#THE FUCKING RIFFS MAN OH GOOD OH FUCK

[rapidhighway]

the rhythm king is my daydreaming about a super neo metal sonic boss fight music allow me t-

[whirlybirbs]

— BRUISED EGO ; PART TWO ; TOSHINORI YAGI ; 俊典

summary: he should have waited for you. but no, toshinori felt like he had something to prove. now, roles are reversed and he needs your help. pairing: younger!toshinori yagi / f!reader ; hero name: derecho word count: 5k tags: afab!reader, fingering, oral (male receiving), piv, sex pollen trope but make it canon specific, dirty talk, praise kink, denied feelings, deeply needy fucking, size difference, toshinori being a good old fashioned lover-boy (again), enemies-to-coworkers-to-lovers hits hard a/n: oh wow a part two,,, i'm sick in the head ← previous | the tag

This ain't great.

This is, uh, bad actually.

Like, Toshinori has absolutely no idea what to do, bad. 

For Christ's sake, he's All Might. He should have known better. He should have known to wait for you — but no, he just had to calm his nerves by beginning your usual shared patrol an hour early. 

It's been one week, two days, six hours, and thirty-seven minutes since he last saw you. Not that he's counting. It's not like he's suddenly acutely aware of the time he's spent apart from you, or anything. 

Japan is locked in a heatwave. 

(Or, maybe it's just the fever in his bones.)

Large, calloused palms dig into his eyes as he leans back against the rooftop's barrier and groans. Toshinori drops his head against the iron railing in defeat, sending a twang through the hot air. Sweat is running down his back beneath his suit, tracing the curve of his spine.

Oh, and he's hard.

Painfully hard.

Like he said, this ain't great.

The call went out that they spotted the same love quirk user from last week holding some sex workers at gunpoint. He should have waited. The two of you could have handled him easily. 

But, no. Toshi had to go and think he had something to prove. 

He groans again, pounding his knuckles to the gravel.

It's going to be all over the evening news. That clip of him, panicking, and absolutely decking the very-much-not-a-real-violent-threat-of-a-man in the face on reflex after being hit with his quirk. He couldn't help it. It was like... a knee-jerk. It's like suddenly you're being touched everywhere and nowhere. It's strange. Sort of violating. It... I-It was just all he could do, okay? 

And he apologized! Plenty! A-And Officer Tsukauchi said it was fine, that he had it handled, as a bunch of officers began to help the now-unconscious offender out of the storefront's debris.

...Toshinori's phone is ringing.

He has half the mind to ignore it.

But it's the guitar riff from 'Bad to the Bone'. 

It's you.

He barks out a huffed 'shit' before digging his phone from the pocket in his belt. Even your picture glowing alongside the phone call notification is enough to make his cock throb. 

It's not even racy. It's blurry. It's in the All Might Agency's lobby. You're smiling. It's such a rare sight. You're holding up your official hero license and a big thumbs up.

He took the picture a few years ago. It was a big deal, a huge win. Your hair was a little shorter, and your hands weren't as scarred from Pro-Hero work as they are now. And god, that smile. 

...Jesus, you're just happy and he's this horny? 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Toshinori picks up on the last ring.

"Where the hell are you?" comes your voice, cutting through the sound of wind — he can hear the thrum of your bike's engine in the background, "I've been looking all over for you, and I just got a call from Tsukauchi — are you alright?"

The sound of your voice is making his mouth dry.

"I'm fine."

He's not fine.

He's sitting here, aroused out of his mind and in pain, trying to battle through the mind-numbing, knuckle-breaking heat of desire. He can't even come close to the word 'fine'. He's a mess. All he can do is sit here and sweat because he knows no amount of trying to jerk off is going to solve this problem.

He's so not fine.

You can tell.

Tsukauchi gave few details — just that whatever the hell happened sent All Might hightailing it outta there. And, after getting a brief description of the prep, you had a pretty good idea why. 

Your fingers twitch against the throttle.

"Send me your location," you say sternly; the glint of your helmet's visor catches the passing lights of traffic as you talk into the built-in comms system, "I'm coming to get you."

"No," he grits out, tugging on a piece of his blonde fringe, "N-No. I'll be fine. I-I am fine. Just need some time—"

"Toshinori," you bark back as you check for an opening between cars; your whole body is hot and it's not just from the summer heat, "I'm not asking. Let me help." 

...Oh.

Help. Right.

It's ambiguous and sort of ominous but, if he squints, it's the first time either of you has even come close to talking about what happened last week. Y'know. When he kissed you in your entryway, the way he ate you out on your couch, or the way he absolutely fucked your brains out in your bed. All because you had been hit with the same quirk influence he's riding out now.

His location pings up on your visor's HUD. 

"Be there in five."

And you hang up.

Because — I mean, what else is there to say? You are going to do what you have to to help him. Just like he did for you. Then, maybe it will be even! And then, maybe, this feeling that has been eating your heart away for the last week will disappear. Right? And things will go back to normal!

...Right?

Ha! B-Because, yea, that feeling is definitely guilt, right? Like... You... uh. You feel bad. Because... he had to... help. And you haven't helped him. Right. Yes. 

