#Someone oughta shoot this guy

[sharp-tooths]

Me watching the og Trigun anime after starting trigun stampede 2 moths ago: oh gee those fucking cries sound so realistic and full of pain and hurt. You just dont get that kind of genuine quality very much in newer animes. I hope Stampede delivers the same quality

Me now, having just watched episode 11 and then rewatched it just to propperly process everything: SCREAMING AND CRYING THROWING UP KICKING MY LEGS SOBBING FUCKING BAWLING MY EYES OUT DYING VIOLENTLY SHAKING-

[wh0re43van]

Heart Shaped Box- (Warren Lipka X Reader)

Description: Your childhood best friend surprises you at work with a gift on Valentine’s Day.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none, unfortunately. (Besides weed use)

A/n: I was going to make this a longer fic with smut but I just really wanted to get this posted tonight 😭

Oldies Country tunes and static buzz from the outdated stereo as I restock the candies at the check out. I glance at the wooden analog clock above the exit; 9:00pm

“One more hour,” I sigh to myself as I trudge back to my stool behind the register. Working for my parents at their corner store is nice. It’s slow, I’ve known all of the regulars my whole life, and if I completely flunk out of college; at least I know I have a job. But something about sitting here alone on Valentine’s Day with the smell of stale (possibly mildewed) air and my Ma’s collection of taxidermy squirrels dressed up to look like the seven dwarves doesn’t seem fitting for a 19 year old girl. Especially since my parents went to Dollyworld for valentines day, leaving me completely alone. (Dollyworld is like Disneyland for people in Kentucky)

The rusted bells hanging above the door chime as cool air floods into the small store. I don’t bother looking up until the footsteps stop in front of me. My mood immediately lifts when I see a familiar face

“Hey, man! No date tonight?” I ask my best friend while he slips his lighter into his flannel pocket. I can smell the lingering smoke of a cigarette on his fingers as he reaches for a pack of gum on the display near my head. He flashes his dimples as he leans down onto the counter.

“Eh, it’s a stupid capitalistic holiday,” he shrugs as I reach down to grab him a pack of Newport 100s.

“Mmm okay Casanova,” I laugh as I take his cash. “So did you pick up from that new guy?” I ask excitedly when I remember that he was supposed to have picked up bud from out west.

“Mhm,” Warren smiles as he pops a piece of gum into his mouth. “That’s why I’m here, nerd. Let’s go spark,” he says as he turns on his heels.

“Warren, I can’t. I still have almost an hour until I can close,” I frown at the boy who’s slowly stepping towards the door.

“Oh, come on. Your folks are out of town, they’ll never know,” he smirks as he rests a hand on the door handle. I bite my lip, looking around the store, then back at Warren.

‘He’s right. I mean it is a holiday, after all, Most places close early on holidays,’ I look at Warren and do my best to fight back a smile. He looks at me with a shit eating grin, knowing I can’t say no to him.

“Give me 5 minutes to lock up,” I giggle as I pull the cash drawer out.

•

•

I closed the store faster (and worse) than I ever have. Within 5 minutes I’m hopping into the passenger seat of Warrens car. The familiar scent of stale smoke hits me in the face as I settle into my seat.

I shake the few snow flakes that found their way into my hair out as I turn all the heat vents towards me.

“Someone oughta’ shoot that groundhog for lying to us,” I joke as I rub my hands together hoping to get some warmth from the friction.

“Here, this will warm you up,” Warren laughs, fighting back a cough as he hands me the joint. His voice comes out raspy as the smoke rolls out of his mouth. I take the paper from his hand that’s cast in a yellow haze from the dim light shining from the side of the store.

As I take a hit from the joint I lean back in the seat before exhaling. The smoke tastes piney and almost a bit floral as it fills my lungs. After coughing so hard that I drool a litttle, my muscles relax almost instantly as the buzz fills my body.

“Damn, this really is good shit,” I laugh with my scratchy voice as I accept the drink warren has offered to me.

“Oh good. I’m glad you like it,” he smiles before twisting around his seat, reaching into the back. As he scrummages around his car, I take another hit.

“Dude, what are you-“I begin to question the boy but he cuts me off.

“Here it is!” He exclaims, before sitting back properly in his seat with a red heart shaped box in one hand and a mixed CD in the other. I quirk an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. “Uh, happy Valentine’s Day, er, whatever,” he says with a small laugh, handing me the box. “I know I said that it’s stupid but, uh, ya know you’re a good friend or some shit,” he mutters with lidded eyes as he sets the red box in my lap. I can’t help but giggle at his awkwardness.

“Oh! Uh, thanks dude! I didn’t know we were doing presents or I would have gotten you something,” I say as I focus my attention on the red box.

“Nah don’t worry about it. Open it,” my best friend nudges me, seemingly very excited about his gift for me. I side eye him before handing him the joint so I can pop the box open.

I Take off the lid to reveal the expected assortment of cheap chocolates, but some of the spots of have been replaced with nugs. I look at Warren with a shocked smile and droopy eyes.

“Wow,” I laugh, trying to think of something to say. The THC in my system makes it a bit difficult to find something genuine to say to this unexpected kind gesture. “You really know what a girl wants,” I nudge him as I pop a piece of chocolate into my mouth. Warren chuckles as he inserts the burnt CD into his stereo.

“Yeah well I got hungry on the ride over here… figured I had to fill the empty spaces with something,” he teases. I laugh as I lay back into my seat. My ears perk up when I hear the intro to ‘November Rain’ by Guns N’ Roses. I lazily turn my head to quirk an eyebrow at Warren who looks almost nervous.

“You hate Guns N’ Roses,” I say with a small, confused smile, awaiting him to offer an explanation as to why he’s playing a band that he constantly complains has ‘sold out’. Warren let’s out a breathy chuckle.

“Yeah, uh, I do…” he looks away as he scratches the back of his neck. “But this is the song that was playing when the principal chased me around the gym for spiking the punch at our 8th grade dance, remember?” He explains, finally mustering up the courage to meet my eyes at the end. A laugh bubbles up through my chest as the memory comes flooding back to me. Warren had seen some kids do it in a movie, so naturally the 13 year old boy thought it would be brilliant to dump fireball into the fruit punch.

“Oh my god I forgot about that!” I wheeze, laughing so hard at this point that tears are coming from my eyes. “You got suspended for a month because you were convinced that ‘the cinnamon would complement the tropical flavor,’” I shake my head, finally catching my breath after my fit of laughter. As I wipe the tears from my cheeks, I notice Warren just staring at me with a goofy grin. There’s a glint of something in his eyes that I just can’t quite put my finger on… admiration, maybe.

“Yeah I was pretty stupid,” he laughs as he relights the joint. “But don’t forget that while he the principal was chasing me, you laughed so hard you pissed yourself,” Warren challenges as he hands me the spliff. My jaw drops before I slap him on the arm in mock defense.

“Hey I almost pissed myself. A little bit running down your leg doesn’t count,” I laugh as I blow the smoke out, watching it ricochet off the foggy windshield.

“Sure whatever,” Warren playfully rolls his eyes.

The conversation goes silent for a moment and when I look back at Warren, he has a more serious expression on his face. “I, uh, I think about that night a lot. I remember seeing you for the first time with your hair and makeup done, wearing that JCPenny dress that you hated but your mom forced you to wear… I remember thinking how beautiful you looked,” Warren says while he’s laying back in his seat, gazing through bloodshot eyes up at the roof of his car.

“Yeah that dress was the worst,” I say with a light laugh as I take a sip of his water. “I remember watching our moms hold you down and plucking your little unibrow before the dance. You screamed like a little girl and your forehead was red in all the pictures,” I laugh fondly at the memory. Warren scoffs, looking over at me.

“Woah that’s low. I compliment you and you bring up the most scarring moment of my life,” he snickers. “Uhm seriously though,Y/n. I’m, uh, really happy that you’re in my life,” his tone drops to a more serious one again.

‘What the hell is his deal?’ I think to myself in a moment of silence as ‘November rain’ continues to play in the background.

“God this song is long,” I sigh, furrowing my brows. I’ve completely forgotten what we were talking about, my mind clouded over with this extremely strong weed.

Judging by Warren’s huff and shuffle in his seat, I don’t think that he was pleased with my response. Then it clicks. The chocolates, the mixed CD, the heart to heart talk that he’s trying desperately to make work even though I’m stoned out of my mind, the fact that it’s Valentine’s Day.

“Are… are you flirting with me?” I ask, almost positive that that’s what’s happening, but still doubting myself. A large part of me is hoping that I’m right- larger than I’d like to admit.

“I’m fucking trying!” Warren laughs, his cheeks going red. I look at my best friend, seeing the handsome man that he’s growing into. A single moon beam shines from the sunroof, reflecting a sparkle in his ink pool eyes and illuminating his unkempt curls that frame his face. The car is filled with nothing but a long guitar solo as I get lost in my admiration for the boy.  I didn’t notice how uneasy my silence was making him. “But if this is weird for you-“  Warren looks away, awkwardly scratching the stubble on the side of his face.

“Then kiss me,” I say simply, interrupting him. Warren Looks at me as if his eyes are going to pop out of his skull.

“What?” He asks, shaking his head, obviously unsure if he heard me correctly.

“Kiss me,” I shrug, not elaborating anymore. Warren stares at me like a deer in headlights. I roll my eyes, then lean over the console. I place my hand behind his neck, pushing his lips against mine. It’s a small, sweet kiss but it still fills my stomach with butterflies. I pull away, leaving my face just inches from Warrens. He’s still just staring blankly but a small smile creeps onto his face.

“Spencer owes me so much money,” he laughs and then as If a switch flipped, he places his finger under my chin, then goes back in for another kiss. I’m shocked that he takes the lead this time, moving his mouth against mine in a heated exchange.

Warrens hands make their way down to my hips, holding me as if I could slip away at any second.

“Come here,” Warren demands against my lips, his voice laced with lust as he begins to lift me over the center console onto his lap. His tone makes my stomach flip, but I force myself to pull away.

“Warren, I’m extremely into this, but I don’t really want our first time to be in the parking lot of my family’s corner store,” I explain as I catch my breath, resting my hand on his thigh. The disappointment is evident on Warrens face, but he attempts to hide it.

“Yeah, no. I get it,” he laughs, running his hand through his hair. “I can die happy now honestly. I’ve been waiting to kiss you for seven years. I can wait another-” he begins to ramble- something he often does when he’s nervous.

“My parents aren’t home,” I interrupt with a mischievous grin. Warrens eyes widen.

“You mean-“ he asks as if he can’t believe what I just said.

“Yes, dumbass,” I nod my head, biting back a laugh. With that, Warren throws his car in reverse, whipping out of the parking lot as if the cops just pulled up. I attempt to scold him through my eruption of laughter as he jostles me around in the car.

[evilfloralfoolery]

Daggers and Deception- Part 5

Plotfuckers, ahoy! Shit is about to get weird.

**If you enjoy my work or the work of my fellow plotfuckers, please comment and/or reblog. We need and appreciate the support! Likes are appreciated, but wordfuckers need words, too. Commentary is VERY important to us! Most of us do this for free and this is all we ask of you. Thank you!!**

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Three plates of lasagna and barely passable bath later, Grimm has managed to make himself a drowsy mess who doesn't even bother to comb his unruly mane into submission before face-planting on to the spacious bed.  If he'd been poisoned, at least he'd die clean and full. 

The wound has not yet begun to throb at level 10 with his activity level and he takes the opportunity to slip deeper into relaxation, something he hasn't felt in a good three days since the damn shooting fiasco.  What had happened to that asshole, anyway?  Supposedly, Ace had shot him, but no one could find the bastard afterwards.  Blood on concrete with a trail that led to nowhere and an empty jacket at the end of an alleyway was all that had been left.  It was some weird, cryptic shit.  Bleeding men didn’t just vanish into thin air.  He’d had help somehow.  Someone must have been waiting somewhere.  They’d missed it.  And that was probably what bothered Grimm the most.  He didn’t just “miss” things.  Aside from his father, Grimm was possibly the most observant gun-toting asshole out there.  Nothing escaped his scrutiny.  Nothing. 

And then, there was the matter of not finding a weapon at the scene.  Ace claimed he’d shot the guy in the spine, dead center.  Just how he’d held onto a gun, ran, and then consequently escaped didn’t add up.  Maybe Ace should’ve shot him again.

From the opposite end of the bedroom, curtains flitter in the cold night air, but he can't be bothered to get up and close the window just yet.  He'd start sneezing his ass off eventually and that might motivate him to actually do something about it.  Maybe.  For now, he'd deal.  Cold weather may not agree with his sinuses, but it sure agreed with the rest of his body.  Nice not to be basted in sweat for once. 

But the lamp is another story.  The light from beneath the shade is a dull headache instigation and he manages to pull the cord to shut it off before flopping back atop the sheets with a sigh.  It'd be great if his neighbor would play some Beethoven or some shit, but he hasn't heard a peep out of the guy since before his bath.  Either he was off throwing knives at trees again or he'd sneezed himself into a coma or something.  Whatever the reason, it was quiet.  Too damn quiet.

And that shit was making him uneasy.  He reaches for his phone and taps the side, but gets a red flash of a battery light instead.

"Well, fuck you, too," he mumbles. 

Better get up and charge it.  Never know when Max might call for him for whatever reason.  Some rookie might do something stupid.  Or some seasoned professional. 

He struggles into a sitting position and fumbles for the cord on the lamp again, cursing a blue streak when the little fucker decides to break off in his hand instead of turn on the goddamn light. 

Perfect. Dead phone, dead lamp, bum arm.  That oughta make fumbling around in the dark shitloads of fun. 

His fingers find the edge of the mattress as his vision adjusts to the black-as-hell room and he swings his legs over the side, bare feet hitting the wood floor.  One step towards the wall.  The outline of the wingback chair is within reach, the moon finally emerging from behind the clouds to illuminate the room enough for decent sight.

He takes a step towards the armoire near the bedroom door, reaches out into the moonlit darkness and freezes in place. 

Something isn't . . . . something . . .

Just beyond his reach is a slab of darkness, an inky black that's ten times blacker than black should have any business being. Grimm blinks.  Squints into the space.  It's a shadow.  A trick of light.  No?

Mother fucker, it's a person.

His breath catches and he snatches the Glock from the nightstand, aiming it into the darkness with his good arm.

"I don't know who's there, but if you're hurtin' for a bullet in your ass, you're gonna get it.” His voice drops into the lowest end of a serious growl.

Somewhere close to him, the darkness growls back. 

A chill claws its way up his spine.  What in the name of fuck?

"How'd you get in here . . . " Grimm says more to himself than to whoever is lurking there in the damn corner.

Or whatever. 

A low, almost inhumane chuckle echoes from somewhere near the bed now.  Or the armoire.  Or the dresser?  Who the fuck chuckles in stereo like that?  

And that's enough of this shit.

Grimm lunges forward, but meets only empty air as the inky blackness dissipates into nothingness.  Upon the nightstand, the lamp flickers to life and the phone in his back pocket vibrates.

He jerks it out of his pocket and taps the side button, staring when the thing lights up and comes back on.  Full battery power. Like nothing had happened.  

Yeah, no.  Nope. Not today, Satan. 

Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he slips his holster over his shoulders so the gun has a better place to rest.  Always felt more comfortable with it that way.  He’s just shoved the 19X into place when a knock at the front door sounds, brisk and insistent.

Goddamn it, he’s way too jumpy for this shit.  And Grimm is never “jumpy.” 

"Calm the fuck down, I'm coming," he barks and stalks down the hall to front door where he takes a moment to peer through the little peephole thing like a smart person. 

Outside in the hallway, his neighbor is waiting sans glasses, his long mane of silver waves spilling over his shoulders, his gaze steady and expectant.  

At midnight.  Okay, then.  

Grimm unlatches the door and cracks it to loosen the useless chain before opening it up. 

Indigo's demeanor is calm, but something in his gaze is sharp and intense, the man's eyes a damn near impossible shade of vibrant aqua. Grimm leans against the door frame and tilts his head.

"Something wrong?"

Indigo glances over his shoulder for a fleeting instant before meeting his gaze.

"Have you left your window open perchance?"

What the fuck kind of question is that?  Grimm scratches the back of his head with his free hand in a lazy rub of fingers.

"I might've," he says.  "What's it to you?"

"The heating unit in this building is quite unstable," Indigo says.  "If it runs all evening due to such a thing, it could pose a fire hazard."

Come the fuck on.

Grimm attempts to fold his arms before realizing his shoulder is gonna fucking scream, which would ruin his tall, imposing judgment pose, but whatever.  He settles for a downward glance and the cocking of an eyebrow instead.

"That's some pretty bullshit you just spouted," he says.  "You wanna tell me why you're really here?"

"The window, Grimm," Indigo says.  "Have you left it unattended?"

Obviously.  It's not like he's standing in front of it all damn day.

"Look," Grimm says.  "I don't know what the fuck your problem is, but---"

Without so much as a word, Indigo barges his way in and walks with a purposeful stride towards his bedroom, leaving Grimm gaping in his wake. Who the hell did this guy think he was?  

"Hey, just a goddamn minute, buddy!"  Grimm storms after him.  Sort of.  It's suddenly really damn difficult to walk, like his feet are anchors instead of flesh and bone. He struggles against what feels like imaginary mud.  Cement.  Some shit.  

Was he high?  No, he hadn’t taken anyth---

“What’d you put in that lasagna, huh??”  

Indigo appears in the hallway near his bedroom, nudging the door shut with his foot.  “If I had the intent to poison or drug you, the effect would have been instant.” 

Calmly.  Like he’s done this crap before or something.  But at least whatever weird struggle he’d been caught up in was over.  Walking was possible now and he wastes no time in stomping over to where Indigo still stands, intending to adopt a hardline stance, but yet again, the bum arm fucks that up.  Hard to look intimidating with your hand on your damn hip. 

“You didn’t come over here to close my fucking window,” Grimm says.

“Except that this is exactly what I have done,” Indigo counters.  

Grimm narrows his eyes before taking a peek inside the bedroom where sure enough, the window is shut, latched, and the curtains are drawn.  

“I suggest you leave it be, lest you burn down the entire estate.”

The guy is telling the truth, but not entirely.  Grimm can feel that much.  His built-in bullshit detector is on high alert, but the half-cocked truth is a pretty good foil.  And what’s more convincing is that Indigo fully believes in the weight of his words.  He could probably pass a polygraph with that kind of steely calm.

