#I don’t fuckin care what kind of dog it is or how good it is at home

[russersprouts]

This is a big talking point on tiktok right now but I know a lot of you don’t use it so I’ll give you a quick rundown:

A girl took her dog in the grocery store and let it piss all over the frozen fish sticks and thought it was the funniest thing in the world

Which is in turn brought up the (incredibly true) conversation point that American society especially is incredibly lenient to dog owners and it’s annoying as shit.

Like, already with that girl people DO bring non-service dogs into places that are very notably NOT dog friendly. But my two cents here is I WORK somewhere that IS (chain hardware store) and even then some people literally do not give a shit if they have the most untrained dog in the world.

People let their dogs piss and shit on the floor and not clean it. They let their dogs jump on strangers. They let them ROAM OFF LEASH INSIDE. BRO WE USE POWER EQUIPMENT IN HERE.

A lady the other day brought in her dog who was physically shaking with fear, her tail tucked between her legs, and licking her lips nonstop and it’s like. Really? You really needed to torture your dog because you needed a single paint brush THAT much????

[quarterlifekitty]

(just had a gynecologist appt this morning and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much of a dog Soap would be about it)

he’d beg to watch or something like the perv he is

or maybe if we’re being really nasty:

gynecologist!Soap that only chose this profession so he can stuff his fingers into pussies all day :(( he doesn’t discriminate either, he likes all kinds of cunts!! Can’t have any pussy suffering or feeling sick on his watch (he’s a pussy pronoun user)

But he gets real excited when a pretty thing like you walks into his office, likes making you squirm and blush all awkwardly

don’t worry about it, bonnie, s'all part of the exam :3 he’s just checking if your g-spot is healthy!! There she goes, soaking his fingers and trying to suck him in deeper <3

You know there were a lot of boys who said that thing about wanting to be gynecologists in middle school and I will never forget my music teacher saying “you know that women usually go to the gynecologist when there’s something wrong with them, right?” And they shut the fuck up

Also I believe @/peachesofteal has a gyn!Price AU that I recommend you check out if you’re into that.

lol NO ONE walks into the obgyn and expects seeing a built dude with a Mohawk basically busting out of his scrubs and smiling at you with wolf teeth.

Also YES pussy pronouns. A staple of the 141, imo.

And this may be too freak nasty for you but uhhhm…. DentistsOffice!141.

CW: medical, dental, dubcon/noncon, obsession, somno

Obsessed with you and shoving their fingers in your mouth and against your teeth. Let’s be real Soap would love smelling your breath and every day is a constant battle for him to resist spitting in there right after he tells you to open wide.

Price and Nikolai looming over you, remarking on your oral hygiene, stroking the tips of your canines. Calling you a good girl every time you follow any instruction whatsoever— opening your mouth, rinsing with all of the mouthwash, moving your tongue out of the way. The way they praise your good care and tut when you’ve been slacking is insanely motivating

You know Soap is obsessed with the molds they make of your teeth (I know that’s orthodontic primarily don’t @ me). If he uses some silicon in the molds to take a little something home that’s his business iykyk

Gaz who’s the resident anesthetist. And you KNOW they always recommend general anesthesia for every fuckin minor procedure they can so you can be passed out and vulnerable under them. Gaz gently explaining what it’s going to feel like as you go under, telling you to keep counting as the mask gets secured over your mouth.

And if you insist you can’t go under general, you don’t have anyone to come with you or drive you home after, that’s ok. Their technician Simon is actually getting off his shift around when the procedure ends. He’d be happy to drive you home and help you rinse with saline, replace your cotton :) and if something else happens to slip in your mouth while you’re still all dazed and relaxed, what’s the harm?

And miraculously, your insurance (I know I look like an American rn don’t @ me) always covers the whole thing with no issue! They just call them up, and suddenly the copay disappears. So it’s no trouble to go often— you might as well take advantage!

[rafesangelita]

hi angel! i love your work so much and fell in love with bambi!reader, so i was hoping you could write something for me ^_^

can you pls pls pls write bambi!reader comforting rafe after he gets into it with ward? i feel like she’d know exactly how to comfort himmm (pure fluff pls, i read too much smut lmaooo)

warnings: ward cameron, arguing, shouting, a little bit of physical violence, poor rafe who deserves so much better, mention of murder (i’m not referencing peterkin), fluff, soft petting, words of affirmation

a/n: aww bambi!reader has been getting so much love, it makes my heart happy to know that you enjoy the works that she’s in <3

“you had one job, rafe.. one!” ward had been shouting at rafe for nearly an hour already, his face flush with anger. “you really have a way of fucking things up, huh? i should put a caution sign on your forehead.” rafe’s fist clenched as he listened to his father, trying his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest with every word that ward spat.

“i already told you that i couldn’t close out the business accounts and wire the money to a different one. apparently i’m not next in line to own cameron development anymore. ‘you know something about that?” rafe was in disbelief when he had to find out from a service representative that his own father took him off of the family business, something that he worked hard all these years for in order to prove he was worthy of running.

ward froze. he had forgotten about that. “were you ever gonna tell me, or were you just gonna be a coward about it?” rafe stood up, towering over his father with that crazy look in his eyes. “what you forgot to do before you faked your own death instead of facing your problems like a man, was take my name off of the inheritance of tanneyhill.” he laughed, “i own this shit now.” rafe stepped closer, backing ward into the wall. “get out of my house.” ward was seething, his hand coming up to fist rafe’s shirt.

“your house? i’m the one who worked like a dog to get us here.” ward said through gritted teeth, shoving rafe in his chest. rafe stumbled, scoffing out a laugh as he then pushed his father. “worked like a dog to get us here but you were more than willing to leave me here while you start a new life in fuckin’ guadeloupe.” rafe fought to keep his emotions at bay.

“leave. and don’t ever come back.” ward’s chest was rising and falling, both him and rafe glaring at one another. “you’re cut off. good luck keeping up with this place on your own.” ward smiled bitterly. “cut off?” rafe narrowed his eyes, “i’ve been cut off, dad. i haven’t used a cent of yours since i was nineteen. all this time i’ve been making money my own way, and a lot of it too. ‘seems like your old man brain forgot about that.” rafe nudged ward as he walked past, his father following him out of the master bedroom.

“i’m leaving. when i come back i want you out of here,” rafe grabbed his truck keys, his skin on fire as he looked up the staircase, “and by the way, asshole, i’m not by myself. i got the prettiest girl on the island on my arm everywhere i go.” ward watched as his son walked out the front door. rafe was seeing red the whole time he drove to your house, cursing under his breath as he recalled his father’s words.

“the fucking nerve that guy has.” he punched the steering wheel, nostrils flaring as tears pricked at his eyes. he was the only one who was there to take care of things when ward was ‘gone’. even going as far as committing crimes so his father wouldn’t face any kind of scrutiny. yet, there he was telling him that he was a fuck up.

rafe spent the next five minutes mumbling to himself, his hands shaking as he parked outside your driveway. you were curled up on the porch swing, an open book in your lap when he walked up the stone path. all it took was one look at your boyfriend to have you scrambling up from your seat, eager to soothe him in any way you can. “oh, ray, what’s wrong?” you guided him inside, locking the door shut before both of you made your way up to your room.

“it’s ward. he came back just to tell me shit about not closing the bank accounts under cameron development.” you knew all about rafe’s conflict with his father. from the way he favored everyone else over his eldest, to the constant nagging and insults. sitting rafe down on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t help the way your heart sunk at the sight of defeat in his shoulders, his eyes void of any emotion.

slipping his shoes off, you took your usual seat in his lap, stroking the outline of his jaw as he vented. “i’ll never be good enough for him. i killed for him goddamit, and what do i get in return? ‘i should put a caution sign on your forehead.’ rafe imitated ward’s voice from earlier. you blinked, pecking his cheek. “you’re an amazing son, rafe. shame on him for not recognizing that.” rafe stared up at you, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

you were the only one that looked at him with pure adoration, the only one who made him feel like he had a purpose. “i think you’re amazing, rafe. you don’t sit around, waiting to get things done, you’re so helpful, and so, so kind— to me.” he chuckled at the clarification, rubbing a large hand over your knee. “you think so?” he leaned his head against your chest, your arms coming up to hold him. “i know so.” you sighed, breathing in his scent.

“wanna be little spoon tonight?” your voice alone made him relax, his eyes fluttering shut.

“..yeah.”

[cevansbrat0007]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMr8fYuj5/

I can see so clear Bird putting Ari in the dog house again and later in the day he arrives at her home with a bag full of her favorites snacks, heat pads, painkillers and a note for his sweet wild woman

Summary: Somehow, Ari always seems to know all the right ways to take care of you...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Fluff, Ari Being A Menace, Bickering, Brat!Reader, References to Menstrual Cycles & PMS, Cuddles, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

You automatically perk up from your place on the couch when you hear the slam of your front door. Ari had left the house hours ago, muttering something under his breath that you hadn’t quite been able to make out. 

“Beast?” You call when he doesn’t immediately appear. “Whatcha doin’?” 

“Is that my Bird in there?” He quickly fires back. “Is that who I’m talkin’ to?”

His unexpected dramatics immediately set your teeth on edge. Just what the hell did he mean by all that?

“Who the hell else would it be?” Your question comes out sounding more like a growl. 

Instead of answering you’re treated to the sound of footsteps as Ari finally makes his way to you. But instead of coming all the way into the room, you’re confused when he chooses to poke his head around the corner. 

“Just checking.” His wary blue eyes are sparkling with a hint of mirth. 

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“Nah, baby. Just bein’ careful.” Ari steps out hiding then, his brawny arms laden with several brown grocery bags.

“Why the hell would you have to be careful?”

“Because when I walked out the house earlier I did so under the impression that my woman had been replaced by one of those she-demons you only read about in books.” He offers you an unrepentant shrug before setting his purchases on the opposite sofa. “Aww, c’mon now. Don’t make that face."

“I’m not makin’ any kinda face, you Beast.” You huff, doing your damndest not to pout. “I just don’t know what the hell you’re goin’ on about.”

“Then how come you’re over there looking like you’ve been suckin’ on a lemon?” The handsome bastard has the nerve to smile at you as begins digging items out of one of the bags. 

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not, you –” Your petty retort is interrupted when your bounty hunter suddenly chucks an orange bag at your head. Thankfully, you manage to catch it before it makes contact with your face. “Jalapeño cheetos?”

“Yep.” He grunts, giving you a knowing look. “I also got you the regular ones too in case you decide those are suddenly too spicy for you.”

“Oh.” Is all you can muster, turning the bag over in your hands. These were your favorites whenever you allowed yourself to indulge. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah. Not done yet, baby.” 

You watch as he systematically begins pulling items out of the bags. He also makes a point of showing you each one, much to your overall chagrin. 

“Let’s see…” Ari moves the bags to the floor, which allows you to get a good, long look at all of the treats and treasures he procured while he was out. “We’ve got us another bag of Cheetos, plus a bag of white cheddar cheese popcorn. Next up, we’ve got two hefty slices of strawberry cheesecake. I got my own, so you don’t have to share,”

Smart man.

“I mean…” You quietly hedge, your teeth going to nibble at your bottom lip. “I don’t know why you felt compelled to buy all this stuff.” 

“Oh you don’t, huh?” His eyes go wide as he cocks his head to the side.

“Nope.” The word tumbles out of your mouth with a soft pop.

Instead of responding he chooses to simply ignore you. “Here we have a variety of chocolate bars – milk chocolate, milk chocolate with fuckin’ caramel, milk chocolate with some kinda weird nougaty shit, you get the idea.” He spares a glance in your direction long enough to study your face. “We’ve also got dark chocolate with both sea salt and some kind of intense orange peel somethin’. Do any of these work for you?”

“Why, yes, all of them but–”

“Moving on, I’ve got a box of cocoa, peppermint tea, and oh! Nearly forgot the fuckin’ heating pad.” Ari holds up the box so that you can see it. “If this isn’t the right one I will go back out and buy another.” 

The seriousness of his features makes it plain that he’s not kidding. He gingerly hands the box to you, giving you a moment to peruse the information included on the box.

How the hell could he have known that yours had only just gone out? Oh. Because you’d mentioned it the night before last. It always seemed to surprise you just how much this man seemed to listen to you. 

“This is...this is good.” You tell him, hugging the box to your chest. “It’s great, actually.”

“Thank Christ.” He breathes, relief evident in his tone. 

“Ari, did you do all this because I was feeling a little snippy this morning?” While his intentions were sweet, they also felt like a little over the top 

“Snippy? Is that what we’re calling it?” His tawny brows shoot up high enough to reach his hairline. “Because this morning you threatened to beat me with a sack of oranges for snoring too loud.”

Oh. Right. Oops.

“And when I made the mistake of walking on the carpet in my work boots, you literally threatened to unman me.”

“I was worried about the mud.” You mumble with a wince. 

“And the fact that you just so happened to be aggressively chopping vegetables at the time? Pure coincidence?”

“Yep.” Your voice comes out so small you almost surprise yourself.

“And then, when I tried to apologize and take ‘em off, you told me you were gonna throw me and them into the nearest lake. And then fly in a pack of gators to make sure that we were never seen or heard from again.” 

“A joke.” You try once more. “That’s all.”

“Yeah well, I’m not the type of man to make jokes about a woman’s monthly bein’ on the horizon.” Ari picks up a small box of what looks to be medication. “But even so, I also know how to count.” He adds with a shrug before taking a step towards you. “My sisters swear up and down that this Midol shit works wonders with demon feelings.”

“Thank you.” Your bottom lip begins to tremble when your man reaches out to gently cup your chin.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No.” You reassure him, your hand going to gently grip his wrist so you can stroke your thumb over his pulse “I’m sorry.”

Ari stares you at you for a beat, before finally leaning down to tenderly brush his mouth over yours. “S’alright, sweet Bird.” He repeats the action, smiling into the kiss when he feels you relax against him. “I reckon it ain’t all your fault.” 

“You’re too good to me, baby.” You try to pull him down on the couch with you, only to pout when he resists.  “C’mere…” You whine. “I wanna make it up to you.”

“Let me go put this stuff away first.” He rises to his full height before politely taking the box from your hands. “Unless you want some of it now.”

You take a minute to think. “Just some chocolate please.”

“Any preference?”

“Dealer’s choice.” 

Ari tosses you a random bar, which you eagerly accept without so much as a second look. You tear into it, barely removing the foil before taking a bite. It goes down so good you can’t help but have another.

“Now, I won’t be gone but a minute.” Just in case, he decides to leave you with the box of Midol as well. 

Meanwhile, you decide that it’s in your best interest to remain quiet. Because unbeknownst to this man, you had actually gotten your period today sometime after he’d left the house.

“And if those demon feelings start to come back, you just pop a couple of those, alright?” He’s still so incredibly serious about this that all you can do is nod.. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Thank you.” You’re rewarded with a flash of teeth posing as a grin. “And when I get back, do you, uh…” He rolls his broad shoulders. “You think you got any room for me on that couch?”

Instead of responding, you choose to offer him a bite of your chocolate. You’re secretly more than a little giddy when he accepts. It was a sign that all was forgiven. 

“Why don’t you hurry back and find out?”

Still grinning, you watch as Ari hastily gathers up all of your goodies before taking off in the direction of the kitchen. “Go on and turn on one of those horror movies you like, little Bird. I’m gonna need you to snuggle close to make up for how you treated me today.” 

With that he’s gone, leaving you with just enough time to retrieve extra blankets and pillows from a nearby closet. Forget a heating pad. Having you man this close was practically like having a human furnace at your beck and call. 