Yep.

Not because you can't stop thinking about his hands on your face, cradling you tenderly as he drove himself deep into you. Not because you can't stop thinking about the way he looked up at you with his tongue flat on your clit. Not because you can't stop thinking about his voice, or his smile, or his laugh, or his—

The telltale roar of a motorcycle sets Toshinori Yagi's stomach ablaze. 

Immediately, the air gets thicker like the feeling before a summer thunderstorm. He knows you're here. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and before he can rub the feeling away, you're there. 

On the roof.

"You look..." you breathe out as your feet touch down with a crackle of lightning crescendoing around you, "Like shit." 

(Truly he looks divine. Rosey cheeks, his chest heaving. His eyes are half-lidded. There's a bead of sweat that runs down his jaw, down down down, down his neck, then disappears beneath the collar of his suit.)

Toshi sighs. It's a ragged sound. He pulls his knees up, trying his best to hide the apparent tenting across the front of his hero costume. He scrapes his rough palm down his face.

"Don't start—"

"Did I look this bad?" you ask, voice hiking an octave as you move towards him. You keep an even distance. Your face is morphed into a look of pity, but there's something in your voice that makes the knot in Toshinori's gut wind tighter, "He got you good, huh, Tosh'?"

He can't do nicknames right now.

"Ha, ha," he grits out, the trademarked All Might boisterousness dying in favor of the lackluster, dry humor he was born with, "You're real funny, zippy."

It's your favorite flavor of him. The man is out of the limelight. Though he may still be bigger than life biceps and thick steel-corded quads, the facade has fallen. 

"And you're a mess," you sigh as you squat down, rummaging in your pack for something. It's a water bottle. You offer it as you watch him. 

The condensation kisses his fingertips as he takes it and pops it open. 

He takes a long drink, caps it off, then presses the cold bottle to the back of his neck. It does little to dissipate the tension in his broad shoulders. The sensation arguably makes it worse. Another bead of sweat runs down his back.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

We're never gonna talk about this again echoes somewhere in the back of his mind. At this rate, they're gonna have to talk about this. Because once is just a fluke. Twice is a problem. A real problem. 

He places the bottle back on the ground after another long sip.

Your heart is hammering in your chest. Despite your desperate attempt to remain levelheaded, you know exactly how he's feeling at this moment. You gotta admit, his self-control dwarfs your own though. You could hardly keep your hands off him the second he walked in your door. 

You wrestle your bike helmet off, and Toshinori has to quell the wave of longing that rises in his chest. Your hair is sticking to your forehead and neck. He suddenly wishes he made you look this way — windswept and sweating. 

The jet-black helmet lands on the rooftop with a thwat. He can see his ragged, flushed reflection in the black visor. 

Your voice is soft. "Hey."

It brings his focus back to you. His mouth is dry. Big blue eyes swivel as they rake across your face — and he hates how his cock jumps at how softly you speak next.

"What do you need right now, Toshinori?"

His chest is rising and falling a little faster. The usual steadfast expression on his face has melted into something doe-eyed and boyish. It makes your heart clench. 

"Are you sure about this?" his voice cracks as he swallows roughly. It's a non-answer. It's a metaphorical boot-kicking-in-the-door, though. Toshinori rakes his hands through his hair, "I-I... I can wait it out—"

You exhale tightly; your rationale is clear. Totally unbiased and very much not rooted in an unabashed obsession with the way he touches you. 

"Tosh', you helped me. I won't sit around and let you suffer when the same hand is dealt your way."

He drops his head back again. Another twang echoes through the night air. 

"Plus," you offer with a slow, crooning smile, "I've always been a sucker for a damsel in distress."

It takes a second.

Then, one blue eye cracks open. Long, dark blonde lashes flutter a bit — and then, he's smirking. 

Ha. 

Right.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his head still dropped back and shoulders slumped. 

"Sure as I'll ever be, big man."

That's the only permission he needs.

Toshinori Yagi is fast. He has to be. He's the Number One Hero in all of Japan. Top of the popularity ranks, fan-favorite, best stats in history. Being fast is part of the gig. 

He's fast to sit up and catch you in a kiss that feels like a bruise — tender and aching and miscalculated. It's teeth and tongue and then a deliciously low noise that rumbles up from his chest and sets your whole body on fire. 

His grip is rough — his fingers fist your hair as he drags you closer, his mouth presses firmly to yours as you scramble against the rough rooftop. It's... 

Needy.

You're crawling towards him.

"That's my line," he breathes out, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth and pressing back in to steal your breath. His grip tightens in your hair. His voice is so low that it feels like someone lights a fire under your skin. It's rough and breathless and so not All Might.  

"It's a good line," you mutter back as your brain stutter-steps. You pull away to crawl closer and straddle his hips. Your knees pin his cape to the gravel. You're kissing him again, letting his feverish need set the pace, "Worked on me."

You can feel him through your hero suit. 

His suit's pants are thick, made of some patented material you can never remember the name of — but his arousal is more than apparent as you settle your weight down against him. The added pressure earns a throaty hum of approval. 