“So,” Grimm begins, scratching at the stubble on his chin.  “You knew my window was open and you felt like it was sworn duty to come over here and tell me to close the fucker because the place might go up in flames.”

“Correct,” Indigo says.

“Uh huh.”  Grimm tilts his head.  “And how’d you know my window was open? You can’t see that from your place.”  

“It has been open since this afternoon,” Indigo says. He levels his stare at Grimm with a studious sternness that could rival an FBI agent. “Surely you recall watching me from your vantage point near the edge of the wall.”

Grimm opens his mouth.  Closes it. 

 Well, fuck.  

He didn’t think the guy could see him from all the way up there, much less know what he was looking at.  

“I assumed that no one had told you to close the windows, so I figured I had best tell you myself,” Indigo continues.  “Now, if you will excuse me, the hour has grown late and I must retire.”

“Gonna cartwheel across the yard some more in the morning?”  Grimm says.  “Maybe throw some more knives at shit?”

Indigo’s posture stiffens almost imperceptibly, but his expression betrays nothing.  “Goodnight, Grimm.”  

For a moment, Grimm considers grabbing his upper arm to detain him or at least blocking the door with his body, but Indigo has excused himself already and made it into the hallway before Grimm can so much as blink.  What the ---- he hadn’t even seen the guy move, much less walk the fuck out of the door.

The sound of a creaking door clicking shut followed by the turn of a deadbolt is his only reply.  

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!” Grimm half-shouts into the hallway.

(TBC....)

[akewanchan]

[Break My Case] Personal Story - Akehoshi Hinomiya, Part 1

Translation by akewanchan. Source is mobile game Break My Case.

TL note:

(edit) Thanks to Imai for letting me know that Kyousuke is actually a reference to Kyousuke from Stand My Heroes!

For clarification, Hinomiya is referred to as Ninomiya in an instance. This isn't a typo!

Ain’t sayin’ working yourself to the bone or yer surroundings don’t play a role.

I’ve seen folks pullin’ it off.

The real thing… Talent as ya say, got no mercy… 

Livin’ in high cotton, all the luxury, don’t come to mind no more.

No doubt I wished a lifetime supply of it by now. 

Akehoshi: ….

Akehoshi: (..... I’m home?)

Akehoshi: (Eh… managed to get back home properly. Good goin’)

Moving my head a wee bit while probing ‘round for my phone was ‘nough to make my world spin, making me all sluggish. 

Akehoshi: (Aaah. Still hammered as I can be. I’m parched…)

Akehoshi: …Ah. Darnit

Akehoshi: (Ain’t refilled dispenser’s bottle.)

Akehoshi: (Do recall thinking ‘bout 30 minutes before leaving the house yesterday, how I gotta swap it out since I’d wanna have a sip in the morning.)

Ain’t like anybody’s gonna complain ‘bout sleeping in on a sunday with no plans in store.

Even then, I sorta had a hunch I wouldn’t be able to hit the hay a second round if I tried to.

Feelin’ as if I was lifting a heavy load, I stood up.

Akehoshi: …Bwech

A wave of nausea washed over me yet again from gulpin’ down lukewarm tap water ‘till the last drop.

Akehoshi: (Shoot. Reckon I went too far yesterday. Sitting here and not rememberin’ what got me plastered like this just means I’m done for.)

Akehoshi: Shoulda called it quits halfway through…

Woman: …Huh! Don’t tell me, is that Ninomiya Akehoshi?

Man: Whozzat?

Woman: He’s a celeb. Y’know, that “way too angelic child actor!” guy. He showed up in TV dramas until he grew quite a bit. 

Akehoshi: Ahaha. Sure can see through the darkness in here, eh. You watched ‘em? Thank ya kindly

Woman: Eeeh, oh my god…! He’s the real deal!

Akehoshi: (....Real deal.)

That’s right, yet it ain’t.

Unfortunately, I was different.

From beginning to end, all the way through.

Akehoshi: (….Oh)

Akehoshi: Someone’s awake. Morning

Yuragi: …You’re alive.

Akehoshi: Ahaha, do feel like I’m on death's doorstep. Am muddling through one way or n’other

Akehoshi: Did I cause a ruckus in my drunken stupor when I got back? Pardon me for waking ya up if I did. 

Yuragi: Don’t you remember

Akehoshi: Not a darn thing for a while now. But good goin’ on my part for making it back home, right?

Yuragi: …

Akehoshi: (Huh. What’s that look for.)

Akehoshi: …Reckon that it ain’t~

Yuragi: Yesterday, what did you do.

Akehoshi: Eh? That’s new. Usually it’s in through ear and out the other with you when I’m doin’ the talking.

Akehoshi: Was just havin’ a drink to answer ya, though

Yuragi: Anything else? 

Akehoshi: Other stuff… nothin’ in particular?

Yuragi: …. ‘Kay

Yuragi: Then, s’fine

Akehoshi: Eh. Wait

Yuragi: What

Akehoshi: Naw, ain't it my line to ask what

Yuragi: …

Akehoshi: (If I did do somethin’ wrong, he oughta been pissed the moment he saw me, no? Seriously, what… Ah)

Yuragi: ---You scared me… Lights aren’t on either, what are you doing

Yuragi: …Can you stand?

Akehoshi: ….

Yuragi: Water. Want some?

Akehoshi: Don’t

Yuragi: Eh

Akehoshi: ---I said, I don’t need anything.

Akehoshi: … Aaah….

That feeling of swatting his hand away, the sound of water hitting the floor.

And then, the tone of voice I usually never use against other people.

Akehoshi: (....That ain’t a look of anger. It’s one of concern, huh.)

Yuragi: Remembered?

Akehoshi: I did

Akehoshi: Had been mullin’ over it myself of how I kinda drank a wee bit too much yesterday.

Akehoshi: But turns out it was more than that. Sorry for all the trouble I caused ya

Yuragi: ….

Without a word Yura turned the other way with a hmph, opened the freezer and started diggin’ through the stock of ice cream.

He picked out one, and while I was thinkin’ he’d just go back to his room-- He put that popsicle on that table, leaving it as is. 

Akehoshi: …Eh. You mean you’re giving this, to me?

Yuragi: I’m going to bed, don’t wake me up.

Akehoshi: Ah. Sure, thanks

Akehoshi: ….Reckon I made him worry.

Around the time I headed to my room after a quick shower, my mood improved somewhat compared to when I woke up. 

Akehoshi: (....Still rock solid, eh.)

I absentmindedly looked around my room while hitting the top of my ice cream with a spoon.

And then my eyes caught a glimpse of a DVD set from that old TV drama that was brought up plenty yesterday. 

Akeboshi: (...Watched it more than enough by now.)

Ain’t like I had anything I wanted to do, so I opened the DVD set to kill some time until my ice cream thawed.

Out of the six CD’s, I took out the 5 with ease and put ‘em on playback.

Akehoshi: …..

A child actor lucky enough to hit it big, his career lasted just short of 10 years until retirement. As a final conclusion to his acting career he received a spot in a TV drama set in a school.

I reckon that I, a so-so kid who wasn’t fated to be the main lead until the very end, received the main focus in an episode as a gift of kindness. 

However.

Akehoshi: …Yer amazing no matter how many times I watch it. Kyousuke-san. 

Akehoshi: The “real deal” is different.

He debuted a few years before I called it quits, and he made a beeline for the top spot within my generation.

What kinda connections or brute force got nothing to do with it, that much is clear when you sit through it just once.

Akehoshi: (That’s why… no matter how many times I watch it.)

Akehoshi: …What’s with that? That awkward silence just now. 

Reason why it didn’t take him 10 years to have grasped them roles as a rookie wasn’t luck or his surroundings, and this one episode makes me realize again and again each time. 

Akehoshi: (Aah, shoulda stopped right there before turning around.)

Akehoshi: (S’important line, yet it’s all pouring out--)

Akehoshi: …. Haha, 

Doing it more like this woulda been better, doing it more like that woulda been better.

Realizing I hadn’t learned my lesson thinking ‘bout stuff that wouldn’t reach my past self, a halfhearted chuckle escaped my mouth.

With my own strength, I wasn’t able to grasp what I wanted. 

It didn’t come true.

Just like this TV drama that’s frozen in time, no matter how many times I’ve seen it by now, it won’t change.

Akehoshi: …..I’m sure the Akehoshi-kun on screen wouldn’t wanna hear the ramblings of a guy who got off that ride a long time ago either, eh. Let’s just stop here

“My one and only wish, won’t come true anymore.”

Once I got that through my head, not a single thing mattered anymore.

But, I reckon that was for the best.

Rather than obsessing ‘bout what I can’t get, taking what I do get is a way of living that’s more suited for the likes of me.

Akehoshi: (Ah, spoon’s getting through.)

A blend of vanilla, chocolate and cookie cream. 

I stuffed my mouth with a spoonful while wondering where you can even find these sorta things, and sure enough it was so sweet I could only laugh.

Akehoshi: (Felt it in my bones this ain’t the thing to stomach when yer hungover.)

Akehoshi: (But, it do seem to be the flavor Yura likes. Let’s just eat it all up.)

Akehoshi: ….. Thank ya.

Looking at the wall, I gave my word of gratitude to Yura who’s surely drifted off to dreamland by now, and I took one more bite.

This sweetness so strong it’ll jolt you awake, slowly melted away together with this lazy afternoon.

[meet-the-net]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐦.

A continuation of this drawing in 6153 Words. Hope you enjoy :)

“Howdy… I reckon you’re the owner of this place?” the hard-hatted man asks. Anxious about having to give an in-depth description of his person, Ned puts his arms behind his back and counts the ridges of his sleeve with his fingertips. As he’s about to open his mouth, however, the stranger continues; “You wouldn’t mind pointing us in the direction of the barracks? We seem to have misplaced our map of the grounds.” he mentions through his teeth and throws a quick glance back at a person, concealed completely by gloves and a gas mask, who simply waves. Cocking his head to the side indicates to the stranger well enough that Ned has no clue what a barrack is, so his response is a chuckle and a “Y’know? The rooms we oughta reside in?”. For the previous few days and nights, Ned had been disturbed by the sounds of construction, surrounding him from all sides, keeping him awake throughout the twilight, and on edge through the light of day. When he’d found they – and who else would ‘they’ be but the workers for Team Fortress Industries – had been tearing down walls and emptying the rooms of his parents’ home, in order to expand and refurnish it, he’d felt like crying. Instead, he’d gone down to the beach and stood in the freezing saltwater for a few hours, until a single, croaky scream escaped him. When he had returned to the place where he learned to walk, its wooden front door was ripped out, a gaping hole in its stead. Cold men in grey uniforms, upon inquiry in form of ‘What the hell are you doing?’, informed him that it would become a ‘…respawn room. Ya see that door in the back? Yeah, we’re puttin’ up housing for the blue team or whatever.’ ‘Huh, look at that ­– they freakin’ spelled it wrong!‘.

Without uttering a word, Ned points up the freshly installed stairs of his shop to the small ledge before two garage doors that would lead to the barracks. Those doors, along with the entire second floor, had also been added in the renovations, but they didn’t hurt half as bad as the gutting of his parents’ home. “Thank ya kindly. C'mon, boys, quit foolin' around now.“ he directs towards the team. One of them, a lanky one, drops the fish that he’d been unsuccessfully trying to hit a silent man wearing a combat helmet with, right where he stands and, pushing past his teammates, races upstairs with a resounding “Last one there is a smelly sardine!”. Everyone follows at their own pace, but when the last one, a spectacled man in a long white coat, his nose buried in a clipboard, puts a foot on the first step, he halts and looks up. “Vait. Are you…? Zhat can’t be right, you cannot *possibly* be zhe guy.” he utters, now turned towards Ned, then flips through a few pages and looks back at the disgruntled looking fisherman. “Hoo! But you are! Hey, Dell!” he shouts, and the man who asked for directions replies with a simple “What?!”. “You better come take a look at zhis!”. Unhurried footsteps make their way back down the stairs, where the other was holding up his clipboard for Dell to see. He reads a passage, snaps his goggles onto his forehead and re-reads it, squinting. “That guy?” he whispers, giving Ned a short, sidelong glance. “Ja.” “You sure?” “Ja!” “Figured he was just a shop-keeper.”. “Oho, zhat is vhere you’re wrong, mein friend.” the man with the cross decal on his shoulder responds, unable to keep up the low volume. In an exaggerated gesture, he points at Ned with an open hand, palm facing the ceiling. “ZHAT is ZHE Net.” he exclaims, the undertone of it sounding mocking, not genuinely impressed by the infirm, insecure looking man. One who had to look around, unsure if they were actually talking about someone else, before silently waving at them, no less. “Shoot, and we just ran right past ya! You coulda spoke up, y’know?” Dell says, wearing a warm smile to the surprise of Ned, who plasters on a veneer of reciprocating friendliness. The man readjusts his goggles to sit over his eyes again and approaches with an outstretched hand, which Ned agrees to shake with his own clammy, ice-cold hand. The slight twitch of the corner of Dells mouth is the only reaction he gives, involuntarily. “My name’s Dell, and that fella over yonder is Lorenz. You must be, uh, Ned, right Doc?” he asks the man clutching his clipboard and wearing an extremely strained smile. “Richtig!” Lorenz calls, followed by a sotto voce chuckle. “I’ll be damned. Ned the Net. Whoever came up with your classification oughta be tossed out on their ear!" the Texan states and laughs for a bit, but gradually stops as Ned simply stares. Although he could’ve told Dell he didn’t understand what being ‘tossed out on one’s ear’ means, he keeps it to himself, embarrassed enough that none of his team members even knew of him. Dell clears his throat, nervously readjusts his construction helmet, and, persistently smiling, offers “Well, I’ll give ya a minute to catch your breath after us barging in like that. You’re welcome to join us in the common room anytime­. Provided they actually built one this time.” and heads upstairs with Lorenz, who had been and is continuously staring at Ned with a sly grin.

Ned sighs relieved he’d been given time to adjust, and tucks a stray strand of hair beneath his mariners cap. Wet, dead and missing some scales after having been mishandled like that, the fish oozes some of its slime between the cracks of the wooden planks that make up the floor. Ned picks it up and disposes of it inside his kitchen. Housewarming gifts had always been prepared by his parents and always consisted of freshly baked pastries, small jars of various spices and, once he’d opened his shop, samples of Neds dried fish snacks. Sitting on his stool, his leg bouncing nervously, he ponders what components he has at home, but as he realizes he has none, he lays his head in his hands in a self-soothing effort. Not having enough time to dry any fish, he concludes the next best thing should do, especially since he figures their journey must’ve been long; food, specifically undried fish, more specifically fish sandwiches. Raw cod in a nice cream-mayonnaise sauce on home-made, thawed and oven-toasted white bread and a few slices of pickles and egg. A delicacy in Selbyen, which he’s certain can be appreciated by the foreigners as well, as the tourists that used to visit Selbyen always went ham for it.

Wrapped in little brown paper bags, each tied with a piece of natural fiber cord, the sandwiches lay on his kitchen counter, ready for delivery. After a short pep talk into his bathroom mirror, Ned loads them into a hand-woven basket and heads upstairs. The automatic garage doors recognize his shape and clear the way for entrance. Before him stands his old family home, a shell of its former self, hollowed out by hollow people, cold looking in the dusk. With a huff through his nose, trying to maintain a friendly façade, he enters the remodeled, doorless building and knocks on the far back door that didn’t exist a week ago. Nervously he waits, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and tracing his fingers along the twisted osiers that make up the baskets handle, a material soft enough to dig a fingernail into it and leave an indent, which he does. When the door opens into a softly lit hallway, the silhouette of a team member cutting through it, Ned rips his gaze from off the ground. A smile spreads across his face, almost automatically, but out of obligation instead of volition. He squints to see who’s letting him inside, and becomes a bit confused about a helmet gleaming back at him from a further height than he remembered Dell to be. The figure fully turns their back on him, torso stiff as a board, and yells back into the room “ATTEEEENTION. NEW BLOOD HAS ARRIVED. LOOK ALIVE.”, to which someone inside yells back “SHUT IT, AH’LL LOOK AS DEAD AS AH DAMN WELL PLEASE!", slurring their words a bit. Both start laughing loudly, raspy and wheezing before the man turns back to Ned. A heavy hand comes down hard on his shoulder and pulls him inside. “Move it, maggot. It’s freezing out there.”. The unexpected force makes Ned stumble a bit and he clutches his basket, keeping it upright to prevent the contents from spilling, but keeps a stiff smile. “Who are you, little red riding hood?” the man inquires with a smirk, his hand on his back pushing Ned further along the scarcely illuminated hallway. When the overhead lights highlight the shapes of the darkened outline, Ned notices that the man’s combat helmet is pulled down far enough to cover his eyes, and for a moment he wonders how he could see where he’s going. The moment doesn’t last long, though, as they enter a large room at the very end of the hallway, and he ponders about how a room this big and leveled could’ve been built on the sandy slope that used to make up their backyard. Inches behind him, the man visually impaired by his own headgear announces, “He brought a basket! And a load of useless brown boxes!”, then leans uncomfortably close and mutters “When you’re done throwing the boxes away, can I have the basket?”. With his shoulders pulled up to his ears, Ned stiffly shakes his head ‘no’ at giving up the precious family heirloom crafted by a late relative to the very loud madman. “FINE!” he shouts, throwing his hands up in dramatic defeat. Resembling a toddler having a meltdown, he stomps off, arms crossed before his chest, muttering “I didn’t want the stupid basket anyway. I hope you fall down the stairs, and the basket does not break your fall.”. The man plops down into a chair beside someone wearing an eyepatch, someone who immediately starts patting his back. “There there, Jude. Ye’ll be alright, laddie.” he utters in a soothing voice. Jude’s intense frown softens, his shoulders drop, and he mutters “Thanks, buddy.”. Contrary to his expectation, the one-eyed man doesn’t give Ned the stink eye to defend Jude, who appears to be his friend. Instead, he shrugs and throws Ned a glance that seems to express something like ‘Be patient with him.’. Ned reciprocates the glance with a compassionate smile at the pair, safe in the knowledge that they find solace in each other – that the word ‘team’ doesn’t merely translate to ‘colleagues’.