Jesus Christ, how did you get so lucky?

“Beast?” You let your voice ring out as soon as you’ve found yourself a good movie. It’s been ages since you’ve watched Paranormal Activity, and you had it on good authority that Ari had never seen it.

“Yeah?” He bellows from the next room.

“Bring us a slice of cheesecake to share. I wanna enjoy it with you before we get too scared.”

“Whatever you want, Duchess.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he's laughing at you in the sweetest way possible.

And quite honestly, in this moment, you wouldn't have it any other way. 

END

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[prouddogboi]

Stray dog (Part 1)

To find the most recent chapters, please go to @doggoboigaugau 's masterlist

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male Reader

Summary: Male Reader is traumatized and forcefully refuses affection from Ghost and Soap even in his sleep.

Word count: 1852

Warnings: It's my first time posting my writing on Tumblr. There are so few CODxM!Reader fics I just want to contribute lmao TToTT. The warning is it can be shit because I'm new.

It was a successful mission. A tough one, yes, many soldiers got serious injuries and had to spend days in the hospital, but still, the mission was accomplished with minimal loss. The people at the base decided to throw a party at a well-known bar in the area. As usual, you stayed close to your team, until they left you all alone again for whatever they were up to: Ghost and Soap went into the dark corridor doing ‘secret’ business except for the fact that everyone knew what that business was; Price meeting up with the Captains of other teams, talking about the ‘kids’ in their care like the good ol’ tired dads and moms they all were; Gaz hitting up on some pretty guy or girl; and Roach just immersing himself in the music on the dance floor. 

“The usual shot?” The bartender smiled at you. He was an ordinary-looking guy, not too tall, not too short, but he was always nice to you.

“Yeah.” You replied, eyes looking down at the empty glass in your scarred hand. Your usual shot was one of the heaviest types served at this bar, you found its bitter, stinging taste and the dizziness it brought about worked wonders for you, helping to repress the strong emotions that always came up to the surface to trouble you whenever you were off the field, whenever you were not having to fight between life and death. Free time and a mind that was offered the opportunity to relax were not something you felt grateful for. Instead, you loved being constantly stimulated when being in battles, since it left your mind no time to overthink unnecessary things other than trying to keep yourselves and your teammates alive.

“A successful mission, huh? Everyone is enjoying themselves a lot tonight.” The bartender said, clearly trying to keep talking to you as he was preparing your drink.

“It was.”

“Did you get injured?” 

“Just some scratches, nothing serious.”

“You seem to do your job very well.”

You did. You were a good soldier. An excellent one even. You were showered with praise from the Captain, the teammates, the higher-ups… just anyone after almost every mission. Even Ghost himself had to admit that you were a good one. However, you didn’t know for sure what made you excel while most others didn’t. Maybe it was because every mission you paid no mind as to whether you would be alive or not. It was true that everyone in this line of work had to come to terms with the notion of death upon themselves, no one could be sure how many days they got left on this planet doing this kind of job, but you were still different. You weren’t actively trying to get yourselves in situations that would get you killed, because it often meant a great threat to your teammates too, but you were not one that would hold on to life that much. You were always ready to sacrifice.

“I notice that you’re always alone. Well, the others do join you, but after a while, they leave and you’re still here.” The bartender passed you the shot.

“They have things to do.”

“Why don’t you? Getting out there and having some fun.”

Fun? It did not sound fitting to who you were. “Thanks for the suggestion, but I prefer it this way.”

“By the way, can I ask for a guy’s number? The one with the mohawk.”

“You mean Soap?” You left out a soft chuckle, “Give up, mate. He already has a partner. A scary one.” 

“Who?”

“The fuckin’ huge one with the skull mask. I’m sure you know well who he is and how scary he is.”

“What? That guy? I’ve always thought he’s into you though.”

This time you laughed out loud. The thought of someone interested in you was just so ridiculous, it felt surreal and impossible, “Ain’t no way, why would you think that?”

“He always looks at you with those piercing eyes, as if he will eat you up in no time.”

“Probably it’s because the Soap guy is always leaning over me. He’s so mad that I dare to get that near to his precious partner that he just wants to end my life right here.” You drank up the whole glass in one breath, then smashed the now empty glass on the bar, resulting in a huge ‘thump’ sound, mainly due to the fact that it was your fist that came into contact with the wooden material. It sent a burning feeling to your skin and fresh, but it was nothing compared to the physical pain you had to endure in battles or the mental one off field, when your mind was free to drift away. 

“Could be. But I still think he is into you.” The bartender shrugged, knowing you so well that he went ahead to prepare another shot for you. Nights like this often led to you drinking non-stop until you were so drunk that you’d pass out, and that masked guy was the one who carried you back. That was another reason besides the intense glare that made him convinced that the guy was attracted to you. Well, the hot man with the mohawk was always there too, but he usually waited in distance and smiled at how the masked guy having trouble carrying you as you thrashed around in his arms, clearly too drunk to know that he was just helping you. But the bartender only thought that the mohawk and the masked guy were close friends. Now that you mentioned it, it was indeed possible that they were in love with each other. 

Wouldn’t that make a love triangle though? The bartender threw a glance at you, studying you with amusement. Everyone loved some drama in their mundane lives. You were a handsome boy with sharp facial features, those damn bright eyes that lit up the whole place when you genuinely smiled, and all those strong muscles. He would’ve asked for your number instead if that scary big masked man wasn’t into you that much.

A few hours passed and the party came to its near end. All those smiling and laughing soldiers slowly hopped on the vehicles, making their way back to the base, clearly not wanting to wake up a mess the day after. They still had training as usual after all. One didn’t seem to care though. You collapsed on the bar, your handsome face grew red with how drunk you were and how much alcohol your body had absorbed. Ghost and Soap assured Price that they would bring you back safe before the tired dad of your Task Force got in the car with Gaz and Roach. They didn’t usually drink too much when they were off base, but you were quite the opposite. The team had no idea why you would pour so much alcohol into your mouth and stomach on these occasions, it was like you were grieving over something rather than celebrating the good news of a successful mission. Everyone in this line of work had their own past and troubles, but there was indeed something different in your troubles as they never felt that you were comfortable to open up. Soap even joked a lot about how much harder it was to get closer to you than Ghost. It was true that you were always smiling, chatting, and gossiping with him and Gaz and Roach over stupid things, but there was this invisible wall that you had built around your heart, unwilling to let anyone in. 

Ghost and Soap got to the bar where you were lying. 

“Come to get him?” The bartender was cleaning all the glasses that you and some other regulars used.

Ghost looked at you as your eyes were tightly shut, clearly not happy with your current condition, “Maybe next time don’t let him drink too much.”

The bartender raised his hands, “C’mon, I’m just serving my customers. He appears to need those shots to handle whatever emotions he’s having.”

Ghost and Soap turned their head to look at each other for a few seconds before Ghost stepped up and got you off the bar. You were too drunk to know anything, but surprisingly tonight you were very silent and cooperated well with your Lieutenant. 

“Let’s take you back to your room, huh?” Ghost was content with this sudden change and Soap just casually used his strong hand to rub your neatly cut hair. 

As Soap parked the car in the base's park, Ghost threw one of your arms over his shoulder and carried you off the vehicle. However, your tightly shut eyes suddenly opened, they widened as you turned your head left and right to make sense of your surroundings. 

“You’re up early.” Soap said jokingly.

“He’s too drunk to understand your stupid sarcasm, Soap.” Ghost scoffed. 

However, it took both men aback when they heard you sobbing. Soap was quick to cup your face with his palms, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, sobbing almost uncontrollably, trying to get your face out of his grip. One of Ghost’s arms went to your waist in an attempt to hold you in place and calm you down, but you started to act the usual way when you were drunk: thrashing around hysterically, as if you were striving so hard to escape from something inescapable. 

“Let go of me!” You screamed.

“Y/n, calm down, calm down! It’s us! Ghost and Soap!” Soap tried to talk some sense into the heavily drunk you.

“Stay away from me!” You didn’t seem to listen. Feeling Ghost’s grip was still firm around your body, you got more and more violent. Screaming and kicking, you definitely hurt him in the process as you finally succeeded in getting away. You stumbled a few steps on the cold cement ground before you collapsed on it due to the perfect dizziness that you hoped the shots at the bar would gift you. You curled into a ball, trembling violently yet not from how cold the ground was. Shuddering sobs still escaped your lips, and your eyes were tightly shut again. Price and Gaz hurriedly ran to where you three were, their eyes filled with worry given how loud and heartfelt your screams were (Roach didn’t come with them because he also drank too much). The two men saw Ghost and Soap standing beside you, their arms were hanging in the air as if they were holding on to something, while you were there, laying on the ground sobbing and mumbling unintelligible words. 

Luckily you quickly fell asleep again, still sobbing but unconscious enough for the men to carry you back to your room. They tucked you nicely into your bed, watching over your now peaceful sleeping face. Soap wiped the tears left on your cheeks with his hand, his mind questioning the reasons why you reacted so fiercely to them taking care of you earlier. When you finally stopped sobbing, they carefully left your room. There were things to be discussed, but they could wait.

to be continued bc I have class tmr and I need to sleep :D

[1427]

When the Levee Breaks (pt. 4)

Daryl Dixon x OFC

The one in which a stripper that used to know Merle and Daryl shows up at the Atlanta camp. Daryl’s feelings are complicated but mostly he hates her, right?

Chapt. Setting: Highway outside of Atlanta. 

Chapt. Warnings: degrading and sexist language, degrading behavior, season 2 Daryl, smut, oral (m receiving)(kind of) weird. Just weirdo perv (out of desperation) Daryl. 

Word Count: 3200

A/N; Daryl’s POV 😩🤷‍♀️ 17+ mdni

masterlist

Been keepin’ Merle’s stuff pretty well hidden. Guess I should probably just get rid of it, right? But I can’t. S’not mine to get rid of. So I just hide it. Separate bag from the rest of his meds, all the way at the bottom of a backpack, stuffed under the seat of my truck. 

Beatle says she’s been sober off spazz shit for three years. Pretty sure three years ago s’when I met her though, so I’unno how she figures that. 

But now we’re ditchin’ the truck and I gotta find a way to carry it without Beatle finding it. Don’t even have time to be upset about my truck. Had it for at least the last ten years. Loved this thing like it was the only thing I had. Basically was for a while. 

Takin’ Merles bike. It’s got some dumbass Nazi shit on it, but ‘m not complainin’. That shit don’t matter anymore. Neither does bein’ upset over a truck that’s not gonna do me any good without gas. 

Pack myself two bags. One goes with Beatle in Dale’s RV, the other is the pack I’d had stuffed under the seat. Spazz gets hidden underneath a few shirts, smokes, the couple sips left of girlwhiskey, and the rest of Merle’s scripts. Stuff I don’t trust Beatle with.  

I think she knows, too. She doesn’t say it but she gives me a look when I tell her ‘m holdin’ onto it. I offer her a whole cigarette. All for herself. And it shuts her up enough not to push it. 

Don’t know if I like when she’s happy or not. Kinda makes me feel sick so I try not to think about it. Dunno. Whatever. Don’t got time to think about that shit anyway. S’always somethin’. 

Don’t really even got the time to think about what a shit show the CDC was. Just gotta keep movin’. Guess the plan is Fort Bennet? Don’t know. Don’t care. ‘m just goin’. 

It’s nice to be back on a bike again. Can’t feel nothin’ but the vibrating underneath me and the air in my face. Can’t hear nothin’ but the engine. By myself. Like all this shit hasn’t happened…

No use in thinkin’ ‘bout it that way, though. Has happened. And I ain’t gonna be one of those sorry sacks that wants to pretend shit ain’t the way it is. That’s one thing I like Beatle for. She don’t pretend shits gonna go back. Don’t miss nothin’, ain’t lookin’ for no one. Far as I see it, she’s happy mostly. Guess it’s easy when someone’s takin’ care of everything for ya. Me. Giving her my smokes and buildin’ fires for my damn self, thinkin’ everything tha’s mine is hers. It ain’t. 

Other people makin’ plans. Other people findin’ shelter. Other peoples food. 

Too many people in this group ain’t pullin’ their own weight. It’s gonna catch up sooner or later. Beatle’s a weak player. Can’t decide if I should help her out or not. Can’t decide if I should protect her or not. Cuz she don’t want it, she don’t think she needs it. But she’s gonna need it. Sooner or later. 

Cuz I know I hate her and all that. Dumb fuckin’ bitch for sure. But after what happened at the CDC? Thought we were gonna die. Thought she was gonna die. Fuck. I’unno. Guess I felt somethin’. 

I’m in between knowin’ it and hatin’ it. It can be both right? Cuz it’s definitely both. One more thing I gotta care about. Real fuckin’ stupid. 

We’re only on the road a few hours before shit blows. Literally. Dales radiator. Good ‘n done. Then more bullshit happens but ain’t that the way shit is now?

A whole herd of ‘em come through and everyone’s fine. Andrea’s havin’ a panic attack ‘bout the geek that almost ate ‘er, Carol’s kid run off into the woods, and T-Dog’s all but bled out. But to me? Basically fine. No one’s dead or nothin’. 

Don’t know where Beatle was when the herd came. But she’s fine too, and any worryin’ I’d been doin was a waste of fuckin’ time. Not gonna waste any more of it bein’ mad I was worried in the first place. That I couldn’t think ‘bout anything else. Just images of her stupid happy face gettin’ ripped apart. Guess I care now. At least ‘bout her not bein’ dead. ‘Bout her bein’ here.

She’s standin’ outside the RV with me, sharing a cigarette cuz I don’t know how else to tell her I’m glad she’s alive. Can’t stop lookin’ at her. She’s either ignoring my staring or pretendin’ I ain’t doin’ it, and ‘m grateful. Don’t wanna talk ‘bout that shit. Just wanna look at her, and fix all those images in my head. Her face still happy and perfect and smilin’ at me like it wasn’t bein’ eaten by monsters a few minutes ago. 

I feel sick. Somethin’… different. 

“Can I just hug you, please?” She asks like she’s been waitin’ to say it. 

“Why?” I squint at her, dragging the smoke. Kinda want to - kinda mad she asked instead of just doin’ it, “Since when do you ask permi-“ I’m cut off by her body wrapped around mine. All four limbs holdin’ on like I’m keepin’ her anchored to the world. 

I hug her back, arms pulled tight around her. Why am I doing this? What the fuck is this? Goin’ fuckin’ soft for some dumb little girl. I can hear Merle laughin’ at me from inside my head, and I drop Beatle back down to the pavement. 

“I’m glad you’re alive.” She says, and I look down at her. Now she’s all covered in the gross shit I’m covered in. She doesn’t seem to care. Doesn’t even seem to notice. 

“Yeah?” I say at her, cuz I don’t know what else to say. Can’t tell her Im glad she’s alive. Can’t give her that. I hugged her back, that’s enough. She should know. 

She nods, smiling that stupid fuckin’ smile that I’m startin’ to like. ‘Fore her face starts wrinklin’ up somethin’ nasty. There it is. She looks at me, then down at herself. “What the fuck, Daryl?” 

Me?! “‘Pleeeease can I hug you, Daryl?’” I mock her. 

“I was worried!! And then you’re alive and okay and I  didn’t have time to look at you covered in guts and shit!” She squeals. I swear she knows it irritates me. I can see her goin’ to punch me in the arm so I let her, then pull her into another hug. 

