing and he goes to every show he can or posts her and stuff🥹"

AN - Had so much fun writing this SMAU for you! Don't be afraid to send in requests that aren't apart of the Pizza Menu! I love Sabrina but I'm not a die hard fan so I have no idea how many outfit changes she has or the order she performs so if it's a little messed up I apologize! Also LMK if you wanna see me do this with more drivers and make it a little series of the drivers being head over heels for their girl friend!

Summary: Just Charles being in love with Y/N... and basically everyone in the F1 community!

Charles insta stories over the fall break

Twitter

Charles instagram

Liked by landonorris, youruser, carlossainz, and 2,090,513 others

charlesleclerc We're ready for you Austin ft. Y/N and all the fan gifted hats that will make an appearance this weekend tagged carlossainz and youruser

user5 I love how he makes a post for work and still finds a way to get Y/N in there

user6 your honor... it's them. It's always them!

youruser I'm ready to be back in my home soil!

user7 I constantly forget our girl is from the US charlesleclerc you mean MY girl user8 Charles will never learn to share charlesleclerc not when it comes to MY Y/N youruser alright calm it down you charlesleclerc yes maam

user9 I hate feeling single but I do love you guys!

carlossainz Will I ever get a post with just us?

user10 Carlos... they're a package deal user11 If I don't expect anything less, you shouldn't either youruser damn... catching strays carlossainz Y/N I thought we were friends!

load more comments

Your insta story

user12 how does it feel to be living my dream

carlossainz he's been smiling at his phone for 10 minutes because you posted him

youruser I love knowing he loves me as much as I love him

user13 his eyes

charlesleclerc that's one lucky man

youruser he really is!

user14 I love the way you guys love each other

landonorris you guys disgust me with how cute you are together

youruser you wish this was you huh? landonorris I miss when you were to shy to interact with us... kinda a meanie youruser you'll learn to survive

Twitter

your Instagram

Liked by charlesleclerc, yourbff, oliviarodrigo, and 3,092,172 others

youruser Thanks for the warm welcome home... see you in a few weeks for Vegas!

Look for a surprise tomorrow around noon YeeHaw time!

charlesleclerc Ooooo I wanna know the surprise

user18 I can't believe I have notifications on and Charles is still here before me

charlesleclerc you snooze you lose! gotta be quicker than that! youruser love you need to be a bit nicer! user18 no this is on me... I should know no matter how much I love you Charles just loves you that much more! user19 I'm sobbing at this! Charles is so unhinged when it comes to Y/N

landonorris Can I also know the surprise

charlesleclerc NO!

user20 YeeHaw time is SENDING me! For anyone confused she's talking about CST

user21 THANK YOU! It makes so much sense now that you've explained but as a non F1 Y/N fan I didn't realize she was in Texas haha

user22 I love their height difference. I forget just how SMALL Y/N is.

Your Insta Story

charlesleclerc I can't wait to watch you!!

user23 HOLY SHIT! I can't fucking wait!

user24 omg! I'm so excited for this!!

landonorris: I hope you have a ticket saved with my name on it!

youruser: I do including the rest of the grid... spread the word pleaseeee

user25: Oh to be in the US rn to experience this concert! I just know it's gonna be amazing

Twitter

Charles Insta story during the show

Max's Insta story during the show

Youruser: Max! hahaha you had me cracking up in the first slide... then tearing up through laughter in the second. Thank you so much for finding time in your title fight to support!

maxverstappen1: I wouldn't have missed it! Had to see what all the hype was about. Please invite me again

Grid Members Stories (Lando, Carlos, Oscar, Yuki, Liam, Franco)

[tiktaalic]

pa said the well's run dry he said the bank came out yesterday and said we're gonna have to sell the blog and get work in the city like the rest of folks less we can come up with something real quick. he was all ready to sign the papers today but i begged him to wait to give me time to find something anything and he sighed and said he could give me a week and not a minute more. and i nodded and i cried because he was right when he said there was next to nothing i could do and even if i did find a miracle. all our neighbors shuffled off weeks months years ago because the posts dried up and the bank came knocking. i break open my piggy bank hoping there's enough drafts in there to tide us over. i sit there. and i have to decide if it's worth spending everything i have just to buy us an extra day. and i know this extra day will consist of walking around mute and shellshocked. and i decide. it's worth it. i give pa all my drafts and he looks at me and shakes his head and his voice cracks when he says i better keep hold of those for getting settled in the city. i could fight him. i don't. i leave all my drafts on the table and storm out the back door. there must be something. they must have just missed it. pa says he knows this blog better than anyone. but i grew up here, same as him. and as much as he loves it, i love it more. when i was seven years old he tore the place apart looking for me after i wandered off. but i wasn't lost. i'd found a tag to play in, happy as could be. he never found me, or the tag, i just wandered back out when i got hungry. it's pa's blog, but it's my home. i know where the creeks and streams and ponds are. i know if i look hard enough, i can find a new posting well.

day one, i strike out. i wake up before dawn. i come in after dusk with no posts to show for it. pa's boxing up our plates when i walk in. he doesn't say anything. i don't either.

day two, i wander a further. yesterday, i was following a map with areas of interest marked in order of likelihood of success. today, i pick a direction and walk. i have more to show for it, if only barely. i get home with one bucket of posts. pa tells me i should keep them.

day three i wake up because pa's dragging furniture into the yard for a yard sale. when i ask him what he's doing he says he'd rather be paid flop drafts by our neighbors than flop drafts by the bank. i walk back inside. get my map. i get home after midnight with empty hands.

day four. when i wasn't looking, the cold single minded determination turned into fear. i'm realizing i'm running out of time. i'm realizing the reason pa didn't put up a fight is because he knew there was nothing out here. i could kill him. what kind of farmer depends on one well? my heart isn't in it today. i head out after noon. i'm back before dusk. there's been a stack of empty boxes sitting outside my room since pa told me the news. i haven't touched them. tonight, i take one and put away some of my things.

day five. there's more ground to cover. it's more out of a sense of completion than anything. so that when we're in the city, i can say, i did everything i could. i looked everywhere. this was the only option. i stop midday for a rest. the ground i put my palms on is curiously softer than the rest. i dig. it comes away easily. it turns into mud. heart thudding in my ears, i keep digging. the mud gives way to a trickle of posts. ears roaring. i keep digging. hands covered in mud. the trickle turns into a stream. i start yelling for pa. i'm too far from the house for him to hear me, but i'm not thinking about that right now. i'm thinking about the posts in front of me, clear and fresh. text posts. gifs. amvs. there's enough to live another twenty years on this blog. i splash my face. i laugh. i fill my bucket. i'll have to bring more. we'll have to get the pump set up. because there are enough new supernatural posts here for me and my children to build a life.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Cool for the Summer 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After finishing your degree, you return home only to find things aren't as you left them.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: Hellooooooooo. I've done it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The heat is suffocating. There’s so many people crammed into the tight space. Enough to smother you and make you sweat. You're close to the end. 

The train is finally still and passengers rise to take down their bags and form a queue along the center aisle. You stay patiently in your seat. You’d rather wait there then brave the crowded shuffle as the impatience to disembark mounts. 

At last, the doors open and people begin to move. You don’t stand until the last person passes your row. Your suitcase is at the front of the car with the bigger luggage. 

Step-by-step you make your way up and slip your bag off the middle shelf. You haul it awkwardly to the door and the man on the ground helps bring it down. You thank him, looking only at his branded pin, and step off. 

You drag the bag behind you and hike up the smaller bag on your shoulder. You’re exhausted and it’s not even noon. The automatic doors stand open as the other passengers enter the station. You follow and wheel your bag to the side so you’re out of the way. 

You take out your phone. Your mother texted that she was here ten minutes ago. You can’t see much through the busy station. It’s summer and everyone is on their way somewhere; going home or heading out on vacation. 

You’re relieved to be back but you won’t be able to relax until you’re at your mom’s house. You can’t wait to hide in your room and catch up on your reading. After four years at college, you have a long list. 

As endless as your list may be, your reprieve won’t be. You have your degree now. You need to use it. Find a job, start your life, be an adult. The prospect is exciting but terrifying. More the latter as it entails associating with strangers. You’ve never been very good at that. 

You did so well in school because it’s all you did. You didn’t go out and party, you didn’t distract yourself with dating or drinking, you didn’t even sign up for that book club that looked fun. You only stayed in and studied and occasionally ate in the cafe instead of boiling ramen or ordering in. 

You don’t see her. You roll over to a free seat and sit. You text and ask where she is. 

The general public stirs around you, blending into your peripherals as you stare at your phone and wait. You’d be better off waiting outside. Maybe. There’s a line of taxis and it’s all clustered with people trying to claim one. 

“Ahem, excuse me.” The deep tone draws your head up but your eyes don’t go all the way. You focus on the man’s neck and the silver and brown stubble under his chin. He says your name and you sit up taller. “That’s you, right? Your mom showed me a pic. She’s just run to the bathroom.” 

“Huh?” You clutch your bag tight. 

“She did tell you I was coming, didn’t she?” He asks. 

You shake your head and gnaw on your lip, “no. Who are you?” 

You don’t know him. Not by his voice or the brief peek at his face. He’s older. Maybe her age. His dark hair is peppered with grey and his face is lined around his eyes and mouth, a few softer wrinkles in his forehead. His blue eyes are as bold as gems. 

“Bucky.” He answers as if that should be explanation enough. He offers his hand. “Finally, we meet.” 

You look around and accept his hand. You shake it. “Um, okay?” 

He lets you go and grabs the handle of your suitcase. You reach for it in panic and stand. You nearly tip over and barely avoid brushing against him. 

“She didn’t mention me. At all?” 

You shake your head. 

“Bucky,” your mom’s voice undercuts the awkward introduction. You turn to watch her flutter over. “Oh, sweetie, you’re home!” 

Your mom seizes you and wraps you in a tight hug. She usually lets you have your space. You’ve never been touchy feely but you don’t protest. It has been a while since you saw her. 

“Um, mom?” You murmur as she releases you. 

She steps back and looks between you and the stranger. No, his name is Bucky. 

“Oh, yes. You two. This is Bucky. Bucky--” 

“We met,” Bucky interrupts. 

“So sorry. I had an iced coffee on the way,” she trills. 

“Bucky?” You raise your brows in your mom’s direction. 

“You remember. I told you I met a guy,” she lowers her voice and nudges you. “This is him.” 

“Oh.” 

You vaguely remember her mentioning it after Christmas. You didn’t think too much about it. You don’t remember it coming up again. She always just said she went out or talked about chores. You wonder if she didn’t tell you on purpose. If maybe she expected you to overreact. 

“We thought we could take you out for lunch as a bit of a homecoming. That train food isn’t very filling.” She smiles. “Well, it was Bucky’s idea. He’s so sweet.” 

“Honey,” he chuckles. “Please, you��re giving me a lot to live up to.” 

“Erm. If you want.” You shrug. 

“Sounds like a plan. I’m starving.” Bucky pulls your bag away and you flinch again. “Ladies, first. Want me to get your other bag?” He offers and you shake your head.  

Your mom moves first and you quickly catch up to her. You wish she’d at least warned you. You’re entirely unprepared for this. She knows you don’t do well with new people but maybe that’s why she didn’t say anything. So you couldn’t come up with an excuse to get out of it. 

The sun beats down and adds to the sheet of sweat across your nape. Bucky looms behind you, his shadow skewing on the pavement, and you search for your mom’s car. You don’t see it. 

She leads you to a dark blue car and you stare at it dumbly. 

“Bucky drove,” your mom explains. The trunk pops as Bucky rolls your bag up. You step back as he lifts it inside. You thank him again as guilt bristles in your chest. 

You follow your mom around the side of the car, waiting for her lead. When she opens the door, you open the back one. When she gets in, you get it. When she clips in her seat belt, you do. Bucky gets in on the driver’s side and drops his keys in the little tray between the cup holders. He jabs the button to turn the engine. 

He doesn’t shift into gear right away. He does up his own seat belt, adjusts his posture, then fiddles with the mirror. You glance up as his eyes dart away in the mirror. Was he looking at you?

You pick at the hem of your sleeves button-up and lean into the door. You really hope you’re not in the way. You have that rotting sensation in your gut. You’ve ruined their day. 

“Alright, everyone buckled in?” He grips the wheel with one hand, the other hooking behind your mother’s seat as he cranes and backs out of the spot. You stare at his thick fingers as you slump down in self-consciousness. You know he’s only checking his rear window but you’re always paranoid of being seen. 

He rolls the car straight and steers between the slanted rows of vehicles. He idles behind the fleet of cabs and weaves his way through the chaos. Your mom sighs and shifts. She’s a less than patient driver. 

“So, we were thinking the new bar and grill, figured you haven’t been around to try it,” your mom explains. “But if you miss Dezi’s, we can go there. Me and Bucky love getting Sunday lunch there. You remember how we used to go?” 

Your lips twitch as you fright a frown. Dezi’s is your place. You and your mom went there since you were in grade school. Knowing she’s been taking him feels like a violation. The suspicion that you’re being replaced unnerves you. You don’t have any right to be mad about it. You’re grown now and your mom’s allowed to live her life. Thing’s change, they already have. 

“New place is fine,” you grumble. 

“Great! Megan recommended it. I’ve been dying to try it.” Your mom is elated. 

She’s never short of enthusiasm but you don’t know the last time she didn’t have a single complaint. If it’s a nice day, she’s disappointed she can’t be at the beach. If she has the day off, she’s upset she has to do the laundry, even if you offer to throw it in with yours. And when she finally gets her food at a restaurant, she laments that she didn’t order the chicken instead of beef. Maybe change is good. 

“Your mom’s a great tour guide. I don’t feel so lost anymore.” Bucky stops at a light and looks at her. “Uh, Lauren?” 

“Straight then left,” she instructs him with a point of her finger. Her nails are done. Not her usual chipped paint on her short square cuticles; she has a full set with a lovely almond shape. 

He follows her directions and continues through the green. You turn your attention out the window. You were only just home for the holidays but everything feels so different. Or maybe you are too.  

There’s nothing ahead of you no, yet everything at the same time. You haven’t found much in your job search. Every job your mom sent you, you applied. You trawled the online boards and even used the student career center for help with your CV. A dozen articles littered your feed deeming the market oversaturated. 

Another disappointment for your mom. You’re sure she won’t fail to mention this one. You exhale and twine your fingers together in your lap. 

“Tired, sweetie?” Your mom asks. 

“Uh, yeah,” you answer. It wouldn’t do any good to share your worries. You still have time to find a job. Eventually, you have to get something. 

“Alright,” Bucky flicks his blinker on and waits to turn. “Here we are.” 

He pulls into the lot of the bar and grill. It’s built to resemble a log cabin and the entire theme has a rustic tint. He slides into a spot and shuts the engine off. In the silence, your stomach rumbles loudly. 

“Hungry?” He chuckles and peeks back over his shoulder. As your mom jostles her purse and untangles her seat belt, he winks. Your blink dumbly and click the button to release yourself. 

“Sure.” Your voice creaks as you pull the door handle. It doesn’t budge. You try again. Then frantically feel around for the lock. 

“Oops.” Bucky turns and hits a switch. The locks thunk back. 

Your mom gets out first and you follow. Bucky catches up and brushes by you as he passes. He beats you both to the front door and opens it for you. You trail your mom and he stays close as he enters behind you. 

“Such a gentleman,” your mom praises and giggles. She sounds bubbly. You can’t remember her sounding like that before. 

“Table for three,” Bucky says to the hostess. 