Someone else from that corner of the room, whom he recognizes as Dell by his voice, comments “You made it.”, followed by a chuckle. As a few other people surround him, Ned feels his hands clasping the handle of the basket tighter, white-knuckled, his relaxed expression hardening, his grin forced once more. He simply gives Dell a nod and examines the onlookers, remaining uncomfortably silent. Beside him, the one who had abused his wares before, speaks up "Yeah, ‘bout freakin time! We been waitin’ all evening for ya to get here. Y'know, I can't plan a strategic attack on the RED scum without ya, being da new member of the team and all'at. I-“. Interrupting him, a large hand pushes him aside by the head, a large hand belonging to a proportionally large man. Dulled, the slim one’s voice sounds out through the fingers, “Hey! What da hell?”, before a dark voice cuts him off. “Scout. Shut up.” the big one speaks, accent thick in every syllable. “You do not plan dis anyway. Medic and Engineer do.” he continues, which makes a high-pitched laugh ring out from the corner of the room, where people sat and drank – must be the aforementioned Medic. Mentally, Ned takes note of the class names, supposing that Lorenz fits the description of a field medic and Dell looks like a craftsman. However, he can only assume by Lorenz’ cross decal, having never seen a healer safe for the village doctor. Furthermore, he notes that they are the ones organizing the team and would be the ones he would have to admit his fighting inexperience to.

“You did not seriously bring that STENCH into zis base, did you?” he’s asked, the voice seemingly coming from inches behind him. Ned flinches, letting his strained face muscles let go of the feigned smile. He had perceived approaching footsteps during the altercation between ‘Scout’ and the wide one – only a vigilant fisherman is a good one – but when he turns his head to look, there’s only space and the door he entered through. With the basket’s handle tucked into the crook of his arm he spins around, raising the other hand enough that it could shield his face in case the situation should call for it. He mouths the words ‘Hva i helvete?’ (which roughly translate to ‘What the hell?’) as his suspicions are confirmed that the voice came out of nowhere. Without another sound to warn him, the voice, now right next to his other ear, exclaims a flat “Booh.”.

A flinch ripples through Ned’s body, jerking his raised hand slightly backward. It strikes something invisible, producing a sharp, reverberating smack, followed by a soft, equally flat, “Ow.”. To Ned’s amazement, momentarily overshadowed by his annoyance, a shape appears. Blue and translucent, solely a silhouette, then traces of a human body, akin to a ghost materializing. A man in a balaclava, lowering his hand from his cheekbone and placing it behind his straight back, stands before him.

“Skittish, are we? Not a great look for a hired gun.” he remarks, roguish and smileless. Ned perceives the mumbling that ensues, along with his cheeks warming up, outwardly signifying his embarrassment about being outed as a rookie. In an attempt to shut him up, trump his fear of uselessness and highlight his other capabilities for the team, he makes the strategic decision to finally break his silence. If he changes the subject now, people might be distracted enough to ignore how right the masked man was.

“I brought food.” Ned’s tone is flat, his sentence short enough to hide the shakiness in his tone, brought on by the warm clump in his throat – aggravation and upset from being put on the spot like this. To top it all off – since the eyes in the room simply observe him quietly, impressed but speechless – he digs in his pocket and pulls out the small metal box of breath mints that contains his cigarettes, throws it into the basket and declares “…and cigarettes.” Several people hum approvingly, those who hadn’t been encircling him until now stand up from their seats and approach. With a groan, the French interrogator steps back, correctly anticipating that his teammates would push him aside to get to the gift basket.

Silently, he observes how the large, bald man reaches inside, retrieves three wrapped sandwiches, and wanders off to Lorenz and Dell. First to receive one is the Medic, personally, while the other sandwich is set on the table for Dell to take himself, from which Ned gathers an understanding of the dynamic between the three. “Zhank you, Mirek.~” Lorenz utters in a sing-song matter, to which Dell, probably feeling inclined, grumbles “Yeah. Thanks, Miroslav.”.  

As the person in the gas mask – Ned remembers they were the one who lost, or perhaps destroyed the teams map of Selbyen – grabs a sandwich, Jude reaches over their shoulder to retrieve the silver box, which they watch intently. As Jude retrieves two cigarettes and passes one back to his friend, the unknown person visibly lights up and they turn back to Ned with an outstretched thumb. Instead of it being a gesture of approval, which Ned initially smiles at, they bend and stretch their thumb repeatedly in a motion all too familiar to him. From his pocket, he produces a metallic lighter with a fish emblem and places it into their open palms. “Mmphph.” they respond, incoherent from behind their headgear, but seemingly appreciative, and start toying with the lighter, flicking on the flame and placing a finger on the burning wick to extinguish, over and over. Jude’s jaw falls open and he grabs the fire fanatic by the gloved wrist, yelling “WHO IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT'S HOLY LET THAT MANIAC HAVE A LIGHTER?!" at his comrades. His friend puts a hand on his shoulder and softly comments “Come on, now. Pyro was havin’ such a blast! They haven’t started a fire in months! Not off the battlefield, at least.” “No, Hamish! We’ve been over this. We can’t trust this foul creature.” Jude insists, extending his neck to observe Pyro – as far as the helmet over his eyes allows, at least. Then, despite Hamish’s protest, he snatches the lighter from their hand and pockets it, to which they utter a disappointed “Mhhmm.” and go off to sit on the floor in front of Lorenz’, Dell’s and Miroslav’s table. Ned silently mouths each newly learned name, his eyes flicking from person to person as he repeats them in his mind.

Over the chewing sounds and soft exchanges throughout the room, a voice cuts through that Ned doesn’t recognize yet. A man in yellow shades, sandwich already half unwrapped in hand, mutters “Much appreciated, mate.” before returning to the water dispenser in the corner of the room from whence he came. The Scout prances after him and carelessly takes a seat on the close by pool table, knocking around some of the scattered pool balls. “Awh, mate.” the other sighs, “Open your eyes, Jonathan. Spy an’ I were in the middle of a bloody game.”. he continues, disappointed. Just as Ned expected, the Scout, now also known as Jonathan, starts defending himself, “C’mon, Nick -…” dramatically gesturing with hands and feet, remaining seated on the table. Ned huffs through his nostrils in a silent chuckle and tunes out of the conversation, as he considers their bickering none of his business.

From the corner of his eyes, Ned notices something peculiar that takes him a bit to contextualize; out of the little box that Jude had so graciously tossed back into the basket, floats a single cigarette through the air, until it gradually disappears in a corner. Ned smirks, content about having provided something for truly everyone (even if they would never admit it) despite barely receiving any thanks for the gesture. Two cigarettes in their metallic container and three untouched brown paper food bags remain, one of which he takes out while striding as confidently as possible to the table at which Jude and Hamish are seated. From under the table, a little stool is pushed out with a creaking sound, perfectly timed so that Ned can stop it with his foot and take a seat in one fell swoop. Although it looks like a regular blinking motion at first, Ned recognizes that Hamish sends a wink his way and his delighted smile increases as he winks back.

Jude, however, tenses up and stops eating once Ned places the basket on the table, observing it intently. With a sliding motion across the table, Ned tugs it closer to himself before he jerks up from being suddenly spoken to. “So, what made ye sign up for this bloody awful job, eh?" Hamish inquires, knocking the beer bottle he had picked to wash down the bread, against the table to accentuate his words. The three people from the table on Ned’s right chuckle, all in different pitches and intensities, with Lorenz’ being the highest and Miroslav’s the lowest, almost harmonizing with each other. From beneath the table and chuckling, the Pyro jumps up, then props up their head on their hands and mutters something unintelligible that sounds vaguely like a question. “Oh. Uh, sorry?”  Ned asks, to which Dell grins so wide, his cheeks push up his goggles very slightly. “They’re askin’ what on God’s green earth you’re doin’ here. And don’t you worry none ‘bout not understandin’ that lil’ bugger — it took me four years to decipher ‘em. Well worth it though, ain’t it, pardner?” he checks while he gives their masked head a friendly pat, and they reply with an approving “Mhmm!” as they kick their legs in the air, seeing as they’re half-laid atop the table on their stomach. “So?” Dell beckons.

After taking a bite, Ned re-wraps his sandwich, aware that discussing sensitive topics makes him fidget with his surroundings – and he’d rather not scatter crumbs from a picked-apart sandwich all over the table. He swallows, looking around at his interested colleagues, then clears his throat. “Well, uh.” he starts, trying hard to mask the shakiness of his voice, unsuccessfully. “I did not really go through an official application process, as I think you people might have. It just kind of… happened, after an act of, how do you say, defense?”. “Defiance.” Lorenz interjects, pushing up his spectacles. Ned nods, “Yes, that. Thank you. The lady in purple and her men had cleared everyone out of their homes after the industry bought our land, and when I did not leave… I, uh, threatened her to undo everything… with a harpoon… and then she gave me the contract.” he looks down, remorseful of his outburst, until Hamish chimes in. “What ‘n introduction, laddie! Fought yer way into the job, eh? That sure showed her! Good on ya! Now ye just have tae deal with never gettin’ out again – alive, anyway!”, he finishes with a loud laugh, which Jude and Lorenz join in. After processing what Ned had explained, Dell slams his palms on the table and stands, expression grim, silencing the others who look at him with intrigue. “Let me get this straight, you’re tellin’ us they didn’t even build this village? Just bought it up and ran everyone else off? Now that just ain’t right!” he expresses, crossing his arms as he settles back into his seat. After another grumble, his bitter expression softens as he gestures to a lightly smiling Ned whose surprised gaze raises to meet his – or rather his blurry reflection in Dells goggles. “But you? Standin’ up for your people like that? For your family? That’s real honorable of ya. We need more kindhearted, good men on this team.” he mentions while looking around for someone he can’t find, therefore readjusting his sight onto Ned. This makes the humble fisherman straighten up, beaming within from being called honorable, perhaps even brave, but holding back on showing it outwardly, as he’s unable to gauge how much of a compliment it was, comparatively. A miffed looking Jonathan approaches, hands in fists and some of the sandwich condiment in the corner of his mouth. Firmly standing between the two tables Ned and Dell respectively sit at, he puts both hands to his hips and begins in a squeaky, clearly hurt voice “Yeah, yeah. Brave my ASS. You threatened Miss P.? A defenseless lady? And with a freakin’ HARPOON, at that?” “Only threatened her with words! The harpoon never touched her, I promise.” Ned nervously clarifies, arms flailing in front of him, palms open and facing outward, as if to ward off the accusation. “She never even seemed bothered, if I think about it.” he adds, pensively. “Maybe she was scared to death, huh? Ever think’a that? Wouldn’t you be, too, if some maniac came at ya swingin’ their stupid fishin’ stick?!” “I did not even-“ Ned insists, furrowing his brow about Jonathan painting him to be more violent than he was even capable of, before both of them were interrupted by the peacemaker, the teams shepherd.

“Johnny boy, don’t be ridiculous. Miss Pauling’s been through way worse than some mildly threatenin’ fisherman. She wouldn’t be intimidated in the slightest – no offense, Ned. Take a breather, cowboy. Grab a seat, grab a cold one, and settle down for a second. We know how attached you are to her, but this ain’t no reason to start spinnin' stories 'bout the new guy." Dell admonishes. Jonathan simply puffs up his cheeks, mutters “Fine…” and takes a seat next to Miroslav, who silently retrieves a bottle of beer from the small fridge behind them and hands it to the younger man.

With a wooshing noise, the blue silhouette manifests into the mysterious masked man once more, this time standing behind Dell, who tenses up at the sound. As he takes form, so does the smoke of his lit cigarette, making Ned wonder about how advanced technology actually was outside of his village, what he’d missed, but hiding his awe well. “Your kind ‘eart and ‘onor means nothing when you're caught in ze storm of bullets that war unleashes. Do you even know which end of ze gun to point at zee enemy?” he inquires, his chest subtly rising and falling with quiet laughter, only one corner of his mouth raising into a small smirk. Ned ceases the opportunity to boast, his head raised, his smile proud. “I will have you know that I hit two of the bottle targets, when our Courier taught me to shoot those little guns the other day!” “Out of ‘ow many?” the man demonstratively asks, earning him a back-handed smack in the chest by Dell, who sternly whispers “Spy.”, as if to tell him not to embarrass Ned like that. The fisher’s proud grin begins to crumble as he tucks his head between his shoulders, breaks the confident eye contact and stares at the table while he mumbles “Ten.”.

Spy begins howling, snorting in-between laughs as he holds his stomach and takes his leave through a door in the back of the room next to Nick, who patiently awaited his pool partner, but must watch leave instead. Spy’s ceaseless laughter is heard for a while behind the seemingly paper-thin walls, even as the sound of a shutting door is heard, as he presumably enters his personal room.

People whose gaze had followed him turn their head back to Ned, expecting defense, but that many eyes on him only increase his embarrassment and his pale skin breaks out in pinkish blotches of shame once more. Head in an ice cold, sweaty palm, he tries not only reducing the blood circulation in his face, but also to play it off like he didn’t care as much as he did. “Yes. But a fifth is still better than none, right?” he tries confirming not only to himself, but to a team that partially depends on him now, as he looks over to Dell for one last dose of support, eyebrows furrowed desperately. With a nod, and a warm “You’ll get there, pal.” he responds, prompting various others to break their silence and send not quite convinced encouragement Ned’s way in form of “Yeah…” and “Sure!”. Ned decides to take what he gets and responds with a joking little bow, as if he’d achieved something worth bowing for. When the silence only threatens to return, Hamish cuts in. “Look, we all started somewhere. I wasn’t born blowin’ me enemies to smithereens! Don’t ye worry, lad. You’ll find a way to make yourself useful on the battlefield. Yer the Net, right? We use you to fall back on, and you use us to make yer trapping tactics lethal. It’s a bloody partnership, mate. You set 'em up, we knock 'em down!”. His wide smile causes Ned to match the expression and perk up, “Yes! I will try the best I can. If it is not too much trouble, maybe one of you experienced people-“, he looks around as he continues, making sure each one feels addressed, “-can teach me to shoot even more than two target bottles? Since you have been shooting so many things already, and all I have shot is fish in the water?”

Retrieving his hands from near the basket he was sneakily trying to snatch, attentive all of a sudden, Jude flashes an open-mouthed grin before he asks “You caught those fish by SHOOTING THEM?! NOW THAT’S THE MOST AMERICAN THING I’VE EVER HEARD! Say, soldier, how many bullets does it take to turn a fish into a victim?!”. As a result, Ned gives a warm chuckle, “No, no bullets. With the harpoon gun. You know, the-“ “The one you stabbed Miss Pauling with?!” “The one I did *not* stab Miss Pauling with.” he corrects Jude with a raised finger, “The one I threatened her with.” “This recounting keeps becoming less and less American! I AM SEVERELY BORED.” Jude exclaims, then cups a hand next to his mouth and shouts “BUSHMAN. PREPARE TO HAVE YOUR ASS KICKED. I WILL DEPOSIT THOSE POOL BALLS INTO THE HOLES SO GLORIOUSLY, YOU WON’T EVEN SEE WHAT HIT YA’!” and strides over to the pool table and an exasperated Nick. “He lives in a bush? Like a little tree? Poor guy.” Ned sympathizes to Hamish’s amusement who briefly explains “Nah, just Australia. Which ain’t much more than a bunch o' wee trees, really.”, his chuckle is met by Nick’s quiet side glance, before he’s distracted by Jude pushing the white pool ball into his hands.

Meanwhile, Ned had finished pondering and lowers his hand from his chin, straightening his slouching posture, “Australia, huh? That is an awful bit away. I, uh, have noticed you all seem to be from different places of the world.”. A wry chuckle escapes him as he confirms to himself that “I have never even left this village. Ever. You must have a lot of stories to tell.”. A few people exchange pitiful, almost concerned glances before their gazes fall back on Ned. Jonathan, who had been busy thumb wrestling with the Pyro until now, never stopped listening and mentions “Yeah, a LOTTA stories. Actually, way too many stories. 'Cause things just don’t stop happening, ever.”. He wins the tiny wrestling match and raises his head with a chuckle, “Hey, yeah, remember that time we tried teleportin’ back to base, but those RED bastards moved the tele and we went plummetin’ down that cliff? Lucky we were in respawn range, or we'd all be done for.”

Worried expression, intrigued mind, Ned leans forward and inquires “Respawn range? The men that built, well, rebuilt everything, said something of a ‘respawn room’. Do those things have a connection? The range and the room? How does that work? Would you not have died when you fell down the cliff?”.

Loudly, Lorenz’ sharp laugh rings through the room, bemused by the silly question. “Of course ve died! Miserably so!”, he begins, other teammates murmuring in agreement, “But ve each have zhis fabulous little device implanted zhat gazhers our molecular structure, and, upon death, recombines it inside the room. It’s a really neat machine, zhe Engineer and I toiled on it for an eternity! Speaking of zhe respawn chip, you’re not equipped wizh one yet, richtig?”. Ned had leaned back during the doctor’s monologue, holding onto the table since there was no backrest to relax into, shaken by the information that death wouldn’t end the war. Though relieved that he wouldn’t be giving his life to provide for his family, he still could only respond with a quiet shake of the head, mouth slightly agape and frowning. “Perfekt! Would you like to schedule an appointment wizh dear old me? Zhen I shall use zhe opportunity of your open chest cavity to install your new heart for zhe Übercharge too, all in one fell swoop! It'll only hurt a mediocre lot, not an awful lot.” Lorenz jokes with dark, malicious glee, accompanied by an equally grim, low chuckle.