Grabbin’ at her head to bring it close to my chest, covered in week old decaying monster meat, “C’mon, Beatle. Gimme a hug!” She’s tryin’ to fight it but ‘m stronger. 

She bends her knees and slips down and out of my arms. The blood on my hands making her too slippery to hold onto. She starts runnin’. I run after her til we get to the side of the road and she tries to hide underneath the trunk of a car crashed into the rail. 

Maybe this ain’t the time for fuckin’ around, but it don’t matter. Not when I finally got her cornered. The look of fear in her eyes does somethin’ to me. Not real fear.  Naw, cuz she’s smilin’. Cuz she’s laughin’. Just excited that we’re both still breathing. Still, smile on her face and laugh in her throat, she’s cowering beneath a cars trunk, beggin’ me to stop. The beggin’s doin’ somethin’ to me too. Fuck. 

I pick her up, slingin’ her over my shoulder, she yelps. Don’t she know how this shit works yet? “Fuckin’ quiet, Beatle. Dumb bitch.” I slap her ass once and she fuckin’ yelps again. “Wha’ did I just say?” And I slap her ass again. This time she’s quiet. 

Shit, that worked? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. My dicks hard. 

I’unno if it’s cuz I never carried a girl over my shoulder like this, cuz I spanked her couple times, or cuz she listened. My dick gets even harder and I realize it’s definitely fuckin’ all of it. But mostly that she listened when I told her what to do. Maybe I should tell her what to do more often. Fuck. ‘m not helpin’ myself, or my problem, at all. 

I dip my head down to smell the sick I’m covered in to make it go away. It works. Even with her ass next to my face. So close I could bite it. For fucks sake. I put her down but she doesn’t run away this time. We walk slowly back to the group. Not sayin’ nothin’. Me, cuz I’m trying to focus on the smell of rotten flesh and definitely not Beatle beggin’ me to stop. Definitely not about what her face looked like when she felt my hand on her ass.  

Wonder if she’s quiet cuz she’s thinkin’ about it too.

 Wondering what she’s thinkin’ about and tryin’ to will away a stiffy. Fuck this fuckin’ high school bullshit. Like she reads my mind, I feel her needy little fingers snake into my hand. For a second I think maybe I’m smokin’ a cigarette I don’t remember havin’ but ‘m not. She’s just tryin’ to hold my hand. 

At first it feels nice, and then I feel sick again. Too many questions unanswered. Too much shit that’s already happened. Can’t trust her. So I shake her hand off, “Stop.” 

“Fine. Fuck you.” She stomps away and back into the RV. I’unno what the fuck’s wrong with me that it makes me smile. Do I like when she’s happy? Shit, I dunno. If I did, wouldn’t I not like it when she’s upset? So why does her being mad at me do it for me too? 

✨🏹

Whatever. 

She comes with me to go look for Sophia. Andrea stood up like she was gonna come too, but once Beatle and I are standin’ next to the RV Andrea doesn’t follow us out.

 We don’t stray too far from the road. It’s dark, and mostly just came out here to help ease Carol’s mind. ‘m definitely goin’ soft. But I’unno. Hurts to watch people lose stuff. Their families. Hurts to watch people hurt. 

Gonna hurt Beatle in a fuckin’ second if she doesn’t shut the fuck up. We’re walkin’ through the woods. At night. She’s gotta know this shit by now. “Beatle, keep your fuckin’ voice down. Please.” Did I just say please? Fuck me. 

“Did you just say ‘please’?” Fuck. Me. 

“Shut up.” 

“Don’t think I know how.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” She laughs, and it makes me smile. And that makes me feel sick to my stomach. Again. 

Her voice cuts through while I’m makin’ myself even sicker thinkin’ about it, “You wanna play another game?”

My eyebrows raise in her direction, “Yeah, that went real well for ya last time.” 

“Nevermind.” Her face falters and she crosses her arms across her chest. 

“What, you don’t wanna get half naked and cry again?” And for fuckin’ once I wish Beatle had somethin’ to say back. Some smartass shit that isn’t even funny but she definitely means it to be. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything. She just lets my question hang in the fuckin’ air and suffocate me. Cuz now I’m thinkin’ about her half naked and crying and my fuckin dicks hard again. What is this shit? Rock hard cock every time I pick on her now? ‘m not gonna be able to do this. She’s gonna notice. Where the fuck is a guy supposed to jerk off and relieve some of this shit? 

On her fuckin’ face.

Shit.

She’s been quiet for too long and my brain won’t stop. It’s just getting worse. Images of her now, her face covered in my cum, her lips humming together making little bubbles with it, smiling. Shit. 

Beatle, say something. Anything.

“How big’s your dick?” Not. Fucking. That. 

She listens… right? She wants it, right? Why else would she ask that? Now, when it’s just the two of us out in the woods in the dark. She wants me to show her. 

So show her.

“Beatle.” My voice is low, barely there. Just a rasp of a word. 

She turns around, ready to explain herself before she even looks at me, “I-“ 

“C’mere.” If I don’t cut her off she’s gonna say she was just jokin’ but we both know she ain’t jokin’. She wants ta know. So she’s gonna know. 

Feel like I can see her blushin’ in the moonlight as she walks toward me, even though I can’t. Just know she is. Smile on her face like I ain’t about to wipe it off with my cock. Shit, hard as a fuckin’ rock right now. I rub my palm over the length of it, and I watch her eyes follow my arm down. Watch ‘em get bigger, wide and nervous, and it makes my dick twitch against my jeans. I pull out a smoke and light one, for a second I see a disappointment in her face, thinkin’ maybe I’d just called her over to share a smoke. Naw. “Down on your knees.” 

And Jesus Christ, does she kneel so fuckin’ fast. She stares straight ahead, and somethin’ comes over me. Can’t wait. Don’t want to. Don’t need to. Beatle does what I ask, at least when it comes to this. Like a good little slut would. That is what she’s good at, ain’t it? 

So maybe it’s a little fucked up that I grab her head and force her against the rough fabric of my jeans. Pushing my cock into her cheek as hard as I fuckin’ can. Holding her by the hair and rubbing her face on me. 

But this little bitch moans. At first I wasn’t sure, but she keeps fuckin’ moaning. She likes this. Somethin’ close to a laugh escapes my throat, past the cigarette between my lips. I take it with my fingers, letting one hand go from her head, the other hand pulls her back to look up at me. Her expression absolutely blown. She just looks at me for a second, before putting her face back on my cock on her own. It’s not the same amount of pressure but it still feels fuckin’ good. And somethin’ about her doin’ it on her own. Like she can’t fuckin’ help it. Like she needs it. 

She’s starts to lick at the fabric right where my head is and my dick spasms again at the sight of it. This time she can feel it underneath her mouth. She smiles up at me, smirkin’ down at her. Putting the cigarette in my mouth, I drag it, before bringing it down to her lips. A little reward for listening. 

She drags it once and I drop it on the ground. Beatle says “Thank you.” In the smallest voice I ever heard come out of her mouth. Fuck. I could fall in love with this Beatle. It’s just your dick talkin’ Dar, don’t get crazy. 

I grunt a laugh and start to unbuckle my belt. Unbutton my pants. Barely have my cock in my hand ‘fore her mouths around it. I pull her back by her hair, sharply. She winces in pain and reaches up to her head where I’m holdin’ on. Her eyes shoot up to look at me. 

God, fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have that image burned in my brain for the rest of my life. Her face, all discomfort and contempt because I won’t let her touch me. Like she’s fuckin’ dying for it. “Nah, keep your mouth shut Beatle. Gotta learn ta do what yer told.” 

She nods, and closes her lips. Looking from my eyes back down my body again. I lean back, takin’ myself in my hand and pressing my cock into her face. 

For a while I just rub myself all over, letting her feel the weight of it. Letting her know just how big it really fuckin’ is. Lifting it off her face and smackin’ her cheeks. Makin’ her flinch, her eyes squish closed but I press my hard cock against her eye and push up forcing her eyelid open. Fuck. I do the same thing with her lips. Smushing and rubbing the head of it into her lips to open them, I fuck against her mouth for a second. Beatles groaning and moaning but she doesn’t open her mouth. Somethin’ about it makes me need to cum. Now. No more fuckin’ around. “Open up.” 

She does. I spit into her open mouth, and she moans again, without swallowing it. Like a good slut. “Fuck, Beatle. Shit. Now stick your tongue out.” 

She does. I can see my spit falling off her tongue and I quickly catch it with my cock, before smearing as much of the slick spit from her mouth onto me. Taking myself from the base, holding hard to cut off the circulation. Always feels better when I do that. Rubbin her tongue with my cock til I can’t fuckin take it anymore. I’m about to fuckin’  cum. I pull away for only a second, my breathings all fucked and I can barely speak, “Close yer mouth.” She looks confused for a second but closes her mouth. Good. Was about to smack her. 

My left hand finds a place on the back of her head again, gripping into her hair to hold her in place. I push my hips forward and put the whole length across her face. My other hand pressing myself down into her from above her. And I fuck myself on her face. Grunting and sloppy and desperate to cum. Never done this before, shit, does anyone do this? But fuck, it’s so fuckin’ hot. Her lips and her cheeks and her eyelids and her nose all squished and being fuckin’ ruined by my cock. Shit.  Fuck. 

Right as I’m about to cum I put both hands around her head and hump her face like… I don’t even know. I feel fuckin’ insane, but she’s still moaning at the feeling of being used. Not even in a way that should be enjoyable to her. 

I don’t think I’ve ever cum that much in my whole fuckin’ life. Most of it ends up in Beatle’s hair, but there’s still a whole lot of it on her face. I mess with it for a second. Swirling my puffy post-nut dick in it before I get oversensitive. 

I put myself away, and sit down on the ground next to Beatle. Still in the exact same position. I let her kneel there, don’t tell her she can move or nothin’. Guess that’s why she doesn’t. Don’t think she can open her eyes either. S’funny. 

Relighting the short I’d dropped to the ground, I pull a bandana from my pocket. “Is it big, Beatle?” I ask her while I wipe only her mouth off, and put the cigarette between her lips. 

She sucks on the filter, and smiles. “Yep.”

Eventually I wipe off her eyes too. Can’t do anything about her hair though, so I promise to find her a hat from one of the cars on the walk back. 

And I don’t let myself think about what this might mean. Who cares? I don’t. Don’t think Beatle does neither. We’re just goin’. 

pt 5

A/N: Yeah okay,  I know. Daryl’s all back and forth. Does he not give a shit about Merle and Beatle? Does he know deep down they never did anything together? Or maybe he just wasn’t thinking about it at the time? He’s confused, guys. He also really doesn’t have all the information (Eventually he’s gonna ask but first we have to deal with Sophia. Sorry. I don’t want to either.)

[t0ast-ghost]

So the thing is I wasn’t going to comment on the sixth episode. I just got home from a hella good play and I’m tired so I relax with Star Trek but holy shit

What IS that

With that HELLO and welcome to my first thoughts on the sixth episode (The Enemy Within) of the original Star Trek series

Here we go:

- that is a fucking dog

- IS THAT BLOOD?!? On Star Trek???

- so he got transporter cloned.. WHY IS HIS FACE LIKE THAT THO

- I like the fact it’s told a bit in retrospect, like it starts off with the star date and saying that at the time they didn’t know he got cloned

- MCCOY! His friendliness and then the “I have no sympathy for clumsiness” bro wha

- DONT YELL AT MCCOY

- McCoy not knowing what to do about Jim so he goes to Spock lol

- what the fuck is that fuckin thing, it’s rabid man.

- anytime someone is holding the creature there is literally no reason for them to be holding it. Like Kirk is just holding it and then HANDS IT TO SPOCK.. WHY IS THIS NORMAL NOW

- so do people casually just sit on tables here? First we had McCoy, now Spock. Is it just science/medical officers?

- Vulcan nerve pinch for the win

- POV your boyfriends are deeply concerned for your wellbeing (side note: bones looks so soft in the first pic. He cares so much)

- “you have a point, Spock.” “Yes. Always, doctor” STOP FLIRTING

- “If I seem insensitive to what you are going through, you must understand it’s the way I am.” HE SAYS THIS WITH ALL THE CARE IN THE DAMN WORLD. Spock is the most emotional character I have ever seen

- uh oh the circuits

- nooo Sulu! Do they not have better cold protection?

- YEAH I HOPE YOU’RE IN PAIN FUCKER

- so I think what they’re trying to promote is the idea that there’s the kind and indecisive side and the animalistic “sinful” side that has all the impulses and power to make decisions and together they work so that the former side can calm the latter to be more… civilized?

- “god forbid I have to agree with Spock” they’re married and you cannot convince me otherwise

- was that dog okay? Like it was really fuckin angry at something

- HES DEAD JIM MOMENT! WE HAVE A HES DEAD JIM MOMENT

- “for once I agree with you, doctor” THEY ARE MARRIED

- Spock is so riled up rn (every time he shows emotion I’m commenting on it because I think he is so so emotional but then his whole thing is he isn’t)

- SPOCK YOUR LOGIC ISNT LOGICING (having a human half and Vulcan half I think is a bit different than literally being split into two people, but what do I know)

- they are literally the angel and devil on his shoulder, but married, and also in love with him

- what no no bring Sulu back. That was such a good delivery of lines I am so

- this episode shows the power imbalance between Kirk and Janice and that messaging could be more powerful if they really wanted. Like showing how Janice felt forced to say she was okay with it and wouldn’t tell anyone because it was the captain I feel was a big step to take in the 60s (because it was rarely if ever talked about especially on tv) but it still wasn’t enough and was treated horribly in the end. They brush off her experience and also let Kirk be near her which is not okay. I know they wouldn’t but I wish they’d actually addressed the fact that Kirk can pretty much get away with anything and the crew wouldn’t/couldn’t stop him unless they deem it truly necessary (which would be way to far)

- I think the Kirk stuff could be more impactful

- some of those close ups on Kirk are crazy

- Bones is so damn worried about him in the transporter room

- SPOCK IS STRESSED AND HE HESITATES

- “the imposters back where he belongs, forget him” but isn’t the thing is that he is you? Like he’s still there and apart of you, Kirk

Okay, that’s episode six. I don’t have much more to say about this episode.

Ep 1

All other episodes

[guessimwritingficsagain]

Kintsugi (the golden roses will bloom prettily in the space between your ribs) Chapter 3

Summary : You'd met Joel a year ago. Then you learn he and Tess are gone from the Boston QZ. You go find Jackson on your own.

Warnings : Mature content, MDNI, rape attempt (not from Joel, though), pining, ANGST.

Tags : Just ask.

Chapter two

———

He looks like you’ve just slapped him in the face. `

Eyes wide, mouth open. 

You turn around and start walking back into your house. You can hear him behind you. Joel wants explanations. He has demands. 

You. You have nothing. At some point you thought you had something to offer, you never had and you never will, so you close the door in his face. It doesn’t occur to you until later that you never left. You wanted to, you had your bag with you, and then Joel Miller said two words to you and you stayed. You try to rationalize that it’s because you were ambushed- Tommy on the side and the kid right here, but you know. 

You stayed.

Like a fucking good dog. 

Joel doesn’t try to approach you, after that. You see him, looming, always in the corner of your eyes, watching. But he doesn’t do anything. It makes you mad, the way he treats you like a wild animal. You’re not wild, you’re wounded, wounded beyond repair- the blood continues to slowly drip from your heart and no amount of melted gold could heal that. 

Tommy tries, once. Tries to get you to talk. Starts :

��Listen, my brother…’

‘Don’t’ You warn him. 

But he keeps going, keeps speaking, keeps protecting, explaining, justifying. 