Again, he lets you go ahead of him. Your mom is ahead of you as the hostess leads you into the dining room. You’re sat at a booth. You’re relieve to have a bench to yourself, facing your mother and Bucky, but she insists on being on the outside in case she needs the bathroom. That leaves you across from him. 

“Drinks.” Bucky intones as he grabs the slender menu. “Cocktails?” 

“What do they have?” Your mom leans on him as she reads over his shoulder. 

“Hmm, interesting. Apple cider’s a bit out of season,” Bucky comments. “Figured we should celebrate. Baby girl is home and graduated.” 

You wince at the reference. Baby girl? He sucks his teeth as he examines the menu then turns it around. He offers it across the table. 

“Think I'll stick to beer,” he says. 

“Go on,” your mom goads. “Get something special, sweetie. You earned it.” 

“Oh, it’s okay, I’ll just have water.” 

“It’s a special day,” she insists.  

“Well, er...” you take the menu and nod. You look down at the listings as your cheeks burn hot. You don’t like to argue, especially when there’s no good reason. 

You try to make sense of it. Blackberry sounds good but you’re not sure what bitters are. You don’t drink. You had one glass of wine at a New Years party with your mom’s friends a few years ago and didn’t really get the appeal. It made your stomach feel swishy. 

There’s a lemonade that sounds okay. You like lemonade. You settle on that and put the menu down. Your mother scoops it up and you apologise. You should’ve asked her if she needed it. 

A server appears and takes your drink orders as she doles out a set of larger menus. You take yours and listen as she recites the specials. You don’t really catch any of it. You’ve always done better with writing than oral instruction. She leaves and you wait for the others to open their menu before you do the same. 

“This is nice,” your mom says. “I’m so happy you two are getting along.” 

You force a smile and Bucky slips his arm around her and squeezes. Your eyes meet again and his cheek dimples beneath his beard. You quickly avert your attention back to the sandwich options.

Getting along? You barely know him. Not to mention, you didn’t expect him. No use in whining about it. He's here and your mother is happy. 

[undressrehearsal]

right back where we started

summary: ellie is on tour as the opener for a popular band. she begrudgingly passes through the hometown that she had sworn she would never see again and runs into the one good thing she left behind.

tags: some sad stuff, ellie has daddy issues, mentions of alcohol, modern au, not rockstar ellie but that same kinda genre???, no smut in this one sorry this is all setting the scene, this is another shorter one 3.6k words

a/n: listen. I'm gonna level with yall. life's been fucking insane. it's been what 3 months since I posted something?? and it's because 1. my fiancée and I are buying a house 2. and planning a wedding 3. I work 45 hour weeks (at a job I hate so much omg) 4. I'm writing a book and 5. I'm preparing for a p major surgery (I go on tuesday)

so yeah, life's been insane. but I missed writing fics. I'm writing my book so I never stopped writing but writing a lil fun fic just hits different yk?

anyway enjoy and look forward to a few (I'm thinking 3?) parts of this

love yall. reply and lmk if you wanna be added to my tag list. also I'm posting this on my phone so the formatting might be fucked lmk

part 1

Ellie couldn’t remember the last time she had been in this city.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She could remember exactly the last time she had been in this city. She had watched it disappear in her mirror when she had driven her bike west three years ago in search of the horizon. She had hoped she would find something more once she got there - more than the dingy dorm room she had loosely called home and the classes that had made her eyes glaze over; something more than playing at the bar’s open mic nights, her guitar hard to hear over the noisy din of drunk students and drunker professors; something more than a future that had been planned for her by the time she was in high school.

Her dad had kicked her out after she dropped out, of course, but that was fine. She had planned to leave that night anyway; she had kept a packed bag hidden underneath her bed for months. She hadn’t seen him in three years, either, and she planned to keep it that way.

But when she woke up and saw the city outside the bus window, silhouetted against the rising sun, something in her chest rose to her throat and refused to be swallowed back down.

She hadn’t missed it - but as she looked down at her shaking hands, Ellie figured her body must not have gotten that memo.

The band she was traveling with were still sleeping; she could hear the singer snoring in her bunk, could see the bassist's leg sticking out into the aisle. She had never been a morning bird - back at her shitbox apartment, you'd rarely catch her up before noon - but something about being stuck on a bus for days made her restless. It was her first time touring - after three years of playing at open mics and taking small jobs singing at the senior center - and she wasn't used to feeling her own bed constantly shifting beneath her.

Which is how she always ended up pacing the length of the bus, tapping her fingers against her thighs as the confined world around her slept, waiting desperately for the driver to pull off to whatever venue they had booked. She wasn't sure what the band did before their shows in the evenings, but she didn't stick around long enough to ask. Maybe it was rude, but she couldn't force herself to hang out with the band who only chose her because their usual opener had “flaked” on them - which was how they described it when the opener couldn't travel with them for several months after their mother had just died.

So, yeah, Ellie couldn’t find it in herself to feel bad about it when she rushed off the bus as soon as it parked, not even sticking around to let the band know where she was going. They wouldn't care either way. Hell, they were probably so hungover they wouldn't wake up until their show started in several hours.

The driver - his name was Zachary (never Zach) and he was the only one who paid her any mind - helped Ellie hoist her bike down from the rack on the back of the bus. The band had teased her about bringing it, bitching about how it showed she didn't want to hang out with them. She had been tempted to tell them they were right, but she couldn't really risk losing the first real gig she’d gotten. She lifted the seat and dug her helmet out, waving to Zachary as he disappeared back into the bus to get his own well-deserved rest.

The purr of the bike was a familiar comfort beneath her. Lowering the visor of her helmet to block out the sun, she squinted at the streets sprawled before her. She realized, with dizzying familiarity, that she was in the next neighborhood over from her old apartment. Hell, she had watched a few shows at the venue she was playing at - something in her stomach clenched.

Fuck, she needed coffee.

With the wind cold against her bare arms, Ellie let the world fly by, the city waking up around her. Her phone remained snuggly in her bag; she didn't need directions here, the familiar streets leading her down well-worn paths, winding all the way back to a life that was no longer hers.

It was muscle memory that led her back to the coffee shop she had frequented as a student. She looked up at it, a glow around its worn brick from the rising sun, and something tightened in her chest. They had replaced the patio chairs - the old ones had been practically falling apart three years ago - but otherwise it hadn't changed.

Ellie cursed under her breath, swallowing around the foreign lump in her throat, and climbed off her bike. When she took the steps two at a time, it felt like somebody else had taken the wheel. It was a familiar stranger that opened the door.

The smell hit her first. They say that scent has the strongest tie to memory, and the smell of burnt coffee beans hit her like a punch. There had always been a sweetness underneath it, something she had never been able to place but thought might be honey? When she stepped up to the counter, she could even smell the milk they were steaming.

The barista - a young girl with faded pink hair tied up into space buns - looked up from her phone and said, in a voice teetering on the edge between cheerful and bored, “How’s it going?”

Ellie took her in briefly, noting the brown corduroy overalls and the star-shaped nose ring, and was comforted knowing that this place was just as queer as she had left it. She would bet money on the fact that if she peeked over the counter, this girl would be wearing beat up Docs. She was young enough to be a student - probably an English major, if she had to guess.

She always ordered the same thing - iced mocha with oat milk. She had never understood why her dad drank his coffee black.

The barista - her tag said Dianna She/Her/Hers - eyed her as she rang Ellie up, brows quirked. When she smiled, dimples caved her cheeks. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you a student?”

Ellie fought the urge to groan - this girl was just trying to be friendly (and was probably trying to decide if Ellie’s flannel meant she was gay or was just a bad fashion choice), but the last thing she wanted to do after failing to sleep on a bus and waking up at the ass-crack of dawn was to make small talk.

Still, she smiled and said, “I used to be.”

She paid and stuffed the remainder of her cash into the tip jar. When Dianna thanked her, her cheeks were as pink as her hair. Ellie could feel her eyes lingering on her as she walked away, nodding awkwardly in thanks.

This place really hadn’t changed in three years. The coffee shop had a reputation of students writing all along the walls - over a decade ago, they had simply stopped trying to paint over it, so the walls were littered in signatures and drawings and claims of call this number for a good time. Scattered poetry was written along the edges of the windows, an incredibly detailed Sharpie drawing of a cat peeking over the top of the doorway. When she searched for it, she found that her own scrawled handwriting was still there, small letters where nobody would think to look, right underneath the thermostat: Find me where the sun sets east. Don’t forget me.

She swallowed the lump that threatened to choke her and stepped away. Her eyes stung from sleep deprivation and nothing more.

Ellie scanned the room and found that, to her annoyance, nearly every table was taken. Students huddled around notebooks and laptops, engrossed in their work or else on Netflix to avoid studying. Professors blinked wearily, clutching their own cups of coffee as though they were lifelines holding them to this realm. Ellie could see the spot she had frequented herself - a booth tucked by the window, where she could write her songs in a dingy notebook without anyone looking over her shoulder.

Now, there was a guy with his cheek pressed to the cold surface, snoring lightly.

Ellie jumped when Dianna called her name, holding out a cup so filled with coffee that it trickled over the side and down the glass. Ellie took it gingerly, holding it in careful fingers to not spill any more on the countertop.

Dianna held onto the cup for several seconds longer than necessary, her fingers - cold from the glass - lingering on Ellie's. When a crooked smile pulled at her lips, her brown eyes sparkled. There was a teasing tilt to her voice when she said, “I hope to see you around, Ellie.”

Ellie gave her what she hoped was a friendly smile - judging by the way Dianna’s cheeks bloomed pink, she must have succeeded - before turning away. She almost felt guilty for the relief she felt when she found there was no phone number left on her glass this time. She was never sure whether it was nicer to ghost somebody or to send a gentle rejection through text, and she did not have the energy for that decision.

She turned, searching for an empty seat to slouch in and try not to fall asleep into her coffee, when her eyes found you.

You hadn’t changed a bit.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true either. You had changed - anybody would in three years. You had changed your hair, and now you dressed differently than she remembered - you used to bitch so much about how you couldn’t dress how you wanted, and now, looking at you three years later, she was happy to see that you were finally dressing like all those pictures you had saved in your little Pinterest folder of “outfit inspo.”

Ellie could see the mark of three whole years, but truthfully, you hadn’t changed. You were slouched over a laptop, leaning way too close to the screen, and you still had that pinch between your brows when you concentrated, the one that she used to run her thumb over; she could still feel how soft your skin was beneath her fingers.

She should have ignored you - she should have gone to slump in a corner of the coffee shop like she had planned, trying not to fall asleep into her cup and pretending to not notice you even as her eyes kept cutting across the cafe to find you again. She should have pushed the memories away just like she had pushed away all of the other memories associated with this city - hell, she should have never come back to this city in the first place. There were too many memories here that she had spent three years, a thousand miles, and an ocean of whiskey running away from.

And yet Ellie found her feet carrying her over to your table of their own volition. She walked the tightrope between who she is and who she once was, chasing a memory of the only good thing she left behind.

You didn’t look up at her as she approached. You kept your head bowed over your laptop, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth. There was no reason for you to look up - Ellie could have been any nameless stranger coming to bother you when you were clearly just trying to work.

But Ellie had never been good at leaving well enough alone. Which is why she hesitated for only a moment before reaching out and tapping lightly on your shoulder. She had to bite back a laugh when you jumped, pulling your headphones from your ears and swiveling around to look up at her.

She’d be lying if she said her heart didn’t do an embarrassing acrobatic jump when you met her eyes. And she had always been a terrible liar.

“Hey,” Ellie said, trying her damnedest to keep her voice steady; she only somewhat succeeded. She cleared her throat, lowering her voice when she said, “Remember me?”

Satisfaction bloomed warm in her stomach when your eyes widened, taking in the sight of her. Truthfully, she must’ve looked like shit; she had had to take a disturbingly brief shower at the last rest stop - the water apparently didn’t get any warmer than antarctic - and she hadn’t looked in a mirror for a few days. She had forgotten to pack her brush, so her hair must have been standing up at odd angles. And God knew what the lack of sleep was doing to the ever-growing shadows under her eyes.

But none of this stopped you from running your eyes down her body, cheeks pink when you finally looked up to meet her eyes again. And Ellie couldn’t stop the slow smile that spread across her face, her own cheeks growing warm. It wasn’t intentional when her voice dropped another octave, nearly a murmur when she said, mostly to herself, “Yeah, you remember me.”

“Holy shit, Ellie?” You jumped to your feet, a smile pulling at your lips as you gripped her arm. The familiar shine in your eyes did something funny to her stomach that she was way too stubborn to name. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was just, uh- just passing through town,” she found herself saying, rubbing at the back of her neck. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but explaining to you the actual reason she finally came back to this hell-hole town suddenly seemed daunting. “Wanted to check out some old haunts, I guess.”

And then you just… looked at her, for several long moments - long enough to make Ellie squirm. Your eyes bore into hers, searching for something that she had buried three years ago.

You jumped, and whatever spell that was floating between you broke when your phone buzzed from where it still sat on the table. You scooped it up and flashed an apologetic smile to the glaring student a few seats away. Swiping at the screen, you cursed under your breath:

“Fuck, I have to get to class.” You looked back up at her again, a question behind your eyes, and Ellie had never wished so hard that she could read minds. You hesitated for only a moment before saying, words rushed, “Do you want to walk with me?” Before Ellie could respond, you continued, picking up your cup and fiddling with the straw, “It feels like forever since I’ve seen you and I want to catch up. But you’re probably busy, so you don’t have to-”

“I’d love to,” she cut you off, trying to smother the smile that pulled at her pink cheeks. She failed drastically when you smiled back at her.

After asking for a to-go cup from Dianna - thankfully no number written on the plastic cup either, despite the way the barista eyed Ellie as she left - she followed you out the door and back into the blinding morning sun. The mid-October air bit at her cheeks, creeping under her flannel; the cold coffee in her hand made her fingers sting, but you were already walking away, so she grit her teeth and followed.

And it was like you both just fell back into place, aligning with each other as though that empty space had never existed. You were working towards your graduate degree, Ellie discovered, and were working as a TA to get through; the class you were heading to was the dreaded public speaking class that you taught around your own curriculum. You laughed as you talked about some ridiculous speech a student had recently presented, and Ellie had forgotten just how much she liked the sound until it was burying behind her ribs again.

Ellie didn't tell you exactly why she had come back. When she’d left, you had known she was chasing a dream - it was the main reason she had presented when she broke up with you. The idea of long distance was too hard - too complicated - and Ellie didn’t want anything tying her to this town.

Even so, her body still wanted to fall into old habits. She told you about her roommate and how, when Ellie had been up too late writing a new song or her roommate had had a late shift at the hospital, they would play truth or dare until they were too drunk to stay awake, and her fingers brushed against yours, muscle memory making her reach for you. Ellie told you how she had visited her sister, Sarah, while passing through Houston, and she wanted so badly to lace your fingers together. She wanted to wrap her arm around your waist - hell, she even wanted to grab your ass right where everyone could see, just like she used to. She tucked her free hand in her pocket.

“You still haven’t told me why you came back,” you said, coming to a stop in front of the Communications building - it was just as tall and ominous as Ellie remembered. Her stomach lurched at the site, remembering all the speeches she had to make in her own classes. She supposed Public Speaking wasn’t a useless class now, considering she didn't stutter when she had to speak in front of an audience now.

Ellie shrugged, dropping her cup into a trashcan without looking at you. “Like I said, I’m just passing through-”

“Bullshit,” you said, but there was no malice behind it. You tilted your head to meet her eyes and smiled at her, even as your eyes held something unreadable. “The Ellie I knew couldn’t wait to get out of this shithole - her words, not mine. She wouldn’t simply pass through - she would go out of her way to stay in the next town over. So,” you crossed your arms, “what changed?”