Feeling his palms begin to sweat once more, Ned’s spinning thoughts fall onto the new term. “The Über-huh?” is met with enthusiasm from Lorenz, who almost interrupts him, “Invulnerability. Vhat a deal, ja? Zhe whole package! No death, no harm. At least vhen my Medi-gun is pointed at you. Bevor you ask, zhat is my trusty co-“ his gaze briefly twitches to Miroslav, “-my other trusty companion on zhe battlefield. HOOHOO! Nozhing beats zhis-“ his gloved hand lands harshly on the huge man’s back, “heap of Muskel, of course. But zhe Medi-gun blasts pure rays of concentrated regenerative particles onto my subjects, somezhing Mirek is incapable of. As of yet...”. The crazed practitioner utters the same low humming cackle as before, sounding truly terrifying. “In layman’s terms, zhe gun un-breaks your bones, extinguishes you from zhe battlefields inferno, and stuffs zhe blood back into your body. Sooo? Vhat do ve zhink?” he follows up. Ned ponders for a bit, heart pounding and head spinning a bit, but decides to settle on the decision that having one surgery to cover for his apparent invulnerability and immortality would be agreeable, though he was still skeptical of how well it would work. “Gud hjelpe meg*. O-okay. Sure. Yes. If it guarantees my safety. If YOU guarantee my safety.” Ned sets as his condition, dimming Lorenz’ cheery expression as he replies “I guarantee nozhing. Zhe machines could fail at any time and ve could all perish at any moment, but I can try to keep you bunch of idi-… i… incredibly… nice beings alive for as long as possible.” he concludes with an obviously forced grin. The fisherman shudders, subtly as to not reveal his multiple degrees of fear for this man, for one because he seems to be using his colleagues as guineapigs for his experimental medical and technical procedures, either uncaring or accepting that each second on the battlefield might be their last. Another reason, despite Ned desperately trying to suppress his fear of others, is Lorenz’ heritage, recognized through his accent alone. He concluded that the Medic must be old enough to have been alive during the world war, and fears he might’ve be part of the horrors on humanity those people inflicted. On the other hand, the man seems to be tolerant of the use of neutral personal pronouns, such as those for the unidentified Pyro, as well as Ned’s own gender identity, which to his dismay remains evident through his feminine talking voice. Undecided on Lorenz’ stance, he can’t help but remain wary in his presence, keep his eyes out for any slip-ups, any other ethical wrong-doings except for the obviously empirical nature of his surgeries.

For a moment, Ned wonders if he should be as wary of the other collaborator of the respawn machine, Dell, but his train of thought is derailed when a blue glove shoves a piece of paper under his nose from behind him. “I’ve decided a time for your appointment for zhe-“ he chuckles, uncomfortably close behind Ned, “-procedure.”. In a mocking tone, he continues “Is zhis time agreeable for you, Herr Ned? HAH! Get it, because zhis job is his whole life now? I don’t even need to ask! Of course it is agreeable! He haz nozhing else to do! Haha! I vill see you tomorrow, little fishie!~” he continues, his voice quieting down as he retreats through the same door the Spy did, hands behind his back and chuckling ominously.

Reading the pale blue business card reveals to Ned, that he’d be on the slab the next day at 7AM, sharp, that he shouldn’t eat nor drink immediately before and that he should preemptively write a will, just in case. A glance at the common room’s clock reveals that 11PM is fast approaching, and Ned perks up. “Oh, herregud, it is that late already? Boy, oh boy. I would really, honestly love to chat with you people some more. But I am worried that if I do not sleep now, I will be unwell after tomorrows… slaughter, let us say.” he jokes to ease himself of the nervousness, and, along with some of his colleagues, chuckles nervously at his dry humor. His laugh ceases into a more relieved smile, happy that his misery provided *someone* with a bit of joy, and he wishes them a “Good night. And, uh, I feel like I should mention; do not be surprised by the weird screaming at night, those are just the seals.”, before grabbing his sandwich, his basket – Jude can be heard protesting, and Nick reassuring him that there’s plenty of baskets in the world – and taking hasty steps back through the hallway, the old, dead home, the garage doors and into his own four walls. The brown paper of the sandwich he devoured on his way lands in his trash can, he quickly gets ready for bed, multitasking his bathroom routine, stripping into his fish boxers and hopping into his blanketed haven. Though sleep comes late and little, his heart pounding, his eyelids wide apart, thoughts spiraling throughout the night. Tomorrow will be very interesting.

[a-sad-mage]

An average day

[Malk - Shane Gang version]

Staring Eli as Josh, Kord as Donnivin, Pronto as Julian, Trixie as Dad and Junjie as the one having to unfortunately whiteness this

[Liberties in the text were taken]

TW: mentions of self deletion,

-

Eli: Hey Kord, we got anything to drink?

Kord: ya, check the fridge

Pronto: Hey Eli, can you get Pronto a glass of Malk

Eli: . . .

Eli: We don't have any Malk, but I can get you some Milk

Kord: That's what he said?

Pronto: Yes, Pronto just wants some Malk

Eli: No - your saying it wrong - your saying Malk! Like- Like it's a disease

Junjie: [Sinkers]

Kord: How do you say it?

Eli: I'm saying it like everyone oughta say it. Milk- M - I - L - K

Kord: Right, like 2%

Pronto: Right, like whole Malk

Eli: [visibly getting stressed] no, no no no - say Milkshake

Pronto: Milkshake

Eli: okay, so now say Milk

Pronto: Malk

Eli: A-Are you hearing this?

Kord: yea, the Mole wants a glass of Mulk

Eli: [About to shoot someone] MULK!?

Kord: Give Pronto the Mulk, Eli!!!

Trixie:[yelling form her room] Boy's, inside voices please.

Kord: Sorry Trix, guy stuff...

Pronto: ELI, POUR PRONTO A GLASS, OF MALK!!!

Eli: Why are you yelling at me???

Kord: Just give him the flopping Mulk!

Eli: You guys aren't even saying the same thing!

Pronto: WE ARE ALL SAYING MALK, ELI SHANE!!!

Eli: NO! YOUR SAYING MALK! YOUR SAYING M------

Pronto: MALK! ~ MAAAAAAAALK ~ ~ ~ ~ MAAAAAAAAAALLK! ~ ~ MOOOOOOOOOO-

Eli: SHUT UP! SHUT! UP! [Pulls out his blaser and aims it at his head]

[everyone else, minus Junjie, also pulls out their blasters]

Kord: YOU BETTER PUT IT DOWN!

Pronto: DONT- DONT DO IT!!! ELI!!!

Eli: You're gonna shoot me if I shoot myself? That doesn't make any sense!

[everyone pauses for a moment and then aims their blasters at their own heads]

Kord: ELI PUT IT DOWN NOW!!

Eli: I AM GOING TO KILL MYSELF FOR THIS!

Pronto: YOU'RE LIKE A BROTHER TO PRONTO! YOUR HAND IS LIKE A BROTHER TO PRONTO!

[everyone cries]

[Trixie finishing explaining the above for a Slugisode skit she wants to direct]

Trixie: [Done explaining the skit] And then after that, you pull the trigger, all of you

Eli: No- We're not filming something like that

Trixie: Why not?

Kord: Its so dark, I don't know

Pronto: [pets a Cave Crawler before shoving it in the oven] Pronto is going to have to take a rain check

Junjie: [sick of eating Cave crawlers, shoots Pronto with a Tazerling]

-

[The Malk in question]

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for trying to save my best friend?

Alright, so I'm not going to go into all the details because most of the people involved kinda hate me now and kinda want me dead.

See, I work for this organization. I've been with them for about ten years now, ever since I was a kid. They've had me doing all kinds of icky jobs for them, and you're not allowed to say "no" or else they'll brand you a traitor and send someone to erase you. Nice guys, am I right?

Last year, a new kid joined us. And because the boss likes to watch me suffer or something like that, I got put in charge of showing this kid the ropes. Only it wasn't as bad I thought it was going to be. The kid turned out to be pretty cool. We started meeting up for ice cream after work and we’d all sit around and shoot the breeze about stupid stuff…

(Okay, for some reason, when I try to type this out, I find myself talking like there was more than one person hanging out with me. But that doesn’t make any sense. It was just the one kid, not two.)

I digress. A year goes by and that’s when the problems start. See, my buddy had amnesia and joined our organization to find out who he was. And the thing is, we already knew. But I didn’t tell him because I was afraid that he’d leave us. And just my luck, he found out enough info to realize that I lied to him and he ran away.

The boss didn’t like that. You don’t just quit and run away from these guys. So he sent me out to assassinate the kid. To make a really long story short, I couldn’t do it. But my buddy ended up disappearing anyway.

And that’s when I kinda…lost it. I hit rock bottom. I couldn’t go back to my old job and my best friend was gone. So I decided that I was going to do whatever it took to bring him back. Including kidnapping someone who was only loosely connected to all this. (And for what it’s worth, I feel pretty terrible about that one and I’m planning to apologize to her next time I see her. That oughta smooth things over, right?)

None of it has amounted to anything. My best friend’s gone and I just can’t help feeling like this was partly my fault and I could’ve handled things better. AITA?

[djsangos]

You can barely fucking think straight.

Horde of Salmonid after horde of Salmonid comes swarming down every alleyway as your splatoon, along with the Grizzco crowd, fights beak and tentacle to protect Splatsville and evacuate civilians to Inkopolis.

“I didn’t even know Grizzco was still operating,” you’d said as the lot of you were gearing up to hold the line at Barnacle & Dime. “Didn’t the rookie and Octavio fucking kill the CEO?”

“Someone else must have taken over,” Eight had mused, strapping on her ink tank. “I guess we’re lucky that we’re not taking this on by oursel—”

“Guys! Captain!” Four came careening in, one boot on his foot and the other in his hand. “They’re in the city proper! Headed to the plaza!”

“Shit!”

It’s a lot easier to get separated from your agents than you thought it’d be, dispersed by the waves of Salmonids and the Grizzco employees fighting for their lives and the city alongside you, and you find yourself back-to-back with one of those strangers now, fending off a group of Salmonids trying to surround the two of you.

A strange, high-pitched noise emanates from the ground beneath you. You both look down, spotting a bobber, and you’re dragging them away by the arm through an opening in the swarm before they can even finish shouting “Maws!” They drop a bomb as you drag them off, and a large Salmonid emerges from the ink, swallows the bomb, and explodes, taking a couple of the smaller Salmonids out with it in the resulting ink splatter and leaving a handful of golden Salmonid eggs in its place.

“Too bad we didn’t have enough time to grab an egg basket,” the Inkling you just dragged out of the Maws’… maws mutters darkly, taking shots at the surviving Salmonids straggling after the two of you as you yourself throw a splat bomb into the swarm, taking a few more out.

“Captain!” comes from behind you, and you can’t risk turning around to look, but you hear the sound of someone emerging from ink, and what you now definitely recognize as the rookie’s voice, tight and without their usual sardonic humor. “That oughta be the last of the evacuees, they’re all on the train headed for Inkopolis.”

“Thank cod,” you say, then add, “stay close. Both of you.”

“Aye aye?” your new companion says, bemused.

The three of you swim in unison, yourself taking the lead, to the nearest swarmed alleyway, shooting from the entrance at the Salmonids trying to spill out into the plaza. Where the hell are they coming from?

“Anyone got Reeflsider?” you ask, using your right crutch for support and shooting with your left, formulating a plan on the fly.

Your companion shakes their head, lobs a bomb at the swarm growing closer. “I got Kraken. One left.”

That can work too. “Get it charged, go in, we’ll follow you.” With enough of them clumped together, you can use a Splashdown to take out almost the whole group at once.

As they get ready to charge in with their Kraken Royale, you just can’t help but wonder for a moment.

Why’re they attacking the city with this much force? What do they want? Is killing them the right call? How can you keep this from ever happening again?

Is this how the Octarians felt when you invaded Octo Valley? Did they ask the same questions?

“Let’s go, Captain!” Rookie calls, pulling you from your thoughts. Focus, asshole. Now’s not the time for a guilty conscience.

Your new companion takes the lead, crushing many of the Salmonids in their path and pushing back those that aren’t immediately killed. You and the rookie dive into the ink they leave in their wake, rushing forward to meet them at the other end of the alley, where their special ends.

The alley opens up onto a wider road running perpendicular to it, and holy shit, there’s a lot of Salmonids here. Definitely more than one Splashdown can take out, but in splatting a couple more Chums, your special is ready to go, and it only takes a quick look shared with the rookie, whose hair is similarly flared with a fully-charged special, for them to know exactly what you’re thinking.

Running into the horde closest to you, spacing yourselves just so to maximize splattage, and the rookie shouts “SPLASHDOWN!”

If you both had Triple Splashdowns, the carnage would be a sight to fucking behold, but as it stands, your makeshift Double Splashdown still goes pretty hard, and the two of you take out practically the whole group that had met you at the alley’s exit, save for the stragglers outside the radius.

You stumble as you right yourself, leaning heavily on your crutches, breathing hard. Cod, your body fucking hurts.

“You good, Cap?” You hadn’t even noticed the rookie approaching you, but you wordlessly nod all the same.

“Just need a second.” You’d like to take a minute at least, but you don’t have that kind of time. This shit’s far from over, and you don’t even need to look to know more Salmonids are already approaching.

When this is all over, you’re gonna need to check in with the rookie about how they feel about all this- they definitely can’t feel good about tearing through their Lil’ Buddy’s own kind, at least.

“Great teamwork, guys,” says your companion, running up to the two of you. A distinct stinging sound rings through the air, and what looks like a Stingray made of horrifically filthy water cuts through the air. “We’ve gotta move! Everyone good?”

You glance at the rookie, who gives a thumbs up, then nod again. “Stinger, right?”

“There’s a Steel Eel headed this way, too,” they say. Steel Eel… You think you remember what those are from your brief skim of the Salmonid Field Guide, smaller Salmonids steering a giant water-spouting machine of death.

“We deal with the Stinger first,” you say. Best to get the immediate threat out of the way. “Don’t get separated.”

“Yeah, okay, boss,” they lightly scoff, but follow your lead anyway, fighting your way through the horde to follow the Stinger ray to its source. Between the three of you, it’s trivial enough to take out, and again it leaves nothing but a splatter of ink and three golden eggs.

“What a waste,” Rookie says, eyeing the eggs with a look and tone you can’t read. “Where’s the Steel Eel?”

“It’s that—” the stranger turns and points, then stops. “—it’s gone.”

The three of you swim in the direction they pointed out, and there’s someone else swimming up to you. Emerging from the ink all at once-- it’s Callie!

“Oh my cod! Captain! Agent Three!” she calls. “You’re okay!”

“Is that fucking Callie Cuttlefish?” your companion exclaims.

“Agent One,” you say, “are you okay?”

“Where’re the others?” adds the rookie.

“I’m okay. They’re-- hang on.” She weaves past the three of you and flicks her roller aggressively at yet more Salmonids coming to break up your reunion. “Let’s clear up the road first!”

The four of you make quick work of the rest of the Salmonids in this section of road, and soon enough the flood turns into a trickle into nothing, for now.

“Whew!” Callie breathes, leaning on her roller and wiping invisible sweat from her forehead. “Anyway, last I saw Agent Eight and Agent Four, they were fighting in the plaza, and Agent Two was on the train helping with the evacuation. She’s probably back in Inkopolis right now, giving a tentacle with first aid. And Gramps is way out of the way, he’ll be okay,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

“They’ll be okay together, right?” says the rookie.

“We should still meet back up with them,” you say between deep, slow breaths. “Strength in numbers.”

The stranger takes a deep breath of their own, then shouts, “Okay, just who the hell are you people!?”

“Huh?” says Callie, seeming to finally, actually realize the presence of a stranger in your midst. She adds to you, “New friend of yours?” You just shrug in response.

“I mean,” they continue, “you guys have weird titles, Callie fucking Cuttlefish is here, and you’re clearly not with Grizzco. So what’s your deal?”

“We’re here to help,” Rookie says. “Splatsville’s my home too, I’m not gonna let it fall. Even if…” they trail off.

“Gahhh,” the stranger groans, bringing a hand up to their head. “This situation is so fucked we have some kind of secret militia stepping in to save the day. My sister’s not gonna believe me when I tell her about this! I must be going crazy!”

“Can we save it?” you say. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry.” Rookie gives you a look. “Poor choice of words, my bad.”

“We get the gist, Captain!” says Callie. “Let’s head back to the plaza while the coast is clear.”

“Gah,” repeats your companion, “Fine.”

When you get back to the plaza proper, your gaze almost immediately locks onto your two missing agents, Four throwing a bomb at a Flyfish and Eight taking on a group of Salmonids trying to stop the two of them from taking out the Flyfish. You motion to the others the direction you’re going, and ink a path to swim over, popping up beside Eight to help in the fending off just as you hear the final bomb in the Flyfish explode and see the other four exit the ink after you.

“There you are!” Eight exclaims. “We were getting worried.”

“We had it under control,” you say. “Glad you guys have it handled here, too.”

Between the now six of you, this group of Salmonids never had a chance.

Eventually, the waves and waves of Salmonids seem to clear, and everyone, Squidbeak and Grizzco, is heading towards the center to regroup and recuperate, when a horn sounds, and shouts start to ring out among the Grizzco groups.

Oh, shit.

“It’s the Triumvirate!” someone shrieks.

“I thought they stopped them at Undertow!” shouts another.

Oh, shit.

[alleiradayne]

In Through The Out Door | Art Master Post

Castiel was dead. Again. And it was all Dean's fault.

After failing to drink himself into an early grave, Dean finds a little resolve to pick himself back up and do the right thing: save people. With Sam and Jack by his side, and a little help from a few other survivors, they take on Chuck, restore the world, the multiverse, and everything's back to the way it oughta be.

Everything but Castiel, that is.

Dean clings to a death wish five miles wide after that. And he gets that wish, dying on a hunt. But the worst is yet to come when he wakes up and finds himself in the Empty. And he's not alone.

Chapter 3

Summary: Dean attempts to drink himself to death only to end up wandering back down to the archives in a worthless attempt to clean up his mess. Warnings/Tags: Suicidal ideation, alcoholism, extreme consumption, blackout drunk, lots of self-hatred, trauma Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester Word Count: 2300

Dead. 

Castiel was dead. Again. And it was all Dean’s fault.

Him and his ego with his hot headed plan. Why? Why did it have to go tits up? After everything they’d been through. Why had it all gone to hell in a handbasket at the eleventh hour?

Christ, he sounded like a broken record.

“I got you, Jack, just hang on.”

He flopped over onto his side, face half buried in his pillow as he reached into the darkness. Why couldn’t he just black out already?

“I have to get away. You have to get away from me.”

Not enough liquor in Lebanon to put him under.

“Don’t let me hurt you.”

Thick glass scraped across the bedside table when his fingers found it, scoring the wood as Dean dragged a whiskey bottle to him. For fucks’ sake, they were the good guys. They were supposed to win, dammit. Heroes don’t kneel to piss-baby gods. Not even Chuck. That dickbag had used them, made them dance to his tune. Like puppets on strings. That’s all they were, all they’d ever been. Even before they were born, it had started with their parents. Then the demon blood. Lucifer, Michael, Heaven and Hell. All of it had been for Chuck’s amusement. Pawns. None of it had ever been real.