His brother is lost. 

His brother has lost (so much).

(Like you haven’t, like you haven’t been left stranded on the side of the road, like you haven’t been made to believe you were in a band when you were actually the occasional guest in a duo).

His brother is sorry.

His brother doesn’t know how to say it but he cares and he-

He loves you. 

You slap Tommy right in front of his wife and as you leave their house your hear Maria say 

I swear to God you two Miller brothers are fuckin’ stupid.

Tommy doesn’t try anymore, after that. 

———

The other one who tries- and you can’t slap her- is Ellie. There are two reasons why you can’t, the first obvious one is that you’re not into slapping lost, moody teenagers.

The second reason-

The second reason is that she’s actually an open book. She’s uncomfortable, sitting on the edge of your couch, when she asks :

‘Did you know Tess ?’ 

You’re glad she can only see your back, as you’re in the kitchen, making tea. You breathe in, breathe out, and answer a simple yes. 

‘It’s my fault she died.’ She mumbles, her voice small, sounding very different from the brash, not-a-care-in-the-world Ellie you’ve seen before. Sounding like the lost teenager she is. 

You feel empty.

‘Did you pull the trigger ?’

She jumps off the couch at that- you don’t see it, but you hear the footsteps.

‘No. Didn’t Joel tell you ?’

‘We don’t talk.’

Her words get jumbled as she talks- fast- explaining, condemning herself, saying she really wanted to save me, and she got bit and we had to leave her and if it weren’t for me she wouldn’t be-

You cut her off, there, and it is, you think, in a way that is both kind and unkind. Unkind because you can’t bear to hear it, so your voice is harsher than it should be. Kind because-

‘Tess never did anything she didn’t want to do. You’re lucky to have met her.’

She doesn’t answer for so long you think she’ll drop it, but she asks

And it’s a quiet thing that resonates so loud in your mind you have to grip the counter 

‘Why weren’t you with them ? With us ? From what Joel told me, you were kind of a crew in the QZ. You’re important to him.’ 

Your throat is dry, your voice suddenly raspy when you answer with a question :

‘He told you that ?’

‘Yes.’

You shrug. There’s a ringing in your ears.

‘Well’, you answer, your own voice sounding very far away, ‘people lie.’

There’s a bit of silence that seems to last an eternity. And in that bit, you understand. She’s not here because she likes you- maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t, you’re not about resent her if she doesn’t. She’s here because somehow, she thinks you’ve got the answer to the riddle that is Joel Miller. She’s here because she doesn’t get it, she doesn’t see the way he looks at her, she doesn’t see what everybody else sees : they have each other and they get each other in a way that is almost unique. 

Which is why her next question makes you pause :

‘So you think Joel lies ?’

You turn around, look at her small body, hands into a fist, looking at the ground and you come to the realization that you were wrong : she’s not looking for an answer but for a confirmation. She understands Joel. That’s actually why she’s asking you. 

She acts so much like an adult that you’re tempted to answer honestly but you remember- fourteen years old, just a teenager- so you deflect, answer the question with a question :

‘Do you think he lied to you about something?’

Her answer is a whispered yes, and it seems shy and afraid but you know better : that kid is front of you stands stronger, taller and braver than you. 

———

It’s really early in the morning when you knock on his door. Joel opens with a grunt and a cup of coffee in his hand. He stills, when he sees you, the hand not holding the cup high on the door. The gesture reveals a tiny glimpse of his belly.

It looks soft.

(He needs new shirts, you think for a second. He’s gained some weight, and he looks good, healthy, but he needs new shirts, if only for the sake of your sanity.)

Your eyes meet his - and they’re wide open, like he doesn’t believe you’re here. You get to the point :

‘I have two questions for you.’

He nods, his body a statue, unmoving, and your eyes catch the steam rising from the mug he holds before coming back to his eyes- not looking at his belly at all. 

‘Would you have ever come back for me ?’ 

It’s blunt, sharp, straight to the point. You watch him swallow. 

‘Yeah, yeah… I mean. We we supposed to come back to the QZ anyway. It’s just-‘

You cut him off, voice like ice. 

‘No. I mean : in this situation, with you and Ellie here, would you have gone back to get me ?’

He swallows.

Answers Yes, yes of course.

But

People lie.

You voice it, the word loud in the quiet of the morning :

‘Liar.’

His hand grips the door harder, he takes a step forward, but you take one too, and now you’re chest to chest. You grip the front of his shirt and you whisper :

‘I’m gonna come in and you’re gonna tell me what it is you’re hiding from Ellie. You owe me that much.’

Except he doesn’t. He doesn’t owe you anything. He could tell you to get lost and you’d have nothing to offer in answer. But he doesn’t tell you to get lost. He just opens the door wider and says :

‘Come in.’

———

Taglist

@pedritobalmando @amidjarin @ajeff855 @justpedropascal @sara-alonso @sarahjkl82-blog @amidjarin @sara-alonso@justpedropasc@mrsbentallmadge @farfromjustordinary @hnt-escape @kirsteng42

[ghouly-boiiiii]

My Name Is Cooper

Chapter 3 Of Ferals and Centaurs

(Lucy x Cooper Howard / The Ghoul)

<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>

Tags: angst, fluff, romance, humor, banter, femdom, alcohol and drug use, eventual smut

In this chapter...

“In fact, while we’re on the subject…” The Ghoul said as he shifted his feet a little. “And since we gonna be spendin’ some time together, I figure I ought to tell you this now too...” He took a somber breath. “If it ever so happens that I run outta vials and collapse like that again... and I lose consciousness... you gotta shoot me before I wake up. You got that?”

Lucy blinked, then looked up at him again. “Why?” She furrowed her brow and frowned. Even though she didn’t like him very much, she also didn’t like the idea of having to kill him either. Not unless she absolutely had to, and was sure of it. "...When you wake up… would you be feral?”

He just looked at her and pressed his lips together. 

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2,400

SPOILER WARNING: Contains all the spoilers

No trigger warnings except eventual sexy time with a zombie man.

Inside the vault, there wasn’t really much of note. Even though there was still power, it was quite dark. Many of the light bulbs had either been broken or gone out over time. The place was ransacked. There were dead bodies strewn about. Some were wearing vault suits, others looked like raiders. Whatever happened here, Lucy didn’t really care. Normally, she would have wanted to know. But after everything that’d happened, her mind was in other places.

Between The Ghoul and Dogmeat, she didn’t have to do much. Dogmeat took care of the roaches, and she was rather shocked by how quickly her ghoul companion swept through each room. Like he knew exactly where to look, exactly what to look for. Although she realized she shouldn’t be surprised, she still found it impressive. And he even gave her some tips and tricks along the way.

“Check that box there.” He pointed out to her a yellow ammo container. 

Lucy went over and tried to open it. “It’s locked.”

“Mmm…” He rummaged in his pack a moment, then handed her a bobby pin.

She looked at it questioningly. “Umm… what’s this for?”

“To pick the lock.”

The former vault dweller blinked. “I’ve never picked a lock before.”

“Well… it’s a good time to learn.” He said. “Go on now. Give it a try.”

She blinked again, then took the pin, kneeled down in front of the box, and stuck it in the hole. 

After feeling around a moment she said, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’ll figure it out.” The Ghoul said, then leaned against the wall casually and tilted his head as he watched her.

“Ugh… okay…” She said, frustrated but determined. As she kept at it, she had to say something to fill the dead air. Apparently, The Ghoul had gotten tired of talking, because now he was just standing there watching silently. 

“So… about your name.”

“Ahh…” 

“What if I take a guess?”

“Drop it, Vaulty.”

“Is it… John?” 

“No.”

“What about Nick?” 

“Even if you guess it, I’m not gonna tell ya.”

“Okay. What if I give you a name?”

“Sweetheart, I ain’t your fuckin’ dog.” 

“So I take it you’d be opposed to being called Rover?” She joked.

“Ugh…” The Ghoul rolled his eyes. “You want me to open that?”

“No. I’ll get it… I think I’m… getting the hang of this.” She said, furrowing her brow in concentration. 

“Ehhh…” The Ghoul exhaled. “So, Vaulty... How did you take out that Super Duper Mart anyway?” 

“Well, uh…” Lucy smiled sheepishly as she twisted and turned the bobby pin. “Actually, it was… kind of an accident.” Then her expression got sullen. “I… I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt…” 

“You’re the one that got ‘em to release all them ghouls, huh?”

She glanced over at him and he started to laugh.

“Well, ain’t you a good samaritan.”

“They were being held captive! I couldn’t just leave them there…” She huffed and looked over at him. “I mean, I got you those vials, didn’t I? Are you gonna make fun of me for that too?” 

“Well… I just hope you learned something from that experience.” He said, tilting his head down and raising his eyebrows. “You don't mess around with feral ghouls.”

“Yeah…” She said as she put her arms down a moment to give them a break. “I got that...” 

“In fact, while we’re on the subject…” The Ghoul said as he shifted his feet a little. “And since we gonna be spendin’ some time together, I figure I ought to tell you this now too...” He took a somber breath. “If it ever so happens that I run outta vials and collapse like that again... and I lose consciousness... you gotta shoot me before I wake up. You got that?”

Lucy blinked, then looked up at him again. “Why?” She furrowed her brow and frowned. Even though she didn’t like him very much, she also didn’t like the idea of having to kill him either. Not unless she absolutely had to, and was sure of it. "...When you wake up… would you be feral?”

He just looked at her and pressed his lips together. 

“But the other ones, they… they didn’t lose consciousness. They were… very awake when they…”

“Well, everyone’s different, sweetheart…” The Ghoul said. “Not everyone turns in the same way. And truth be told, I’ve never gotten that far. To where I lost consciousness, I mean. So I donno what would happen when I woke up. But that’s not a risk you wanna take, darlin’.” His tone was very serious and strangely soft. He was starting to sound like a mentor. Like the tone she would take with her students back home. “So if that happens, you either better shoot me or run as fuckin’ far away as you can, as fast as you can. Because if I do go feral, I will kill you.” 

Lucy blinked again, looked away in thought, then back. “Well… isn’t that a good reason for me to know your name...? Those other ghouls, they were… saying their names over and over again. Don’t you think it’d be good for me to know it? In case you do start going feral? So I can help, you know… remind you…”

He shook his head and scoffed. “That don’t help nobody… It’s all just sentimental bullshit... Nice try though.”

Lucy thought for a moment about her mother. She swallowed hard, then went back to the lock. “So… is it... Nate?”

“Sweetheart, if you don’t stop askin' me I swear I’m gonna…”

Suddenly, there was a click and the box popped open. “Ha!” She exclaimed in triumph. 

“Huh…” The Ghoul said, almost sounding surprised, before he strolled over to her. 

Lucy opened up the lid and looked inside, where there were several boxes of ammo, a couple stimpacks, and some rad-away. 

The bounty hunter leaned over her as she pulled out their prizes. “Well… nice job, Vaulty.”

After some time, The Ghoul decided they'd done enough scavenging. The vault was huge - as all vaults were - and they didn’t end up getting through the whole thing. But he seemed happy with what they found. Which, aside from what was in the locked box, included food, cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey, and a few other medicinals. As they headed back to the entrance, Lucy eyed something they’d passed before. It was a Mr. Handy. Broken, but it still had its fusion core. Which meant there’s a chance it could still be operational.

“Hey, Asshole.” Lucy called out ahead to him.

The Ghoul looked over his shoulder, then flashed her a smirk before he turned and started walking towards her. “You say my name?”

She smirked back. “Sure did… Come look at this.”

The old bounty hunter immediately frowned when he realized what she was pointing at. “The robot?”

“Do you think we could use it?”

“What the hell for?” 

“Well, I donno. Might come in handy .” She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh, then looked up at The Ghoul to see if he got the joke.

Slowly, he turned to look at her with nothing but a blank stare. 

“Ha…” Lucy let out a brief laugh, then bit her lip and looked away awkwardly. 

The old bounty hunter kept his eyes on her a moment, then blinked and slowly shifted them back over to the robot, shaking his head a little. “Well, I hate to tell you this, Ms. Handy MacLean. But Bartholomew here appears to be kinda fuckin’ broken.” 

“That is true. But. I’m pretty sure I can fix him.”

“Well, if you want a little robot friend, you go right on ahead. I ain’t gonna stop ya.” He turned and started back down the hallway again. 

She shrugged and was about to follow when Dogmeat started to growl at something in the darkness behind them. An unsettling sound emitted from down the hallway. A low, gurgling, but almost human sounding groan. And it sounded like it was coming from something that was much… much bigger.

Lucy froze in fear, then watched as The Ghoul turned around and his eyes got wide. 

“Lucy! Get down!” He shouted and she dove for the floor as something lashed out above her, just missing her. Dogmeat barked frantically as The Ghoul pulled out his gun and started firing. She heard the gush of spilling blood and torn flesh and the creature screamed out in pain. 

In a panic, Lucy started crawling towards the Ghoul. After getting a few feet away, she flipped onto her back, grabbed her gun and started firing as well. After getting in a few shots, her eyes got wide with horror as she absorbed what she was looking at.

It looked like a giant humanoid mutant. But instead of having arms attached to its shoulders, it crawled on six below the waist, attached to a lower body that looked like the thorax of an insect, but made of human flesh. There were bones stick out from its shoulders where the arms should be, and around its stomach. It was grotesque, covered in tumors and pustules. And it had three long tentacles protruding from its mouth. Just the look of it made every hair on her body stand up on end.

Lucy began to scream as she continued to fire. Then, suddenly, one of the tentacles lashed out, wrapped itself around her angle and started dragging her across the floor.

“Shit!” The Ghoul exclaimed and ran towards her, dropping his pack on the ground. Dogmeat barked and gnawed at one of the monster's six arm-legs, but it didn’t seem to phase it. 

The former vault dweller kept firing until she ran out of bullets, and so did The Ghoul. But the thing was so huge it was almost just absorbing their fire. The bounty hunter grabbed his knife and jumped between Lucy and the beast, sawing and hacking at the tentacle that had a hold of her. Once he had her freed, the creature screamed out in pain, then threw its other two tentacles around The Ghoul’s face, knocking off his hat and pulling him in.

“Arrgh–!!! Mmmph!” His shout was muffled as he struggled against the mutant.

“Asshole!!” Lucy called out the only name she had for him. 

The horrifying monster was strong and pulled the bounty hunter towards it with ease, engulfing his head in its slimy, wiggling grip. Dogmeat barked and growled fiercely, tearing and gnashing at the beast flesh. Lucy fumbled to get more ammo in her gun, fearing this would be the end for her companion if she didn’t free him as soon as possible. 

With a growl, The Ghoul took the knife and started stabbing the beast in the face, over and over. Again, the creature howled in pain, but didn’t relent. Dogmeat cried out as one of the six legs got in a forceful kick, throwing her back against a wall. 

But then Lucy remembered something... 

She had a grenade.

Quickly, she reached in her pack and pulled out the explosive. Then jumped up and, after considering her options for a moment, ran around to the back end of the creature. She hesitated just briefly, then shoved that grenade right up its ass. 

Trying to ignore the shit and slime now covering her arm, she bolted back towards the front and took cover.

A moment later, the thorax of the beast exploded into a horrifying slush of red, green, brown and yellowish mush and chunky body parts. The front end let out one last gurgling death groan before finally dropping her ghoul companion and slumping to the floor.

“Gahhh…” The Ghoul growled as he picked himself up and started wiping the mucus off his face. “Motherfucker...” He cursed and spat. “Fucking centaurs.”