Before, if you had ever crossed your arms at her, Ellie would reach out and gently pull your arms away from your chest, pulling you into an embrace. She wanted nothing more than to pull you into her, instinct unaware of the three years and a thousand miles that had separated you. Instead, she leaned against the wall of the building, the brick biting into her back. “Nothing’s changed. Trust me, if it was up to me, I wouldn't be here.”

For only a second, your face twisted into something unreadable that pulled at Ellie's stomach. But you quickly schooled your expression, tilting your head, your smile soft. “Listen, I have to go - if I'm too late, these fuckers are just gonna try to skip. But we should meet up later - I want to catch up.” When Ellie opened her mouth to say you had been catching up, you continued, “Really catch up. I want you to tell me everything - it's been years, so we have a lot to cover.” You looked at your phone and cursed. “Look, my last class ends at 3:25. Meet me on the green after?” For good measure, you stuck out your bottom lip and added, “Please?”

Ellie had never been good at resisting that look - she had given into you so many times from that look alone. She had to bite back the sudden, stupid smile pulling at her cheeks, so she pressed her lips together and looked away. After three years, you still made her cheeks flush without trying.

“Okay,” was all she could say.

Without warning, you rushed forward, wrapping your arms around her neck briefly. Her hands hovered at your sides, unsure of where to go. Feeling your body pressed against her again - feeling the warm brush of your breath against her neck - short-circuited her brain, leaving her gasping on dry land.

Before she could figure out where to put her fucking hands, you murmured in her ear, “I really did miss you, Els,” and pulled away, just as quickly as you had come. Ellie's mouth hadn't even caught up to her brain by the time you were gone, the door closing softly behind you.

Later, after she had had a proper breakfast from McDonald's, she was still thinking about you. Seeing you again had opened up a bottle that she had sealed away, and the cork wouldn't fit back into it. Her fingers itched with the memory of your skin beneath them. When you had hugged her, she had smelled the shampoo that you apparently still used, and she remembered how it had felt to have your head on her chest, breathing you in as she pressed a kiss to the top of your head. And your lips next to her ear - that opened a whole subcategory of memories that she tried desperately to push away.

She was only here for the night. She lost count of how many times she had to remind herself.

Ellie was stopped at a red light, leaning her bike from one foot to the other, when she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She glanced at the blinking crosswalk sign - twenty seconds, so she still had plenty of time before the light turned green - before fishing her phone out. She had to squint against the sun, straining to make out the screen. She nearly dropped the phone when she saw the familiar name popping up on her screen, fumbling to open the text.

There was a screenshot of an Instagram post from the venue she was going to play at. The band's name was in bold letters, stars pasted around a grainy picture of the group. And in small letters underneath - like an afterthought - was her name: Ellie Miller.

And underneath, in all caps:

YOU'RE PLAYING AT THE HAWTHORNE?????

Her face flushed all over again. After all these years, you had still kept her number.

tag list: @macaroni676 @ellstronaut @elliewilliamsmiller0 @elliescoolerwife @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @liliflowers-blog @filtered-sunlight

[duchessonfire]

Savior Carl!AU re-read Part 1 Chapter 4

Follow-up of my re-read of Part 1 Chapter 3. If you're not interested and don't want to have your dashboard spammed, you can block the tags Duchess reads and Savior Carl AU reread.

Commentary for Part 1, Ch 4 below the cut (spoilers for part 1 ahead):

I've been delaying writing this one, not just because life is hectic, but also because I have so much I could say about this final chapter, I'm not even sure where to start.

First of all, Carl's training with the rifle outside the Sanctuary. I'm really really happy I thought of that because it allowed me to show a lot through this simple activity. It might sound silly, but I always struggle finding Carl things to do around Sanctuary. Let's be real, I have no idea what people do in the apocalypse aside from the usual scavenging for supplies, growing food, fixing broken things and going through weapon training. It's especially hard to think of things at Sanctuary because most of the supplies they get is brought in to them from the communities Negan has subdued. When you're writing a long fic, the challenge is always to find new things for the characters to do, especially in a setting like the apocalypse. The Savior Carl AU is very much a huit-clos, a narrative taking place in a defined and limited space. Carl isn't allowed to go outside in part 1, so the whole story is limited to the space of Sanctuary.

This is both a strength and a potential weakness for the story. Because Carl is the focus of the story and because he stays inside the factory, things will get boring very quickly if his role doesn't change, if the parts of Sanctuary he explores are always the same. This is why the shooting practice in the parking lot was so useful to me: it gave Carl something new to do aside from the guard duty he had done until now and it allowed him to start interacting with the cast of background characters that make up the Saviors and workers of Sanctuary. Same goes for Carl's new job as Negan's assistant.

Now that I'm re-reading this last chapter, I do regret not paying more attention to the fact that Carl entered Negan's room for the first time in this chapter. It's not something I highlighted in any way and I am a bit sad about that. However, I am still very happy with the scene where Carl is looking at the bookcase in Negan's room:

His finger trails over the spine of a book decorated with a bird’s silhouette. “Good choice,” Negan says approvingly, suddenly right behind him, and Carl snaps his hand back. They’re alone in the room now, Simon gone and Negan’s leather jacket draped over the bed, leaving him just in a white t-shirt as he stands behind Carl. It’s truly messed up that all it took was two weeks for Carl to lower his guard around Negan completely, to the point where he can get distracted and snuck up on without any real effort. He remembers Shane telling him about something like that once, how the best way to lull someone into a false sense of safety is to give them a routine, a pattern to repeat day after day at the exact same time, until they lower their defenses, their brains already anticipating the next step in the schedule. He saw first-hand how true that was when Rosita managed to kill her way inside Sanctuary just by memorizing everyone’s guard rotations, armed with nothing but a knife and a gun with one bullet. He wonders suddenly if that’s why Negan gave him a schedule of his own, practicing every morning and then meeting him every day at noon. Was that part of the plan? Giving Carl a false sense of safety, making him lower his guard around him? But Negan just looks relaxed, perfectly at ease with his hands tucked in the pockets of his dark jeans, Lucille forgotten against the coffee table. He smells like soap and spicy aftershave, and his hair is still a bit wet from the shower he took after visiting Sherry upstairs.

This scene is so important to me. If you've been following my end-of-the-year wrapped up posts on Tumblr, maybe you'll have seen that the reason part 1 is tagged Carl & Negan and pre-Carl/Negan is because back when I was writing this story in 2021, I had seen a lot of awful people on Tumblr harassing Cegan shippers and so I was very afraid of writing a fic that was full-on Carl/Negan. Instead, I wrote part 1 as a story that would eventually become shippy, but not yet.

This scene, however, the bookcase scene, is one of the shippiest of part 1. I really wanted to show the new intimacy between Carl and Negan. Carl isn't just in Negan's bedroom, in Negan's private space, but he's comfortable there. So comfortable, in fact, that he doesn't even notice Negan walking up behind him. This is such a huge leap compared to where their relationship was before, the cat-and-mouse schoolyard bullying of the previous chapters. There is no animosity from Carl anymore, no cruelty from Negan. A symbolism that comes back over and over again in the Savior!Carl AU and which I've taken directly from the series is that Negan's leather jacket is an armor and a work uniform all at once. When he wears the leather, he's Negan the Savior, leader of Sanctuary. When he doesn't, he's more ostensibly Negan the man, less guarded and gentler to others. You can see that at several points in the series (he removes his jacket when he's with Carl and Judith in Alexandria but puts it back on when he's playing pool with Spencer, he doesn't have a jacket when he kills Davey to protect Sasha in the cell but he has it back on when he comes to check on her and sees that she put down Davey's corpse).

Carl and Negan have both lowered their guards around each other, and the personal space they keep around each other is similarly reduced:

“You can borrow it if you want. Nothing like a classic.” “It is?” Carl can’t help but ask, frowning back toward the drawing of the bird on the book’s edge. The design makes it look like a children book to him. Negan stares back at him in disbelief. “You don’t know To Kill a Mockingbird?” Carl shrugs, embarrassed at Negan’s tone.   “Seriously? You’ve never heard your parents talking about the book? Or the movie? None of your teachers?” “I was thirteen when I stopped going to school,” Carl says defensively. Negan blinks before sighing dramatically. “Well, at least you’ve never had to sit through a high school analysis of Gatsby. You dodged a serious bullet on that one, kid.” He stretches his arm past Carl’s head, and for a second Carl is trapped, enclosed between the bookcase, the wall, and Negan’s naked arm around him, every single one of the tattoos dotting his skin on display without the armor of his jacket. He takes the book out and hands it to Carl.

That single moment at the end is really the shippiest part 1 gets. Carl is already so aware of Negan's body (his tattoos, his smell, how close they are) while at the same time being in full denial that this awareness comes from sexual attraction. The more time these two spend around each other, the harder it becomes for them to stay apart, for Negan especially. If you look over part 1 (and parts 2 and 3 as a matter of fact), you'll notice Negan is the one always seeking Carl out while Carl has a tendency to find places away from everyone else to brood. This is how the sandwich scene happened in the previous chapter and this how another one of my favorite scenes happens: ✨the rooftop scene.✨

I'm not even going to attempt quoting it here because I'll just end up copy/pasting the whole thing. I love everything about this scene and it still stays with him as one of the most visual moments of part 1, right up there with the moment Carl was shot in the eye and he hallucinates the candy cane Christmas decoration while Negan carries him to the infirmary. Like the eye, the scene of the rooftop is a really pivotal one, and it shifts the entire dynamics of the fic. It's also one of the times in the Savior!Carl AU where I go off-script from canon and fill in the blanks of Negan's past.

“My first time was when I was nineteen,” Negan finally says, breaking the heavy silence left by his confession. Carl finally looks at him, surprised. Negan’s eyes are fixed on the horizon, obviously lost in memory. “I was in college. I had just gotten a scholarship to play football. I played everything back then, football, basketball, baseball, fucking ping-pong, you name it. As long as I was allowed to throw a goddamn ball I was happy. But I got a full ride to Ohio State and it was one of the best moments of my life. I was finally away from my asshole father and doing what I liked. It was the first friendly game of the season, and we were playing against some rich fuckers from a liberal arts college not far. Of course, it was college, so we’d all met at some frat party the night before and the trash talk had gotten out of hand before the game even began. Everyone was playing rough, and I mean it as in, it was a fucking bloodbath. So many players got injured that even my freshman ass got called on the field to play. We’re all riled up, the ref keeps threatening to cancel the match, some fucking cheerleader is crying in the background because her boyfriend lost two front teeth, it’s basically hell and I’m loving every second of it. And then… I tackle this guy and we both fall hard. I actually heard his vertebrae snapping when we both hit the ground. They stopped the game for good after that. I got taken to the hospital, because my fucking collarbone was shattered, but the other kid? Paralyzed from the neck down. And that was only if he was lucky enough to wake up from the coma the docs had to put him under.” Carl can’t help but be fascinated by this story, by this whole new side of Negan, without an ounce of sadistic delight for once, eyes still staring ahead, his face basked in the orange light of the evening. “He died the night before I left the hospital. I could hear his mother crying herself to death down the hall. It was messed up, for them, for me, for everyone involved. I mean, this wasn’t like how things are now. Back then, you were supposed to die at seventy of prostate cancer, or at fifty in a car accident, not playing fucking college football at twenty. After that, I couldn’t play because of the metal plate they put in me. Still have it,” he says, rubbing absentmindedly at the lapel of his leather jacket, right underneath his red scarf. “I lost my scholarship. So I went back to Virginia, got a degree from community college and went to teach P.E. in high school.”

Don't mind me going back on my word and quoting you this whole part. It's always a gamble when you're writing a fic for a on-going series because you never know if the headcanons you're adding will be disproved later. For example, when I was writing part 1, the 'Here's Negan' episode hadn't come out yet (it aired less than a month after I posted chapter 4 and finished the fic) so I had no way of knowing whether the past I gave Negan would have to be retconned later on. I'm glad to say that it holds up so far, Negan's reluctance to killing walkers in the flashback episode (which he says is because he's afraid to grow used to it) could very well stem from the traumatic event I gave Negan in the Savior!Carl AU. However, something that I was a bit disappointed about when Dead City season 1 aired last year, was Negan sharing a memory of his dad being a salesman and promising to take him on a trip to NYC as a child. This is in complete contradiction with the past I made up for Negan in the Savior!AU, where Negan's own relationship with his father is contentious to say the least. I haven't shared anything about that yet, but it will appear if I ever post a Negan's pov fic of the Savior!AU.

This post is running very long already so I'll wrap it up with one song: You're My Sunshine. Obviously this song is a very powerful moment in the Cegan canon so it felt very right to use it for the end of part 4 because it is both an echo to the Sing Me a Song episode and a reminder of Carl and Lori's relationship while, at the same time, the lyrics are very much reminiscent of Carl and Shane's relationship:

I'll always love you and make you happy, If you will only say the same. But if you leave me and love another, You'll regret it all some day. You told me once, dear, you really loved me And no one else could come between. But now you've left me and love another. You have shattered all of my dreams.

I wasn't sure at first I wanted to integrate a song in part 1 because song fic are a sort of commonplace in fandoms and I didn't think it would fit the vibe of my fic. However, when I paid close attention to the lyrics, I realized how apt they were for this moment of the story, for Carl and Shane's relationship to be severed for good, after Shane has chosen to escape with Sherry and baby Lori and left Carl behind. I also really loved the idea of such a romantic song being superimposed on what is arguably one of the most dramatic and disturbing moment in the whole of part 1.

Several people have pointed out in the comments that Shane has all but served Carl on a silver platter for Negan. The manipulation, the secrecy, the violence, all of those elements that Shane used to control Carl, those are the same elements that Negan uses in his relationship with Carl, making Carl go from the arms of one abuser to another. The difference being, of course, that Carl and Negan have a romance a true bond aside from Negan's mindfuck, while any real relationship Carl and Shane might have had died long ago.

Conclusion; tldr: This final chapter of part 1 is a gradual build-up of all the tensions that have been boiling so far. The more Carl separates from Shane, the closer he becomes to Negan, until the eventual killing of Shane by Carl became inevitable. The Savior!Carl AU is a dark romance but it is a romance, and to me what makes this story is great is how the dark and angsty aspects of Cegan are conterbalanced by true moments of bonding and kindness between the two characters. Some people in the comments have very rightfully called part 1 a corruption story or a 'start-of-darkness' plot. That is indeed what is happening, with Carl gradually falling more and more into the possessive clutches of Negan. Those clutches, however, also stem from a true care and affection from Negan to want to provide for Carl and to adopt him as his own.

PS: in chapter 4, Carl remembers Rick's favorite book being In Cold Blood by Truman Capote while Lori's favorite book was The Scarlet Letter by Nathanial Hawthorne. Those are little Easter Eggs I thought people who have read those books might appreciate when compared to Rick and Lori's actual storylines in canon (senseless violence in a small town being investigated and the lack of motive haunting the narrative versus a sexual affair that dooms its female protagonist and destroys her reputation and has lasting consequences in her community).

You can find the commentary for part 2 chapter 1 here.

[strawwritesfic]

Joel x Female!Amputee!Reader: (Don't) Hold Your Breath [Ch. 3]

Summary: You’ve made a lot of monumental mistakes in your life. Cutting your arm off isn’t even at the top of the list. Now you’re about to learn a lot of life lessons at the hands of your savior and her brute of a guardian–and they’re not about to let you learn them the easy way either.