You always forget just how big he is in this form — his hands dwarf your hips as he drags his grip down, allowing himself a little bit of an edge when he unceremoniously bucks up against you. 

"Sorry," he slurs out, his boots scraping against the roof; it's utterly pathetic, "Sorry—"

"Stop apologizing," you breathe out as you follow his lead and continue the movement, grinding your hips down, "I asked what you needed—"

"Anything," Toshinori's words rush out with his blue eyes screwed closed tightly as he grips your hips and slots his mouth back against yours, "Anything you'll give me."

...How is he so romantic? Even in a moment like this? Even when he's blindly seeking friction through his pants, bucking his hips against your own, as he moans into your mouth. 

"Hands? Mouth?" you parrot his line of questioning from your previous encounter; it seems to knock some sense into him.

His breath catches. Blue eyes widen minutely. You feel him twitch beneath you.

"God, mouth, please—"

Who would have ever anticipated you'd be here? 

Who would have ever anticipated you'd be helping him work off his belt, work off his tactical pants? Who knew you'd be watching his taut stomach flex as you push his costume's top higher up his torso, who knew you'd be dragging his stupid All Might-themed boxers down his narrow hips to spring him free? 

Who thought you'd ever see him like this, so desperate and winded and needy? 

Not you, that's for sure. You never thought, in all those years you sat in prison, this would be your life shortly after: giving head — happily — to the man who put you there in the first place. 

And here you are, slipping him a tentative look as you wrap a gloved hand around his hardness and smirk. 

"Is this okay?" you murmur up at him, on your hands and knees. You're teasing him. He knows this. 

Toshinori laughs — an incredulous bark. It's all you need to hear as confirmation. 

The sound splinters into a choked moan when you bend down and take him into your mouth.

He sees stars.

This is going to be a problem.

All he can do is lean back and grip the guard rail over his head for dear life because ho-oly shit. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. His biceps go taut, his knuckles white, and he tries so hard to keep his hips still as you hum around him. His whole body shudders — his thighs tensing under your other hand as you balance above him. 

This is — son of a bitch. Your grip around the base of his cock tightens incrementally, and as you lap at the head of his cock, his thoughts die in a strangled burst of pleasure. 

Then, his hand lands on your cheek.

The touch is reverent. Holy. Tender and adoring.

"Jesus, Der'," he slurs out, his chest heaving up and down as he tries to keep his eyes on you; he can't stare too long. The sight is too much. Too pretty. Mouth full of him, "You're such a good girl." 

There it is. 

The little bit of praise he slipped you before. 

If the iron rail creeks beneath his tightening grip, neither of you pays it any mind. 

You're on your knees, gloved hand around his shaft, watching his face contort into something so wonderfully steeped in bliss. You've got more important things to mind rather than the structural integrity of some stupid rooftop rail. 

Like the way his stomach clenches — the way his abs tighten. Like the way he says your name or the way he chokes out a nervous laugh when you take him just a litttttle deeper. 

"Fucking shit," he hisses; you make a mental note to rib him for his language some other time. Hearing him curse like this is a hell of an indicator for your ego that you're doing a good job, "Der', if you keep that up—"

"What?" you rasp, spit connecting your mouth to his cock, "You'll cum?"

Something snaps. 

It's a flash of red and blue and silver and blonde, his cape tearing through the air. 

Suddenly, you're pinned to the rooftop — gravel scrapes as your boots kick and grapple for purchase. Your elbows scuff against the ground. The wind is swept out of your body and he's kissing you so roughly you swear you taste blood. One of his hands is locked around your jaw. You're effectively trapped. 

All you can do is let out a shaky, startled, yet painfully aroused laugh. 

His other hand isn't gentle — it's tearing at the bottom half of your suit, unceremoniously snapping the button of your tactical pants open and shoving his hand down the front of them. You can feel a slight shake in his fingers as they delve past your underwear and slip into your folds.

"I need you," he hisses; his eyes are dark, and you can see the edge of frustration building. You know the feeling. 

Another kiss.

Suddenly, there are two fingers in you. 

You whine against his mouth.

He doesn't waste any time. He can't. Not when all he can think about is splitting you open on his cock. You're right here and you're soft and beautiful and fuck, he can't even think straight when you clamp down on his middle and ring finger. 

"Be nice," you warn between pants and whines and whimpers. It's an empty threat.

"Or what?" he chirps back, working his fingers in and out; his voice hitches along the syllables, trying his best to sound unaffected by the little breathy sound you let out when he kisses your jaw, "You'll cum?"

It's your turn to laugh. Your hands grapple with his cape, trying to anchor yourself in any way possible. You fist it as his fingers continue the task at hand: opening you up enough to take him. His knees nudge your legs open a little bit farther. Toshinori's body feels like it's on fire. 

His heavy, hot cock drags up the inside of your thigh and he shudders. 

His face is pressed to your shoulder in a flash; it's good because he doesn't see the blissful smile working its way across your face as our own arousal builds. 

"You're soaking wet," he strangles out; his pride is overshadowed by the embarrassing need to have you. He feels like if he doesn't, this raging fever will just get worse and worse and worse. 