“What the hell was that thing!?” Lucy blurted out, still shaking as she stood up from where she had been crouching. 

“Goddamn mutant.” He said simply. “Just like them gulpers. Only uglier.”

Lucy stepped up next to him, looking down at the freakish monster in horror, but also relief.

The Ghoul searched around for his hat, then quickly retrieved it and put it back on. 

In a bit of a daze, the former vault dweller looked up at him. “You... saved my life.”

"Yeah. And you blew up its ass and saved mine.” He glanced back at her as he spoke, almost sounding appreciative, then sneered in disgust as he tried to wipe off the muck and slop that had splattered all over him. “You alright?” 

She nodded, still shaking.

He looked past her and spotted Dogmeat, then quickly stepped over to the canine and kneeled down. “Damn… son of a bitch got you too, huh?” 

Dogmeat whined as she limped closer to him, holding one of her back legs up. The Ghoul scratched her cheeks and behind her ears. “It’s alright… you’ll be alright…” 

Lucy blinked as she watched him, surprised that he seemed so concerned about the dog. 

“Hey… what time does that pip-boy a yers say it is?”

Lucy looked down to check. “It’s… almost seven.”

He stood up and exhaled, then nodded. “Might be best if we stay here tonight.”

“What? Here?? ” The former vault dweller said in disbelief. “After that? What if there’s more of those... things!?"

“Eh… if there were more, they’da already come runnin’.” 

“How can you be so sure?”

He looked over at her and tilted his head, appearing a little annoyed. “I’ve been out here a long time, sweetheart. Trust me." He reminded her, then retrieved his gun from the floor and put it back in it's holster. "But if it'll make ya feel betta... I'll do a clean sweep after we find a safe spot fer you two...” 

She blinked, then looked away, letting out a little huff. “...Okay… Fair enough.” 

“It’s always safer to stay the night indoors, if you can…" He said as he grabbed his pack off the ground and slung it over his shoulder. "Besides, Dogmeat’s gotta rest her leg.” 

“Can’t we just give her a stimpack?” 

“That’s anotha lesson you gotta learn, darlin'... Don’t waste yo stimpacks on minor injuries that can heal on they own... Ya never know when you might have a real emergency.” He turned towards the pup and she whined as he slung her over his shoulder as well. “Come on. We’ll hold up in one a them units. There’s bound to be one that ain't got somethin’ dead in it.”

To be continued…

<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>

[pokemon-my-beloved]

so i played the dlc

and it was. alright? but while i was playing the teal mask, i was writing my thoughts down so i could make a little mini-review, and then i just. never posted it. so here i am now, with my thoughts from ALL of the dlc, but i have to separate it because i said. So Much. this post has teal mask stuff, i'll reblog with indigo disk thoughts

spoilers under the cut!

are my besties coming with me on this field trip. please please please

blueberry academy is in UNOVA????? holy shit i am IMMEDIATELY more interested and invested in the indigo disk

have my boy there. i am Manifesting him

listen briar i’m sure your intentions are pure and all probably but you can’t go into the great crater of paldea okay i say this as someone who has been there. leave my bestie alone

i don’t think my besties are coming with me :( one sec i gotta go say goodbye to them

okay nemona please try not to burn the academy to the ground, penny sunlight is necessary to your survival please leave your room at some point, mabosstiff please take care of arven while i’m gone

GOD i love these kids okay i’m going

i am. aware of the violet book. why

the paranormal???? oh so she’s a dork

and heath’s descendant alright that’s fine i’m no longer as concerned as I was before

OH MY GOD IS SHE SHOWING ME THE TERAPAGOS PAGE UNCENSORED????

SHE IS

i am…….. wary……. of terapagos, but continue

she wants to find it? bestie

okay so the other people on the trip are randos. three of them. this feels like salt in the wound, just a lil bit

this kid is NOT my “travel buddy” i have exactly ONE buddy and he is in paldea >:(

i’m not going to let that go i am NOT going to get over that

oh it’s my replacement besties or whatever. i’m not going to get as attached to them I’m saying this now because i know it to be true. unless these kids have daddy issues out the ass i will not get attached

okay so carmine is nemona 2 electric boogaloo except i like nemona more

sorry for continuing to play it up i just Love Them So Much

oh so we’re just going to. i was going to say block off the wholeass road but this is scarvi so. guess not

oh so this is just nemona if she was pacifica northwest huh

only one of them was giving me grief but i’m gonna hit yes anyways cause carmine is already getting on my nerves

man this is exactly what i said about arven huh. unless she pulls out a sick dog and daddy issues i’m not impressed and even then i'm not impressed cause like. quit copying homework from two characters who i already like more

mossui town is a very pokeani coded name i think

oh god which of these stupid fucking loser kids am i gonna be working with

nevermind it’s probably gonna be kieran

his hair is really fucking stupid I cannot see his nose at all it grates on me more the more I look at it. not what i would call good character design

hair’s not quite as egregious on carmine but still kind of a problem

WOAHHHHHH THE NURSE JOY RESDESIGN POG

this is literally jessie. like it’s just jessie i can’t fucking be convinced otherwise

i mean. define cool? but yeah sure this kid’s growing on me it’s cool

ohhhhh cool as in 3v1 cool. yeah alright that is cool

KIERAN NO WHY DID YOU SAY THE S-WORD

HOW DID YOU EVOLVE YOUR POKEMON SO FAST

probably because they were already like level 58 or whatever

okay so we are GUARANTEED going to get trapped in here or whatever since ogerpon was outside but i’m sure i can bust us out so i’m not really worried tbh

“you’re a sweet kid kieran” vs “wHEN CAN I MOVE IN” GHALKSJGKLASJGLKAJSG

yeah okay i’ll go to the festival of masks sure seems fun

ugh YOU

fuckin. i don’t get a mask i guess. absolutely fantastic (sarcastic)

yeah sure i’ll battle whatever

“stop using supereffective moves” she says, like that will stop me

oh is poltchageist/sistcha a divergent evolution of the polteageist line? nice!

ogerpon’s stUPID FUCKING PONCHO JAKSJKSJGLKSJG

“say chansey” is cute but i’m unsure why cheese wouldn’t work like cheese is very much in this game

oh, thank you for the candy apple kieran!

what the fuck does OUSTIN mean, game. that is NOT a word, what the fuck

wait. it is. fuck

what if i just. didn’t go after ogerpon AJKLGSJGLK

okay well i can’t leave the festival or do anything else IN the festival so

this bitch is GOING to punch me in the face i guarantee it jvaslkgjlags

apparently everyone just thinks its a kid. wild

oh that’s a cute cute CUTE face

ogerpon’s adorable. alright

I SOMEHOW DON’T THINK IT’S A KID, CARMINE

kieran i would NEVER make fun of you what the fuck

carmine you are SO mean all the time i feel like jet at the end of the sonic riders dub

oh did the loyal three attack and ogerpon defended the village. makes sense for pokemon tbh

“passed down by word of mouth” just write it down, man

OH SHIT THE MASKS HAVE TERASTAL GEMS IN THEM FUCK

i’m sorry kieran i was specifically instructed to lie to you okay listen

i guess i’m not going to the festival of masks tonight? damn okay then

okay yeah this is pretty as fuck but i’ve been to area zero and i did expect it to look like this, carmine

oh! a mitotic! hi! what the fuck!

well that’s convenient huh. i’m not getting in the fucking pool, i guess

oh briar hi! are these terastal crystals? cause i’m pretty sure they are

water? eh close enough

oh he’s gonna summon the loyal three isn’t he. that’s probably not good

kieran in our defense we were specifically instructed to not tell you this like did you miss that part i know you were eavesdropping

if nothing else it seems like he’s gaining some self confidence from all this it seems like

oh they were stuck in the monument? that’s… a bit weird, but i’m sure it’s fine

sure wish someone who could understand pokemon was here (hint hint) THAT SURE WOULD BE HELPFUL HUH (HINT HINT)

sorry i just. i Miss him

guess i’ve gotta fight the loyal three now. bet

ooh triple battle?

nevermind. this blows

you’re trying to recreate the crater crew and it isn’t working i’m not as attached to these two

oh i just noticed that the flying taxi has noctowls instead of squakabilly in kitakami that’s cool!

ogerpon was running in lil circles around me while i wrote that this bitch cute as hell

sorry for having protagonist syndrome kieran

HE GOT SO BIG

oh god HE ATE THE HERBA MYSTICA NOOOOOO adhsfjhfsfh

ogerpon cheering us on is adorable, oh my god

oh did kieran tell the village the truth i’m pretty sure he did

yup he did

i think this battle with kieran is the last of the story

oh damn he just COLLAPSED

okay do i battle ogerpon or does he just get in a ball

battle it is ig!

oh its poncho changes with its mask thats cool!

OH FUCK HE TERASTILLIZES WITH HIS MASKS JUST AUTOMATICALLY

“memories of adventuring with you grant ogerpon strength” THAT’S CUTE AS HELL WHAT THE FUCK

“memories of a partner from long long ago grant ogerpon strength” HEY WHAT THE FUCK OW

OH SHE’S A GIRL SHIT SORRY OGERPON DIDN’T MEAN TO MISGENDER YOU

her name WAS gonna be kieran but change of plans this is majora now

majora might be a guy actually i do not have a clue. i’m sure it’s fine

again. sorry for having protagonist syndrome kieran but i can’t do shit about it

carmine my home is in another country i understand what you’re going for but i live in paldea

WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING IN THE GREAT CRATER. I’M GOING HOME FUCK ALL OF YOU

kieran what the FUCK is happening bud

oh god he’s pulling a paulo from pokemas isn’t he goddammit

did terapagos get to him. is he gonna get professor turo’d

guess that’s it! i’ll be back for this shit when the indigo disk drops ig

[borom1r]

THANK @theshakespearetrash FOR MORR QUESTIONS IMMMMMNNN VERY HIGH ive never RPed as John Marlott but ive written 2 fics for him tht counts right? right

(ask meme)

1. Is your muse afraid of death?

he wants to die so bad. + then he does and his family is gone AND his rest is stolen from him 💔 so no. but it’s very sad

2. What is your muse’s kill count? 

huh. that’s a good question actually. I think.. huh. not many? Hervey’s henchdude in s1 and i think someone else?? im very high rn he killed the one dude in s2 to escape the asylum n there’s a lotta death that follows him but like 2? 3? ppl HE kills on screen.

ofc that’s not touchin on the war/anything pre-canon in his work. + he blames himself for the death of his wife and child so those Could be counted

3. What is your muse’s biggest fear? 

everyone he loves dying. + hey guess what happens in canon!!

4. How easy is it to anger your muse?

not very. he knows the dance of Polite Society Manners and can keep his composure. he might be stern but it’s rare that he Actually gets angry. until his sanity starts slipping but u know that’s beyond his fuckin control

5. What is your muse’s biggest regret? 

everything tht happened w his wife n child

6. Does your muse believe in an afterlife? 

LOL yea but he doesn’t get to go thereeeeee

7. How many scars does your muse have?

HM. many. lots on his back n obvs the scars from Hervey. bet he has quite a few more tho

8. Does your muse tend to bottle things up?

yes but not.. mm, not consciously i think. he’s just so used to isolation that i don’t think he even Fathoms opening up to someone as a possibility

9. What is one thing that would break your muse?

HRM. well. Flora’s death does, one could argue. at least it starts the steep downward spiral into his rebirth and further decline following his institutionalization

10. Does your muse have nightmares? What about?

obviously yea + im fucking insane abt him. barking like a dog @ Sean Bean fucking gutting himself with fabric shears

11. Would your muse kill for someone they care about? 

oh yea ofc he would. of course he would.

12. What was the worst injury your muse has received?

does it count as an injury if it happened postmortem? i think the psychological trauma caused by it means it counts. the surgical wounds from Hervey

13. How much pain can your muse withstand? For how long? 

s1? a fair amount of pain for quite a long time. s2? the man’s a corpse. he got coffin shrapnel in his side and fuckin walked home. he’s fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine he’s fine don’t ask

14. What was the most traumatic moment in your muse’s life?

Hervey’s bullshit forever. hate that man hitting him w bricks unironically

15. How often does your muse cry? Do they view it as weakness?

RARELY + feel like he’s probably neutral abt it conceptually he’s just so used to being completely alone. i think emotions are kind of just a numb ache for him for a while. + then of course he bonds w Flora and Nightingale and then Everything Goes To Hell And Crashes And Burns

16. If your muse could talk to one person they’ve lost, who would it be? 

HM. his wife i think. bc he at least got the closure of seein Flora + Nightingale reunited. but he never got to see his wife even Before his rebirth

17. Does your muse consider themselves a good person? Why or why not? 

HRM. s1? no i think he’s neutral to himself at BEST. s2……….. nooooooooo but also yes kind of i think Esther really helps him see the good in himself. so by the end of s2 Yes but only then

18. Does your muse think they’re capable of changing? Do they even want to?

OH. very good question. does he? i think he feels like he Has to believe in change bc Esther and Flora and Nightingale did ultimately play a role in changing him for the better. and Hervey changed him for the worse. but also these r all external forces effecting him not like. himself. can he? I don’t think so. I think if he thought abt it he’d think that he himself is stagnant. it’s like pond ripples. if you lob a rock into water there’s already rocks in the bottom of that bitch so the only real change is surface distortion and a little more weight. and ultimately the ripples stop and the water settles. maybe it’s cloudier bc sediment got stirred up. maybe it’s clear, who knows. Still just a fuckin lake. does that make sense? idk man I cried in a theater today + toook too many edibles he’s himself. that’s an answer

[cchapsticck]

This is so belated but Happy Birthday @bettiebloodshed! They gave me a prompt a while back and and I wanted it to be for your birthday birthday but. You know how I get.

---

It was funny before; when the cult leader allegations were more of an implication than an outright condemnation, and then, honestly, it was kind of funny after when he was Actually The Prince Of Darkness Apparently that he was born on the longest day of the year. Prince of Darkness born on the day with the least amount of darkness. 

Amazing. 

Failing upward since birth. 

Anyway, that said, he spends his first birthday as the undead under too much daylight still laid up Good Samaritan Bloomington, still sticky with skin grafts and trying not to itch at his stitches - both hands being once again available for his use - mourning the partial loss of at least 3 of his tattoos, bored out of his mind, and a kind of miserable that he’s still not sure he’s managed to scrub off him yet. 

Wayne kept making those drives up to Bloomington like he wasn’t missing shifts on the regular and running his sick time into the red but Wayne still comes that June, when he’s finally out of his fun little coma, like they’re gonna do anything. Like he can stand and support his own weight for more than minutes at a time, like he’s still not bleeding into his bedsheets now that he’s moving around at all. 

But he does, doesn’t say that’s why. Wayne’s not necessarily a festive guy but it’s not that he doesn’t care a whole hell of a lot so he shows up and they both know why and they don’t say much about that. Feels a little fragile. Made it another year but like. Just fuckin’ barely, asshole. 

So All That Shit is still a little too close to feel like doing much beyond watching daytime soaps on the pink wavy picture’d 10” TV bolted to the wall, eating saltless hospital cafeteria food in irregular silence. Wayne sneaks him a shitty black coffee that makes him feel like there are knives in his guts an hour later from the machine in the lounge but it definitely feels worth lying to the nurse later, and brings him one of his books from the house that survived the collapse. He doesn’t look at which one. Not sure he can stand it, knowing where it came from.

It's not awful, all things considered. 