Challenge: "#32 in His Rulebook" by Edible Heart Monster on Lunaescence Archives

Rating/Warnings/Tags: M (post-The Last of Us; excessive swearing; sexual references; violence against children; infected children; references to abortion; references to cannibalism; references to starvation; references to riots; implied domestic abuse; implied grooming; implied sexual relationship between an adult and a minor; death of a parent; violence; gore; blood; gun use; ableism; amputee!Reader; enemies to lovers; not canon compliant)

Pairings/Relationships: Joel/Female!Reader; Tommy/Maria; Reader/Male!OC; Ellie & Reader; Ellie & Joel; Ellie & Maria & Tommy

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Master List (with important note!)

Rule Number #3: Try not to get yourself killed. God, are you that stupid?

It soon became clear that despite her situation, Ellie was anything but depressed. Your first day behind on her on the back of Callus Two showed you that much. You found balancing with only one arm no easy feat, and she wouldn’t quit harping on your struggles. But during the long spaces of time wherein you hadn’t had to grip her desperately to stay upright, she chattered like conversation was going out of style—which, you supposed, it had.

Ellie seemed happy to ramble on about just about anything, so long as she had a captive audience. Before her endless stream of nonsense paused around noon so that she could follow a deer trail she spotted, you’d heard Ellie’s views on everything from descriptions of her last hunt to a summary of the last comic book she’d found. You listened with just about as bored an expression as you could manage. Why the fuck did she think you cared about her life? But she was the one driving, so there wasn’t much you could do. At least it looked like her nattering at you for hours on end appeased Joel, who you could have sworn you caught almost smiling once or twice.

When no one was willing to listen, she whistled. When she wasn’t allowed to do that, she read. It seemed an awful waste of pack space to let her bring magazines, and that on top of all the talking she did made you wonder why Joel had even brought her along at all. Surely the damn kid was just a liability. But whenever Joel was awake—which was, admittedly, most of the time—he glared at you every fucking time you threatened her. Hell, he even seemed to orient himself around her, like she was his sun, the entire damn center of his universe.

But you still couldn’t figure out exactly what the fuck the two of them were doing. You didn’t just drag children into those kinds of situations, not unless you were trying to repay some debt, or at least trying to look like you were. But Joel and Ellie knew each other—what was more, they seemed to like each other. Ellie called him “Joel” happily, not like a kid trying distance itself from a shitty parent. Besides, Joel was way too old to be her dad. But then, he didn’t act much like he had around girls that age.

So what did Joel gain from keeping Ellie around?

“Anyway, after that, it was a pretty simple job of untying the knot. Boy, Joel sure was lucky to have me around for that. Not that he thanked me for that rescue either.”

“Kid,” you said, not bothering to keep the haggard note from your voice. “Do you ever shut up? How the fuck haven’t you got you and your friend turned into fucking Clicker chow by now?”

“Because,” Joel said testily as his horse clopped up beside Callus Two, “she can actually take care of herself, and knows to keep her fucking voice down.”

Instead of bothering to respond to him, you glowered. Joel was, as of that moment, an unknown. He barely spoke unless he wanted to tell Ellie what a mistake you were. During those times Ellie had run off to chase after rabbits and left you alone with Joel, it seemed pretty obvious that he had to restrain himself from shooting you.

“Keep it up, Ellie,” he added with a nod in her direction.

“Oh, we have a guest party member that Joel doesn’t like, so I get free rein to do whatever I want?” She beamed. “I’m going to have to adopt people more often!”

“Don’t even think about it.”

With another scowl in your direction, Joel picked up Shadowfax’s reins, and the horses started to move again. You let a long breath of air out of your nose as you looked around. The forest was starting to thin. Judging by the direction your troop had been moving the past day and a half, you were now farther west than you’d started. What that meant, you had no idea. It was not as though state lines meant anything those days.

But it did mean that you were getting sick of traveling with Ellie and Joel. Owing Ellie so much was just another bur under your skin. As you stared around, you leaned farther back from her, farther and farther, until you could only see the sky.

The horse below you whinnied. That was the only warning you had. The very next second, it reared. Your arm scrabbled around Ellie; your breath came fast in your ears, but you certainly hadn’t regained any of your missing balance. Before the horse had even thought of setting its hooves back on the ground, you fell backwards, landing on your back with a single, loud expletive.

“See, now,” came Joel’s voice from somewhere above you. “Ellie would have known not to shout at something as simple as falling off a fucking horse.”

“Fuck you,” you growled as you sat up.

Your head spun, but through that haze you could see that Joel had stopped his horse right in front of Ellie’s. He stood on the ground while Ellie, still perched atop Callus Two, looked irritably between the two of you. Her expression changed when she caught yours, swiftly rearranging into one of vague concern.

“It was time to dismount anyway,” she said hastily, as though this fact would somehow make you feel less shitty.

In a trice, she had got her two feet back on the ground. As much as you loathed the idea of following either of them anywhere, your only other option was sticking around the edge of the forest, waiting to be eaten. You stood and attempted to appear haughtily unconcerned as you took several steps past them.

“Why bother with the horses if you can’t ride them all the way?” you asked over your shoulder.

“That’s none of your business,” said Joel, but Ellie ignored him:

“Safety precaution. We still have to get identified before they’ll let us, and we don’t want the horses shot out from under us while we’re too far away.”

“So we’re almost there?” you asked.

“Yeah, it’s that right there.” Ellie gestured to a building in the distance while she stroked Callus Two’s nose with her other hand.

“That’s a power plant.”

“And that’s where we live.”

Well, by then you’d seen plenty of other stupid-ass ideas. You supposed living in a power plant was one of the better ones at least. Ellie interrupted your staring by wordlessly holding out a trio of dead rabbits. Although the ends of your mouth pressed down, you took them just as silently, then went back to looking while the rest of the meat got divided up between her and Joel for transportation. Whatever Ellie had said to the contrary, her community didn’t look like much—not enough to give up your freedom for, at any rate.

“Ellie, I’m telling you, this is a bad idea.”

As usual, Joel didn’t bother to keep his voice down when he spoke about how much he didn’t want you there. Not that you could blame him. If it wasn’t for the fact that Ellie had taken your gun (“until you can show me you can use it responsibly”), you would have shot them. If it wasn’t for the fact you were pretty sure even the fucking teenager could wrestle you to the ground, you would have stabbed them with the knife Ellie kept lending you. Because that would have meant you didn’t need them. Joel had you pegged much better than the kid, which couldn’t have been more apparent than when she whispered back:

“No, it’s not. She hasn’t hurt us.”

“Because she can’t.”

“So, what were we supposed to do? Just leave here there to die?”

“Ideally.”

“Well, you know what, Joel? I—”

“You owe it to the world. Yeah, I know. Would you reel in the Messiah delusion for ten seconds? We don’t even know her name!”

Whatever Ellie’s response to that was, you lost it. Even just standing there exhausted you. If there was food and shelter and—most importantly—a break from Ellie’s voice ahead, you weren’t going to wait around to find it. Maybe the rabbits would provide you with enough of a toll to pay your way inside. Who was going to believe that she killed them anyhow? Fifteen-year-olds weren’t taught how to hunt small game.

The ground beneath your feet slanted downwards. The tilt, combined with the remaining after-effects of chopping off an arm, had you stumbling forward. But at least you were moving, without a horse or Ellie or Joel to carry you. You certainly hadn’t been capable of that much the day before. Maybe you would only have to stay a night! Then you could give Ellie her knife back, show her that you weren’t someone to trifle with, and then disappear again. After all, you’d already learned the hard way that civilization didn’t always engender civility.

Something ahead gleamed in the sunlight, causing your awkward loping to come to a halt. Your eyes flicked up toward the gate ahead. Surely they got stragglers out in the middle of nowhere like this. If anything, hunters would want to cut through just to see if they could collect anything useful. You did not, however, want to appear to be a threat. Getting shot through with bullets so close to relative safety would not be conducive to your plans to survive.

The gleaming got closer, then materialized into a chain-link fence. It didn’t look new, exactly, but someone had obviously gone to the trouble of scraping off some of the rust. A low humming emitted from the metal. Confused, you stepped closer still, hand outstretched—

—only to feel someone else’s massive hand clutch the back of your jacket right before they threw you forcefully to the ground. Stars popped across your vision, but not so distractingly that you couldn’t hear Joel’s angry snap:

“Are you trying to get yourself killed? Are you really that fucking stupid?”

Your face twisted once more into scowl, though you didn’t bother to sit up that time. Pain rocketed up and down your spine. If your missing arm didn’t kill you, the broken back Joel was going to give you fucking would. Be that as it may, your constant angry reaction to things only seemed to be giving you a reputation for not having any fucking clue how to live on your own. You didn’t even want to look at Joel. Giving him the satisfaction of seeing how frustrated you were would only make things, in your opinion, worse.

Ellie stepped into your field of vision, her eyebrows raised. “It’s electrified,” she explained.

That got you sitting up again. “No fucking way!” you said, almost too impressed to work in your regular note of sarcasm.

Without missing a beat, Ellie bent, plucked a piece of grass from the near-barren dirt, and then poked it at the fence. A spark shot up. A moment later, she held the blackened stub of vegetation out toward you.

You could not help widening your eyes. “You guys have electricity?”

“Most of us aren’t stupid enough to walk straight into the fence,” Joel said. “But if you’re all that keen to die, go ahead. Save me the fucking trouble.”

“What the fuck did I do to you, bastard?” you demanded hotly, mostly to cover the cold rushing through your veins at the thought of how close you had come to being fried. You weren’t about to tell fucking Joel thanks for saving your life, though.

He opened his mouth to reply, but he didn’t have the time to do so before two figures walking across the grass towards captured your group’s attention.

“Hey there, Joel,” a man said as he approached.

The humming, you noted, had stopped. If you weren’t so sore from falling so much, you might have tried to clamber over the gate before anyone could stop you. As it was, you couldn’t, and had to content yourself with observing the newcomers.

“Hey, Tommy,” Joel said shortly.

The other man didn’t look at him. This “Tommy” appeared younger than Joel, much less gray, and had longer hair. Still, his resemblance to Joel was unmistakable, even if the openly fond look he shot Ellie wasn’t similar to any expression you'd seen on Joel's face at all.

Behind Tommy stood a woman with a scowl drawn permanently into the skin around her mouth.

“Hey, Ellie,” Tommy said with a wink in the kid’s direction. “How was the trip?”

“Great!” Ellie grinned. “We got some rabbits.”

All eyes fell upon the rabbits sitting next to your shoes. Perhaps Ellie was afraid of explaining you because she jogged a few steps backward to take Shadowfax’s bridle and added:

“And a deer. A whole fucking deer!”

“That’s great, Ellie!” Tommy said enthusiastically. “Did you get it yourself this time?”

She looked a bit crestfallen at that. “Well…No. But I’ll fucking do it next time, mark my words!”

Tommy laughed and made to open the gate. “I’m sure you will.”

“If there’s a next time,” Joel said.

When you looked at him, his eyes bored into yours. Suddenly, the woman stood in the space Tommy had opened, her gun pointed straight at you.

“Is she a problem?” she asked, her voice cold.

Tommy frowned at you, but made no attempt to prevent the woman from shooting you.

“Yes, I’m a fucking problem,” you answered hotly. “I—”

“We brought a friend!” she cried into the tense silence.

You scowled more deeply still at the “friend” comment, but if it got you past the electric fence, you’d forgive it. After all, you hadn’t eaten since the day before your disaster of a hunting trip.

“Ellie brought a friend,” Joel grumbled.

Neither Tommy nor the woman moved. Ellie took a deep, shaky breath, then tugged you to your feet and forward. Their eyes fell upon your stump, then quickly shifted back to Ellie’s face.

“She’s hurt,” she said. “She can’t make it on her own.”

“I—”

“Shut up,” Ellie muttered.

Tommy and the woman’s eyes met, then Tommy shrugged. The woman looked just as happy about the situation as Joel did, but she took a step back before stuffing her pistol back into her halter. Joel shoved past you, and even Ellie was quick to take off after him. With your heart pounding in your throat, you snatched up the rabbits.

Although he did not smile, his voice remained casual as he made to lead you down to the power plant with only a soft, “Welcome to Jackson.”

With one final second look over your shoulder, you stepped past Tommy into Joel and Ellie’s mysteriously self-governing settlement. You wondered if it was the last time you'd ever breathe free air.

[roadhogsbigbelly]

ok i didn't really want to do this because i deleted the original posts when it had only 70 notes because i was under the assumption noone would see it but t/xttletale ended up reblogging it anyway and now i have people telling me to kill myself in my inbox so i guess i might as well give details

honestly did not know she was trans until people accused me of pedojacking her, for some reason it never registered because i guess i only see her blog when her posts pop up on my feed but you know my bad i guess

2)yes it's true the term "loliporn" never shows up but someone does say "don't say you're pro-kink and nasty gay sex if you're not supportive of ageplay, cnc, or incest shipping" and than she said "yes, and" which like. seems slightly like an endorsement? but i assume that loliporn was just kind of included with the package, because i do have evidence that toonimal would not be against that

3) i never directly called her a pedophile just that it's really fucking bizzare to have that hot take about "wholesome games" when you agreed with a take that said not liking incest porn or ageplay is "anti-kink or whatever

now did initially censor the names in the post because of reasons i'll explain later but i did realize with no context it looks like both posts were from the same person so i did end up mentioning in the tags that there were two different people before later deleting it all together. but i honestly don't feel THAT bad attributing it to her because she did both reblog the post and than also add on to it, which kind of negates the possibility she didn't fully read the post? still i did censor it again for reasons i'll explain later.

4) i kind of went out of my way to not attribute anything to her. when i talked about her weird stardew valley take i still censored them, because after being told to kill myself for having a lukewarm hot take on sex work last year i usually always censor posts when criticizng/making fun of them. i'm honestly surprised she managed to find it because i deleted it when it only had like 60 notes, and the only reason i found out she found it is because one of her followers sent be an ask telling me to kill myself. and out of curiousity i checked her blog.

i deleted this post before i post this just so her follower doesn't get harassed or whatever. but you know. not fun.

and 5) while i insist i didn't directly accuse her of being a pedophile i DID in fact accuse the person she was agreeing with of being a pedohpile. cause they are.

i'm not going to post the entire callout post cause it's honestly really fucking gross but tldr they run a "contact positive paraphilia forum" which is a basicly code for "actually fucking pedophiles" which kind of recontextualizes they entire post right? that's also why i went out of my way to censor txttletale's name and than later specify there were two different people before deleting it. because i assumed she didn't know the person she was agreeing with was an actual pedophile, but accidently agreeing with a pedophile is uh. not good. i think, someone actually informed her that toonimals was a pedophilia and she said this.

now i'm not saying you have to do a background check on every person you reblog from but if that post talks about "how pro-sex freak people need to be more supportive of people who are into incest" than actually yeah you do sort of have an obligation to make sure they aren't an actual fucking pedophile. the entire basis of that post is "people should stop being mean to actual sex freaks" and you not only reblog it but add onto that yeah that's a fucking issue because 99 percent of time the people who make those posts ARE actual fucking pedophiles, so yeah you probably should be a bit wary. because like.

this is my issue, i don't think you're a pedophile because you don't think there's anything wrong with fiction/sex acts that depict immoral things, my issue is that that logic is used and agreed upon by actual pedophiles. pedophiles are agreeing with you! that's not great! there's my issue with your logic!

[annaizscribbling]

In which the farmer is not quite human pt 4: Gus

(start at pt 1 here) also I'm posting these on ao3 gradually, but tumblr will still get them first aye.