"Par for the course," your words hitch on a hot wave of arousal as his palm grinds down against your clit. You grip his wrist, trying to ignore the tell-tale shake in your legs. His hand is holding your face.

"At least I'm doin' something right," he whispers, his breath hot against your cheek as he relinquishes his fingers from your heat and drags your mouth across your jaw, "Y'think... Think you can...?"

Take him? Yea.

You're a brave girl. 

Yea, that shouldn't be a problem. 

What is a problem is your riding gear and hero suit — but Toshinori can't be bothered. He's grappling with them for you, hauling you into his arms as he drags them down enough. They get caught on the tops of your boots, but he doesn't give a shit. Not when you're here, spread, and glistening before him. Not when you're in his lap, half-dressed, and trying to maneuver yourself down onto him with some semblance of grace. 

Everything is bigger when it comes to Mr. Double Detriot Smash.

Again, you're a brave girl. You're not going to shy away from the upgraded dicking down you got last week. Hell, that was great. Filled you up perfectly, and hit all the right spots... and now, you're realizing that the already tight fit is going tobe a littttle tighter. 

Your knees are like jello as your fingertips dig into his shoulders. Your hair is wild — and you're sweating. He's no better off; there's a crease of worry in his brow, even amidst the blinding heat of desire that's eating him up inside. 

He knows he's big. He's huge. He's... 

This is the first time he's ever had sex in this empowered form. 

Not like he advertises this as a service.

He'd be lying through his trademarked smile if he said he wasn't nervous — but there you go, giving him just another reason why he should buy a ring tomorrow and give you everything you've ever wanted because fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, you're so tight and hot and wet and the sound you make the second you sink down on him—

"God, yes, Tosh'."

The gasp that wrings itself from his mouth is utterly pathetic. He doesn't care. He truly can't even think straight — all he can do is dig his fingertips into your hips and slam his mouth against yours to muffle the whines crawling up his throat. 

"Stay right there," you whisper; there's an edge to your voice of warning. He's trying to listen. He's trying to be a—

"Good boy."

You're holding his face and he can't seem to catch his breath. His boots scuff in the dirt, his brows knit, and he inhales sharply when you clamp down on him for good measure. Fuck. Shit. God, nonono. He needs to move. He needs — c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, please.

"Der'—"

You're kissing him again — and then you move. Slow at first, a little hiccup of your hips. Then, more assured, more confident. An easy up, then down. Then again, and again, and again. And again. 

"God, yes," he nearly cries; he smothers his desperate moan into a kiss that melts away time. Toshinori's hands are trying to find purchase, trying to help guide you up and down his cock as best he can. He doesn't want you to do all the work — he wants to help, "You're so fucking good, Der'."

"Y-Yea?" you breathe out, your entire body shuddering at the praise. Your hip tightens, and you don't even have the wherewithal to consider the cramp. You're not stopping for anything.

Not when this is, like, the hottest thing you've ever done. 

"You have no idea," he melts into another kiss that's all tongue and adoration, his bare thread composure snapping up like his hips in a testing manner, "Lemme fuck you, please, Der', please, please, I promise I'll be good—"

It certainly felt good.

All you can do is hold onto his shoulders. 

If you've learned one thing in the time you've known Toshinori Yagi, it's that he's a man of his word. He holds promises in the deepest homes of his heart, ensuring that nothing prevents him from honoring them. He's dedicated entirely to those around him and to seeing them prevail. Toshinori, even on his worst days, never makes a promise he can't keep. 

So, promising he'll be good?

I mean — it depends on the definition, doesn't it?

If 'good' is desperate, pathetic, fast drillings of his hips as you cling to him and gasp? If 'good' is filthy, muttered praise into your collarbone as he slams into you again, and again, and again?

If 'good' is scrambling in the gravel, being pressed flat as he takes you from behind?

Then, yea.

He's really good.

He's incredibly good — especially as he presses his chest to your back, and wraps his arm around your front. His fingers are greedily pushing through your folds as he keeps up his thoroughly rough pace. The thick, calloused pads of his ring and middle finger grace your clit and you nearly scream. 

The gravel is biting into your knees and palms but you don't care. Not when his mouth is on your neck and he keeps saying your name over and over and over and over again as he drives you into the ground. Not Derecho. Not some tender version of a nickname.

Your name. 

The hot fire of your arousal is building steadily — the wet, explicit sounds of him pushing his cock into you over and over again as he pins you are doing plenty, but it's the way he says your name that really seals your fate. 

Toshinori isn't here right now. Come back in two business days. He's lost in the bone-deep influence of this quirk, hellbent on filling you up and proving he's a good boy. He can give you everything. A ring, a house, a life — three more motorbikes and whatever you want on top of that. 

Fuck, he loves you.

Your fingers dig into the rooftop. 

"Oh, fuck, Toshi — yes," you cry; there's a crack in your voice, "Right there. K-Keep... Keep doing that—"

"C'mon, I wanna f-feel you cum," he babbles as you bury your face into his elbow bracing his weight, "Come on, Der', you're such a good girl, you're taking me so well, I know you c-can—"

Everything is Toshinori. His breath is hot against your neck as he pants, and his voice — so low and honeyed — is right in your ear as he moans.