When he was a kid, living with Wayne, he wasn’t so much a birthday guy. Didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, too weirdkid for that. And the date of note being in the armpit of June and the window unit AC at the trailer doing its damndest at doing not much at all making the house inhospitable for human life even on full blast - even if he had the friends to make a whole typical thing of it he wasn’t so much in the position to host. (Story of his adult life too honestly ha ha fucking ha) Not unless anyone cared to deal with a not insignificant selection of sweaty pre-teens in the already a little cramped for two single wide for a few hours at a time - and having now experienced that in, at least, an adjacent capacity since being released from the hospital and various criminal investigations he wouldn’t retroactively wish that on Wayne. 

Anyway he’s never been much of an outside cat but Wayne used to take him out to Yellowood or Hoosier or Interlake just to get out of the house and they’d get up to what the fuck ever. He’d hop out of Wayne’s old Chevy, roll his ankle in the gravel parking lot at a trailhead tripping over his own ass running full tilt out of there and just. Release the beast. 

Honestly it was probably like letting the dog run around the yard off leash until it tires itself out, for Wayne. Only with like. A 13 year old human. 

He’d jump in weed tangled, freezing cold lakes too murky to see the bottom of, he’d get bit to shit by mosquitos running through long grass with burrs all stuck in his socks and shoelaces, waste a shitload of bait sitting on a bulwark at a reservoir while Wayne fished and he threw hotdog chunks at turtles. 

They’d drive back just as the sun starts to go down, stop at whatever roadside diner they find first on the surface roads eat burgers and undercooked, limp, fries and whatever desert special the place has - places like those always have one - while Eddie would rip the paper napkins and straw wrappers into little shreds and dumping 6 little plastic containers of creamer and however many packets of sugar he could pinch between his fingers from the cramped little dish on the table into his essentially white, by that point, annual cup of coffee (as his stimulants problem started early, apparently) while he’d tell Wayne about whatever book he was reading at great incoherent length and Wayne smoked in the corner booth. Always a corner booth. Get back for Forest Hills after dark, his adolescent ass valiantly trying to fight off sleep out on the porch with the fireflies and crickets and Wayne’s last silent cigarette of the night. That was just. Kind of always how it went for them. Just him and Wayne and another year.  

So Steve doesn’t know any of this, so far as he knows. 

But Steve’s wailing on the goddam horn out front at the unholiest hour of 7am and he’s just standing on his stoop and gives him the universal arms out stretched what the fuck, people live here jackass look and Steve just gives a him winning smile and the finger out the open driver’s side window. 

Fucker. 

He’s got nowhere to be and no one to notice if he’s gone and Steve didn’t say what they were doing, just that it was gonna be a long drive and he was picking him up early. 

And it's not, like, Steve doesn’t know. Like he knows what day it is. He knows what this is about. 

And it's cute and all, whatever it is, he just figured he wouldn’t be 22 and not-dead and doing this kind of shit. Like the cutsey-surprise-make a day of it-whatever. Like there’s diminishing returns with getting older and the days that denote it - old enough to drive, old enough to die in a war, old enough to vote, old enough to drink, end of list, exciting birthdays over - not that he’s got a lot of room to talk re: time spent maturely, considering his hobbies largely consisting of a very elaborate game of pretend but like you grow out of this particular kind of thing eventually, right? Just like, one day you’re gonna stop feeling no different than you did when you were 17, right? Like some threshold of adulthood achieved surely exists, and there’s some point when you know you’ve crossed it? 

Right?

But Steve’s got a plan and he’s not really the greatest at keeping things to himself, transparent and careless to a very measurable fault, as evidenced by the paper grocery bag sitting on the floor of the passenger side. Top wide open, something soft and pale wadded up in there barely obscuring six of something else, and Steve sort of hurriedly going, like, shit don’t look in the bag once he negotiates his legs around the obstacle on the floor of Steve’s car. 

And, like, sure, he’s kind of a dick before the hour of 11 am but he has at least a shred of a capacity for restraint so he just rolls his eyes a little and shoves the bag further up the floor under the dashboard and something glass clinks together in there and keeps his shittier thoughts to himself about how precisely bad Steve is at his little birthday subterfuge since Steve’s bothered to even like. Give a shit. 

“So is this an official kidnapping or do I get to know where we’re going?”

“This is, at best, a consensual kidnapping.” Steve says, a little distracted, arm around the back of Eddie’s seat fingers kind of tapping against the leather headrest as he waits, the heat of his wrist inches from Eddie neck, absolutely blistering with proximity - twisted at the waist to look out the back windshield as he backs out of the little square of gravel out front of the trailer and he tries not to feel like a giggling maniac about it. Like, he’s never had a deep well of dignity but Christ Almighty. 

Steve throws the BMW into drive with a fully unnecessary flourish, car kinda clunks into gear with the lack of finesse in the showmanship of it all, and Steve kinda swings around to look at him all excited about fuckin’ something, arm still behind the passenger headrest. “And no.”

He’s so fuckin’ smug. Actually, y’know what? Actually, fuck this guy. He doesn’t really love having shit held over his head and Steve thinks this is really cute and Eddie’s not gonna let him just have that for free, even if it's been exactly whatever this is for months now. Him and Steve and their weird flirting to cope they’ve been doing now that the life or death adrenaline has worn off. 

He can fuck all the way off at 7 in the goddamn morning so he just digs through Steve’s glove box through the like - fuck, only like 3 tapes in there, what the fuck. Born to Run. Rumors. And huh. Parallel Lines. 

Smart money’s that’s Buckley’s. 

“Looking for something?” Steve asks all conversationally, not really looking at whatever state he’s making of the glove compartment as he turns on to 69 North. 

“Yeah, music.” because he’s gotta be a dick about something.

“Okay. No? Shotgun does not pick the music?” He is appalled, his sensibilities assailed, his most holiest of held beliefs blasphemed. “Who raised you?”

Eddie flips the compartment closed, it catches with an instant and satisfying click. Not like his van. His van, his shitheap van. You kind of have to slam it closed a couple times, hard enough until it sticks. Which is an arbitrary number of slams. Just until it goes. For a split second he feels like Steve’s showing off then he reminds himself he’s insane. 

“Not the wolves that raised you, apparently.” Steve laughs, it's dry and it’s skeptical, but he laughs “Shotgun absolutely picks the music. Shotgun is Sentinel, man. Shotgun’s watching traffic, shotgun’s calling out shit in the road, shotgun is distraction proof. Shotgun’s Navigator, shotgun knows the exits, shotgun’s on the maps, shotgun is destination oriented. Shotgun is getting us there. Shotgun is the Gatekeeper, shotgun is keeping the driver free of distraction, shotgun is running interference from the backseat fuckery. Shotgun is indispensable. Shotgun is doing so much for you, the least they can have is a pick of the fuckin’ music, man.”

“Yeah but I’m driving.” it comes out of Steve all unimpressed and that’s final and also obvious but also Steve’s just fucking laughing at him now, and honestly he can’t imagine why. Not a joke. 

“Steven, they let 16 year olds drive cars, whose responsibility is really greater here?” and to punctuate the moment he jams Rumors right into the deck. Like checkmate. The defense rests. Take that.

Guess it wasn’t rewound before it got tossed into the compartment because it picks up in the middle of Songbird, Christine McVie and the softest-soft rock piano so sweetly proclaiming some avian conspiracy that:

Like they know the score And I love you, I love you, I love you

And that sort of hangs weirdly in the sudden silence of the cab because Steve’s not laughing anymore he’s just biting his lip looking straight ahead into the Sunday morning church traffic because he’s maybe embarrassed, maybe being caught out at some arbitrary point in the album, like it's anything more than a coincidence, or its shock that Eddie’s considers this music at all. 

He could make up less and less plausible expositions for the look on Steve’s face all goddamn day but instead he just pulls and pushes the door lock up and down like a clunky loud asshole until The Chain saves them both from themselves and whatever emotional complication Fleetwood Mac committed to audio engineered eternity.

He hums along a bit (metal gods may ye be merciful upon his hellbound soul but, like. C’mon) punctuated by idle stunted small talk (how’s Wayne doing? - fine - how’s running your dork game again going? - clandestinely organized in various local basements but also fine) until he ends up falling asleep with his head against the window for the better part of the ride. It is, after all, well outside his personal hours of operation. The fact that he’s made it even this long is commendable. Everyone clap.

For the better part of the drive and despite his whole manifesto on the responsibilities of shotgun, apparently, Steve doesn’t wake him up, just lets him sleep and subsequently wake up on his own with a cramp in his neck, shoved down low into the passenger side with a numb hand shoved between the seat and the door, and the vibration of the wheels against pavement resonating in his teeth. So, whatever little surprise Steve’s got that takes 4 hours to drive to gets to remain a surprise after all because he wakes up disoriented and sore and all there is to see out the window is the high noon sunshine through some green trees surrounding some rumbly, chewed up, lineless, backroad and The Carpenters playing low on the radio. 

“What part of the kidnapping are we on?” He manages to get out, his tongue thick in his mouth and his skull still vibrating minutely off the window, after indulging in seconds of being unseen, unnoticed, to just watch Steve look to the road ahead, restlessly fidgeting with the stitching on the wheel. Exactly where he left him.

Steve flashes him a look - quick - to him and then back to the road - like he hadn’t expected him to be awake so soon. Like he’s been checking in and just missed. Like maybe he’s surprised, or he was caught out at. Something.

“Dismemberment.” Is what he says instead of whatever soft thing seemed to be behind his teeth. 

Eddie hums at him, still a little groggy. Cool. 

“Oh you can just, uh, cut on the dotted lines.” he says, shoving himself up the seat a bit, kicking whatever is glass and clinking at his feet with a mumbled shit as he gestures towards his chest and sides, vaguely. “Pre-portioned.”

“Or you could just ask ‘Are we there yet?’ like a regular person.” Like Steve didn’t just commit to the bit, like, instantly. 

But anyway, he absolutely will not be doing that.

“Thought I’d spare you the flashbacks - afternoon amongst peers and all.”

“Gee thanks.”  

“Don’t mention it.”

Steve snorts, smiles a little, looking straight ahead to the raggedy backroad while Eddie’s still kind of crammed between the shoulder of the seat and the passenger door. Steve’s sunglasses are pushed up on top of his head, the front of his hair sticking up in all directions over and under the frames, brushing against the upholstered headliner of the BMW.  It’s not cute. 

He’s so fucking fucked.

“I won’t.” 

Shithead.

So eventually they park, they get out of the car, and Steve’s looking at him expectantly, presentationally, like he’s supposed to know what he’s looking at. And what he’s looking at is mostly the sand logged scrubby low reeds edging the cracked, sun warped asphalt he’s parked on. He snatches Steve’s coolguy wayfarers off his head, in part to spare himself his ongoing private humiliation of whatever’s going on in his chest and brain watching Steve squint into the sunlight and, in similar not unrelated part, to spare himself from the reflection off all the sand blasting his eyes into little shrunken raisins. 

Steve doesn’t even fight him. Doesn’t even bitch at him a little. Just pulls the bag out off the passenger side floor, didn’t even ask him to grab it when he got out - circled the car to pick it up like he was going to get the door for him. Like he forgot who he was with for a minute. And the something-glass clinks together again in the bag. It's bright. The sound. The sun. Whatever. Something inside him cracks a little. 

There’s a path that goes down, a steep decline that seems to just drop off into nothing from where he stands. Grey bleached wood slats with sand and tufts of spiky grass oozing up between the boards and pooled in the knotholes and Steve kind of gives him an after you kind of hand/arm gesture like there’s something just waiting for him just out of sight.

And there is. Sort of. In the way that it would have been there whether they were standing at the crest of this hill or not is waiting for anything. Something he sort of guessed at. Had enough of the information to guess at. 

He has this kind of puzzle pieced memory of being in elementary school, like third or fourth grade - the pre-Wayne times - and there was this whole week or month or whatever of lessons that were just kind of about the place they were, the place they were all growing up. And y’know, it’s like, industry and shit, its invention and innovation. Gary, Chicago, Dearborn. Capitalists’ wet dreams sold to third graders. And the rest of it was lakes, like why wouldn’t it be? What else is there? 

Some of it was industry, again, things ingenuity learned to make on the lake and the feats of it. Some of it was science, how cold, how deep, how old. Some of it was spooky shit, ghost ships and storms and whatever Gordon Lightfoot had going on about lakes that don’t give up their dead. But he remembers a story - because of course that’s the part that stuck with him - a story that isn’t really his to tell about loss and love and weathering the storm of grief and the passage of time to wait forever that made the dunes. 

And it kind of does. Have a kind of forever, that is, and a going on forever. The lake is there, a steep slope from where they stand at the crumbling edge of the asphalt down right into the water but the reedy clumps of greenery get fewer and farther between and every direction he looks up that lakeshore edge is rolling hills with sharp and soft edges, millions of years of grains of sand and the sun beating down. 

There are a few people up the beach, sliding down the hills of sand, standing in the surf, digging around in the muck for sea glass or shells or beach garbage or who knows - not close enough to make out any kind of meaningful detail. And so they are, for the most part, alone. And the sun beats down on them and the sand and the lake the same. 

He skids down the dune, shoes filling with sand as he tries to look like he’s any kind of control over the descent. Like all present parties don’t have a pretty good grasp on exactly what control looks like to him in various applications. Not like Steve and his casual confidence he just gets to, like. Have. Apparently. 

Steve whose ex swim team lifeguard years never really seemed all that distant - in surprising and nightmareish contexts the last few years; how strong a swimmer are you? bottom of a lake strong enough? not sure if he remembered how hard it really is to administer CPR but apparently it came back to him, if his own bruised ribs were any indication. 

Anyway he does eat shit about two thirds the way down, ass right into the sand and skids a few feet down, and he’s never been so glad to be one of those jeans all summer morons because his shoes are flooded and tight around his feet with the sand pouring in and he knows he’d be in a similar situation elsewhere less dignified were it not for the barrier and he’s suffered enough indignity in the last 27 seconds, thanks. 

And also anyway Steve holds a hand out to him, one foot braced up the hill to keep balance, the brown paper bag from the car balanced on his hip, where the bare, soft, skin above the inside of his knee is right near Eddie’s shoulder and he isn’t even looking, he’s looking out to the lake but he knows - knows it's not the embarrassment that’s making his face burn. He knows. 

“Seems like the kidnapping is going great, like, congrats man, I’ll break my legs on my own at this rate.” 

And Steve gives him this amused look with his outstretched hand that for sure isn’t denial or anything resembling dismissing any of the embarrassment he might be feeling about the situation. The fall. The proximity. Whichever. 

Sometimes he thinks Steve likes watching him squirm. It's not like he’s ever been like. Subtle. About anything. At any point in his life but probably about this specifically. So even if Steve’s entirely clueless, it's at least, apparently, fun for him. Something about it. It, whatever this is. Whatever it's been since he came back to life and they don’t talk about.

Anyway he takes Steve’s hand and it’s warm and it's broad and he already knew that because he’s thought a lot about it. 

He wins the remaining battle with gravity and momentum and sits to dump his shoes off and see if there’s any saving his socks from grit filled sensory nightmares in a few hours time and he’s pretty sure he’s already out of luck there with even the most cursory of assessments while Steve digs this white folded thing out of the paper bag. And as he sort of shakes it out he sees its scalloped edges, the eyelet delicately embroidered around the edges, the yellowing cream color of it all, and it occurs to him this is a tablecloth. An old one. 