Gus unlocked the front door to the saloon at exactly noon, just like he always did. He didn’t really expect somebody for a couple of hours, but sometimes a few folks will wander in for lunch or a midday refreshment. He doesn’t expect much on a random rainy Tuesday, but he’s consistent—an important trait in a business owner. He takes great pride in being dependently consistent.

He walked back to the bar counter and picked up a couple of glasses that needed to be polished. He kept everything perfectly spic and span, homey, and comfortable. It was important that the other townsfolk felt cozy in the saloon, that’s why Gus kept a bit of ragtag furniture, warm lights, and the scent of delicious food at all times.

And it worked! Friday nights especially were so busy that he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if not for Emily helping out part time. Robin and Demetrius usually play some nostalgic song and dance together, Shane hangs out by himself with a sparkling water these days, Pam sits by the bar and gets intoxicated while chatting with him, Mayor Lewis and Marnie flirt in the corner, Elliot and Leah share some wine, Willy orders himself something strong and indulges Clint, who just stares at Emily and mopes, Harvey gets and strong coffee and tiredly enjoys the show, Pierre escapes his family to get some scotch alone, Abigail claims her favorite couch to watch the weekly pool games, where Sam and Sebastian play until Sam gives up on trying to win a single match.

And sometimes, Sebastian’s wife tags along. Not always, she doesn’t come every week. Farming is a taxing job, Gus imagines, and she does a whole lot more than just farming, so it makes sense that she has less time than her househusband. She rarely showed up at all before they got married, and even then, she showed up solely to see Sebastian before sprinting out the door again.

Gus liked the farmer; she was a nice woman. She helped Gus out on more than one occasion when he was in a pinch, she was a great listener, a valuable customer, and a friendly, albeit unpredictable face. When she shows up on Friday nights, she usually hangs around her husband, watches them play pool, sits with Abigail, and then stares. She does a lot of staring, not usually at people or anything, but at the wall, or the ceiling, or the floor. It seems like she sees things that aren’t there, like she’s reading or browsing through sometimes. Most of Pelican town doesn’t question it, it’s just something she does.

Other Friday nights she seemed to be in a more excitable mood, which meant that she didn’t smile more or anything, but continuously paid for a variety of food from Gus then distributed them among at least half of the customers in the saloon. Salad for Leah, beer for Pam, spaghetti for Robin, pizza for Sam and Shane, coffee for Harvey, and whatever the special is for anybody who wants it. She was a very generous person, a little odd, but undeniably generous. She brought him a crate of oranges from her orange tree every time she had a good harvest, which he would thank her for by sending her and Sebastian something special for dinner.

Gus is interrupted from his thoughts when the door swings open.

Standing in the door way is one sopping wet farmer, who smiles at him as she drips all over his welcome mat. A cold draft breezes into the room, clashing against the warm saloon air. Gus pauses from polishing.

“Hey,” Gus says with a wry smile, “you look like you could use a beverage. And maybe a towel,” he tosses the rag he was using at her. Her arm shoots out without her glancing at it, and she snatches the rag out of the air like an instinct. He’s heard things about her skill in the mines, maybe the reflexes are a result of that.

“Sorry,” she says, dabbing some of the water off of her skin and wiping her feet on the mat politely. She’s still extremely damp, but not quite dripping wet anymore.

“It’s no issue, make yourself at home,” Gus said kindly, picking up another rag and gesturing with his chin at some of the bar stools. The farmer slid into a seat and picked up a menu, though any resident of Pelican Town knew exactly what was on it save the special.

“Thirsty?” Gus offered. “There’s nothing like a glass of dry red wine on a day like this, huh?” he chuckled, but raised his eyebrows, wondering if she’d be swayed into a drink. He knew she didn’t drink very much at all, but every so often she indulged herself.

Today, it did not seem to be the case. She shook her head and pointed at the menu with a shy smile.

“Oh, a pizza? Good choice, for here or to-go?” Gus asked, rolling up his sleeves.

“To-go, please,” she said politely.

Gus nodded, and began to walk toward the oven to put a few in. “Just one?”

“No.”

“Two?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Thirty-five?” Gus repeated her in disbelief, eyes widening. He turned back to gape at her, to see if she was trying to be funny or something, but she looked completely serious.

“Yes please,” the farmer said with a little nod.

Gus blinked slowly. There weren’t even that many people in all of Pelican Town. What could she possibly do with thirty-five whole pizzas? She and Sebastian couldn’t eat all those. Did the rain mess with her head?!

“… so, you want thirty-five pizzas to-go,” he said slowly, waiting for her to stop him. She didn’t. “Alright. Well. That is going to be, um, 4200 dollars.”

“Okay,” she said before digging around in her bag before pausing to look back up at him. “What’s the special today?” she asked, tilting her head.

“… pumpkin soup.”

“Two of those as well please.”

“Right. Why not? Yes. I’ll have that right out for you,” Gus said a little faintly as he rung up her total and accepted her payment, which she handed over without any hesitation.

She nodded patiently and began to organize her backpack as Gus crept away to go get her food ready.

Twenty minutes later, Gus managed to get everything done. He was sweating and a little frazzled, but he did it. Though he would have killed for Emily’s help. He had half a mind to call her in desperation, but he pulled himself together and got the food. The money was more than worth it.

He had all thirty-five pizzas and two pumpkin soups laid out on the counter in some Styrofoam containers, ready for her to somehow transport it all in the torrential rain.

“Are you having a party or something? That’s quite a bit of pizza for two people,” Gus said casually, trying not to seem invasive. Usually, people just told him all kinds of things about themselves and their days, the farmer wasn’t quite as much of an open book. Though even if she was, Gus wasn't so sure he'd be able to even understand her language.

“The soup is for Sebastian and me. For dinner,” The farmer said quietly, popping open the lid to one of the pizza containers.

“And the thirty-five pizzas?”

“I’m going mining. Keeps up my energy,” she said as she picked up the open Styrofoam container in one hand and her open backpack in the other.

“And you’re bringing full pizzas with you? Thirty-five of them?”

She nodded once, before tipping the to-go box over, forcing the pizza to fall with a wet squelch directly into her open backpack.

Gus stared in horror.

The farmer proceeded to do this exact same thing to every single one of the remaining thirty-four pizzas, dropping them face first into her bag and neatly stacking the empty to-go boxes. When she was done, her bag was full of pizzas stacked on top of each other upside down with absolutely no container. She gingerly placed the soup bowls on top of the pile of dough and sauce and cheese. It made a squishing sound. She didn't even bother with lids for the soup.

Gus did not manage to find a single word to say for the entire duration of this.

“Should last me a few trips, thank you, Gus,” the farmer said chipperly before putting her backpack on, turning around and sprinting out the door, back into the rain, before Gus could so much as wave her goodbye.

Gus considered calling Harvey and telling him to expect a case of food poisoning but thought better of it. She was a successful farmer, friend, businesswoman, and wife to her husband. The farmer must know what she was doing. She could have her … eccentricities, he supposed.

[gravesung]

use this generator to create headcanons for your muse. post 5 to 10 results you agree with!

Chiaki would buy clothes from the soup store. Chiaki has chronic nightmares. Chiaki is oblivious to any and all romantic interest someone may show her. (depends on the person, largely self-esteem related) It would not take much for Chiaki to turn evil. Chiaki likes to eat straight coffee beans. (they're crunchy.) Chiaki wears Hello Kitty socks. Chiaki can kill you in an instant if deserved. Chiaki sings in the shower. Chiaki will go feral. Watch out. (iykyk—) Chiaki steals other people's clothes. (partners beware)

Yuji has an incredible spice tolerance. Yuji cries while watching disney movies. Yuji listens to 80s music. Yuji was forced to eat cement as a child. (forced is a strong word) Yuji cracks his knuckles very loudly. Yuji can't make the voices go away. (lol) Yuji is a dog person. Yuji wears Hello Kitty socks. Yuji uses two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. Yuji is smart but also very stupid. (yeah.... we been knew)

Geto is a simp. (iykyk.) Geto is in your house. Geto sleeps in until noon. It would not take much for Geto to turn evil. (STOP) If someone he knew committed a crime, Geto would cover for them. Geto likes board games, but no one else wants to play with him. (he gets diabolical.) Geto is a very good singer. Geto is great with kids. Geto has fallen asleep at his desk while working in the middle of the night. Geto nearly drowned in a river as a child. (i actually have a hc about this)

tagged by: @cadavors ( <3! )

tagging: @harerazor (alta and/or ignis), @tewwor (genki and/or haruo), @dogmawd, @quillheel (sato and/or kuna), @vsagis, and you! steal it from me and mention me so i can read it <3 i cant tag anymore ppl bc tumblr is stupid

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (8/?) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: You've got work to do. John worries. Things get a little more intense. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 1,945 (this chapter, 19,693 total so far) Spoilers/warnings: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Halo season 2 has finally arrived! However, this fic continues to zip along in the AU Party Warthog, so, while we began with season 1 way back when (and you'll see a few more things from s1 along the way 😉), we'll not be venturing into s2 territory at all. Unless s2 is going to take some verrrrry interesting twists, lol! Chapter 9 is still in progress by hand but I hope to have it ready soon. 🤞😣🤞The next chapter will also see us entering into some hurt/comfort for a bit but I tend to lean heavier on the comfort, in case you're worried. Or, you know, would be disappointed. 😉 If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

The Troop Transport Warthog hit a particularly rough patch and you held on for all you were worth to keep from being ejected.

"Sarge," Private Taylor yelled. "Where are we?"

"That's need to know and none of you need to know, marine," Sarge shouted back from the passenger seat. "Just keep your head down, do your job, and you'll be home 15 minutes before your mama has breakfast on the table."

You couldn't particularly tell if it were dusk, dawn or high noon, the air was so heavy with the greasy remains of mortar rounds. In the distance, a nondescript cityscape occasionally flared with either continuing pockets of active combat or just the remnants of the devastation that had passed through.

Wherever you were, it felt like you were barreling at top speed through a graveyard of vehicles: Warthogs, Mongeese and even the odd Scorpion, some overturned, blackened and smoldering, others weirdly intact as if their drivers had merely stepped away for a moment.

This was a salvage and recovery mission, tasking your unit with marking vehicles as repairable, recyclable or a total loss to be abandoned.

The next hour or so, that had been your focus, moving from Warthogs and the occasional Mongoose, conducting a quick evaluation, then using your spray gun to mark a green circle on the hood to send back to Reach for repair, a white slash to send it to be stripped for usable parts or a red X to abandon, not worth salvaging.

You marked a Mongoose with a red X, though the gun sputtered and you had to give it a few whacks before it sprayed properly, then you moved on.

Next up was a Warthog that seemed in decent condition from the outside, short of the rear antenna twisted until it resembled a curly tail. But the electronics were fried and the entire undercarriage looked like it had plowed over a series of flaming spikes, all major parts gouged out and burned. There might have been a few nuts and bolts reclaimable but since you'd just recently been writing up requisition for needed parts, you judged that it was more effort than it was worth.

You made the call to abandon it but as you tried to spray the red X across the hood, nothing emerged, even after shaking the sprayer and giving it a few more hits with the heel of your palm. With a slightly frustrated noise -- who was checking to make sure that the sprayers were in working order before they were sent out? -- you headed to get a replacement. Along the way, you caught a private going in the opposite direction.

"Hey, see that 'hog there? Would you red X it for me? Thanks."

"Um, sure," the blond man said and headed where you gestured.

You were still looking for somebody who had a spare sprayer when Sarge drove up in the Troop Transport again.

"Wrap it up, it's about to get hot," he shouted.

You quickly joined the rush back to board the Pelican and scrambled into a seat just as it lifted off. A split-second after you'd clicked the restraint down, the Pelican rolled to one side, shuddering from an impact.

Alarms began blaring, mixed in with the pilot calling out coordinates, and you automatically tried to look forward, as if you'd somehow be able to spot what was shooting at you. All you could really see was the anxious faces of the other marines around you. You spared a couple of breaths to be glad that neither Maria or Jamie had been called in for this.

The Pelican took a second, more glancing blow and the resulting shudder rattled your teeth.

"Covvies?" somebody asked over the engine whine and the private across from you shrugged.

"Who else?" she said. "But that felt like surface-to-air to me. What about you?"

She met your eyes and it was your turn to shrug. "I'm not sure. Never been hit by any sort of missile before."

"Oh well, congratulations on your first missile salvo," she returned with a crooked grin.

The Pelican rolled once more, this time in an evasive maneuver, then thankfully smoothed out and made its escape without further incident.

Your unit was taken to the covert off-world depot known colloquially as The Pit, where everything that had been marked for repair or recycle would be delivered for further sorting. In the center of the large warehouse area was a compactor pit for all of the scrap to be sent into. Several cranes were already busy moving the smaller vehicles like Warthogs and Mongeese into berths to be stripped down while the still operational vehicles were lining up to be loaded onto heavy transport carriers to be returned to base.

You finished stripping your second Warthog for salvageable parts and signaled the nearest lift operator. The clawlike crane clamped onto the 'hog's shell, picking it up and carrying it towards the compactor while you moved on to a Mongoose with a crumpled left rear wheel.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a Warthog with a particularly distinctive twisted rear antenna being dropped off into the line to be loaded up and returned to FLEETCOM.

Frowning, you wove your way through the other mechanics, avoiding the occasional flying part, and found a green circle sprayed onto the hood.

Shit, the private must've heard me wrong when I told him to red X it. It seemed like an odd mistake to make but things had been hectic.

You grabbed a sprayer and neutralized the green and sprayed over it with a red X, then went to the nearest crane operator.

"You see that 'hog with the X on it? Drop it in the line for the compactor, please."

"Got it," the woman said and you waited until she'd picked it up and deposited it appropriately before you returned to work.

You were elbows into a Gauss 'hog's engine bay when you heard your rank and name called. Looking up, your heart gave a little skip: John in full helmeted Mjolnir strode your way with thundering steps you could hear even over the rest of the cacophony.

"With me," he said tersely, passing by and disappearing through a doorway at the back of the warehouse.

You had to hustle to catch up and he had already stopped by the time you joined him in the otherwise empty hallway. He turned, removing his helmet with a slight pneumatic hiss.

"Are you okay?" you both said at the same time.

The angle of the hallway meant you were shielded from most of the work floor. He set his helmet down and very carefully took your hands in his gloved ones.

"Insurgents took the field," he said, looking you over from head to toe. "Did you see combat? Intel was unclear."

"No, we got out but the Pelican took a few shots. Somebody said it felt like surface-to-air but I didn't remember Covenant using anything like that. It was insurgents, then?"

He nodded distractedly, glancing away to mutter, "I'll be right there." Then he looked back to you. "I have to go. Your unit's being sent back to Reach but if they divert you into combat..."

He trailed off, clearly realizing there was no way to finish that sentence the way he wanted.

"Tell them, nah, I'd rather not, thanks?" Your mouth twitched and you squeezed his fingers.

He gave a resigned chuckle. "Yeah, try that, please."

"You're the one who'll be much more in the thick of it," you pointed out. "You be careful, okay?"

"Always try," he said, bringing your hands up to press a kiss to the back of both.

Kai leaned around the door, her visor glinting green. "Chief, sorry but we've got to go."

"Copy that." He released you with clear reluctance and picked up his helmet. "Stay safe. I'll see you soon."

He vanished through the doorway and you took a breath, exhaling slowly. John suddenly appeared right in front of you again, leaning down to cup your face in one hand.

You were just about to ask if something was wrong when he kissed you.