Even now, he's ever so selfless.

"I need you to cum first," he grits as his fingers work your clit just a little faster, "C'mon, Der', you're doing so good — you deserve it, you deserve to cum so hard—"

Your knees jerk — and the world's best orgasm rushes up to meet you headfirst. A snap of lightning ignites your skin as you lose all control, and so suddenly Toshinori is right behind you, tumbling down the white-hot bliss of the best sex he's ever had in his life. 

He made you snap, he made you lose control, h-he made you cum—

His composure shatters. There's a guttural sound wrenched from deep in his chest and it's delicious. He finishes with a series of frantic thrusts that make you whine. His mouth is on your neck, your cheek, then your mouth. 

You crane yourself back, humming delightfully into the kiss that quells the rolling tide of desire into something softer. 

His whole body shudders as the after-quakes of your orgasm ripple along him. All Toshi can do is smother his sounds into another kiss. This one is slower. It's needy in a different way. 

When the kiss finally slows, it takes a second for him to peel his eyes open.

You look thoroughly wrecked. 

Your expression is that of a woman exhausted. 

Toshinori is suddenly aware of his own bulk, his own weight. Gently, he presses a hand to your cheek as he pushes himself up and off of you. His muscles burn — and pulling out of you makes his entire chest ache. 

The feeling wrings a gasp out of you. 

You exhale slowly, through pursed lips. Then, you brace yourself up on your elbows and hang your head. Toshinori flops gracelessly onto his back, his arms and legs spread with his half-hard cock sloped against his stomach. Your slick is coating him. His pants are half down around his ankles, and his usual up-right bangs have sagged. From heat or exhaustion, you're not sure. 

It sure as hell is cute. 

"You okay?" you ask after a second, taking him in as he begins to catch his breath. 

"Oh, yea, just peachy," he rumbles. The thousand-yard stare into the evening air is a hell of a thing on him. 

It makes you bark out a laugh.

Toshinori lolls his head to the side lazily, taking you in.

Your knees and elbows are bleeding. You're picking out the gravel stuck to your palms. You're in no better of a state — your pants are half on, wrenched down over your riding boots, and your uniform's top is pushed up over your breasts. His orgasm is leaking out of you, and the insides of your thighs are coated with your own arousal. Your hair is a mess. 

You're both messes.

You laugh again — and his own laugh starts shortly thereafter. Before you two know it, you're both locked in a laughing match that only ends when you try to reach to shove his shoulder. Your abs burn. Toshinori tries to muscle the grin off his face but fails.

Fuck. 

Fuck, that feeling hasn't gone away. 

It wasn't guilt.

Mayday, mayday, abort, abort, it wasn't guilt. He's smiling at you in the moonlight, looking so utterly wrecked and handsome and gentle—

His hand moves, a single crux finger gracing the curve of your arm soothingly. It's slow. Tentative. Hesitant. Not too much, not too little. 

Toshinori's voice is rough with sheepishness.

"Are we, uh, are we never gonna talk about this, too?" he asks. 

The touch and the question make your heart kick into a stutter. 

You swallow roughly.

"I..." you drop your head, as you wet your lips; play it cool, "Is it something you... want to talk about?"

"...Do you?"

A non-answer.

Your lashes flutter as your stare widens. You open your mouth, about to say something, but suddenly both of your phones are blaring with a city-wide alert. 

It takes a second for it to register — and as suddenly as the moment came, it went. 

ALERT, ALERT, ALL PROS REPORT TO CITY HALL, MULTIPLE HOSTAGES, ARMED GUNMAN, ALL PROS REPORT TO CITY HALL, ALERT, ALERT!  

You're struggling to haul your pants up as All Might fumbles with his belt. You hop on one foot, cursing as he scrambles for his phone in the gravel.

"You gotta be kidding me," he grits quietly, thumbing through the notification as you struggle in the middle distance behind him, tripping into your pack as you try and button your pants. 

"Time to go?" you ask pathetically as you try to ignore the feel of after-sex between your legs. 

"I guess that conversation is going to have to wait until later," he says apologetically, bending to grab your helmet. He offers it as you shrug on your pack; there's a sudden cocky confidence seeping back into his posture, "So let's make this quick, shall we?"

You swallow down a rush of worship. 

"I guess so," you remark easily, again trying your best to seem cool. That's your whole persona after all. Little miss spiteful, cold, rough-around-the-edges...

Beautiful, perfect, lovely, Toshi muses as you shove your helmet on and jut your chin his way. You flick your eyes toward the edge of the building.

He's already got a running start. 

"After you, All Might."

"Race you there, Derecho." 

[dj-of-the-coven]

trigun 1998 episode simulator

[3 minutes of guitar solo]

Vash the Stampede: hi my name is Vash the Stampede. I am a hunter of Peace chasing the elusive mayfly of Love. all I really want to do is have a sandwich and a morning coffee without getting chased by bandits

some bandit: (gunshot) absolutely not. square up faggot

Vash: rats.