Real.

“You asked what about this was real. We are.”

We.

Dean threw back the bottom of the bottle and chugged. The room had stopped spinning hours ago, his throat numb to the whiskey’s sting. Numb. In all the worst ways. Drowned by alcoholic hopelessness. A coma would be better than this living nightmare.

He wished he could forget. But that skip in the record just kept coming back around. The needle hopped it every time and son of a bitch why couldn’t someone just turn the fucking table off. Brain bleach should be a thing. What he wouldn’t give to erase the last forty-eight hours.

Erase? Or redo? He needed a mulligan.

Milligan?

Wait, what?

“I cared about the whole world because of you.”

No. Not again. Fuck this noise. Dean switched on his lamp, then rolled from his bed and shuffled across his room to the sink. On his way, the room pitched and he stumbled. He reached out with both hands, forgetting the bottle still clutched in his fist. It slammed against the porcelain and shattered. The last of the whiskey poured down the drain along with the dredges of his dignity. A stray shard slipped through his palm in his attempt to clean up the mess, slicing his calloused skin, and he hissed like a cornered cat.

Damn glass. He grabbed a bandana hanging from the nearby coat rack and wrapped it around his bleeding palm. Between his teeth, he grabbed one end and pulled it tight by the other in his free hand. Shooting pain lanced through the cut, and Dean groaned against it. The fabric soaked through immediately, crimson with his blood. He watched deliberately, allowing droplets to fall into the sink. Little rivers of red ran down the porcelain into the drain. Funny. It reminded him of blood running from a sigil. Painted on a door in haste. To protect them.

He returned to the mirror and twisted. A large, bloody handprint covered his left shoulder. His own right hand fit over it, though he dared not touch. Might be wet still. 

Piece of shit God. Fucking Billie. Bastard Cosmic Entity. Why couldn’t they all just leave them alone? Just for five fucking minutes?

“You changed me, Dean.”

In  his reflection, he found his eyes, and froze. Holy hell, he looked like shit. Like he’d gone ten rounds with… with whatever. Something. Fuck, he could hardly think. Bloodshot and sunken eyes stared back at him, blank. Unseeing. Lifeless.

“I love you.”

Castiels’ voice echoed like a muted line from someone else’s memory, and Dean shook as his hands balled into white-knuckled fists. Scalding rage consumed his loathing pity, and he shoved back from the sink. There had to be something. Even if it accomplished fuck-all, he had to try at least.

Right?

That was what he should do. Get clean, sober up. Somehow. His head rolled from one shoulder to the other in a worthless attempt to find clarity. Or so he thought. Out of the corner of his blurry vision, he spotted a large wooden box sitting on the shelf below his mirror. On the cover, a small human skull stood out, engraved into the wood. The bright red lacquer snapped him out of his delirium. He reached for it, fumbling the cover twice before it clattered to the floor and revealed an oversized brass key. Had to be a sign.

Right?

Key in hand, Dean bumbled to his bedroom door and swung it open a little too enthusiastically. It rebounded off the opposite wall, then swung closed on its own behind him. Shuffling steps carried him down the hallway, and he shook his head. Okay, the walls were definitely spinning again. And he had no clue where Sam and Jack were. No point in looking for them, though. It was his fault after all. They shouldn’t clean up his mess. So he stumbled along, empty hand trailing against the tiled wall. Like a divining rod, he followed the cool stone, always turning left, until he suddenly found himself staring at the debris spilling from 7B in the archive suite.

At the far end, the door to the research room stood closed. All he had to do was skip over a pile of stone and plaster. Then he could beat down Billie’s door, just like she had theirs, and get some fucking answers. Dead or alive, it didn’t matter much to him if she was there. Hell, maybe he’d find a way to kill Chuck. Even if it meant dying, he’d take it.

Dean tripped over his first step, catching himself on a nearby door frame. He slurred a string of profanity as the key chafed against his bleeding palm, piercing through the bandana, and he nearly dropped it. Idiot. Just keep it together another thirty feet. Suck it up. Like you always do. Bury it and keep moving. He’d have to. Drowning it hadn’t worked. What other choice did he have?

None. Typical.

With an intentional breath, Dean navigated the debris. Every step felt like a marathon, so deep in his cups. But he pressed on. And once the cool metal of the furthest archive door handle graced his palm, he toppled again, falling through and collapsing on the cement floor. Darkness pressed in at the edge of his mind, a vicious current threatening to pull him under. He nearly gave in. Son of a bitch, he wanted to. He’d drunk enough whiskey to put down a horse for a reason.

And yet…

Dean pushed the concrete floor away, rising to his hands and knees. One foot propped him up, then the next scuffed beneath him, and he stood. If you could call it standing. More like floating. Or listing. Yeah. Like a boat taking on water. Water made of whiskey.

A violent shake of his head accomplished next to nothing except nauseating him. Fuck, man, focus. Get your shit together. Dean scanned the room and spotted the empty brick wall beside the research table. His feet betrayed him, clipping a leg on the nearest chair, and he caught himself against the low back. The room pitched suddenly, and that acidic, sour taste filled his mouth. No. Not here. Shit, don’t puke in the archives again. Sam had nearly throttled him the last time. Might have been because he’d spewed all over a collection of “irreplaceable” Sumerian texts. Had it not been for Castiel, Sam would have absolutely beaten the piss out of him.

Castiel.

Another deep breath filled his lungs, settled his stomach, and Dean straightened. Resolve stiffened his spine and set his shoulders, his jaw. Then he rounded the end of the table and shambled towards the nearby wall, key in his outstretched hand. But unlike when he and Castiel had attempted to corner Billie, nothing happened. No light, no doorway, no keyhole appeared when he reached the brick. Nothing happened. He took two steps back and approached again. Maybe he’d done it wrong.

But again, nothing happened. Which was fine. Wasn’t like he had hoped for much. In fact, he’d known all along it wouldn’t work.

But then why did he still feel so fucking awful?

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Fuck. Keep it together. Breathe. But he couldn’t. His throat closed up, constricting, and his eyes burned as tears blurred his vision. Damn baby. He ground his teeth, fighting it all back, pushing it down, burying it again. But all the pain, the anger. It swept him up, sucked him under, and he caved. The tears spilled over in waves, cascading down his cheeks, and racking sobs shook him from head to toe. He wanted more than anything to stop, to put a damn cap on it and just fucking stop bawling like a whiny bitch. Forget it all happened. Soldier on.

But he couldn’t. This time he just… couldn’t.

He had to get it out. The words clawed at his ribs, his heart. If he held it in any longer, it’d kill him. A tiny part of him wished he could let it take him out. But there was no stopping it now.

“Cas…” he began. “I hope you can hear me… wherever you are.” He paused again, another wave of emotion overwhelming him and he squeezed his eyes shut against the ache. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, I should have said something.” Gasping sobs heaved his shoulders, and he hammered his fist on the brick wall. “I… son of a bitch, why did you do it? Why are you always so fucking self-sacrificing? I need you here, man, not dead and gone. You’re useless to me like this, more than useless.”

None of that had helped. He had to calm down, had to settle his racing heart, his shaking hands. Get a grip, man, you’re just as useless this way. He turned his back to the wall and breathed in through his nose, then exhaled slowly through his open mouth. Another deep inhale filled his lungs and he held it. 

Focus. Pick something. He started with his heart, reining in the race. Another breath. Shoulders next. Down from the ears. His jaw. Unclench. Then his fists. Let go. A third breath. Head. Concentrate. Find the words.

“I love you.”

The memory replayed clear as a bell that time. More than Castiel’s death, his last three words haunted Dean like a restless spirit. And yet… that wasn’t quite it, either. The words themselves? Yeah, that tracked. Of course Castiel loved him. Duh and, or hello. No, what had left Dean feeling like the biggest asshole to have ever assholed had absolutely everything to do with the fact that, in Castiel’s most vulnerable moment of his entire existence, Dean had balked.

“Don’t… don’t do this, Cas.”

What a stupid fucking response. Who says that to someone as they’re carving their heart out of their chest and handing it over to you on a silver platter in a last-ditch effort to save your stupid fucking dumbass from your own stupid fucking dumbass plan?

Dean. That’s who.

He had to make it right. Even if nobody could hear it. He would. And that was all that mattered. So full-throated this time. Not a whisper, not a mumbled-under-your-breath copout. He had to say it. Out loud. Intentionally. And fully present.

Dean opened his eyes and breathed one more time.

“I love you, too, Cas.”

There. Done. Did he feel any better? Nope. Not really. Not at all, in fact. Castiel was still fuckin’ dead. Deader than a doornail. But he’d said it. And dammit all to hell, he’d meant it. That was all that mattered.

He shoved the key in his pocket with a defeated grunt. At least Billie was dead, too. Gotta pick out the positives where he found them. Right?

Sure.

He’d keep telling himself that until he passed out at the bottom of another bottle. If he could find one.

The walk back to his room passed in a blur. He swung the door closed, but never heard it latch. Not that it mattered. Nobody needed him, really. Sam and Jack were busy enough trying to find a solution to the real problem. He’d only slow them down. Dead weight. 

Or just dead.

If only. Eternal rest in Heaven sounded nice right about then. Reliving his favorite hits from his best cuts. No piece of shit monsters, no asshole demons, no shithead angels… 

That last thought brought him up short at the edge of his bed in a sudden rush of clarity. A Heaven of reruns actually sounded awful. He shuddered, gagging against that rancid taste rising in his throat again. A drink. One more ought to do the trick.

Dean tore open the drawer in his bedside table and withdrew his flask. The cap spun with a practiced flick of his thumb and forefinger. Then he threw his head back and downed the entire thing.

Yup. Close enough.

The flask clattered on the nightstand as he dropped it and collapsed onto his bed. With his face buried in his pillow, he reached for his lamp, slapping haphazardly as he searched for the switch. If he ever found it, he couldn’t remember. But he must have. Oppressive darkness filled his room, and he closed his eyes, hoping he could at least sleep like the dead.

Dead. 

Castiel was dead. Again. And it was all Dean’s fault.

It was the last coherent thought he had before he finally, blessedly, passed out.

This series is complete! Reblogs are loved and feedback is welcome!

In Through The Out Door | Art Master Post

[onthepyre]

"hey, mick." mandy's voice crackles over the phone. it makes the distance between them feel all that much further, the way the shitty mountain reception softens her rough edges. "you been doin' alright?"

"fine," he answers, shorter than he really means. "what're you callin' for? this is an emergency number."

she chuckles. it sounds more like a cough. "what, you don't want to talk to your baby sister?"

"c'mon, mandy. the fuck do you want?"

"i'm up in west virginia. a friend of mine has a bit of an issue that i need some backup for."

"where in west virginia? and what kind of issue? christ, i can't do this without a few details."

"just north of elkins. it's some kinda poltergeist - a nasty one. been fucking with him and his siblings for weeks, but it's getting worse lately."

"i'll be there soon. two days max. send me the address."

"will do," mandy says, and the line clicks dead.

oklahoma to west virginia is a bitch of a drive, but mickey manages with the help of more than a little redbull. he rolls into the holler just past seven the day after the call. it's not much except for a church and a stop sign; the only houses in sight are edging on decrepit, heat radiating from their roofs. it looks like nearly every other town in these parts that mickey's ever seen.

the address in the text is off the main roadway, down a shitty gravel alley. a foreboding spray-painted sign greets him a quarter mile before the house, but mickey forges on. something akin to a double-wide trailer sits in the valley he pulls into, with a teenage kid on the porch weilding a shotgun. he brings it to his shoulder when mickey steps out of his car.

"what are you doin' here?" the kid yells.

"mandy sent me," he shouts back. "heard you guys have been havin' some problems."

the boy lowers his gun and shouts into the house for someone named ian. he's joined then by a lanky ginger with freckles from his forehead to the backs of his hands, arms crossed over his chest.

"you're mickey?" his name slides off ian's tongue like jam off toast, sticky sweet and slow in the appalachian drawl. mickey nods and ian gestures for him to follow back into the house.

"i'm sorry for carl," ian says once they're inside. "we keep to ourselves out here. he's our guard dog, of a sort."

"not the worst welcome i've ever had."

ian smiles at that. "can i get you a beer?" he asks. "or some water? we ain't got much else."

"beer's great."

ian opens two bottles and takes a long sip from his, half-lidded eyes focused on mickey.

"we think it's our dad. he drank himself to death 'bout two weeks before it started. it messes with me and our big sister the most, but everyone's seen him at some point or another."

"where's he buried?"

"little cemetery 'round back of the church."

"we'll get mandy to stay here tonight and keep an eye out. you and i will go dig up dickhead and torch his bones. that oughta solve it, but i'll hang around for a while and keep an eye out. is there a place everyone else can stay for the night?"

"gotta cousin i can call," ian says.

they shoot the shit 'til sundown, near an hour later. ian's charming, funny. more than once, his gaze catches on mickey's exposed shoulders and lingers there. mickey returns the favor. ian shows him a polaroid of one of the bedrooms - a shadow stands in the corner, reaching for the fan. he says the blades went flying off a couple seconds after he snapped the photo.

mandy pulls into the driveway as ian's sister hauls the other kids off in a busted-up station wagon from the 80s. she hugs them both on the porch, promising she'll be alright. she claps ian on the shoulder before they part ways and, if mickey sees it right, winks at him.

it isn't quite dark when they pull into the cemetery, but the sweltering heat is faded enough that mickey's willing to shut the car off while they wait.

"be about a half hour before we can get started," he says to ian. "you won't be sleepin' much tonight."

"figured as much." ian's voice is heavy. he looks at mickey out of the corner of his pale green eye, and fuck, mickey can't help himself. he pounces across the seat. ian's so enthusiastic he nearly knocks out mickey's front teeth, but that's fine, that's more than alright. ian's got a hand on the small of his back and is pulling hard, so mickey hauls himself over the seat to straddle him. he feels feral. rabid. it's been ages since he got to indulge like this and by ian's desperate kissing, it's been even longer for him, if this isn't the first time.

mickey's phone rings about ten minutes in, when ian's shirt has come off and he's yanking at the hem of mickey's. he picks up; mandy sounds pissed.

"you douchebags better get your asses in gear. he's mad as hell."

"hasn't even been twenty minutes. relax, we've got this."

"mhm." the sound of shotgun fire rings through the phone. "if you don't hurry the fuck up i'll come over there and do it myself."

"i've got it, thanks. take care."

"be careful," mandy says. "use protection."

she hangs up before mickey can say anything.

mini moodboard story challenge [x] | [x] | [x] | [x] [ more ]

[illegal-spiegel]

Spike Spiegel x Medic!reader

Genre: fluff, crack? Warnings: mention of getting shot, wounds, blood, surgery, etc.

you two meet bc Spike may or may not have accidentally shot you

listen, it’s not his fault, okay!!!

you just came out of nowhere and got in the line of his bullet...

anyway, he carried you all the way to the Bebop after you passed out to have Jet heal you back to health just for you to wake up when you arrive and start demanding for all these materials

and look, Spike has seen a lot of badass things in his day (mainly from himself)

but never has he seen anyone perform surgery on themselves to get a bullet out of their leg

yeah, he kinda fell in love on the spot (but shh, no one can know okay so you didn’t hear it from me)

after you’re all done patching yourself up, Spike and Jet are kinda just gaping at you like a couple of fish

“What? Haven’t you ever seen a bullet wound before?” you snap, unaware of why they are so shocked

like

didn’t that hurt???

apparently, it wasn’t the first time you had ever been shot and it likely wouldn’t be the last (especially with Spike around)

Jet immediately recruits you onto the Bebop after that, to Spike’s dismay and joy

you decline at first, explaining that you just got out of med school and you want an actual job

Jet explains what they do though and you like to hear that they help people just like you do, but in a different way

it’s admirable that they’re putting their lives on the line every day to save people

(”That’s not why we do it. We do it f-” “For the money. Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, softie.” “I am not a softie.” “Whatever you say, Spike.”)

after getting all your things from home, you three, plus the very cute dog that you didn’t know they had, take off to do some bounty hunting

Spike does his bounty hunting like normal, causing chaos and havoc just like he did when he ended up shooting you by accident

he, luckily, doesn’t shoot anyone else besides bad guys though 

he does, however, come back quite often with his own bullet wounds, limps, scraps, bruises, and the list goes on 

each and every time though, you just patch him up with a shake of your head and a small smile

the first time it happened though, you couldn’t help but to raise your brow up at him and let out a light chuckle

"Damn. You really oughta take care of yourself better,” you tease him

he just grumbles and rolls his eyes at you as he lays down on the medic table 

“Just shut up and get to work, would ya? I’m bleeding out here.” 

“Well, that’s not a very nice way of asking for someone’s help.” 

“Why you-”

“You know, saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ can get you a long way,” you continue to tease, taking your sweet time in getting your med gear ready 

“For the love of-” he starts before cutting himself off with a hiss when he moves wrong and his wounds start stinging more “Okay, okay! I’m sorry! Jeez, can you just—ugh, can you please just patch me up already?”

you sigh at his terrible way of asking nicely but wheel your chair over to him and start getting to work anyway 

“You’re really bad at that,” you comment after working on one of his wounds 

he simply grunts in return and keeps his eyes closed

“How about you take me out after you’re all healed up?” 

this causes him to open his eyes

“Like...like with a gun or on a date?” 

“Spike, oh my god. I meant on a date, you dumbass!” 

“Well, how was I supposed to know what you meant!” 

“I think it was fairly obvious!”

you two go back and forth until you’re done cleaning him up, but in the end, he yells at you that he’ll take you somewhere so nice it’ll ‘knock your socks off!’ so you ‘better be ready to be wowed!’

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

MASTERLIST

More with Spike Spiegel 

Join my discord: https://discord.gg/qnDxJ6rr67 

Tag List: @sunflowersenshi​, @strawberyydreamz, @nojamsss03, & @katsuhera​ ✦ if you would like to be added or removed, comment or send an ask. Also, remember to tell me if you ever change your username so I can continue to tag you :)

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

[b100k]

‼️‼️‼️ SPOILERS AHEAD ‼️‼️‼️

abstinence camp! I've been told this one is v good

Corey your voice >>>>>

BRYCEEEEEE

STEPHANIE LAUTER?!!! MY BELOVED?!!!?!!!?!