For a moment, for forever, the universe shrank to just the two of you, his mouth on yours, a little frantic at first, then slowing, steadying out.

You felt like you were hovering off the ground and then realized you were; he'd picked you up at some point, pressing you gently to his chest plate. Your hand dropped to the 117 etched near his heart and it was gritty with sand and dirt. You were both grimy and sooty but it didn't matter. It couldn't have been more perfect if you were in a flowing ballgown and him in a tux, slowly spinning together on a glittering palace floor.

He set you back onto your feet but you only parted a breath away from each other.

"I... I'll get better with practice," he mumbled.

You smiled at him, feeling wobbly, lightheaded and more grounded than you'd ever been before, all at the same time. "John, if you were any better at that, I'd have to show you how fast I can get a Spartan out of their Mjolnir with my bare hands."

He was near enough to see his pupils dilate and that was incredibly gratifying. "I'll hold you to that," he said, his voice dropping an entire octave, making your toes literally curl inside your boots.

Then he put his helmet back on and left. You took a moment to compose yourself, then exited as well. There was no sign of Silver Team. No doubt, the Pelican waiting for him had taken off the second he'd boarded.

Cutting through the busy deck, you looked for any vehicle marked with a white stripe, still waiting to be stripped. On an impulse, you diverted to the line being dropped one at a time into the compactor. There was no sign of the curly tailed Warthog.

It could've already been compacted, you were thinking when you saw it going by overhead, clutched in a crane claw and heading back towards the line to return to Reach.

You didn't stop to think, you sprinted for the crane's operator booth. "Hey, put that 'hog down!"

The operator looked at you and you realized in a burst that it was the blond man you'd originally told to mark it with the red X back on the battlefield, who'd apparently designated it instead to come back to The Pit.

No, to go back to FLEETCOM.

Recognition went across his face at the same moment and he bolted from the booth. The lift automatically stopped, the Warthog swaying over the crowded deck.

You knew. You just knew.

You ran as fast as you could and slammed the alarm on the wall. "Bomb!" you bellowed over the shrill klaxon. "Bomb! Clear out!"

Jumping into the operator booth and grabbing the controls, you quickly scanned the area as marines scattered everywhere. There was only one place you could think to go.

You swung the arm around, guiding the curly tailed 'hog firmly clasped in its grip towards the compactor pit. It felt like it was taking a year to get there but you couldn't release the controls or the safety would bring it once more to a stop. Once the Warthog was finally in position, you opened the grip.

What if I'm wrong? you thought as it began to fall. I'll feel like such a fool if--

There was a saying that if you were close enough to an explosion, you would never actually hear it.

It was true.

end note:

If you want to, you know, imagine that Sarge's full name is, sayyyyyy, Avery Johnson, well then, who am I to tell you that you're right or wrong? 😇

If you don't know the Troop Transport Warthogs, here's one in action from Halo: Reach. It's on the level "ONI: Sword Base" and is scripted to be destroyed but there's a way to save it and the marines in it and take it with you for a great deal of the rest of the level! I love saving the Troop 'hog, even if it always still looks like it's on fire. Nah, it's fiiiiiine, no worries! 😎👍😂😉

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

What You've Done, You Cannot Undo (Medieval AU)

Chapter 9

The journey north begins. They might be out of danger for now, but will things run smoothly?

I finished this chapter on the aeroplane on the way on holiday, and I was itching the whole time to post it once I was back!!

Rating: M Content: Dew has more issues with self-hatred, none of the ghouls know how to communicate effectively Words: 5143

Links to full fic: Tumblr | AO3

Hi tag gang! As always, lmk if you want in or out! @everybodyshusband @rainsbasspick @revengeghoulette

Read below, or on AO3!

Dew awoke to find a water ghoul plastered along his side. Rain was still cold, but his normal cold rather than the dangerously icy temperature he had been the night before. Dew extricated himself from the bear grip Rain had him pinned in, shaking his long limbs off and crawling out from under the blanket. The sun was beginning to creep above the horizon, bathing the land in a pale grey light. He found Swiss sat watching the sunrise, his eyes scanning the horizon periodically. They frequently lingered on the village in the distance, his gaze sad and wistful.

“Morning.” Dew whispered, sitting down next to him and leaning his head on his shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of affection. Swiss had been more withdrawn than usual the previous night, and Dew was worried about him. The naturally more tactile multi ghoul rested his own head on Dew’s and let out tired sigh.

“I was gonna wake you soon for the next watch,” he muttered quietly, “but you looked so comfy over there, I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

Dew growled lightly at the comment, but there was no venom behind it.

“Let Aeth sleep.” He agreed instead. The quintessence ghoul still looked dead to the world, drooling slightly in his sleep but otherwise unmoving.

“How’s Rain doing?” asked Swiss.

“He’s less cold now,” Dew replied, “but I don’t think any amount of sleep will be enough for him for a while.”

He twisted he head to look up at Swiss. There was a haunted look in his eyes, one that Dew recognised all too well.

“You saw him, down in the cells.” Dew stated. Swiss nodded, his stricken face giving away just how much it had affected him. “How are you feeling now?”

Swiss shrugged.

“Not great. Seeing him down there, especially after the guards attacked him…” he trailed off, pulling Dew closer to him and burying his nose in his tangle of platinum hair. “I was so scared.” He whispered into Dew’s hair, as though letting the words be spoken into the air could make them hurt more.

Dew hummed in understanding; the thought of Rain, quiet and sweet young ghoul he was, stuck all alone in the dark cell had haunted him all the time he’d been gone. Dew had endured hardship before, he was no stranger to suffering, but Rain had always seemed less aware of the evils in the world. He must have known pain at some point, Dew reasoned, or he would still be with his birth clan. Much like Dew himself though, Rain had always stayed relatively quiet about what brought him to run away.

“I couldn’t see anything, Dew. It was like someone had covered my eyes, everything after noon yesterday was just black.”

Dew let himself be pulled closer to Swiss, manhandled like a teddy bear – it wouldn’t be the first time that morning he reasoned, and Swiss clearly needed the comfort.

“I went to see him every day,” he shuddered, “I hated it. Even when he seemed to be getting stronger, just seeing him there but not being able to help…”

Swiss trailed off, his breathing shaky. Dew guessed he hadn’t told the others about these feelings – Swiss was never one to burden others, always putting on a brave face, but they wouldn’t have let him shoulder this alone if they had known. Dew was the only one who could begin to understand what he had seen, who could know the feeling of abject hopelessness at seeing Rain trapped by stone walls and iron bars first-hand.

“It’s alright, we’re all alright now.” Dew said, trying to be as soothing as possible and mask his discomfort. He attempted to make a joke, to deflect from their shared emotional vulnerability.

“At least you didn’t take one look at him and run for the hills, eh?”

Swiss chuckled weakly, the sound was wet and choked, and rang hollow in Dew’s ears.

“When they attacked him, it felt like was like I was the one being struck instead. After days of feeling nothing, it hurt so much.” A shiver of pain lanced through his body, making him twitch violently and squeeze Dew almost uncomfortable tight. “I was so worried we’d lost him.”

Neither of them liked to add that they were worried they still had: despite Rain being slightly more responsive by the time they went to bed and showing signs that he recognised them, he still had yet to speak a word.

“He’s a tough kid,” Dew admitted, “Satan knows I gave him enough trouble before all of this.”

“Marriage turned you soft already?” Swiss joked, mask slipping effortlessly back in place.

“Something like that.”

The pair sat in comfortable silence a little longer. Swiss might have been free with his affections, reflected Dew as he remained encircled in his strong arms, but he was more like him with his vulnerabilities.

“I can see why you left like you did.” Swiss said finally. “If I’d had any idea how to get Rain out, I’d have flown there as soon as possible too, explanations be damned.”

“It was never guaranteed,” Dew pointed out, “just in the moment it seemed like asking for help was the only idea, and there was no time to explain.”

“We’d never have let you go.” Swiss told him bluntly. “We’d have insisted we could get Rain out ourselves, and neither of us need my foresight to know how that would have turned out.”

Dew nodded grimly.

Around them, the birds began to wake up and sing their dawn chorus. On cue, Swiss yawned widely, his jaw audibly popping.

“You should get a bit more sleep,” suggested Dew with a sigh of his own, “we’ve got a long trip coming up. I promise I won’t leave again, you can trust me despite what Mountain seems to think.”

“I know.” Swiss said simply as he stood up and stretched out his legs. “Don’t take his words to heart, okay? He’s just a bit frustrated that he couldn’t take care of Rain alone.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, you know how he is, always thinking he’s the pack leader as the oldest and strongest.” Swiss’s tone implied that he did not fully agree but would happily humour his ego, if asked. “Mount knows what you did was best for the pack, just give him some time to sort out his bruised pride.”

Dew shrugged, but dropped the subject.

Soon after Swiss had wriggled back under his blanket, Dew could hear his light snores drifting towards him. He sat for a few hours more, loath to wake his exhausted pack. With the early sunrise of long summer days, they could rest a while longer before they would risk bumping into anyone from the village on the road.

As the sky grew lighter, he sat and contemplated how his life had changed over the last few days. He was married now for starters. Even though he didn’t believe in any of the humans’ customs, let alone in their God, he still believed in the sanctity of a promise made in front of his pack. He’d sworn in front of all of them that he would protect Rain, so protect Rain he must. For now, that meant taking him to the Abbey and it host of experienced quintessence ghouls, but damn, that journey was going to be frustrating. Dragging his pack of exhausted ghouls who were all prone to bickering northward was going to fray some nerves.

Part of him was anxious about their destination, too. Not only for their reaction to the Abbey and its inhabitants, he realised, but for the ghoulettes’ reaction to his pack. He wanted them to think he had made a good choice with his life, to be proud of him. Dew supposed this was what it felt like bringing home a potential mate to meet your family: the potential of acceptance, of joyfully blending families, but mixed with the fear of disapproval and rejection. He wouldn’t know anything of that relationship dynamic; his mother had made it quite clear to him how hated his father had been by everyone except for her. Instead of bringing home a mate however, Dew was bringing a brand new husband and three additional ghouls who were varying degrees of excited for the meeting themselves. He hoped they would make a good impression.

His thoughts drifted to Rain; to the catalyst of this whole situation. Rain had been the baby of the pack ever since he arrived, even though he was only slightly younger than Dew himself. The difference between them lay in how Dew prided himself in acting more world-wise than he really was, whereas Rain always seemed to be stuck in the past. Maybe neither one of them had the right attitude, reflected Dew. His insistence on self-reliance had led him to bully Rain into taking on tasks he wasn’t capable of, whereas Rain’s dependence on others had made him desperate to prove himself. Providing they got out of this, they’d both have learned a hard lesson.

Who was he kidding, thought Dew. He could try and blame Rain all he wanted, but he felt sure that he should shoulder most of the blame. If only he’d been more supportive when he had the opportunity, they wouldn’t be in this mess!

He felt himself descending into the all-too-familiar spiral of self-loathing. If he weren’t so hateful, he wouldn’t have felt the need to pick on Rain, and if he had been nicer to Rain they wouldn’t be in this situation now. Everything was his fault. He detested the ghoul who walked around in his imperfect skin.

Dew shook his head to dislodge the thoughts and turned to look at his pack: the time for should’ves had long passed, he had a new task ahead of him. Similarly, he couldn’t find it in himself to shift the blame for their situation onto Rain. Even if his inexperience was what pulled the trigger, Dew had loaded the gun. Looking at him now, sleeping peacefully, compared to seeing him in those dingy cells, Dew felt only a rush of protectiveness. Damn those pack instincts were strong.

They were his real purpose now; nothing that came before mattered apart from his pack. He couldn’t undo his actions any more than Rain could have pulled the raindrops back into their clouds, but he could make amends. That meant starting with an apology, and Dew was never very good at those. Staring back towards the village on the horizon, Dew contemplated what to say.

Eventually, the ghouls began to rise. By the time they had rubbed bleary eyes and blinked sleep away there was some activity in the distance, people scurrying around as tiny as ants. They would have to be careful to give the village a wide berth when they left.

“Wha- why didn’t you wake me for a watch?” yawned Aether, the last to wake.

Dew, Swiss and Mountain all levelled him with identical glares.

“What?”

“Aeth, you were exhausted,” Swiss sighed, “you used all your energy on Rain yesterday, you needed the sleep the most.”

Aether didn’t dare argue further.

After a slow start, all five ghouls and one horse had finally eaten and were all packed up ready to leave. They loaded Rain onto the mare, and some of their belongings into her saddlebags and set off. Cautiously, they skirted around the village, keeping several miles between them. Even with the distance, Swiss and Mountain kept a vigilant lookout as they hurried along the small back roads. They would need to stop to hunt and forage at some point, but that could wait until they were on neutral ground. They cautiously navigated their way forwards, taking a large detour to avoid all the small farms and dwellings that surrounded the town. They were especially careful to avoid the stables near the main road north: the townsfolk may not have recognised the horse from a distance, but up close her owners were sure to.

Only once the sun had reached its peak and begun its slow descent back towards the horizon, did they feel safe enough to pause for breath. The atmosphere as they walked had been somber, cut through in brief moments by flashes of tension during their escape. Rain still hadn’t spoken a word, although he seemed more lucid after his warm night's sleep. Ahead of them they could hear the gentle rushing of the river, the sound guiding them back towards the main path north. They kept walking until they reached its shores, the temptation of a cold drink pulling them onwards.

From here, the road forward was clear. Leading off the path was a small slope down towards the water, which partially shielded a small grassy patch from the view of any passing traveller. They picked their way down the gentle incline, collapsing to the soft undergrowth at the bottom.

“Well, that’s the hard part done.” Said Aether, as he helped Rain down from the saddle. He guided the water ghoul to sit on a rock next to the water, and scooped up some water in a small wooden bowl for him.

“Small sips, remember?”

Rain drained the bowl in one gulp and held it out for more.

“Be careful,” murmured Aether, “you’ll hurt your stomach.”

Rain ignored him in favour of unglamouring his tail and gently swishing it through the water beside him.

Aether watched, nodding in approval. The further they got from the village, the more alert Rain seemed. He’d been relieved so see Rain looking relatively human yesterday, no horns or tail in sight, the slight blue pallor to his skin easily explainable by his underground imprisonment. The first thing any young ghoul born topside learned about their magic was how to hide it. Rain had always struggled with that, reflected Aether, but then he had struggled with all aspects of his magic. Maybe some combination of the strengthening tinctures and herbs Swiss had brought to him, and whatever mysteriously unlocked his water connection so violently had helped him finally get it under control.

“We should forage a bit, whilst we're stopped here.” Mountain's low voice shook Aether from his thoughts, as he appeared beside him to collect water from his cupped hands, drinking it and splashing his face. His thick auburn hair was tied back with twine, but beneath it he was still sweating in the heat. “I think I saw some of the herbs you need for Rain's poultice back by the road.” Aether dipped his head in agreement and quickly drunk from the river himself.

“Are you good with Swiss and Dew for a bit, Rain?” he asked, passing another, smaller, bowl of water up to him. Rain nodded, content to continue basking in his element for as long as he could.

Swiss looked up from where he and Dew were sprawled on their backs on the warm grass, heads resting on their packs.

“We’ve got him Aeth, don’t worry.”

Looking like he would continue worrying regardless, Aether sorted through his knapsack taking out all but what he needed. Once Mountain had done the same, the pair headed back up the slope to the path and the wooded area beyond.

Their feet recovered temporarily, Dew and Swiss also migrated to Rain’s spot by the river to get a drink. He sat there, tail stirring the water as he watched the fish swim past. The longing to join them in his eyes was unmissable.