[gunfight]

Vash the Stampede: my name is Vash the stampede. I am a hunter of Peace chasing the elusive mayfly of Love.could I please have a sandwich

Meryl from the Bernardelli Insurace Society: how long are you going to sit on your ass doing nothing but playing games with children and doing chores for the elderly and disabled and looking after lonely youths and cooking dinner for the homeless

Vash: I've been here for like 2 days

Milly Thompson: Hi Vash!

Vash: Hi Milly

[exit left pursued by bounty hunters]

Vash the Stampede: (panting, entering a bar) my name is Vash the stampede.... I am a hunter of Peace chasing the elusive mayfly of Good L*rd what is going on in here

Hostage: mphdsfhapff!!!! mffmpphhf!!!!

Villain of the week: well if it isn't the elusive Vash the Stampede! you see it all started when I was 4 days old and you kicked me like a football and then exploded my parents to death with a laser canon and killed every puppy in a ten ile (translator's note: this is the No Man's Land equivalent of the American Mile) radius

Vash: I don't remember doing that but well I suppose you can shoot me if it'll make you feel better

Side character of the week: Are you insane? Just shoot him instead???

Vash: but my mom told me not to be mean to people

Villain of the week: (still going) And as I am now 47 years old I have finally decided to get my revenge. Say your prayers, Vash the Pisshead

[Wall explodes and reveals a motorcycle with a sexy priest on it]

[sfx: guitar with a hint of electric distortion]

Vash: is that..... Wolfwood?

Meryl who was in the background this whole time: the priest?

Nicholas Dickolas Wolfwood: (brings his fingers up to a pair of luscious lips to grab the cigarette from right between them, taking one more slow inhale before crushing the cherry red underneath his heel)(sensually cocks one of his 8 guns) Are you just gonna let this guy talk down to you like that needle noggin?

Vash: I g-

[guitar riff bumper]

[guitar riff bumper]

Vash: -uess not, since you're here to help now... (slow, warm smile) Wolfwood

Nicholas D. ranged Wolfwood: Vash

Milly who was also in the background this whole time: Hi mr priest man! isn't this lovely, I haven't seen you since the last time you spoke with mr Vash yesterday evening when you were helping him buckle all those silly belts on his pants after he had lost them somehow

Vash: On a cactus

Milly: On a cactus! Oh it must've hurt so terribly; how fortunate that Mr Priest man was there to help you

Wolfwood: Hi Milly

[gunfight]

Villain of the week: ohhhhh curses!!! CURSES!!!! I have spent my whole existence getting ready to fight Vash the Stampede but he's just too good at swallowing all my bullets!!!!!!

Vash the Stampede: my tragic dead mother would be sad if I didn't swallow everyone's bullets so I've trained diligently every morning at digesting gunpowder without dying immediately

Wolfwood: [internally: I can't believe it. All this time I've spent walking the path of darkness, reaching to a pure light that I could never grasp, and yet here is a man who's dedicated his life and his body to the pursuit of Peace. I wish he were a woman so I could fuck him romantic style. I've got a whole plan for it and everything. Whiskey, sunset, a bed with no sand in it, 6 hours. This would be fully and completely possible if only he were a woman. Unfortunately he's not, but I can still think about the what-ifs. platonically of course. Maybe if he got some good dick he'd stop being so annoying. And maybe he'd stop making me rethink my morals. I wonder if the seven drunken handies meant anything to him. Platonically]

Wolfwood: Well anyway it looks like my job is done here

Vash: (teary) Will I see you again?

Wolfwood: I don't know. And besides, whenever I look at you, I'm reminded of everything I hate about myself. You know, it hurts.

[exit Nicholas D. Wolfwood pursued by repressed homosexual desires and immense catholic guilt]

Vash the Stanned Peat: (looking out the window like a widow whose husband was killed in action) Nicholas... D... Wolfwood.......

Meryl who was in the background that entire time, yes, the whole time: shut the fuck up already

Vash: when will it be my turn Meryl. When

[roll credits]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Monster, Inc. 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss is an asshole, you know this. But what happens when he turns his wrath upon you? (plus!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, this reader is known as Missie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

After a quick Google and a few reviews, you decide on a brand. You pick a box off the shelf. It should do the job as long as you apply it properly. You’re not so worried about yourself. 

Something drops along the edge of your vision and you peek over. A man walks away ignorant of the card left behind. You hurry to scoop it up. 

“Excuse me, sir, you dropped--” You click to a stop in your heels as he faces you. You smile as he mirrors your expression. “Peter!?” 

“Hey, Missie.” His brown eyes beam back at you. “What are the odds?” 

“It’s been so long. Um...” you look down at the card then wiggle it at him. “You dropped this.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks.” 

He accepts the card with a dimple in his cheek. You look at it and realise it’s nothing special. Just a loyalty card from Roasters. It is a great shop. 

“Haven’t heard from you since the paper. You said you’d keep in touch.” He shifts his stance so another customer can squeeze by. 

“Yeah, uh, I meant to. I’ve been really cruddy at keeping up. Work is so busy and--” 

“What’s that for?” He quickly redirects as he points at the box in your hands. “You dye your hair? Wouldn’t guess it.” 