Angela why are you at a 90° angle

That is a Large Cigar

Mariah your makeup is killing it I must say

Low-key obsessed with the virginity rocks shirts

TED! i forgot this wasn't Joey's Pete, TED SHUT THE FUCK UP

woah a Monster

Ew Gendered T-shirts

'fuckin raisins? fuck this place' he's so me

Grace you motherfucker

I can't be mad I love her little clips

EHAT US THIS SONG

RIPPING THE SHIRTS TO SHOW MORE SHIRTS I LOVE IT

play 🙂 purpose 😌 and prayer 😘🙏

Girl Jeri I Think you need to calm down

why do they refer to eachother as Boy Jerry and Girl Jeri

ew GROSS

I OUGHTA COVER YOU IN SYRUP! GO MAKE A WALLET

someone get that boy some chocolate YES STEPH YOU READ MY MIND

LAUTSKI <333

HES A CHEMISTRY NERD LIKE ME

THAT LUSTFUL SHIRTLESS ANIMAL? SMOKEY THE BEAR?

rip gabe

SKINLESS???!?!!!

"Yep! I'm headed straight to hell!"

STEPH SEES THAT HE'S ACTUALLY KINDA CUTE

5 missing kids? What is this? Fnaf?

Steph what was that you just said

She really went "JK! JK!! ...unless?"

LUMBERAXE DON'T RUIN THIS

Lol Greenpeace girl reference

oopsie daisies they got caught

Boy Jerry you're a dick

LOCK HER IN?

SOLITARY CONFINEMENT?????

HUH?? BOY JERRY JEALOUS MUCH????? THE MAN DOTH PROTEST TOO MUCH

I OUGHTA PUT YOU IN A CANOE

I OUGHTA LET A BIRD WALK ALL OVER YOU

"Out in the woods, it's happening again."

the awkward kissing I cantttttt

oof ouch

Pretty sure that's illegal, locking kids up

I can't look at Boy Jerry without thinking of I OUGHTA PUT YOU IN A CANOE

girl Jeri screams, boy Jerry says 'ah shoot'

This is some freaky shit, Max Jagerman was right

"oh yeah, that"

LMAO PETE MADE IT SOUND LIKE TED WAS DEAD

boy jerry that's a bit extreme

LUMBERAXE don't RUIN this

Girl Jeri why would you raise a child in the WOODS

Both Jer(ry/i)s need therapy

You're gonna give the poor guy a heart attack, Steph

CASUALLY PICKS UP A TREE

grace!!! saving the day!!!

"Little Jerry" what the hell

THEY FORNICATED!!! IN YOUR WOODS!!!!

ouch! that's gotta hurt! (being split in two)

ouch! that's gotta hurt! (being punted into a tree)

Grace don't kill them

OH GOOD

"or else"

THAT WAS GREAT I LOVED THAT SO MUCH

Ok I'm about to start nightmare time 2 wish me luck

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬5/end

Warnings: nonconsensual touching, fingering, deceptive behaviour, allusions to abuse, blood, violence/death, fucking.

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

Note: Another finale! Hahahhaa, hope you like it!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You went to bed with shame burning in your cheeks but the heat quickly travelled to your loins as you thought of the scene at the drive-in. When you closed your eyes, you felt Arvin’s weight on you and his hand between your legs. You rolled onto one side, then the other, tossing and turning as you couldn’t escape the memory or the lingering sensation of his touch.

He was already downstairs when you woke up, a lazy Saturday morning as the garage was closed for the weekends. He was at the counter, boiling water for the coffee as you came down in a plain peach dress and flats. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at you, urging you to sit.

“I’m gonna make you breakfast, honey,” he announced as he filled the coffee press, “you know, my ma was a waitress. Worked down at this greasy diner when she met my dad. Before she died…” he stopped and his throat bobbed, “I dunno, I just remember the smell of her cookin’.”

“I’m sorry, Arvin,” you said as you took a seat at the table, “about your mother.”

“Why? It was so long ago, I hardly remember,” he shrugged as he searched the cupboards and pulled out the cast iron pan, “you know, I can barely even see my pa in my mind. Even when I really think. I feel like I’ve lived a dozen lifetimes already.” He put the metal to the burner, “but I think I found the one I want.”

You ran your fingertips along your throat nervously as you leaned your elbows on the table. You felt the void left by your missing wedding ring. You clapped your hands together and lowered them to the wood.

You watched him work in the kitchen. When you tried once to get up and help, he bid you back down tersely and you obliged. You felt restless sitting there as someone else did everything. He put a cup of coffee before you and sipped from his own between flipping the eggs.

Finally, he presented you with a plate of hash, egg, toast, and bacon. You thanked him as he sat and you picked up your fork and knife. You weren’t very hungry, the anxiety squeezed your stomach as you watched his hand. He buttered a slice and you recalled the tingle as his fingers sank into you.

You dropped your fork and apologised for the loud clang. You picked it back up and pushed the potato around. You were trying to think of what to say. Of how to say it. Arvin wasn’t volatile like Roy but he showed glimmers of anger that troubled you nonetheless.

“Last night…” you began.

“You liked it?” he perked up and swallowed, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Arvin,” you uttered.

“I just… you’re so wonderful and warm, I never known a woman like you,” he ranted, “and I… I never been with a woman, you know? I hope I didn’t leave you wanting--”

“Arvin,” you said more firmly, “I’m married.”

His face fell and he leaned back in his chair. He looked down as he scooped up some egg and hash and shoved it in his mouth. He chewed tight-lipped. His steely silence was worse than any punch. You shoved some yolk in your mouth and chewed.

“I…” you began, “I’m not meaning to upset you but we can’t just pretend--”

A deafening bang sounded and shook the house. Your breath caught as you looked at Arvin with wide eyes and he cleared his throat as he stood.

“Where is ya, boy?” Roy hollered as another blast came and you heard the door jolt. You rose and looked down the hall as slivers decorated the floor below the holes peppered in the wood. “I heard about you and my wife…” footsteps clamoured up the steps of the porch, “you think you can pull a gun on me? Well, I got a bigger one, boy!”

“Shit,” Arvin pulled you back as another gunshot blew out the handle, “go, hide.”

He shoved you away and turned back to the table. He tossed the butter knife and hurried to the counter. He pulled out a drawer and took out a steak knife. He shook his head and glanced over at you again.

“Go on,” he snarled.

“No, you,” you ran to him and touched his arm, “go, I’ll talk to him--”

“He’ll kill you,” he whispered.

“No, he won’t,” you assured, “he woulda done it years ago, Arvin, go.”

You pointed him to the back door and he shook his head. You met his eyes as he glanced back at you and you nodded. 

“It’ll be fine, I’ll get him gone and come find you when he goes,” you promised, “Arvin, I can’t see you die because of me.”

His eyes searched your face and he touched your cheek. “Alright, honey,” he breathed, “you know I’ll do anything for you, don’t you?”

“Go,” you insisted as the door flew inward with a heavy kick.

Arvin scrambled away and the back door creaked in his stead as you turned to near the doorway and peer past the staircase. Roy kept the double barrel level as he pointed it at you. You quivered but tried not to show your terror.

“Roy,” you greeted through your tight throat.

“You whore,” he cocked the gun and you flinched, “I oughta shoot your fuckin’ head off too, but I just want the boy. Where is he?”

“I… I dunno, he just went out front, I thought you woulda seen him,” you lied as you filled the doorframe with your body, realising the table set for two would give away your deception.

“Don’t you be hidin’ him from me, you’re still my wife,” Roy snarled as you came closer, trying to keep him from the kitchen, “and I’m gonna put down that punk and remind you who I am. Who you are.”

“I am your wife, Roy,” you said evenly, “I can never forget that, now please, lower the gun, I’ll help you find him.”

“I ain’t believe you, you let him beat me--”

“What was I supposed to do?” you touched the metal muzzle, “he been keepin’ me here. He has a gun too, you know that.” You slid past the barrel and hesitantly reached to touch his chest, “I been so scared without you here, you’re my husband, Roy, and I love--”

He sputtered and flinched suddenly. The gun sagged and fired into the floorboards beside your shoes. The metal slid from his grasp and fell down smoking as a red splotch stained the dingy fabric of his shirt. The cascade spread as he staggered and you saw the wooden handle of the steak knife stick out from his side.

Arvin pulled the blade out as you tripped over the gun and toppled to the floor. Roy slumped to his knees as the younger man brought the knife down over his shoulder and sank it into his heart. Your lungs puffed with panic at the sickly crunch as the blade twisted between his ribs.

Your eyes widened and blurred with tears as bitterness filled your stomach. You opened your mouth and screamed as Roy fell onto his stomach and gasped out his last breaths. You felt a slickness on your cheek as a hand touched you and an arm wrapped around you. You blinked and Arvin came clear as he held the knife against your face and pulled you into his lap to cradle you.

“Wh--wh--wh--” you babbled as your eyes found your husband, completely still across the floorboards.

“He can’t hurt you no more,” Arvin cooed as he rocked you, “I heard him, he said he was gon’ shoot you. I told you, honey, I’ll do anything for you. Anything to keep you safe.”

🚬

The porcelain was cold against your body as you sat in the tub, the hot water slowly rose around you. Arvin shoved your bloody clothes in a bag and took off his own. He tied up the sack, his hands still tinged scarlet. He put the bundle in the sink and neared the wall of the footed tub.

You watched him step over the side, his stomach tightly muscles, his figure much more slender than Roy’s, though his arms were thick and his shoulders wide. He lowered himself across from you as he sat with his back to the flowing faucet. The water deepened and scalded your skin.

He took a cloth and scrubbed your face, your neck, your chest above the surface of the water. You were numb as you felt itchy, as if bugs crawled over every inch of flesh. He stood you up and finished washing you. He was gentle but firm, lingering around your curves as his brown eyes drank you in.

He took a new cloth for himself and after wiping off the droplets across his face and rinsing his body, he scratched the red from around his nails. You shivered as he helped you out of the tub and hugged you in a towel. He led you to the bed and laid you down under the quilt.

“Gonna drive out and find a ditch,” he said as he dressed. “Finish cleaning when I get back. Probably need another bath then.”

You said nothing as you stared at the ceiling, a searing white.

“Honey,” he neared and pressed his hand to your forehead, “I know you’re shook. He tried to kill ya. We both heard him say it.”

You looked at him and your eyes dampened. He bent and pecked your lips and retracted his hand reluctantly.

“I’ll try not to be too long,” he promised and pulled on his denim jacket.

He left you and you listened to his footsteps fade. You closed your eyes and saw Roy’s blood spilling forth like a tainted river. You could hear the scraping as he was dragged across the wood, Arvin’s grunts as you watched him struggle to roll your husband’s large body in a sheet.

Your lashes flicked open but the picture is painted vivid in your mind. You hear the car and the engine fades into the soft sway of trees and the noise of critters in the grass. You don’t have the strength to do more than lay there. Time passes by your stagnant eyes and the shadows set in from the corner of the room. The windows darkened and deepened your gloom.

Arvin startled you as he appeared at the door. You didn’t hear the approach of his car or his footsteps on the stairs. He neared and kissed you again. He pulled the chain on the lamp and it cast a yellow haze over you.

“You’re awake,” he said as he stood straight, “I needa wash up again.” You hummed and stayed as you were, “you want tea?”

You shook your head and he watched you. He clamped his thin lips together and backed away.

“Found his truck, just down the way,” he pulled his grey tee over his head, “looks like he drove out to the river, walked up here. Make sure it was seen so he can’t be traced up here. Smarter than he looked.” Arvin bent to untie his boots. “I left it in the water, put it into gear and let it drift off.”

You rolled onto your side and pulled the blanket to your ear. He quieted as you listened to the rustle of his clothing as he stripped it away.

“Anyhow, they won’t find him,” he said, “likely he told whoever, if anyone even cared, that he was goin’ fishin’.”

He waited for an answer but didn’t get it. He went into the bathroom and you heard the pipes rattle as he twisted on the faucet. You felt the dampness cross the hallway and seep into the room. When he returned, he gave a sigh and tossed his towel over the old chair sat by your vanity.

He folded the blanket back and you closed your eyes at his nudity. He slid in next to you and tugged the blanket over his shoulders. He circled his arm around you and brought your body against his. Suddenly, you felt everything as you were set alight by the heat of his flesh.

“Honey,” he said softly as he framed your face with his hand, “I’m here. You’re safe with me.”

You quivered and pushed your hands to his chest. You’d never been naked with another man, never seen another man naked. In the tub, you hardly figured what was happening but then, it was all too real as you felt his cock twitch against your thigh.

“Didn’t I save you? He would killed both of us,” he rasped, “honey, I know, I’ve met so many men like him…” he rubbed his nose against yours, “and killed every one of them.”

You winced and your fingers curled into his shoulders. He smothered you with a kiss as his hand trailed down and he cupped your chest. He groaned as he fondled you, tilting his hips to rub his dick against you. He rolled your nipple under his thumb as he dragged his lips down your cheek and chin.

His hand crept around your side as he slipped lower to nibble your breasts. Roy never touched you like that. Early on he was clumsy but impatient, and after a while, he was thankless and cruel. Arvin was gentle, doting and diligent. He suckled at your bud and the tugging plucked at your core.

“Mmm,” he left a path of spit down your stomach as he nudged you onto your back, “honey, you’re so beautiful,” he disappeared beneath the blanket and pushed your legs apart as he nuzzled your pelvis, his hot breath tickling your patch of hair.

He purred as nosed your cunt and his tongue dipped between your folds. You murmured and reached down to grasp his damp hair. You brought your thighs against his head and arched your back as he tended to you, slow and scintillating as he filled you with a yearning you’d never known before.

You didn’t think as you tangled your fingers in his locks and tilted your pelvis against his lapping. You shouldn’t feel this way, should feel so good. Your husband was dead and there was another man in your bed. You were a whore, just as he said. But it felt good and he wasn’t there to tell you again.

Arvin moaned as he devoured you, his hands hungrily groped your ass as he lifted you slightly from the bed. He pushed a finger against your entrance and eased into you. You gasped and he dipped another inside of you. He moved his hand in time with his mouth, his groans rumbling through you.

You hooked your legs under his arm and cried out as you came. Your body spasmed and jerked and you rode out the shattering ascent. You shook as you stilled and kissed your thighs with his wet lips, smearing your juices across your flesh. 

You panted as he pushed himself up and the blanket fell down his back, leaving both your bodies bare to the soft glow of the lamp. His hands roved over your body and he bent again, kissing every inch his fingertips danced over first. He brought his lips back to yours and you tasted the sweetness as he forced his tongue into your mouth.

He pushed his thighs to yours so your legs bent around them, wide and welcoming. He parted and stared down at you, his deep brown eyes swallowing you up.

“The moment I saw you, I knew,” he said as he caressed your cheek, “and I haven’t stopped thinking of this ever since that moment.”

“Arvin,” you sighed and touched his wrist.

“I’ll take care of you, honey,” he reached down between your bodies as he planted and elbow into the pillow. He ran his tip along your wet folds and his jaw clenched. “I’ll keep you safe, I’ll keep you…” he pressed against you until his tip was inside you, “forever.”

“Arvin,” you gulped and gripped his muscled arms, “I…”

“He’s gone,” he sank further into you and kissed you again, “and you’re mine.”

You moaned and he bottomed out with a gasp. His body tensed and he shuddered as he wiggled his hips.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he groaned, “so warm, so… sweet. Oh, honey.”

“Please…” you croaked as your eyes watered.

You didn’t know if it was the bloodiness of the day or that you’d never felt anything so pleasant, so gentle, so caring. You didn’t know why you were crying or why your body buzzed like cicadas under the moon. You pushed your head into the pillow as he pressed his fingers to your clit and rubbed in time with his steady thrusts.

“Honey,” he droned and kissed your wet cheek between each stroke, “oh, you’re so nice.”

He tilted into you over and over. You brought your legs around him and hooked your arms under his as you clawed at his back. Your body contorted with his as your eyes rolled back and you succumbed to the stolid heat coursing through your veins. You cried out and let your hands fall down as you groped his ass, begging for more.

The bed quaked as he grew more fervent in his appetite, the pain was dulled by the sheer bliss and you sang out your delight. There was nothing but his body and that radiating pulse in your core. You came again and again as you whined ravenously and dug your nails into his flesh.

He jerked into you with a fluttery breath. His hips stuttered and he fell limp over you. His head hung over your shoulder as he huffed. His cum coated your walls in a salacious heat and you ran your hands up his back. He turned his head to kiss your temples, tears still rolling down to your lobes.

As your nerves stilled and the afterglow dimmed, reality shrouded you once more. The body over yours felt heavier as you were paralysed against the bed. Arvin drew you with him as he rolled onto his side and held you. It was nice but tinged with the horror wrought by his hands.

You didn’t miss Roy but you didn’t feel free either.

🚬

Arvin rolled out the rug over the bloodstain in the hall, the whole covered over  with a thin board of scrap. You watched and clutched your purse then checked the clock. He stood and neared to fetch his jacket from the small square corner table. He pulled it over the button-up that once belonged to your dad and the tie that was Roy’s.

His hair was combed back tidily and he wore a carefree smile. His eyes twinkled as he offered his hand and gestured to the door. The frame was curtained with a sheet as the shredded wood was removed and another would be ordered from Tim’s Hardware. He clung to your hand as he followed you out into the Sunday sunlight.

“We don’t have to go,” you said as he swung your hand and led you to the Chevrolet, “I know you don’t like it.”

“Nah, we should go to church,” he smiled and spun you to kiss you. He held your face between your hands as his lips lingered overly long. “Let the lord and all the other holy people see me and my girl.”

“Arvin,” you shied away.

He reached past you and opened the door. You sat and he gripped the metal as he looked down at you.

“I will keep my hands to myself before the lord,” he avowed, “I only ask his blessing for what I know to be his work.”

You considered him and wrung the short strap of your purse, “I thought you didn’t believe in God.”

“I didn’t, not before,” he said with a smile, “not ‘til I met you. His most precious angel.”

You chewed your lip and turned your face down. He chuckled and closed the door. He got in the driver’s side and the engine rolled over. His hand wandered over to your lap as he steered with one hand. You looked out the window and stared up at the pale blue sky.