Steve seems to notice that he’s sort of taken stock of what Steve’s laying out and how, if one were so inclined to take a lot of Steve Harrington at face value, it almost looks like his affluent upbringing has him so out of touch that these are the choices he made with confidence about beachside protocol so he clears the air with a;

“Biggest thing I could find in the house.” 

“Seems uh. Heirloom adjacent.”

Steve just shrugs and rolls his eyes. Like that means anything at all. 

There was a time he could, and maybe still can sort of, imagine Steve in one of those white pristine lake houses. The kind people go Up North for, the sweaters over shoulders, shoes without socks kind, catama-whatever sailboat-with-extra-steps dickheads. The country club Cape Cod wannabes of Midwestern lakefront property. The places that aren’t here. 

People don’t really live in the dunes, sand too high and malleable to put foundations down. Millions of years of shifting pushed out anything beyond the temporary, everything but themselves. And he thinks that, remembers that thought, and then has it instantly obliterated while Steve lays out what is almost certainly an antique that holds value to fuckin’ someone, digs the corners in with his bare feet - can’t even be bothered to treat it gently or with anything resembling differential respect - so he doesn’t get sand in his asscrack and just rolls his eyes about it.

Huh.

Steve reaches for the bag, something glass clinks together again, and he pulls something out, kind of clutched in his fist and because Eddie’s still mostly preoccupied with his socks because if he looks directly at Steve he might as well be looking directly at the sun he doesn’t really see Steve coming, hitting him in the arm with something solid but inconsequentially heavy. 

He looks up.

It's some trashy dimestore pulp paperback. Second hand. The cover sort of water warped and still damp from the company it’s been keeping in the paper bag. The binding is cracked and creased whited out on the edges where the printing has worn thin, pages yellowed and dogeared. The cover art is in that overly sexed painterly style meant to appeal to a very particular audience that he doesn’t as neatly fit into as one might assume. Devices of Archeron in yellowed white text across the top in some curly serif font meant to denote the medieval-adjacent legitimacy of whatever fantasy schlock is contained between its covers. 

It’s got these swirling green clouds revealing the shape of black eyes and a skeletal void of a nose, that yellowgreen lighting shoots through like a scar behind where, in the foreground, the overly muscular ostensibly sweaty looking one-would-assume hero of the novel stands. Feet apart, shoulder width, standing in power, dark shoulder length hair blown to one side in a presumed illustrative invisible breeze. Spear and shield in hand as he looks into the far distance off the cover into the realm of reality.

“It's not much, but it reminded me of you.” Steve says softly with no amount of shame. Like saying it out loud is embarrassing enough. Like thinking of him at all is embarrassing. Which it probably objectively is and Steve’s done it anyway and there’s physical proof now.

His skin feels all tight and tingly and he knows it’s not just the sunburn he definitely has. 

But it's funny that Steve says it isn’t much. Like he hadn’t driven for 4 hours while Eddie slept against the window, like he hadn’t made the trip, like he isn’t prepared to spend a whole 17 hours in his company because he had the time or made the time, like that alone isn’t anything and this little bargain bin find is the only something Steve has to offer. 

Fucking.

Fuck.

“I thought about, like, drawing a bandana on it but I can’t draw for shit so…” is what Steve says when Eddie realizes he hasn’t said dick or shit for way too long and this is actually Steve’s nerves talking.

“Shit, man.” is what Eddie says which is actually his own nerves talking. “Fuck, thanks.” 

“It probably sucks.” is what Steve says, not that he’s necessarily a connoisseur of the genre, but he’s also probably not wrong. 

“Here’s hoping!” and he actually means it. 

There’s no shade, not until the sun goes down and the dunes are behind them and the lake in front and the sun still rises in the east. So that’s just a geopositional loss for them. The longest day of the year in broad, cloudless, daylight and Steve pulls still sort of cold gas station sandwiches, fetched while Eddie slept uninterrupted against the window in some parking lot somewhere, apparently, and room temperature beer in the noisy glass bottles. Made the trip all the way from Hawkins for the occasion as the apparent primary concern, their sweaty lack of refrigeration clearly a misstep as Steve kind of grimaces at the soggy, drooping labels. 

And they sit in the sun and he can feel his skin peeling off in the future. It's different from feeling his skin peel off in the past. Having, now, a certain. Uh. Perspective. On that.

Having not been informed of their destination he did not come properly prepared for lakefront activities but dignity has no power here when he’s stripping down to his boxers and making a break for the shallows, sitting in the chilly shallow water - Lake Michigan is never really warm - to escape some of the brutality of the heat even with the sun dipping lower. Cross legged on the sandy bottom, Steve across from him better prepared and opening the beer with his keys, all muscle memory of Cool Guy of yore as he squints into the sun reflected off the lake. Like he’s thinking. 

And what he comes up with is:

“Did we ever. Talk? At school?” 

He knows what he means. He doesn’t mean talk and maybe doesn’t feel good enough or past it enough to call the spade a spade. Like he’s hoping for the best but expecting the worst. It's the growing pains. The getting older and thinking about other versions of yourself and who they were and who they did. Maybe it's just the spirit of the season, for Steve. 

“There he is, there’s old King Steve! This guy thinks I’ve cataloged every interaction I’ve ever had with him.” reaching through the water to snap his knuckles against Steve’s knee. His skin is slick under the water, the hair on his knee rasps against his knuckles and Steve is warm even in the cold water.

And he says it like a joke, because it is, a little. Mostly. Steve chokes on his beer a little, drools down his chin while he mumbles a fuck you through his messy indignity. Almost like Steve had been ready to be properly serious and penitent about whatever answer he was going to come up with and the joke startled the tension out of him. 

Like, he doesn’t actually want Steve to feel like shit about this, to be shamed for a momentary resurgence in self importance, or feel shamed for the answer they already both know, he knows he doesn’t actually mean it like that. 

But, y’know, despite the answer, it's also not a completely insane question to ask. The answer isn’t a hard and fast how the hell should I know. Steve Harrington had, and maybe still has but matters less, a reputation. A Hawkins Institution Of A Certain Age. Like, you could have been disdainful and disinterested as humanly possible - and oh boy he sure did try to hit that particular metric - but the pipeline of gossip and social worth isn’t something you just get to opt out of. Not when Steve Harrington’s got a reputation, and there on the other undesirable end of that particular spectrum is Eddie Munson’s reputation. So like, yeah. They. Interacted. 

Like maybe a little bit in a punching down way, like in an easy target way because that’s how order’s maintained. But mostly in a there is no conceivable common ground way. A way that mostly just had them existing in proximity to each other like two like poles of a magnet constantly shoving each other apart. There is no possible adhesion. Rulers of their own social orders. It is a law of nature. They cannot and will not make contact unless enacted upon by incredible force.

(Fuck.)

He’s got one clear memory of Steve before the identical maimings and end of the world averting, and they don’t talk in it. 

Sold weed to Carol Whats-Her-Ass in the driveway of some suburban house party because she clearly thought flirting might get her a deal over Hagan’s typical noxious personality - like the hair around the finger twirl big blink blink babydoll eyes fake as hell pretty girl attention surely has mileage with the insufferable dork virgin. (He let her think it worked. They always think it works.) Steve was there, looking bored leaning on the same BMW that’s baking in the sun just out of sight, Hagan just hanging off his shoulder, already trashed. And at the end of it Eddie says, all shitty to them “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” and Carol throws her head back and crows with laughter at the implication, while Hagan gives him the finger over his retreating shoulder and Steve doesn’t say anything at all. 

“We talk now.” is what he says instead of, ultimately, answering Steve’s question.

Steve snorts, unimpressed. Knows he’s been deflected. 

“Sure.” 

“Look. It. Doesn’t really matter, man.” he doesn’t say the now. It dosen’t matter now. 

It's suffocating how All That Shit hangs over everything, colors every way they all interact with each other and the world. And probably will forever. The way they all don’t trust any of it, that nothing can possibly be the way they remember when all of their memories up to that point of particular damnation were always incomplete. Just a corner of a whole picture. And the frame’s all zoomed out now. Too far, honestly. He’ll look at a lake and he’ll always see, at least a little bit, a crumpled body crashing through the blackened surface and feel the pressure of water on his ears swimming towards something he doesn’t understand but knows now is death in his mindseye. And it's not all that hard to see that Steve’s made whatever version of that is true for him into a whole redemption road trip he’s put himself on. He’s started to see it a lot, how Steve’s always apologizing for something, even when he isn’t saying sorry. It's with Wheeler, it's with Byers, it's with Mad Max, it's with Robin and now, sometimes - it's him too. 

And it's always like, things are okay, Steve’s doing okay he’s like. Happy or having a good time or something and he’ll realize it - aware that life goes on even when it shouldn’t - and then need to twist that little knife he’s left in himself. Bring it all back. All this shit he hasn’t let go of. Like he can’t trust it's all over. So, he feels like now, with the sun beating down on them in a moment of ostensible celebration, that he has something to apologize for.

“I think I remember hearing about you more than I remember you.” Steve says, like he’s still got a few bones to pick with this dead horse but then he’ll be on his way. “Which is weird…” and like, y’know, the joke tells itself. Weird that I didn’t remember you then, what with how loud and annoying you are just like everyone’s said. Weird that I didn’t remember you when you were such an unrepentant unhumbled jackass. Weird that I didn’t remember you when I would watch you die later. “…’cause I don’t really remember anything anyone ever said about you either.”

And it's not over, not for him anyway. The shit Steve’s talking about but not saying. Maybe the supernatural and unexplained aren’t opening rifts through his late stage childhood home anymore but he’s still not well liked by the town he can’t leave. He was one thing to a nebulous Them for a long time, and that was a thing he was used to being - embraced being, if he’s honest with himself, which he hasn’t loved being lately but alas. 

But this new thing is worse. It's not something he wants, but it's not something he has any power to refuse. 

Long story short, skipping the pity party part (which he would be entitled to, honestly, it's his party and he can - quote - be a miserable little piece of shit if he wants to); people have always said things about him, had their opinions, and maybe it's worse now, but it's always been pretty much the same. 

“Well then let me fill you in: I’m bad news. Headline bad news.”

“Sure, but I like you.” 

Sure, like he agrees. But, like it doesn’t matter. 

He fucking cackles. Spooks some seagulls loitering around for the hope of leftovers tossed their way. 

“How unfortunate for you.”

“Not really.” he doesn’t even hesitate.

And he can’t take this, he can’t even try. What’s he gonna do? Smile right in Steve’s face about it? Blush? Look fucking touched? Fuck right off. So instead of anything productive or honest he just bolts. He flops backwards, bare back and upper shoulders making a cold, stinging, slap against the softly rolling waves in their little kiddy pool area of the lake. Pushes the air out of his lungs and sinks slowly to the bottom, but he keeps his eyes open, even though the sand he kicked up from his histrionics clouds the water hanging just inches above his upturned face. He can see the sun, an abstract and constantly moving yellowwhite and the little wrinkles the shape of it. Can see his hair floating in front of his face just as his chest starts to burn from keeping his gut and his lungs sucked in. 

And like. He knows. He knows how close Steve’s knees are to his own, he knows that Steve’s probably leaning forward to look down at Eddie’s retreat - he can feel the cold hover of his shadow over his chest even if he can’t see Steve from his perspective from across their little aquatic embarrassment buffer. 

He knows if he sits up exactly where he will be and exactly where Steve will be and his eyes are starting to sting from the sand in the water and his heart is starting to seize from the lack of oxygen and he’s died and wanted to be dead again and he’s been patched back together with foreign parts and he’s lasted another year past his expiration date and he just keeps coming back to the lake - any lake - and maybe that’s a sign, maybe that says something about something but there are little black floaters in his vision now and he knows that Steve’s always been exactly where he expects him, in his memories where they don’t talk exactly where he expects him, standing at the end of the world shoulder to shoulder exactly where he expects him, sitting in his car outside his uncle’s trailer just like he said he would be, leaning over him at the cold bottom of the lake maybe exactly where he expects him and his ears are ringing and he flings himself upright. 

There’s air, cold, and flooding back into his collapsing lungs and there’s water in his ears and his hair clings to his face, his neck, like the weeds they’ve been brushing away as they float to shore in the waves and with his hands outstretched like Karloff off the slab, like the Creature from the lagoon and his hands find Steve right where he knew he would be, his hands find his hair and his mouth finds his skin warm and dry from the sun and the sand when misses a little because he’s dizzy and maybe that’s the lack of air or maybe it’s exactly this now. 

Steve lets out this, soft, indignant grunt. Which, even in the euphoria of oxygen returning to his brain he has the brainwaves to concede that he’s earned that. His vision is swimming and he feels wrung out and boneless and he feels Steve’s teeth against his closed mouth - he’s smiling, he realizes in a daze. Smiling against his closed lips. Steve’s hand finds his wet tangled hair, sightlessly, plastered to his cheeks and neck with the cold lake water - drags them away with a firm press of his blunt fingers against his cheek, through stubble and scar tissue to clear the way, pushes his chin up into him instead, noses the juncture of his cheek and presses an open mouthed kiss to his jaw. Eddie shivers.

He’s never been to the ocean before, never really been farther than a state or two in either direction, and despite the fact that The Lakes fall within that geographical range he somehow hasn’t done this either. So he’s got nothing to compare it to necessarily but there is something arresting about something so big. 

He has seen and looked into a hellish forever. Red skies and ashen rain and a ruination that stretches for all of reality. The water here stretches to the horizon, a grey blue and points of light out to a cloudless sun bright sky. There is color here. There is green water and lavender sky and yellow sand and an orange sun and Steve’s pink mouth and another year in full color. 

[renoxvated]

•(modernverse only) Roy’s favorite pastimes are drinking, listening to Stevie Nicks and eating cereal out of a solo cup. He doesn’t watch too much t.v. but on rare occasions you’ll usually catch him watching wrestling or reality shows. In both instances he talks to the t.v. a lot.

Roy doesn’t believe in God, or anything really. Not lady luck, fate or any superstitious mumbo jumbo. He doesn’t typically put his faith or trust in anything but himself, and even that’s debatable at times. When he was younger he did tend to think superstitious stuff was cool however, like witches and werewolves; though he quickly grew out of that phase.

• Roy isn’t really afraid of much, he figures that fear will just cripple you, make you weak, make you end up dead— in a sense one might say that makes him fear death; to some degree that isn’t wrong. Roy doesn’t want to die, but not because he totally fears death. His real fear is a lose of control, this fear comes in many forms and extends to others. Such as his fear of not being able to control outcomes with others, like their deaths for instance. He feels as though he can decide when to die, his own stubbornness and drive for survival makes him sure he’ll never die unless he’s willing. He also goes out of his way with his ferocity when protecting others he cares for—leading him to see overprotectiveness.

• Surprisingly Roy can, at times, be a very calm person. Usually when he’s by himself and not all worked up over something, he enjoys taking long walks in the Mojave— often getting lost for days at a time, but he always finds his way back. He also likes to spend time listening to old holotape tunes while fixing various things he can find. He tends to take a lot of naps and on a number of occasions sleeps outside in the wide open of his own volition. Though most of the things that calm him might be rather dangerous, he is either unaware or doesn't care.

10 Questions: (In Character)

What is your favorite word?:

“Roy, maybe I’m selfish, but I like hearing my name. It means someone notices me, good or bad I don’t care.”

What is your least favorite word?:

“Sorry, everyone expects me to apologize for how I act, I’m done apologizing for everything I do. Don’t like me, then just move on sunshine. Alternatively, I’m tired of people apologizing in the first place, what’s done is done, don’t change nothing.”