“Oh, no it’s for... my boss,” you giggle. 

“Your boss. Right. I’m sorry, what exactly do you do now?” 

“I’m a PA. My boss is just demanding. That’s all. But it’s good pay and it keeps me on my toes.” 

“Ah, I left the paper too. Started my own photography business.” He explains. 

“I saw that on Insta! I follow you. Your stuff is so good.” 

“You follow me but you don’t message,” he crosses his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” you pout. You rattle the box in your hands. You don’t want to be abrupt but you really can’t keep Mr. Hansen waiting too long and you still need to grab shampoo. 

“We should catch up. How about dinner? What are you doing tonight?” Peter asks. 

“Oh, er, nothing.” 

“Great. How about Zak’s? That old sandwich shop near the paper. I remember your fave; the spicy italian with extra pickles.” He grins triumphantly. 

“Sure, that sounds awesome. Just... send me a message, okay? I gotta get back to my boss.” 

“Sure, don’t let her work you too hard,” he steps out of your way. 

“He,” you correct him. “It’s not hard work, just a lot.” 

You sweep down the aisle and grab a clarifying shampoo on your way to the checkout. Even just a few minutes is too long for Mr. Hansen and in his state, you don’t expect him to be any calmer. All you can hope for is that the remover works out. 

Back at the office, you measure your dread. It won’t be that bad. You can fix this. Maybe. You grabbed some dye too, hoping maybe you might be able to even everything out after. 

You drop your purse on your desk and flit over to Mr. Hansen’s office. You knock and hear him groaning from inside. As you enter, he’s bent over his lap, holding his head. He sits up so fast his chair teeters. He faces your chirpy greeting. 

“Mr. Hansen,” you sing, “I got everything we need.” 

“Why the fuck are you so cheery?” 

As you look at him, like really look at him, you find it hard not to laugh. He really does look awful. He’s not exactly your type but he isn’t too bad most days. The black dye just washes him out. He looks like Dracula if he was in a 70s adult flick. 

“So, we need to wash your hair. I figured we can use your sink. I even grabbed a towel.” 

“You think of everything, don’t you?” He hisses. 

“Sir, I think we can fix your hair.” 

He scowls and stands. He shakes his head and slinks to the en suite bathroom. You follow with the bag of goodies. He looms with arms crossed as you put it on the counter and unpack. 

“You can put the towel around your collar to keep the remover from dripping. Tuck it in to--” 

Before you can finish, his shirt is half unbuttoned. You turn to unbox the remover and peel the seal of the bottle as you quiet. Whatever’s easier, you suppose. He hangs his shirt on the back of the door and comes back to you. You get a glimpse of his chest hair in the mirror. 

“Alright, erm, bend over the sink and we need to wash your hair. How about you put the towel over your eyes--” 

“I can handle it.” He snatches the towel and folders it over his forehead and eyes. He bends over the sink. His broad shoulders strain as his muscles tighten. “Don’t fuck up my hair.” 

You want to tell him you don’t think it can get worse but you know better. You take one of the paper cups from the stack and crank on the faucet.  You feel the temperature before you fill the cup and carefully pour it over his head. You wet all the strands and squirt shampoo onto his hair. You lather it up, scratching his scalp with your nails. 

“Mmmph,” he purrs as your work away. You smile. He’s a bit like a cat. Cranky but manageable. 

You rinse his hair methodically. You make sure not to get any near his face as you use your hand to redirect the water. When you finish, you help him cover his hair with the towel. 

You roll in his chair from the office and have him sit. You rub the moisture of his hair with the towel and drape it around his shoulders. You pull the gloves on and mix up the remover in the bottle then take the comb out of the box. You go to Mr. Hansen as he sits, looking despondent. 

“It fucking reeks,” he wrinkles his nose at the odour. 

“I did warn you but once we rinse it out, you’ll be good as new.” You comb his hair back, then forward, and pull out a thin section. You slather it on precisely as you work through the strands. 

As you pay close attention to your task, you feel the tension ease from him. When you get through the longer pieces on the top of his head, you push the back again. You use your gloved fingers to do his sides, rubbing in the remover on the buzzed stubble. As you do, he closes his eyes and leans into your touch. 

Well, it’s better than him being angry. This might be the most relaxed you’ve ever seen Mr. Hansen. 

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 17

part 1 | part 16 | ao3

Heat rolls through Steve’s gut; low and quick, a vicious flare, and then he coughs and looks away. “Jesus, man," he splutters, "learn to take a joke.”

“Mmm-hm.” Eddie's smug smirk spreads wide, grows teeth; gotcha bitch, and Steve’s about to tell him to fuck off when he claps his hands to his thighs and abruptly stands up. Does a big stretch, swinging his arms out side to side, reaching overhead until his back makes a noise like a twisted sheet of bubble wrap.

“Holy shit!” Steve frowns. “You’re gonna break your spine.”

Eddie gives him a flippant smile. “That's the idea. Anyway...” He pretzels himself up again, groaning as his neck and shoulders pop. “Seeing as we’re trapped in here for the foreseeable future, you wanna do what the little psychos asked? Play twenty questions or have a heart-to-heart or whatever?”