“You wanna paddle?” Dew asked him, thinking the cold water looked pretty refreshing himself. Rain nodded enthusiastically, so Dew helped him roll his borrowed trousers up before doing the same with his own. Carefully, he and Swiss balanced Rain as they waded out into the river. As they got deeper in, the water lapping at their knees, Rain seemed to gain in strength.

“Don’t get your clothes wet,” warned Swiss, “you’ll catch a chill, even in this weather.”

Rain acted like he hadn’t heard him, suddenly dropping into a crouch in the moving water and pulling the other two ghouls down with him. He grinned wickedly at their shouts and shrieks from the chilly shock of the water, before pausing and lunging towards a trout as it swam past his ankles. All three of them were completely soaked.

“I thought you were meant to be at death’s door!” spluttered Dew, pushing sodden blond hair out of his face and plucking at the uncomfortably wet clothes now clinging to his body. Rain snickered at them, and despite their protests, both Dew and Swiss were relieved to see him getting some life back. The water ghoul held the fish out towards Dew with a polite and slightly apologetic head-tilt, and Dew found himself unable to supress a smile.

“F-for you?” Rain spoke with a halting stutter, the first any of them had heard from him in over a week.

"Oh, you have it." Dew laughed, delighted at his progress out of his silent and withdrawn state. Rain licked his lips gleefully, before sinking his fangs deep into the still-wriggling fish. Dew sighed internally at the huge mess he was making; this was going to be his fault, somehow, wasn't it?

Once Rain had polished off the unlucky trout, making a tremendous mess of himself and his clothes in the process, Dew and Swiss tried their best to clean him off in the river still rushing around them.

“Right, let’s dry you off,” announced Swiss, “Mount and Aeth will decide we’re dinner if they see we let you get all wet!”

Ignoring his whine of protest, Swiss scooped up the squirming water ghoul and carried him back to dry land. In his weakened state there was no chance for him to fight back, but that didn’t stop him pouting petulantly the whole time. Dew plopped down between the two and heated his skin up like a space heater, the steam soon rising from his wet clothes and skin and beginning to dry the others.

“Thank you, Dew.” Whispered Rain, so quiet Dew almost missed it, but with a conviction that made the words reverberate around his skull like prayers in a cathedral.

The sun beat down on them from above and, led on the soft grass in the peaceful sunshine, the three ghouls could almost forget the problems they faced.

A while later, Mountain and Aether returned with a few bundles of herbs and some berries they found on their way back.

“Why are you all wet?” exclaimed Aether.

“You should be more careful, he'll get sick,” Mountain reprimanded them, “what were you thinking?”

Swiss rolled his eyes, ignoring the dig at them.

“Relax, he'll be fine. It was Rain's idea anyway!”

Dew however, took the criticism to heart: he'd failed his packmate again. Sure, it might have been Rain's idea, but he should have stepped in and stopped him; he should have been more responsible.

It soured his mood for the rest of the day. Mountain caught them a few more fish using a line and earthworms as bait, and after gutting and cleaning them, they packed up their haul to continue moving while it was still light. Several hours later, the sun was kissing its final farewell to the horizon, the sky fading through a kaleidoscope of colours. Rain hadn't spoken another word since earlier, and Dew began to think he had imagined it. They went to bed in silence, not even making eye contact as they settled on opposite sides of the bedroll.

Dew lay awake in the darkness, thinking to himself. He needed to apologise to Rain, that was clear. He'd missed his chance earlier, too caught up in the light-hearted mood to ruin it with a serious talk. The rest of his pack clearly thought he was to blame; Rain must do too.

Eventually, Dew must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by Aether for his turn at a watch. Rain had again migrated to the centre of the bedroll, his gangly limbs taking up the limited space and claiming Dew's warmth for themselves. He sat sullenly at the edge of their camp, stewing in his thoughts until morning.

Throughout their second day on the road, the weather broke. The glorious sunshine vanished, giving way to never-ending clouds and cold, drizzling rain. This seemed to be helping a certain water ghoul, tipping his head back to catch droplets of his namesake on his tongue. Rain's strength was coming back in leaps and bounds, he'd finally attempted to speak again, holding a quiet and stuttered conversation with Swiss and Aether from his perch on the mare's back. The pair seemed to be trying their hardest to keep him entertained, Swiss leading a continuous stream of small talk to distract Rain from thinking about his recent ordeal.

Dew, however, was not doing so well. He was cold, his feet were wet, and he had exhausted himself early on trying to keep them dry with magic. He trudged behind the others, dragging his feet forward and moping to himself. After their conversation the previous morning, he had hoped that Swiss would see how much he needed support too, and maybe turn to Dew for support of his own. That didn't seem to be the case at all however: Swiss had his cheerful mask fixed firmly back in place and was laying one hundred percent of his attention on Rain.

Dew had wanted to have a word with Rain today, now he was able to speak again. The guilt that had wracked his mind last night had only intensified while he slept, and he knew there was only one realistic way to settle things. Getting Rain alone had proved almost impossible however: aside from the fact that his two companions never left his side, Rain himself seemed distant. Dew could understand – he would be distant with him too, were their roles reversed.

Mountain was clearly still upset as well, not speaking to Dew unless he couldn't avoid it. He was less bothered by the rain than Dew and was ploughing of ahead of the pack. Dew remembered what Swiss had said, and knew he was likely just stressed, trying to cope with the situation in his own way. He was worrying about where and when to make camp, where to find food, and trying to be the best provider for his pack as possible having felt like he failed to protect Rain before. As Dew trailed along behind his packmates, he thought bitterly that if Mountain paused for a second and thought, he could realise that Dew had made this journey twice over the last week, and remembered most of the locations he had camped in. Rather than offer his advice though, Dew stayed quiet: his input wouldn't be appreciated, so why bother? The rain became heavier as they exited from under a canopy of trees, and Dew resigned himself to several more hours of misery.

From atop the horse, Rain was enjoying the gentle drizzle. They'd been slowly moving forward all day, the monotony of the journey only broken up by Swiss leaping between conversation topics. Rain was grateful for the distraction. His mind still felt fuzzy, like it was lagging several metres behind him and walking alongside Dewdrop. Huh, though Rain to himself. He had seen a new side to Dew yesterday when he helped him wade around in the river: a more caring ghoul who didn't snap at him for wanting to indulge in childish things like paddling on a hot day. Everything had felt like it might be okay in that moment – the cool water and gentle support of his packmates had cleared the cobwebs that shrouded his brain away, and he'd finally managed to form words. This Dewdrop was an entirely different ghoul from the one who found any excuse to gripe at him: this Dew could be expected to pull off a risky stunt to save him from the hangman's noose; would let him cuddle up close at night for warmth.

Now though, that Dew had disappeared. He was back to his familiar and grouchy self, dragging his feet as he brought up the rear. Rain wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, if anything. As he dried off yesterday, the clouds had descended around him again and he had not been able to pay attention to his packmate's interactions, even if he had wanted to. They were only starting to lift now with the tiny sharp shocks of individual raindrops striking his exposed skin, making him alert enough to hear Swiss recounting the time he'd met a dog he thought was half ghoul, but wasn't. Rain appreciated him trying but really, he could have done with some silence in this precious moment of mental clarity. Still, he sensed Swiss was chattering about similarly banal topics more for his own benefit than anyone else's, so he helped him keep the conversation going, replying when he could and enjoying the encouraging smiles it would pull from the multi ghoul.

Rain wondered if he should try to speak to Dew. They would need to have a conversation about what had unfolded in the square at some point, that was clear. However, Dew didn’t seem in the mood for an emotionally vulnerable talk – if anything he seemed to want to be left alone, staying far away from the others. Whenever Rain sensed a chance to catch Dew by himself, the stony frown on his face made him anxious that it would make things between them worse, and all ability to form coherent thoughts vanished as swiftly as he had recovered it.

That night, Dew griped and grumbled all the while as they prepared for bed. Rain had thought he would be pleased: Mountain had declared that they were far enough away from people who would do them harm as to not need a watch anymore. His and Aether’s old senses from their travelling days had come right back to them, and they were convinced they would wake at anything suspicious. Combined with Dew’s fire, Mountain’s protective wards, and their location off the path, they had decided it was safe enough for them all to all get a full night’s sleep.

Now that they had stopped moving, Rain was beginning to get cold in the damp evening air. His affinity with his element only went so far, especially given that he already ran cold and was still severely malnourished. He shivered as he tried to settle on his side of the bedroll, keeping his distance from a frosty Dewdrop. He desperately wanted to shuffle closer to him, to hold the smaller ghoul tightly and absorb every scrap of warmth he radiated. However, stronger than the heat was the anger emanating from him, so Rain kept a cautious distance.

He curled into himself, his back to Dew who was mirroring his position and almost off the edge of the heavy canvas. Rain tried to suppress his frozen trembling long past the time the others had fallen asleep. Dew was still awake however; Rain could hear his breathing. With the clearest head he had had since his actions of the week prior, the enormity of his situation suddenly hit him and his shivering turning into the shaking of silent sobs.

Rain had been trying to put on a brave face since his rescue, not wanting to seem ungrateful in any way when he knew he owed his pack – especially Dew – his life. However, he had barely started processing what had happened, how close he had come to dying, how his actions had killed people. How Dew, the one ghoul who had never warmed to him, had saved his life. How they were married now? It all seemed like a crazy dream, like the ones he had experienced as a kit after eating a pretty, red-spotted frog he had found in the marsh.

Now though, the same ghoul who had apparently cared for him enough to agree to marry him hadn’t spoken to him since the river yesterday. Rain took a shuddering breath, trying to get his tears under control. What was his life coming to? Now, to top it all off, he and his pack were moving across the country to a place he had never heard of before, with none of his own belongings, and wearing a spare set of Swiss’s clothes. All because he couldn’t control his emotions, like he was failing at doing now, and let himself be goaded into attempting something he wasn’t ready for.

He hadn’t attempted any water magic since they left. He certainly hadn’t tried tapping into that alien electrical buzz either; he didn’t even know if he would still be able to now that he was out of direct danger. So much for practicing his skills. Maybe Dew was right, he really was a failure. He would have been better off sticking to his own slow pace, even if that meant being called the pack burden by Dew. His crying intensified, knowing what his mistake had done to his pack and their stable, happy life.

Dew rolled over to face him, a thunderous expression on his face.

“Can you shut up?” He snapped. “Go to sleep. It’s your fault we’re in this situation in the first place!”

Hearing his own worst thoughts out loud only made Rain sob harder. He tried to muffle his cries in the blanket: the last thing he needed now was for Dew to call him weak again or, Hell forbid, disrupt the others’ sleep to make them comfort him.

Rain drew in a shaky breath, and hissed back at Dew,

“No one asked you to rescue me. I don’t know why you bothered, since you clearly hate me so much!”

Dew seemed stunned into silence by Rain’s sudden acquisition of a backbone. He flopped back onto his side to glare into the darkness away from Rain, and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

“If you hadn’t stupidly tried to prove yourself with something you knew you couldn’t handle, we would be in this mess.” He growled.

“Well if you didn’t spend every waking minute making me feel like I needed to prove myself, we wouldn’t be here either!” Rain shot back.

The air crackled with tension and the echoes of both of their deepest insecurities spoken aloud. The pair lay there, stewing in anger. Dew’s thoughts of apologising went out the window – Rain clearly wasn’t in a forgiving mood, what good would it do now?

They eventually fell asleep when their exhaustion won out, as separated as the narrow bedroll would allow them to be. When they woke, they were still on their opposite sides, the space between them cold for the first time since their journey began.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bad Guy 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The men your mother brings home rarely stick around, but her latest catch can't seem to unhook himself from your life.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Note: I'm going to a physio today for the first time.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The house is quiet as you come out of your room. The single floor is just enough room for you and your mom. You’ve never needed much else and all your life, you’ve made do with what you have. It’s just the way it is.

You stretch your arms and arch your spine as you stop in the doorway of the kitchen. You yawn. You fell asleep reading outdated discussions about your most recent syndicated obsession. You should know better by now, that thorn in your neck is only driving deeper. 

You bend at the elbows to rub your neck and drag your feet over the cold tile. Your nipple poke rigidly against your cropped tank top and goosebumps raze up your bare thighs. You open the fridge and pull out the bottle of orange juice, your panties riding up with your movement.  

Before you can stand straight, a sharp strikes snaps against your ass and radiates through your flesh. You yipe and grip the bottle by the neck as you jump and turn to face the culprit. The strange man stares back, his brows twitching. 

“Mm, you’re not Gail,” he mutters. 

“No, I’m not,” you press the juice to your chest, overly aware of your barely covered body.  

You don’t ask who he is. You stopped doing that in middle school. She’s another one of her ‘callers’. You don’t usually see them more than once, if at all. Most leave before you’re awake. 

“Was takin’ a piss, heard you skittering around, thought...” he trails off into a shrug. 

He’s shirtless too. He only wears a pair of briefs as he stands shameless before you. A dark tattoo covers half his chest and extends around his shoulder and down his arm. It’s the typical snake and skull aesthetic sported by men like him. 

“Nope,” you reach for the fridge door and step to the side as you close it.  

He doesn’t move. You go to dip around him and he moves with you. 

“Taking all that with you?” He points at the bottle. You look down and sigh. You push it towards him. “Here.” 

He puts his hand under it and you let go. You skirt around his other side and squeeze through the door behind him. You don’t look back as you flee to your room. You resist the urge to reach back and cover the bottom of your ass, not wanting to draw attention to it if he is watching. 

You shut your bedroom door and cringe. Great. You can’t really complain. Your mother hasn’t kicked you out. Yet. Not like half your friends’ parents. She just asks for half the rent and you can manage that. With the rent around here, you’d be on the street otherwise. 

You cross the room and flop on the bed. You pull out your phone and go back to scrolling the old discussion boards. It’s funny. The more recent posts are totally contrary to the ones when the show aired. You’re not sure who you agree with. 

You roll onto your back and drop your phone to the mattress. You have to work at noon. So much for a relaxing morning. You’ll just be hiding in your room until that man leaves. 

A knock jerks you up and you roll your eyes. You search the floor and pull on the wrinkly pajama bottoms. You go to the door and crack it open an inch. It’s him. 

“Uh, hi?” You utter dully. 

“Got you a glass,” he offers one of the cups in his hands. You squint at it then look him in the face. 

“Thanks?” You go to take it but he doesn’t let go as you wrap your fingers around the cold glass.  

“There a problem?” He asks. 

“Uh, no,” you scrunch your nose. “I said thanks.” 

“I don’t like your tone.” 

You let go of the glass and retract your hand. His eyes flick down and yours do too. The white tank does little for your modesty. You cross your arms. 

“Okay? Well, never mind,” you go to close the door and he steps forward, digging his elbow into the wood as he blocks you with his body. 

“Your mom said you’re a nice girl,” he looks you up and down again. “Coulda fooled me walking around like that.” 

You frown. It’s your house. Why should you worry about what you’re wearing? Besides, if you knew he was there, then you wouldn’t wander around in your panties. 

“Thanks for the orange juice but you should just give it to my mom. That’s why you’re here,” you shrug. 

He scoffs. “Got a smart mouth.” 

“No, I—I didn’t do anything.” 

“There you go again. Disrespectful.” 

“Huh?” You shake your head in confusion. 

“That way you talk. Low and flat, like you don’t give a fuck. Maybe you don’t. Would explain why you’re grown living in your mommy’s house,” he mockingly pouts. 

You blink, “you don’t know me.” 