What turns you on?:

“Fighting, ya’ know the thrill of being alive, nothing makes you feel more alive than that. Any kind of attention.”

What turns you off?:

“Collars, fuck that shit I ain’t your dog.”

What sound do you love?:

“The sound of someone's heart racing, as bullshit as that sounds.”

What sound do you hate?:

“You running your mouth asking me this shit. The rattling of chains…the sound of children screaming, snapping of a belt.”

What is your favorite curse word?:

“Probably shit or fuck. I curse a fuckin’ shitton.”

What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?:

“Always thought it’d make for a good fighter, like you hear they used to have in those sorta prized fights before the nukes went off. Seen old flyers, coulda’ totally been one of those wrestling guys. Kicked all their pansy asses.”

What profession would you not like to do?:

“What I’m currently doing now, but what else can I do? This keeps a decent meal coming without having to kill anyone and steal it.”

If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God(s) say when you arrive at the pearly gates?:

“He ought to say sorry…or maybe I should.”

Something most people don’t know about you?:

“Oh I don’t know, that I like sunsets and long walks on the beach, isn’t that the kinda shit you want me to say? Most people don’t know for a reason, most people need to mind their own business.”

If you were one of the seven sins which would you be?:

“Gluttony I guess, shit I don’t know…nothing is ever enough, food, sex, drugs, whatever… I need more. I live a very hollow and shallow existence, I’m never satisfied. I want it all and I want more.”

Sexual Preference?

“Whatever wants to fuck me I guess? Like I give a shit long as you got a pulse and either a dick or tits.”

What position do they sleep in?:

“However the hell I’m layin’ when I’m rolling around in bed, what’s it to you?”

If you died, do you think anyone would care? Do you think anyone would even notice? You'd just be another package lost in the mail.

“Preachin’ to the choir honey. Tellin’ me shit I already know, next you’re probably gonna’ tell me I’m trash right? I’ve heard it all baby, nobody cares about me. But too bad, cause I’m so unnoticed that this trash hasn’t ended up in the can yet. Fuckers like you that like to nose around and point things out, are just gonna have to be stuck with smell.” Roy laughs, he’s been hearing things like this all his life, nobody could think he was more worthless than himself. He’s learned to find the irony in that hilarious.

Holla bby let me snap a collar on ur neck! that goes beep beep beep boom when u try to run away from me xoxoxo

Roy twitches, his fingers curl up and his nails dig into his palms. He’s visibly seething underneath the surface. But as soon as the anger bubbles up, it simmers back down. He responds with cool efficiency, brushing it off sarcastically. “Listen here sunshine, I wouldn’t let crazy like you anywhere near me, try to put a collar on me and I’ll snap your neck with it.” As if Roy had any right to call someone else crazy.

ook over there! it's a kid getting mauled by a molerat. Don't let it die like your niece :)

“Where the hell did you hear that from— you’re just a regular piece of shit aren’t you buddy? Well why don’t I break your legs, then call that molerat over and let it eat you alive. Preferably starting with that loud mouth of yours.”

Three things that your muse loves doing in their free time. 

Fighting; although he’ll deny that he does and claim he doesn’t like to start shit, but it’s all he’s ever really known and in a way it brings him comfort.

Hunting; as it’s an outlet for his aggression and a source of food, something that was scarce for him as a child.

Repairing things; because it’s something he can do that makes him feel like he’s fixing something more than ruining it.

Four people that your muse loves.

Roy doesn’t really love anyone, at least anymore; I don’t think he’s fully capable of even knowing what love is, much less understanding it and feeling it. He loved his brother and niece, but will forever feel nothing but regret and self hatred when he thinks about them. So I think because of that he would associate love with those emotions. He’s honestly not emotionally stable enough to properly love someone back in an easy or healthy way, to top it off his parents socially stunted him, by not reinforcing the proper things into him. I do think he still has the capacity to love still, (in a way that is not a traditional sense for sure!) but the kind of affection he brings to the table makes it really unhealthy for either party involved.

Three fond childhood memories.

The one birthday his mother didn’t forget, it was his tenth, he came home to a makeshift cake and a Grognak The Barbarian comic; he couldn’t read it but she did once for him, he would years later burn the comic after the death of his mother.

The spare occasions that his older brother would be home, offering him attention that their parents neglected to give him.

Although it isn’t really a childhood memory; playing and taking care of his niece, surprisingly Roy was rather delicate and sweet to the little girl, who he viewed almost as his own child, or something akin to a little sister. He’d take her fishing, or relent into her silly little tea parties; spending time with her almost made him forget that they lived in a wasteland.

Two things your muse regrets.  

Never fighting back against his father’s abuse.

The death of his niece and not being able to prevent it when he knows he could have.

One thing they’d go through heaven or hell to save/change.

He would give his own worthless life up, if it meant he could bring back his niece.

[weirdo09]

i know that he���s always lying because my stepdad says that when he has an issues with me, he comes to me. he doesn’t, he goes n rats me out to my momma THEN comes to me. he loves having my momma handling me because she will traumatize me and just act like everything’s fuckin normal. she will treat me like less of a person because I FORGET but ofc he doesn’t understand that because he always leaves it to her. when i need somebody, they always leave. like prime example, he came to me talking about some crumbs, he really acts like those itty bitty crumbs makes me a slob or something. i can’t forget to do anything or just not do it right away LIKE A FUCKING DOG without getting scolded, i’m not a pet i’m not a butler i’m not a fucking caretaker so stop acting like i am

you literally love that my momma verbally abuses me when ya wanna escalate the situation by telling her. YOU MAKE EVERYTHING SUCH A BIG DEAL just to say that it isn’t when my momma already went and verbally abused me n made me cry but you did absolutely nothing. you just sit there or go to another room. don’t you dare say that i can always talk to you or that you love me because you don’t. if you did, you wouldn’t enable my mother TO BEAT ME UP when she found out on her own that i was queer and wanted to date a girl. you wouldn’t enable her to yell at me loud as can be when i don’t do something the first time but you do, you do.

don’t say that you love me and can protect me WHEN YOU CANT EVEN PROTECT ME FROM MY OWN MOTHER she’s hurt me so many times and you know what she does to me because you always say that she’s gonna be aggressive with whatever she does. SHE DOES IT BECAUSE YOU TELL HER SOMETHING AND SHE MAKES IT A BIG DEAL you love that she does that because you don’t actually love me, you just don’t. you were never a father figure to me because you can’t even act like a father to your own children.

you enable the woman in your life that you chose to be with to treat me like shit just because and you let her and expect me to just accept it because she’s my momma. no, no you just hate me being happy and not being your little dog and servant/maid. that’s all, y’all never fucking loved me and it shows. someone who loves you would never just sit there and let you be in pain, suffer alone just to say “i love you but you need to do better.” you act like that’s normal, like my momma’s supposed to beat on me n taking things away because that’s holding me accountable? (her words, not mine) no, holding me accountable would be like telling me what i’m accountable for and helping me register that and move on from it.

all y’all did was traumatize me and make me relive that every goddamn day whether you realize it or not. you don’t want me to have my own life because i’m nothing to you, i’m literally nothing but you only like me because i clean for you, i have to obey your every word and if i don’t do something the first time, my momma has to come in and yell at me because you can’t. you’re literally her enabler, if i told someone have the shit you did, y’all would be in jail and i’d be foster care. but i ain’t gonna do that because my momma made me so nice that i would actually feel a bit sad if i did ever tell someone and the chain events happened.

just know that you’re a part of my trauma, you’re a part of the reason i can’t speak any kind of way without expecting a hit, you’re the reason i can’t even be fully happy because what if the one i love the most in the whole wide world actually sees just how messed up i am and leaves me? you’re the reason i can’t bring myself to trust men older than me, you’re the reason i close my door at night, you’re the reason i’d lock it some nights (can’t now but i feel like he did something) you’re the reason i might lose the one person i care about all because you’re mad about some crumbs i left on the counter and decided to talk to my abuser about it who may or may not take my phone and beat me just because.

good job, replacement …..

[randomalistic]

Live action little mermaid was Good 7/10 yeah! I feel like it was probably one of the better live action Disney remakes. For Sure.

2024 edit: DISCLAIMER I AM STUPID AND I GET ENJOYMENT OJT OF THINGS that SUCK. and I hadn’t seen original little mermaid. LIKE NO STIP EHAT ARE TOU TAKING ABOJT NOOO 7/10?? THATS WAY TOO HIGH WATCH THE ORIGINAL SHUT UPPP

Sebastian was like a weird half baked cheezit that you find at the bottom of the box and they didn’t go all in with his voice or his design. It left so much to be desired. I desire him carnally. He’s like a 6/10 sebastion. How do you make Sebastian mid. ITS FINE.

They turned Scuttle into Amethyst Steven Universe . (👍) In her introduction she dived and ate a fish which is Messed Up. What if Flounder KNEW that fish personally and she just fucking killed it. That’s literally the equivalent of eating a person to him

She also had like a rap battle with Sebastian for some reason like they Really wanted to push that they’re sooo silly and you should like them . Okay

I forgot to mention Flounder. That about sums up Flounder

Under the sea song. Sebastian’s voice left a lot to be desired but it’s ok I guess.. I do not remember seeing so many invertebrates and strange sea animals in the original. like they had feather starfish and sea slugs and ribbon worms and jellyfish dancing around. It was Totally Awesome and I Loved it but not many fish?? LOL but yes this was my favorite sequence :) visually.

THINGS I LIKED.

I haven’t watched the original little mermaid in years or maybe not At All but I still knew the main plot points. They made prince Eric better. He no longer simply exists. We got prince Eric lore. His dog was also a perfect cast. Great dog. Good boy. Very cute dog. Really good dog & the dog was great. Wish there was more of the dog.

URSULA WAS AWESOME AS EXPECTED. Hard to mess her up. I wish I could’ve seen more of her giant form at the end they kind of shrouded her in darkness and CGI sad face. Great acting though and her song was SO good. Kinda sexo but don’t tell anyone I sa

ALSO THAT REMINDS ME THE FIRST HALF OF THE MOVIE UNDERWATER IS SOOOO FUCKIN DARK LIGHTING-WISE FOR NO REASON. Ariel is like. Look at this stuff ! :) isn’t it neat ! :) i’m sorry. I can’t see it. You are in an underwater cave and I cannot see the walls or anything you have created.

Ariel obviously did great :) she had a really good singing voice. Good !!!

Neptune is Okay. Idk I think he could’ve had a deeper voice and maybe be more emotional but he was aight. Also at the end he comes up to Eric and Ariel’s boat and peeks out of the water for no reason and it’s the funniest shit ever because it’s like Surprise! sopping wet old man

SPOILERS .

A CHANGE I LIKED. ARIEL WAS THE ONE TO STEER THE SHIP INTO URSULA AT THE END. I LIKE THAT A LOT MORE THAN ERIC DOING IT BECAUSE ITS LIKE ARIEL’S GETTING BACK AT HER AND ITS SOOO MUCH MORE FITTINGGGGG!!!!!!!!

The scuttle dance or what ever. If you care

CONCLUSION. they did a couple things right! (And it could’ve been worse!) but I enjoyed it more than I expected :) I will not give every live action remake this benefit of the doubt.

[kelebriel]

So I’ve been rereading Homestuck lately. Considering the whole cafe thing coming up, I think the finale of HS^2 is going to release this upcoming Homestuck Day, so I wanna be prepared! And it’s been fuckin forever since I read it/the epilogues/HS^2, so I need to refresh myself! And I wanted to reread it, so get off my jock. So far, I’ve finished the first three acts, including the intermission. As I’ve been rereading it, I wanna catalogue some thoughts, below the cut! There’s gonna be discussion of animal death, abuse, and slurs, as well as just general spoilers, if you still care about that but haven’t read it yet. Can’t imagine why you haven’t read it yet, it’s been years. Jeez, man. First thought: Man, Homestuck is still a good fucking webcomic. I’m having a lot of fun reading it again.

-Homestuck starts pretty slow. I always knew that, but going back to it and man it takes a while to get going, action-wise

-Data Structure For Assholes pretty much could be written by Karkat, if Karkat wasn’t abysmal at that also.

-Rereading makes it baffling that anyone ever came to the conclusion that Dave was actually cool. He’s constantly being a doof and begging for attention from practically the word go. -So I know this might be controversial, but the r-slurs thrown around are actually kind of accurate. I was 13 when Homestuck started, and let me tell you, we were absolutely throwing slurs at each other. I can’t say for certain how much it’s being used now, being nearly thirty years old, but there’s a verisimilitude to that now. Not saying it’s necessary or anything, I don’t know for sure about that, and it’s probably an answer that changes on a person to person basis, but it was how teens were talking back in the day.

-The years have come and gone, and will continue to come and go. It’s already been nearly a decade since Homestuck’s heyday. But it doesn’t matter how much time passes; Homestuck music will continue to kick ass. I got fucking goosebumps during the EoA3 animation!  -Boy oh boy Jade could have been real bad, huh? From a narrative, OOC standpoint. This girl who lives in a temple island, who has futuristic technology and is a crack shot with a rifle and is also a nuclear physicist, whose grandpa was a billionaire and whose current guardian is a dog with powers over space and time, who mysteriously and inexplicably (at least at first) knows how things are going to go before they happen? Could have been a Mary-Sue-shaped millstone around the neck of the whole comic.

-I didn’t remember that Tavros was introduced third out of the twelve trolls. Seems kind of odd, considering how more of a side character he is compared to Karkat and Kanaya, numbers 1 and 2. Not complaining, though, Tavros attempting to troll Dave and getting supremely fucked with in return is still hilarious.

-So we kind of know that Bro was constantly fighting Dave to toughen him up for the Medium and everything. Was it successful? Sure, Dave was traumatized to hell and back by having to sword fight the person who was supposed to be raising him, but he is pretty good with a sword by the time he gets into the game. Although John and Rose are pretty good, too, and neither of them had assigned their strife specibus before that day. Makes me wonder how necessary all the fucked up conditioning really was. I’ll have to keep this in mind as I go forward.

-After their rooftop confrontation, where Bro shatters Dave’s sword and then flies off on a rocket skateboard, he drops his copy of the beta on Dave’s chest. How did he know that Dave needed them? Was that ever addressed? Is there some kind of software on Dave’s computer that tracks what he’s saying to his friends? That’s fucked up!

-The thing I’ve been coming back to the most, that’s been sticking in my head the longest, is Jaspers. I don’t know what it is about him and his fate that preoccupies me more than it did some twelve or so years ago, when I first read the comic. Maybe I’ve just been made more susceptible to pet death, I dunno. That image of a young Rose psychoanalyzing a cat in a suit was fucking adorable, and the flash detailing Rose finding him and the resulting funeral was heartbreaking. And knowing what we do now about Mom’s personality and how passive-aggresive/ironic she is, I have to say - if my cat died, I would also build him a mausoleum if I could. My family has an older cat now, who I love to pieces, who’s probably going to die within a few years. Me moving out was probably a good move to help build some space for when that happens. He’s a great cat. He deserves a mausoleum. And if I were in a position where I could bring him back, even at the cost of the world, well. I don’t know if I would actually do it, but I’d certainly consider it. Another thing that struck me about Jaspers’ disappearance is that I feel pretty certain that Mom had some inkling about what happened. Her house was built over the Skaianet lab, which had appearifiers and stuff in it. If Rose described what happened when Jaspers vanished, she might have been able to at least recognize the method of disappearance. I dunno what she would have or even could have done, but. Interesting to think about

That’s about all I have for right now. We’ll see what else comes to mind as I continue to read.