You didn’t believe in God. You couldn’t. Just like your father said, a benevolent lord would not gift such suffering to his creation. There was no all-knowing being sitting in the clouds, no glorious purpose for you or any other. There were only devilish men and their dark deeds.

[angelatmidnight1]

For the match up thing, (tickles plz)

I’m a very shy person because of social anxiety.

I love video games

Once I get to know someone, I’m super loud and hyper. I love making stupid jokes that everyone thinks is annoying. In general, if I’m comfortable with you I’m gonna be annoying and never leave your side.

I know this is kinda bad but I really wanna see who I would get paired up with!!!

Hi! I think I recognize you, and I matched you up with Fuse. Mirage was a very close second. I hope you like it! Guitar Hero inspired me for this one.

Bring The Noise!

You’ve bonded with Fuse over video games, but you can’t accept that he’s better than you. You tickle him to get him to mess up, and all hell breaks loose.

Let’s face it; you weren’t a renown tracker, like Bloodhound. Or a professional thief, like Loba. You didn’t have a killer instinct like Revenant or Ash. And, up until recently, you couldn’t shoot a gun without flinching. So, what was your claim to fame as an Apex Legend? 

Well, that’s something that you were still trying to figure out. Not everyone made it to the Apex Games, and that had to mean something, right? Kuben Blisk saw something in you. But, now you were trying to see just what that something was. 

This didn’t help with your interactions with the other Legends. Although you didn’t have any proof, you were certain that the others didn’t think highly of you. Legends like Revenant, Ash, and Caustic didn’t count though; they didn’t think highly of anyone except themselves. As for the others, though, you were convinced that anyone who looked your way was judging you.

So, you kept to yourself and, when you weren’t training or competing, you busied yourself with your favorite hobby: video games. And today, you found the common room empty. Given how crowded the dropship was, it was almost too good to be true. You grabbed your favorite snack and drink before turning on the TV. You loaded up the game console, and picked up the guitar needed for Guitar Hero 5. 

You viewed the leaderboard before you played, smiling. Forget the Apex Games, this was where you shone, and no one had taken your spot as #1. You put your name as Legend123 on the leaderboards to not draw too much attention. Unbeknownst to you, having an anonymous screen name sparked some funny arguments between Octane, Crypto, and Mirage. Octavio claimed that he was #1, but Elliott said that he was bluffing and that it was actually him. And then, he dragged Crypto’s name through the mud by accusing him of hacking the game and changing his name on the leaderboard. Crypto argued that neither of the morons had the attention span to finish a game. And that kept the argument going.

You decided to start by playing 2 Minutes to Midnight. Since you were alone, you felt comfortable enough to hum along and nod to the beat. You had your own private concert…that is, until you had an audience. 

Ol Fusey approached you from behind, six pack of beer in hand. The weather in the Outlands was nicer than normal, so he was on his way outside until he heard the music. He grinned, taking a swig of his drink, and waited for the song to end before speaking. 

“Well, someone’s a rockstar in the makin’, ay?”

Flinching, you whirled around to face Fuse. You held the guitar in a tighter grip to keep from dropping it. 

“Oh,” you breathed, fumbling to come up with a response longer than one word. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Walter’s grin widened as he rounded the couch. “You oughta get yourself a guitar of your own.” he said, standing beside you. “I’m more of an acoustics man myself, but this lot could use another ax player around here if ya ask me.”  

You nodded, unconsciously leaning away from him. Clearly this guy had no qualms about personal space. “I never thought about playing the guitar before,” you admitted. “I guess I just like the music in this game.”

“Right, just imagine the same on the big stage, ay?” Walter went to nudge you with his good arm but stopped short, noticing how much further away you were. That’s when he realized - he hadn’t introduced himself!

“Hell, where’re my manners? Name’s Walter Fitzroy, better known as Fuse.” This time, he extended his metal arm out to you. You scooted towards him, visibly hesitating, and gripped his hand. 

“(Y/N).” You responded, quietly. You expected him to let go afterwards, but instead, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Don’t worry, it don’t bite. And neither do I, ay?” He chuckled. He released your hand before he downed the rest of his drink. You took the opportunity to go back to the song list. Although you had a blast in your jam session, having someone watch made you feel self-conscious. So, when you moved to turn off the game, you weren’t expecting Fuse to say what he said next. 

“Say, you reckon I can play a few rounds with ya?”

You stared at him, thinking he was joking. Walter put his hands up defensively.

 “I’ll admit, video games weren’t my thing back on Salvo. But you kids seem to go downright mad for ‘em.” Fuse continued, grinning. “I’d like to see what the fuss is all about.” 

You were still standing there, dumbfounded, and waited for any indication that he was pulling your leg. But, there was an earnestness in Walter’s smile, and it made you crack a smile of your own.

“Sure, let’s play.”

Over time, the friendship between you and Fuse blossomed. He was really easy to talk to, and although you started slow, you found yourself talking just about everything. You mainly talked about gaming though, and now that you were more comfortable, you let more of your personality shine. 

“Hey, did you know head banging gives you bonus points?” You grinned, throwing a quick glance his way. Fuse didn’t look at you. His brow was knit in concentration as he strummed and pressed on the buttons. 

“Then why aren’t you doing it? You could use a few points.”

“Wha--hey!” You giggled, sticking your tongue out. Teaching Fuse how to play had been anything but boring; you were having a blast!  But he learned faster than you anticipated, and had gotten pretty good. You didn’t want to admit it, but he was close to beating your high score. 

“After all I’ve taught you, that’s the thanks I get?” You waited for a lull in the song before you moseyed up to him, jabbing him in the side. Fuse flinched and mashed two buttons. 

“Watch where you’re pokin’, ay?” He batted you away with his good arm, putting the guitar’s neck against his shoulder. You blinked, poking him again anyway, and he leaned further away from you. “(Y/N)! Knock it off!” 

“...I didn’t know you were ticklish…” You smirked, your eyes sparkling with mischief. You paused the game, prompting him to turn towards you with extended arms.

“Hey now, just cause yer gettin’ your arse handed to you in the game, doesn't mean that you hafta resort to cheatin!” he accused. You playfully gasped and lunged at him, but he held you back. 

“You take that back! Only reason why I’m losing is because I’m helping you!” You yelled back. You made every attempt to wiggle out of his hold, but he didn’t budge. Walter cocked his head to the side and grinned. 

“So you’re lettin’ me win?”

“NO! I’m saying you’re not as good as you think you are.” You gave up on trying to poke him again; now, Fuse was lightly pushing your forehead to keep you from advancing forward. You flailed your arms around, making the scene look that much funnier. Walter snickered. 

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we? That is, if you’re done pesterin’ me.” 

Pursing your lips, you stopped flailing your arms, nodding. “Yeah yeah, I’m done.” You repeated. Walter raised a brow, looking skeptical, and you gave him the most innocent grin you could muster. “I pwomise.”

The Salvonian still wasn’t buying it, but he let you go. “Alright mate, but know this,” he started, looking you dead in the eye with a smirk of his own. “You try ‘n tickle me again, and it’ll be yer funeral, ay?”

 Fuse’s threat echoed in your head as the two of you resumed the game. He managed to pull ahead but, with the guitar solo coming up, it was a great opportunity to earn a lot of points. And you were determined to keep your crown. 

You hit the notes as they came up, wanting to get your score as close to his before striking. The beat had picked up, but you’d played this song so many times, you probably could’ve done it blindfolded. While playing, you ever so slightly sidestepped towards Fuse, glancing at him every now and then to make sure he didn’t notice. And then, just before the big finish, you let go of your guitar and gripped his side, squeezing. Fuse cried out and lurched away from you, missing at least five notes. 

“Aha! You lihihttle--” Walter took the guitar from around his shoulders, tossing it onto the couch behind him. “So that’s how you wanna play, huh? Come here!”

Fuse tried to grab you, and you just barely dodged him. Then, throwing your guitar off your shoulders, you made a beeline for the exit. Fuse chased after you, hot on your tail, and you screamed and laughed down your way down the hall. 

He was gaining on you faster than you’d anticipated, so you had to get creative. You vaulted over tables, pushed chairs behind you, and even changed directions on a dime in order to get away. But nothing worked; at this rate, Fuse was gonna catch you, and there were only so many places you could run. Just before you could duck down another hallway, Walter lunged forward and grabbed you with his metal arm. 

“Gotcha!” He cheered, easily picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. You squealed and squirmed in his grip. 

“No! Walter, don’t!” You protested, your squirming intensifying as he brought you back into the common room. He dropped you onto the couch and immediately descended onto your sides, making you burst out giggling. 

“Oh no, I tried to play your game, but this is more your speed, ay?” He dodged your flailing hands, drilling his thumbs into your hips, and you laughed harder.

“NOhohohohohoho! It’s nahahaht! It’s nahahahat!” You squealed, deciding to try to block access to your torso with your arms. Fuse stopped you by using his metal hand to scoop up your wrists, holding them above your head. You panicked and cried out when he poked at your ribs. “I wohohohn’t dohohohoho it agahahahahin!”

Walter scoffed, scritching at the spaces between your ribcage. “Yeah nah, I’m a man of my bloody word, mate.” He responded, grinning. He reached higher and dug into your armpit, making your laughter grow in pitch.

“I WOHOhohohohohn’t!” You insisted, tossing to and fro when he drilled his thumb into the hollows. “Plehehehease! I prohohm-prohohomise--”

The Salvonian gave you a skepticl look and you froze. Frantically, you tried to elaborate on what you said. 

“WAHAHAAHIT! I mehehehan it this tihihme! WALTER!”

All of a sudden, Fuse released your arms and attacked both of your armpits. You screamed and slammed your arms against your sides, your laughter filling up the room. 

“STAHAHAHAHAHA!” You squealed. You squeezed your arms against your side, trying to deter him from tickling, but he easily kept wiggling his fingers around. 

“Now I know you think my head doesn’t screw on straight, if you think I’m fallin’ for that again!” Fuse chided. He drilled his fingers into your armpits some more before pulling his hands free, scribbling along the length of your rib cage. You arched your back, making a grab for his hands. 

“I’d nehehehever thihihk thahaht! Come on!” You managed to latch onto his good hand and tried to push it away from your torso. Fuse smirked and wrenched his hand free, pinning your hand back above your head. 

“Right, you’d rather cheat and call yourself good, ay?” He mocked, using his free hand to pinch and knead your sides. You drummed your legs against the couch, your loud giggles now riddled with the occasional snort. 

“Nahahahahahaha! Whyhyhy ahahre you sohohoho mahahad about a gahahahame!?” You squeaked. Since you still had one hand free, you kept on trying to protect yourself from Fuse’s wrath, but had way less success keeping his metal hand at bay. “I dihihihdn’t knohohw yohuhuhu--yohuhuhu were so short-fused…”

You couldn’t help it; the joke was right there, and although every part of you screamed to not say it, you did it anyway. It was fun to push Fuse’s buttons, but that look he gave you spelled trouble backwards and forwards. 

Walter didn’t say anything; he just took your wrists back into his metal hand and re-pinned them above your head. Then, he clawed at your belly, making you drop a sudden howl of laughter. 

“NONONOHOHOHO! I’M SOHOHOHORRY!” You screamed and bucked your hips, but Walter pressed on, tickling from one side of your tummy to the other. 

“Nah, keep makin’ your jokes. Shows you ain’t learned your lesson yet.” Fuse held onto your side and used his thumb to knead into the sides of your stomach. You threw your head back with laughter and thrashed along the couch. 

“YEHEHEHES I HAHAHVE!” You insisted, squealing when he pinched your hips. You uselessly tugged at your wrists, but you had a higher chance of flying than you did getting your hands free. “NOHOHOHO MOHOHORE JOHOHOKES!”

But Fusey had other ideas. He stopped tickling you, giving you a chance to breathe, but he didn’t completely release you. Instead, he turned and pushed you so that your torso was hanging off the edge of the couch. You yelped, expecting to fall, but Walter wasn’t gonna let that happen to you. You were hanging upside down and your shirt rose up because of it, making it easier for Fuse to attack again. 

Instead of diving straight for the kill, Fuse poked at your exposed sides, making you snicker. 

“Wahahahalter!” You whined. You tried to sit up, but you were at a pretty awkward angle, and the tickling wasn’t helping. “I sahahahahid I’m sohohohrry!”

“I heard you. I just doubt that very much.” Fuse answered, drumming his fingers across your tummy to get your other side. He heard you snort again and chuckled. “I know how you like to say one thing and do something else, ay?”

You shook your head, opening your mouth to speak, only to scream again when he descended back onto your tummy. He didn’t tickle too hard; he just scratched up and down your torso, giving it the occasional pinch to make you squeal. You squirmed like crazy, and Fusey had to hold your legs a little tighter to be doubly sure you didn’t fall.

“OKAHAHAHAY! OKAHAHAHAY!” Were the two words you were finally able to scream after you’d fallen into hysterics. Fuse slowed the tickling down, chuckling. 

“You reckon you’ve learned your lesson now? Or d’ya need another one?” He asked while slowly raking his nails above your hip bones. You shook your head again, blowing loose strands of hair out of your face. 

“I’ve lehehehearned my lesson! Plehehehease!” You panted. That was good enough for Walter, so he finally stopped tickling you and pulled you back up onto the couch. You groaned and collapsed next to him, still trying to catch your breath. Fuse grinned and playfully nudged you. 

“Good, glad we could sort that out.” He teased, jabbing you in your sides again. You squealed and rolled towards the other end of the couch. Walter laughed and went to do it again, but he paused when he heard some music coming from the hallway. “Did you leave the game on?”

You furrowed your brows and sat up to hear it better. “Er, no. The song should’ve ended ages ago.”

Both of you got up to investigate, but you wouldn’t arrive before Mirage finished the song he was playing. He grinned and made some decoys to stand in for his adoring fans. 

“...And the crowd goes wild…ahhh…” He snickered, making his decoys disappear so he could plug in the new name on the top of the leaderboards: his! Elliott’s name always looked so good in lights, whether that be on a screen or a giant banner. 

“Heh, eat your heart out, nerds.”

[t-wordy-kk]

Things a Man Oughta Know

Look who finally returned!! I know I promised this last week, but I needed a little bit more time to develop the storyline. That being said, I hope to post a lot more this year and work on my time management a little bit better. Either way, I hope you all enjoy! I think I took out all of the pronouns indicating that the reader is a female, so I’m 99% sure this fic is completely gender-neutral towards the reader, other than the song lyrics. I also linked the song I used if anyone wants to take a listen! 💜

(Warnings: Minor bit of language towards the end, little bits of angst here and there, slow burn between Bucky & reader)

Word count: 3,443 (including song lyrics)

Based on the song by Laney Wilson

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey Y/N, how’s the packing going?” Bucky asked, walking into your room as you ran around, trying to find everything you needed.

He knew you were getting ready to leave on a camping trip with your new boyfriend, but something seemed off about the new one. You’ve been in failed relationships before, and it hurt him to see so many guys treating you wrong when you were the perfect one to be with.

I can hook a trailer on a two-inch hitch

I can shoot a shotgun, I can catch a fish

“I’m just looking for my-”

“Bait hooks?” Bucky asked in response, grabbing the box off of your dresser and tossing it over. “And here’s the extra box of your fishing line.”

“You know me so well,” you responded with a warm smile. “I know I say this every time I find someone, but I really feel like he’s the one. Every other guy has shown the wrong signs, and I never picked up on them, but this time, there’s nothing wrong that I can see. And I’ve probably seen everything at this point.”

“I’ve seen it all too,” Bucky added, love evident in his eyes. Ever since he met you, he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life. Your adventurous spirit, kindness towards others, you were a determined force that couldn’t be stopped, and he loved that about you. Although, he didn’t want to undermine anyone you found, even though he could tell there was something off about every single person you were with. So, he let you roam, knowing that you would never want to be tied down.

I can change a tire on the side of a road

Yeah, I know a few things a man oughta know

“Any big plans for this trip?”

“Oh, you know, just some regular outdoorsy stuff, like fishing, sitting by the fire, all of that good stuff. I’ve already got the trailer ready too, it’s gonna be great. Have a great weekend, Bucky,” You said, wrapping him in a hug, which he didn’t hesitate to return.

Bucky was always there for you, anytime things went south, he would always make you feel better, and you always appreciated it. Whether it was a lazy day with movies and ice cream while you tried to get over the latest guy who broke your heart, or someone willing to do all of the crazy things with you that nobody else would, he was the greatest person you ever met, but you never saw that he loved you the way he did.

“Just be safe Y/N. And if you need anything, I’m there in a heartbeat.”

How to know when it’s love

How to stay when it’s tough

Two days later, you made your way back to the compound, Bucky coming out to the driveway to greet you only to find you in tears.

“Hey, what happened?”

“H-he broke up w-with me Bucky, I don’t know w-what I did wrong.” Crying into his shoulder, he picked you up bridal style, carrying you into the compound so he could start trying to ease your mind. It hurt him to see you like this, knowing that it happened every time you met someone new. They’d act perfect, just to take advantage of your kindness and break your heart, over and over.

How to know you’re messing up a good thing

And how to fix it ‘fore it’s too late

“Is-”

“Yeah, the guy hurt Y/N. Just like every other one,” Bucky responded to Steve, who passed by in the hall and watched as you dozed off in Bucky’s arms, the slight rocking motion helping you drift off into a peaceful sleep after the mess of a weekend you had.

“This is the perfect way to spend the weekend, isn’t it Dan?” You softly said, leaning into his shoulder as you sat on the edge of the small dock near your campsite, casting your fishing line into the pond.

“Yeah, it really is,” He replied, a hint of emotion in his voice.

“Is everything okay? Something seems different.”

“I’m fine, it can wait until tomorrow.”

“No, I’m here to help, that’s my job as your person babe. What’s going on?” You asked, concern lacing your features as you released the fish that you caught.

“It’s just, oh, I feel like this isn’t working like it should. I know we’ve been together for 3 months, but this just isn’t what I imagined it to be.”

“Well, I can fix it, I’m willing to put in the work if you-”

“That’s just it, I think you’re too dedicated to this whole thing. You know how they say boyfriends and girlfriends come and go, it’s common in life and I think more people need to recognize that.”

“Are you serious?” You asked, your concern changing to heartbreak as you felt every broken emotion you ever experienced.