“I know girls like you. Pretending like they don’t care. You care. We both know you do.” He moves a glass closer, “say thank you. Like you mean it.” 

“I don’t want it,” you insist. 

“Don’t want to waste it. Was it you or mommy who paid for the bottle?” He taunts. 

You grit your teeth. What is his problem? Why won’t he just leave you alone? 

You deflate. You really just want him to go. You look at the ceiling then back to him. He’s the kind of man you would avoid on the street. His blue eyes are as cold as ice and his hair is shaved, but a little longer on top, and he sports a goatee amid the short stubble on his jaw and cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you reach for the glass again. 

“Thank you, sir,” his voice grizzles as he corrects you. 

You steel yourself and your lips slant. You really just want him to tell him to fuck off but like you always do, you don’t say what you think. You keep it inside. Put on that face that keeps you safe. 

“Thank you, sir,” you repeat after him. 

“Now smile,” he demands. 

You flinch and look away. You take a breath. That’s you’re least favourite, when they tell you to smile. It happens often at your job and it always sours your day. 

You force a smile. 

“Come on, you can do better,” he snickers. 

Your cheeks tremble and your smile falls. You tuck your chin down. 

“Can you please just leave me alone?” You mumble. 

“Excuse me, girl? I can’t hear you.” 

“I said...” your throat locks up and your eyes singe. God! When you get angry, you don’t get bold, you just get teary. You hate it. “I said ‘thank you, sir’.” 

You grab the glass so abruptly that it sloshes over the side. You don’t stop, you just spin and throw your weight against the door. He lets it close and it slams. You spill most of the juice down your front. 

You hear the friction of his fingers dragging down the wood. It sends a chill through you. You slowly pull away and put the glass down, juice dripping down your arms and chest. 

He’ll be gone soon, just like the rest. 

💀

Your mom’s still asleep when you leave for work. As you sneak out of your room, you listen for any sign of life.  If the man’s there, he doesn’t make himself known. You step into your shoes and leave through the front door without looking back. 

You head down the street with your earbuds in, a podcast about an old show you watched in high school droning on, as you take the shortcut behind the house at the end of the street. It’s almost four blocks to work but you save money on bus fare. You try to only waste the change after dark. 

The ice cream shop is never very busy outside of the post-soccer game crowds. You take your vigil behind the cold counter and bob along with the radio station’s Top 10 countdown. Miley leans in the corner by the till as she chews gum and scrolls through her phone. 

You’re fidgety to do the same, but you hate just letting your eyes glaze over. You pace a bit back and forth until her shift is up. When she’s gone, you feel a little less on edge. You always prefer being alone, you don’t have to worry about performing. 

Customers come and go. You greet them with the usual ‘how can I help?’ You’ve never been very good at the customer service part but you’re not rude. You just do your job, which it to scoop ice cream and toss some sprinkles around. 

You’re entitled to one cone a shift. You rarely have it. You don’t need the extra sugar or the brain freeze. That day, as you close up, the chocolate peanut butter entices you to go outside your routine. You put the lids on all the canisters except for that flavour and do yourself up a waffle cone before you lock up. 

You lick the softening cream and turn to face the dark plaza, lit only by the overhead marquee. There’s a car idling just by the curb. You ignore it. A few neighbouring businesses close up around the same time. 

The engine revs, and it jolts forward. The horn nearly has you throwing your cone. You fall back into step and keep walking. The Trans Am continues to follow you and honks again. The window rolls down as someone whistles. Only your name stops you. 

You turn and bend to see through the window. What the heck? It’s him. The man that invaded your house and threatened you over orange juice. 

You exhale through your nose and stand up. You turn down the pavement and keep going. The bus will be there any moment. 

“Hey,” he barks, “get back here.” 

You keep going. Why is he there? Because of the orange juice? 

The car door opens and closes. You speed up as you hear him following you. 

“Your mom sent me to pick you up,” he says. 

You snort, “sure she did.” 

“Really,” he says as his footsteps echo yours. 

“She doesn’t even know when I work,” you keep going and he catches your arm, yanking you back. 

You spin to face him and yelp. Your scoop shifts precariously in the cone. You try to pull away but not too hard as you selfishly want to keep your treat intact. 

“Alright. I offered. I heard you leave. Figured you could use a lift.” He squeezes and you whimper. “I can be a nice guy.” 

Can be. 

You wince and flutter your lashes, “can you let me go... please?” 

He opens his fingers sharply and lifts his hand, showing his palm. “Since you said please...” 

You look over your shoulder then back at him. Finally, you glance at your cone. You weigh your options. You’re not a quick runner. 

“I appreciate the ride but--” 

“I appreciate the ride, sir. Like I said, I can be nice, but respect is earned, girl.” 

You swallow tightly, cheeks pinching. 

“Sir, I appreciate the ride but I have money for the bus--” 

He clucks and points over your shoulder, “that bus?” 

You turn and watch the headlights blow by the stop. You flick your eyes to the sky and face him again. “Mmhmm.”” 

“So, is that a ‘thank you, sir’ on your lips?” He challenges. 

You slant your lips back and forth. You fight back a wave of hot frustration. You’re used to feeling powerless but he is suffocating. You nod. 

“Thank you, sir,” you choke out. 

“See, not that hard to be a good girl.” 

He waits until you move. You head back towards his car, and he gets in the driver side. As you claim the passenger seat, he huffs. He looks at you as you try not to acknowledge him. 

“Don’t like food in the car. Try not to get it all over,” he snarls. 

“I can--” 

“Just be careful,” he snips. 

Just be quiet, you tell yourself. You pull the seatbelt down and stare through the windshield. You lick around the cone as the cream threatens to melt onto your fingers. The car idles and you glance over. He watches your tongue as you lap up the trickle.  

You sit back as his eyes cling to your lips. He lifts his chin and turns straight. He grips the wheel and cranks the volume on the stereo. He speeds off and you struggle to keep from doing just what he warned you not to. You’d tell him to slow down but not only will he not listen, but the sooner you’re home, the better. 

[neim-batteries-not-included]

what is the mechanisms and where do i start (ive seen you posting about it and it sounds cool)

I FUCKING CACKLED WHEN THIS CAME THROUGH AHFVSHFFSJFBUE !!!!!

Ok so the Mechanisms are essentially a “storytelling musical cabaret” band of immortal space pirates

(Their about page is here)

The cast at its height was made up of nine performers, including some of the people involved in TMA (Jonny Sims, Jessica Law (Nikola), Frank Voss (Basira), and Tim Ledsam (Jordan Kennedy)).

They rework myths n traditional stories into more sci-fi esque narratives (eg the Odyssey/Greek mythology, Arthurian legend, Norse mythology, etc) and incorporate versions of songs (the ones that came to mind is The Rocky Road To Dublin (which became Favoured Son). There’s a focus on the characters that narrate/play the people in the stories they’re telling- these being the Mechanisms themselves.

Without going into a massive lore dump, they were all (bar two) made immortal by Dr Carmilla with metal body parts (eg the heart, the lungs, the eyes). So you’re not completely confused with who’s who, have a cast list + their mechanism:

Jonny d’Ville- played by Jonny Sims- captain first mate- the heart

Nastya Rasputina- anonymous actor- engineer- the blood

Ivy Alexandria- played by Morgan Wilkinson (Morgan uses he/him, Ivy she/her)- archivist- the brain

Ashes O’Reilly- played by Frank Voss- quartermaster- the lungs

Drumbot Brian (my personal favourite)- played by Ben Below- pilot- everything but the heart

Toy Soldier- played by Jessica Law- “we don’t know what it does, but it’s here and it won’t go away”- everything but the voice (it stole its voice)

Gunpowder Tim- played by Tim Ledsam- gunner/master at arms- the eyes

“Baron” Marius von Raum- played by Kofi Young (they/them, Marius generally referred to with he/him)- ship’s “doctor”- the right arm

Raphaella la Cognizi- played by R L Hughes- science officer- the wings

(The last two are the ones that weren’t mechanised by the doctor (their actors joined the ensemble slightly later))

Nastya left around 2015 and the Toy Soldier wasn’t in the Bifrost Incident, though was present for Tales To Be Told Vol. 2 and Death To The Mechanisms.

In terms of where to start, I’d recommend Once Upon A Time (In Space), which is their first recorded album. You can also find the live performance on YouTube (if you’d like a link let me know)

It might be an idea to start with the song Tales To Be Told (they played some variation of it at the start of every live show) from the Death To The Mechanisms album (here). This introduces you to most of the cast + the band as a concept.

After OUATIS I’d suggest going chronologically- Ulysses Dies at Dawn (UDAD), Tales To Be Told Vol. 1 (TTBT), High Noon Over Camelot (HNOC), Frankenstein (single), The Bifrost Incident (TBI), Tales To Be Told Vol. 2, and then finishing with Death To The Mechanisms (DTTM) (live album).

There’s some fiction written by the cast on their website, should be ok to find but if you need a hand/want to know where to start with those let me know. And if you want fanfic recs >:3 (get to grips with the music first though).

I love the mechanisms, they’re fucken great fun- watch their live shit on YouTube if you can (I have so many saved so if you want some, again, let me know).

(Also there’s some brilliant mechs artists on here, take a dive into the tag if you have the time.)

Good luck!!!

[oddcryptidwrites]

Welcome Back to the Collection of the Odd Cryptid's Writings

Hi! I'm Athens/Andy (they/them). I am a somewhat old yet somewhat new face on writeblr. I'm currently a second year student at a university in the deep south, studying history and anthropology in order to become a museum curator. Most of my free time is spent writing, which is the driving force behind this blog. Writing has become the love of my life over the past ten years.

AthensWrites has had two prior iterations. All I posted here in the previous iteration was privated, including Not Your Typical Fairytale. Don't fear, NYTF will make a glorious return ;)

With all that said, welcome back to the odd writings of Athens, and I hope you enjoy your stay. Below the cut, I've detailed some of my current projects, which range from Sci-Fi (my favorite) to thrillers to fantasy to realistic fiction. I've highlighted key content warnings and tags for each, just to keep you aware. If you'd like to hop on a tag list for any of these stories, please let me know! Some of them I post more frequently than others. I am also very tag list and tag game friendly so PLEASE tag me in stuff. If you need other people to tag in a writeblr tag game, look no further than this post!

The collection is constantly updating and evolving, so stay tuned!

Not Your Typical Fairytale (#nytf)

Although originally planned as a standalone novel, NYTF has now expanded into three separate books: Knight of Dawn, Queen of Noon, and King of Dusk. There's an additional collection of short stories/untold stories planned as well, tentatively titled Pawn of Midnight.

Content warning: gore, death, violence, graphic scientific experimentation, derealization, paranoia, drug use and abuse, alcohol use, child abuse (physical, verbal), relationship abuse (verbal, manipulation), sex (consensual) Related tags: nytf, Piers Hall, Grady Yensey, Rene Dubois, ATLZoS

Knight of Dawn

Piers Hall is the newly crowned monarch of the post-apocalyptic State of Georgia, after their mother, Queen Adele, was declared unfit to rule. Despite meaning well, they find themself unprepared for the role, especially as political rivals, like North Carolina’s President René Dubois and Councilmember Shanna Miles, close in on their tail, seemingly threatening to topple their rule. When various palace staff start to show where their real loyalties, it seems like Grady Yensey, Commander of the Royal Guard and their closest friend, is the only one they can trust. Piers and Grady must scramble to uncover the truth behind Queen Adele’s questionable associates, Piers’ missing past, and President Dubois’ shady activities

International Alliance of Superhumans (#iash)

Superhumans have existed as long as we have, normal people who suddenly develop seemingly magical powers overnight. That’s why the International Alliance of Superhumans was founded in 1945, to help control these superhumans to better humanity. Now, the Alliance's ideals and control is falling apart, as the Underground and the Union threaten its weakening rule over the superhuman community. Fireball is the golden hero of the Alliance , the face of the organization, the beloved apprentice of the Chief Administrator after the death of the one and only GoldenSon. He’s brave, courageous, kind, and always up to take a photo with the kiddos, accompanied by his partner, NightSong. He’s taken down villains from Quantum Rift (the killer of GoldenSon) to Árbol Terror, and now has his eyes set on taking down Hueso Blanco and Morpheus Nox before they can tear a hole in reality. Brigid Roberts is the face behind the mask of Fireball. They’re the only child of the now-deceased Nikki Roberts and find have found themself seeking revenge for Nikki’s death…while also trying to manage this superhero business and their senior year of high school. It doesn’t help that the administration of Wesmoreland keeps threatening to expel them for their aggressive behavior. Hueso Blanco is the epitome of an ex-Alliance villain, a well beloved hero fallen from grace, after Árbol Terror and Quantum Rift convinced him to join the Underground. Now with both of his former allies dead, he leads the Underground, and with the help of Morpheus Nox (an up and coming villain with a terrifying similarity to Quantum Rift) he plans to tear a hole in our reality, ripping out world apart. Martin Garcia-Flores is the sole caretaker of his younger brother, Elias, and would do anything to protect him. After the Alliance's violent threats, he left, in order to protect what was left. He lost friends and family and his love to the Alliance's corrupted side, and now works tirelessly to bring it to his knees…while also trying to work three separate jobs to keep himself and Elias afloat. When fate brings Brigid and Martin face to face, maskless and vulnerable, the two come to understand they may not be as different as they’d both previously thought. Content Warning: violence, gore, death, family abuse (physical, verbal), alcohol (use) Related Tags: IASH, superhumans, Brigid Roberts, Martin GF, Hueso Blanco, Fireball

Space Clue/The Murder of Fredrik Lexand (#tmfl)

In 2183, humans abandoned earth as her ecosystems collapsed and became uninhabitable. Now, the remnants of humanity live in the Lexand Starfleet, a group of 16 name-brand ships, sailing towards deep space. In control of it all is Fredrik Lexand, the 17th great grandson of the original founder of Lexand StarFleet. From his living pod at the head of StarSeeker Alpha, he controls everything and anything that happens to humanity, from their food to their spouses to where the remnants of humanity will travel to. The weight of the world on one man’s shoulders (who are we kidding, of course he has lackeys who do all the menial work), worshipped as a god. Until the morning he is found brutally dismembered, mangled parts of his body strewn all over his office. Humanity freezes, watching intently, as the Lexand Pod is locked down by Detective Scoud Tambry, swearing to uncover the killer, and avenge the Corporate god-king. Content Warning: Violence, gore Related Tags: tmfl, space clue, Triple A Siblings, Scoud Tambry

Something Queer is Afoot (#SQIA)

Something Queer is Afoot is a massive collection of stories, all centering around queer life and romance. The Queer Crew is the group which most of them are centered around. This collection is MASSIVE and has about 10 different novella-length stories within. The content warnings listed below covers ALL of SQIA. Content Warnings: su*cide, death, homophobia, transphobia, abuse (physical, verbal, and sexual), drug use and abuse, religious trauma, sex (consensual and noncon/r*pe) Related Tags: SQIA, tqc, nlth, frf, sunandgun, boc

Still to be added: All of SQIA's individual projects, Cryto Conspiracy, The Great Fantasy American Road Trip, World of Ateine, Neon Squad

MORE TO BE ADDED SOON, SO STAY TUNED!

Athens' Current Objectives....

Blog Tag Directory:

#athenswrites: Personal writing

#athens answers: ask games

#other writeblrs: exactly what it sounds like, other writers I've reblogged

#writers I love: reblogs of close friends or writing that just hits me different

#rblg: general reblog tag

I'm pretty good at tagging extensively, so if you need to find something or are looking for a specific wip in my blog, there's a high probability I've tagged it like crazy