“I hate to do this cause you’re such a great person, but this just isn’t going to work in the way you probably thought it would. Hopefully there’s someone out there that helps you see things the way I do.”

“No, that’s not how boyfriends and girlfriends work, I can change something to make it work, I swear-”

“Y/N, look at me,” Dan firmly stated, grabbing your shoulders so you faced him. “This isn’t a you problem, it’s a me problem. And there’s nothing you can do to fix it.”

But yeah, I know a boy

Who gave up and got it wrong

“Are you sure?” You asked, tears beginning to well in the corners of your eyes.

“I’m sure. The time we had together, I’ll remember it, but it just isn’t what I want. And I don’t want to keep trying when I know it isn’t right to lie about wanting this, us, to end up the way we could.”

“Thanks for being forward about it, I guess. The time we had together was great, it was nice knowing you Dan.”

“You too Y/N.”

If you really love a woman, don’t let her go

Yeah, I know a few things a man oughta know

“I-I’m sorry Bucky, I shouldn’t be complaining to you like I am, I just have to deal with it,” You whispered, continuing to quietly cry in his arms. “I just don’t understand why he dropped everything we had, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Y/N, look at me,” He softly replied as he tilted your chin up, your tear-stained eyes meeting his. “I will always, always be here for you when you need someone. You shouldn’t have to go through this on your own, and I’m not letting you go through it on your own. Anytime you need a shoulder to lean on, mine’s always here for you, and whenever you need me, I’ll be here.”

“Thanks Bucky, you’re the greatest friend I’ve ever had.” Wrapping him in a hug, you didn’t know how much he wanted you to be his. But you just went through so much, he wouldn’t mess with it now. That’s just who he was, and how he planned to stay.

*Timeskip to a few months later…*

If I can’t have it, I can do without

I can hang a picture same as I can take it down

“Is Y/N around, I need help with something in the lab,” Tony yelled from the kitchen, trying to find something to satisfy his appetite.

“Y/N went out with this Brandon guy, something was mentioned about him last month. There’s all kinds of pictures of them if you go look at the side table in Y/N’s room,” Bucky mentioned from the lounge from his seat on the couch, a hint of snarkiness in his voice.

“Sounds like they’re having a wonderful time. What about you man, when are you gonna say something?”

“Say what, there’s nothing to tell,” Bucky defensively responded, a hint of concern flashing through his features.

“Y/N’s never gonna know how you feel if you don’t say something. We can all see it, you’re head over heels and you have been since you two met. But Y/N doesn’t see those things unless someone brings it up. And Y/N’s an easy believer, which is what all of the other guys have taken advantage of. Just, give it a shot if you get a chance, we can all tell the answer would be yes just based on how your personalities click.” As Tony left the room, munching on some sort of snack food, the elevator dinged, making it known that someone was there.

“I can’t believe it,” You whispered, tears falling from your eyes after yet another heartbreak.

“Oh, hey Y/N, Tony was just looking for–hey, come here, what happened?” Bucky mentioned, wrapping you in his arms once he noticed your eyes, which were stained with tears once more.

“What do you mean, everything’s fine Bucky, just got back from watching one of those upsetting rom-coms, you know?” You answered, a small fake giggle leaving your lips. “I should probably go, I’ll see you later.”

You made sure he didn’t see the tears or the heartbreak, the pain that laced your features. Shards of glass littered your wood floor, every picture frame that held a memory of Brandon now broken and scattered across the room, with the sudden downpour of rain adding to your dejected mood. He’d never know anything was wrong, you learned how to keep your heartbreak hidden after the continuous boyfriend mishaps, as much as it pained you every time.

And how to keep it hidden when a heart gets broke

Yeah I know a few things a man oughta know

Not long after you began letting the new tears fall free, having accidentally stepped on a randomly strewn glass shard, you heard knocking on your door. “Who is it?”

“Y/N, it’s Bucky, can I maybe come in?”

He heard the creaking of your mattress followed by the soft padding of your feet, figuring out you were slowly making your way across the room. The door quietly creaked open, revealing the fake smile he couldn’t take any more of.

“Hey, what do you need?”

“I need you to stop lying to me,” He softly answered, letting himself in. “I need you to tell me what’s really going on and why you’ve felt the need to lie about what’s going on with you. And where’s the blood coming from?”

“I’m, uh, on my period?” You meekly replied, trying to hop towards your bathroom to the first aid kit, your new wound not going unnoticed.

“Y/N, what happened?” Bucky asked frantically, now noticing the mess of glass, broken frames, and ruined pictures all over the floor. As well as the trail of blood continuing to drip everywhere you moved. “Stop moving, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Bucky, I’m fine, I promise.”

“No you aren’t Y/N. There’s no need to hide, it’ll help you more to open up than to shove all of your feelings away.” Grabbing the first aid kit, he made his way over to your bed, trying to determine the best method to remove the glass and clean the wound.

“We broke up. Said I wasn’t good enough anymore, that he wanted me to change the entirety of myself to fit into the world, I told him no, and the rest is history, just like everyone else.”

You were numb. Sure, heartbreak hurt, but now you were emotionless with it all. And Bucky could see the difference in your reaction, he could see the blankness in your eyes, the lack of emotion in your features. You had lost weight, he could see it much better now. And it pained him to know that it was all because of the man that you believed to be perfect for you, when he hurt you so much and you didn’t even see it because of how he masked his insults and carelessness. All Bucky wanted now was to make you feel like you were loved, that there was truth left in the world for you to have.

How to know when it’s love

How to stay when it’s tough

“Y/N, I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. I want you to know that I’ll be here by your side when things get tough for you. Anything you need, I’m here, whether it’s game night with the team and you need a partner, or someone to be by your side when you need to get rid of the negativity in your life, I’ll be here.” Continuing to clean the wound on your foot, Bucky didn’t get a chance to see the look of admiration that appeared on your face as your heart soared out of your chest. “You’re lucky that you don’t need stitches for this Y/N, considering how big of a piece of glass that is.”

“Bucky, I don’t know what to say, that means so much to me,” You replied, a soft giggle leaving your lips as he accidentally brushed his fingers across a sensitive spot on your foot.

“Sorry doll, did that hurt?” He asked in response, not realizing at first what he had done.

“No, I’m fine, thanks again for helping me.”

“Anything for you Y/N.” Brushing across a different spot, he caught onto what he was doing, trying to sneakily test his theory without you realizing. Once he finished bandaging the wound on your foot, you tried to leave as quickly as possible, but he wouldn’t let you. “Let me clean up this glass first, before you start trying to go anywhere.”

As soon as the glass was cleaned up, you hopped off of your bed, ready to leave your room, but once again, you were stopped.

“Wait, where are you going? There might still be some small glass pieces on the floor, you could get hurt again.”

“I think I’m okay Bucky, I already ran into it once,” You argued with a laugh, trying to step around him, but his hands moving to your hips stopped you in an instant.

“I think you’ve been hiding something from me Y/N.” Picking you up and softly putting you back on your bed, Bucky wasted no time in pinning your wrists and lightly scratching at your side.

“Buhuhcky nohoho”

“Bucky yes,” He replied with a smile, quickening the pace of his fingers, eliciting more laughter from your lips. He could listen to your laugh all day, as long as he knew it meant you were happy.

Giving up on pinning your wrists above your head, his fingers shot into your underarms, rapidly wiggling both his human and metal fingers into the soft skin he found there, not realizing the strength of the reaction that came from you.

“NAHAHAHA NOHOHOT THEHEHEHERE”

“But this is still okay, good.” A slight smirk made its way to Bucky’s face as his hands moved down to your ribs, digging his fingers into the bones. Loud laughter and squeals erupted from you, Bucky himself even beginning to laugh a little bit. “Are you ready to admit you were hiding this from me?”

“FIHIHIHINE”

“Fine what?” Sliding down to your legs, his fingers drifted around your feet where they were ready to strike, careful to not hurt the wound that he just bandaged.

“I cahahan’t say ihitit,” You said as you giggled and gasped for air, grateful for the release.

“Hmm, that just won’t do, I can’t put up with it,” Bucky replied, wiggling his fingers along your soles, your giggles becoming more and more frantic.

“Nohohoho”

“Just say it Y/N,” He sang, barely tapping his fingertips along your soles, your laughter nearly becoming silent. “Woah, breathe a little bit for me there.”

“IHIHIHIm TIHIHIHCKLISH”

“There, it wasn’t that hard, now was it?”

Sitting up in his arms, you wrapped him in a hug, trying to convey how much he meant to you without words, but it wasn’t enough. “Thanks for everything, Bucky.”

“My pleasure doll, it’s what friends do.”

“And I love you for it.” Those six words flew out of your lips before you could realize it, your true feelings making their way into the air, all while Bucky just stared. Your emotions flashed between desperation, heartbreak, and soon fear, after truly thinking about what you had just said.

“What?”

“Nothing, I, uhm, I’ve gotta go, thanks again for helping me out Bucky.” Sliding your shoes on, you quickly made your way out of your room, Bucky following close behind.

“Y/N wait!” But by the time he yelled, you were already out the door of the compound, beginning to run down the long driveway while the thunder from the newly developed storm crashed throughout the sky.

How to chase forever down a driveway

How to never let it get there in the first place

By the time he caught up to you, thankful for his enhanced running speed, you both were soaked. As you turned around, not being able to tell the difference between raindrops and teardrops, you saw the man you shoved all your feelings deep down for. You never wanted to admit you were hopelessly in love with him, always choosing to shove them away and try to find someone else. And now, you believed it to be too late, your chance at being with the one you truly loved now gone.

“Y/N, stop running away! It isn’t going to help anything!” Bucky yelled, you barely being able to hear him over the storm raging above both of your heads.

“I can’t do it anymore Bucky! I can’t hide it like I have been anymore, I’m hopelessly in love with you and I don’t care if the entire world hears it because dammit, I’ve loved you since the day I first heard you say ‘just call me Bucky.’ Every single time I look at you, I see my forever, the only one that truly knows me. And I don’t care if you don’t want it, because if you don’t, I’ll just go find another way to manage. But I want you to know, from the very bottom of my heart, that I fucking love you James Buchanan Barnes, with my whole life.”

“Who the hell said I wasn’t in love with you Y/N? Who in their right mind ever said that I didn’t enjoy the way you walk into my room unannounced to make fun of Steve, or the way you make my heart flutter anytime you say you have an idea that’s just a little bit dangerous. Your adventurous spirit, your kindness towards others, everything that all the others have taken advantage of, I fucking love that about you and I can’t believe you love me too. I never wanted to let you go from the moment you said ‘hey’ and gave that little wave of yours that sends my heart on a damn rollercoaster filled with loops. So yes, I love you too, and I want my forever to be just like yours, the two of us together the way we always wanted but never knew until now.”

And yeah, I know a boy

Who gave up and got it wrong

“All of the other boys who gave up on you, they were wrong to give up. They weren’t willing to try to see things the way you did, the amazing view you have on the world and everything in it. But I do know how you see things and I love that about you Y/N. I’ll love you until the end of the line and I’ll never, ever let you go.”

Throwing yourself into Bucky’s arms, a mixture of raindrops and teardrops falling down both of your faces, your lips pressed against his as your arms made their way around his neck, his arms moving to your waist.

If you really love a woman, don’t let her go

Well, I know a few things a man oughta know

“I love you Bucky, I really do love you.”

“I love you too Y/N, more than you’ll ever know. Let’s get you inside, you’re soaked.”

“You’re pretty rained on over there too Bucky.”

As the rain continued to pour, you and Bucky both ran hand-in-hand back into the compound, a smile gracing both of your faces. He was everything you ever wanted, and you never thought it would take that many broken relationships, but now, you had someone who knew a few things a man oughta know.

Yeah, I know a few things a man oughta know

[babybluebex]

Hi! I'd like to request jealous smut of Beth Harmon x fem!reader. Both of them are switches and get jealous of Benny Watts flirting with the other; so Beth and the reader show each other who they belong to 💞

promises, promises [beth harmon x reader] 

pairing: beth harmon x reader (y/n)

summary: beth catches you flirting with benny, and she feels the need to remind you that you’re hers. 

word count: 1222

warnings: a little bit of smut (mentions of f!ngering), misplaced jealousy, me being a Yearning Sapphic ™ for too long

a/n: beth is a goddess. that is all. add yourself to my taglist!

tags: @simsiddy

“Ya know, I’ve always admired you,” Benny said. “You’re so… Cool.” 

“Thanks,” I said. “You’re pretty cool too.”

“Beth’s lucky to have you,” Benny mumbled, flicking ash off of his cigarette. Paris was cold at night, but Benny still needed a cigarette, and I, being the only one of our little group with any left in my pack, accompanied him out of the bar. “But.. Can I ask, why Beth?”

I titled my head in confusion. “I don’t understand,” I mumbled. “Like… Why am I dating Beth?”

“Yeah,” Benny said with a nod. “I mean, as opposed to anybody else.” 

I shrugged as I tried to come up with a solid answer. “I dunno,” I said finally. “She’s just… I like her. She’s easy to get along with most of the time, but, even when she’s grumpy and all, she’s… I can’t put it in words. I’m just in love with her, ya know? It’s hard to explain love.” 

“I get that,” Benny nodded. “And you’re fine with me always hanging around?” 

“Yeah,” I nodded. “I mean, Townes and Harry always hang around, so what’s one more?” 

“You understand what I mean, don’t you?” Benny asked. “You’re fine with me… And Harry… Always being around Beth?” 

“You can talk as slow as you want, you won’t be making anymore sense than before,” I told him. “Just spit it out.” 

“Do you know that Beth and I hooked up a few months ago?” Benny asked. “And she and Harry? And I think she and Townes, but I’ve never gotten a straight answer out of either of them about it.” 

I didn’t get jealous easily. I knew who I was dating; Beth was admired and adored in her world, and I was used to people pining over her left and right. I never gave it a second thought when we would wake up to flowers and dinner invitations. But something about Benny’s words made an uncomfortable heat bloom in my belly. “Oh,” I said, pushing my hair behind my ear in an act of nonchalance. “I didn’t know that, but I don’t mind. You guys are friends now, and any friend of Beth is a friend of mine.” 

“That’s good,” Benny said, and he dropped the cigarette butt on the ground. “I’d hate to screw up the whole dynamic of our friend group.” 

Just then, the door to the bar swung open, and Beth, Harry, and Townes emerged with laughter and snorts. Beth perked her eyebrow at me and wrapped an arm around my waist, and she pressed her thumb to my bottom lip. “Princess, you told me that you quit smoking,” she said to me. 

“I said no such thing,” I said quickly, taking my cigarette between my fingers. 

Beth took my cigarette for herself and took a drag, then blew a mouthful of smoke above my head. “No, I remember it,” she argued, as Beth was always so happy to. “I had my head between your thighs and--” 

“Christ!” I cried, my face screwing up in embarrassment, and Harry and Benny sputtered with tipsy laughter. “Bethy, you can’t just say that--” 

“Sure I can,” Beth said. “I mean, we’re adults, and Benny’s always going off about his conquests. But, regardless, you promised me that you would quit smoking.” 

“I don’t remember that,” I said. “But if you say so…” 

Beth discarded the cigarette on the sidewalk, and she pressed her warm hand against my cheek. “Come here, princess,” she said softly and tugged me close, and she brushed her lips past mine. I could taste the gin on her lips from her favorite drink, the same ones her mother used to drink, but it only made me want more. I pressed forward, putting my hands on her waist, and she slung her arms around my neck as she gently bit my bottom lip. 

Harry and Benny were content to continue to drink around Paris, but Beth and I suddenly had other plans that landed us in our hotel room. As quickly as we could manage, our dresses were tugged off, and she was laying between my quivering legs as her thin fingers teased my wet heat. Beth had magic in her fingers, I just knew it. She kissed my leg, leaving trace amounts of her favorite red lipstick, and she finally whispered, “What were you and Benny talking about?” 

“Jesus, Beth,” I huffed. “I don’t know. Just shooting the shit, ya know?” 

“Hmm,” Beth hummed lightly, and her thumb gently circled my clit. With her fingers inside me and the feeling of her warm breath on my core, I knew that there was no hope of me lasting much longer. Beth knew this too, however, because she pulled her fingers back and looked up at me through her gorgeous eyelashes. “What were you talking about?” She asked again. 

“Fuck, Beth,” I sighed, pushing myself onto my elbows and blowing a lock of hair from my eyes. “Why do you care?” 

“Because you were making those big eyes at him,” Beth answered. 

“Big eyes?” I repeated. 

“Yeah,” She said. “You know the ones, right?” When I had no answer, she laughed. “You gave them to me last night! I was studying a game, and you came and sat on my lap and kissed my neck, and you gave me those eyes.” 

“Oh,” I said, suddenly understanding her attitude. Was she jealous? We were really the perfect couple. I got jealous at the thought of her being with someone else, and she did the same. “Well, maybe I was making eyes at Benny. I mean, c’mon, Beth, it’s Benny. He’s so dreamy.” 

“You’ve never used the word dreamy in your life,” Beth said and raised an eyebrow. 

“Maybe I did wanna bed Benny,” I said. “What would you do about it?”

“I think,” Beth began. Her fingers curled in my panties and tugged them down my legs, kissing all the way down, and kissed back up to my cunt. “I oughta show you who you belong to.” 

“And who is that?” I asked. My tough demeanor was disintegrating by the second and, the second that Beth’s lovely mouth was on me, it would fall off completely. 

“Why, me, of course,” Beth hummed. “I thought you knew, princess.” 

“I know that,” I laughed. Quickly, I hooked a leg around her waist and pushed her to the bed, and I straddled her waist. “But I seem to remember that you neglected to tell me that you fucked Benny. Harry too, for that matter.”

“Oh, please,” Beth laughed. Her hair was splayed out on the creme pillow, the sounds of Paris outside our window. But it was warm in the hotel room and smelled like my girlfriend’s perfume, and the taste of her skin lingered in my mouth, and I knew that I could never wander far from her. “That was before I met you, princess. Before… Everything.” 

Everything. Her exploring her sexuality, coming out, the repercussions that came with that. Hiding our relationship, stealing kisses behind closed doors and blaming alcohol if we got too close in public. Before the ups and downs and backslides and… Everything. 

“I’m yours now, princess,” Beth said, pressing her hand to my heart. My hand captured hers and I took a deep breath as I squeezed her hand. 

“Just yours.”