“Seriously? And just give them what they want?”

Eddie shrugs. “Seems like the fastest way out of here, so yeah.”

“We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Please. You negotiate with them all the time." He folds forward at the hips, looking at Steve upside down between his legs, and twists a curl around his pinky. "Those kids have you wrapped around their grubby little fingers."

"They do not!"

"They totally do. Besides," he swings back upright, "I’ll negotiate with anyone if it gets me back home to my girl.”

"Oh." Steve stumbles at that. "Didn't know you had a girlfriend.”

Eddie laughs big and bright, shaking his hair all over the place. “Yeah, Harrington, I have a girlfriend. You're funny. Y'know, Henderson could have saved us a lot of time here if he'd just told me you were fun—”

“Okay, then who’s your girl?” Steve interrupts with a huff, because Eddie’s just hopping around in circles while he laughs like Steve's a fucking moron for making a totally reasonable assumption, and he doesn't understand what's so goddamn funny about it.

“My girl, Harrington,” he all but coos when he collects himself, “is my guitar.” He bites his lip and mimes playing a riff; Steve doesn’t know shit about guitar, but he knows that Eddie’s fingers are quick, nimble and impressive as they jitter through the air. “We’ve got a show this weekend. Like, a real one this time, not just playing to three drunks at the Hideout.”

“Cool,” Steve says, looking away from his rings. “Congrats, man. You any good?”

“You could say that.” Eddie’s mouth goes smug and pleased, genuine pride shining in his big eyes when he rocks back on his heels. “The frat that booked us seems to think so, anyway.”

“Oh, shit!" Now Steve's impressed, because it's the weekend before Halloween, and that means, "College costume party.”

“Of course you’d be excited about that.”

“Hey, great place to get laid,” Steve shrugs.

Eddie chokes on his own spit. “You’re kind of a slut, you know that?”

“Rude,” Steve says mildly. He's not a slut; he's an opportunist.

The ground's starting to hurt his ass, so he stands up to join Eddie's impromptu yoga session. Eddie leans a hip against the workbench, folding his arms over his chest and giving Steve room to move.

His eyes flit to his hemline when it rides up on a stretch. "Would you..." he clears his throat. "Would you want to come?"

"Huh?" Steve twists around.

"To the show," Eddie adds, ducking his head to hide his face behind his hair. "You'd have to cram into the back with Frankie and the drum kit, but uh..."

Steve lets himself picture it for a moment, some alternate dimension where he's allowed to say yes: the winding highway to Indy, a van full of dudes cracking jokes and fighting over who gets to pick the music next, losing himself in the thrum of a crowd while he drinks and dances and watches Eddie on stage.

His throat feels tight, suddenly. He reaches for the flask and takes another sip of whiskey. "Don't all your bandmates hate me?"

"I mean... not any more than I do." Eddie's answer is quiet, his eyes swimming with candlelight; Steve doesn't know when they moved closer, when a hush settled over the room, but it feels like...

"Yeah?" he hedges, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he steps out onto the ledge; icy cliffside, slippery holds. The mountains are so much scarier than the deep sea. "And how... How much is that?"

His pulse kicks in his chest. Echoes down to his wrist, a nervous current beneath his skin. Eddie's eyes are so soft. Big and brown and dark. Dark like the deep woods; endless; sort of mesmerizing.

"Steve, I—"

The cellar doors shriek on their hinges.

—

part 18

part of the tag list below the cut comment if you want to be added (comment twice if you wanna be my tag manager lol i’m dyin)

@heartsong18 @hellion-child @hiimlevi @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @littlebluejane @lololol-1234 @marklee-blackmore @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @noodle-shenaniganery @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @pending-dope-username @perseus-notjackson @ppunkpuppyy @questionablequeeries @remosdeerica @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @shamelesspatrolshepherdcowboy @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @spookednsaucy @steddieas-shegoes @steddie-island @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection @taleah-bonnick @teatimeeverybody @th30ra3k3n @thealwithnoname @thespaceantwhowrites @thestarslittleking @thesuninyaface @trensu @violetsteve @wormdebut @yourmom-isgay @zoeweee @zombiecreatures

[dreadful-windandrain]

listened to the real will wood album three times yesterday. here are my thoughts:

am i being detaIIIIIIIIINED? am i under arrest?? (yes!)

"this is a song written by a dead guy" the implications..........

unsyncopate cotard's solution right this fucking second

the transition into dr sunshine lives is SO GOOD

was it when i left the cave and swore i'd. NEVER GO BACK!!!!!!!

how did he make white knuckle jerk hornier. what's with the moans. and why do i like it better than the original.

HEART BLUER THAN MY b-b-b-b-bbbbbaaaaa~a~LLLLLS!

the weird voices he uses in thermodynamic lawyer sure were a choice

fucking ADORE front street live. even better than the original and my favorite off of this album. literally just. the tempo changes. "if you're not on your worst behavior... get the fuck out!" "is this shit enough proof for you?" "give us all that fucking osmosis! oh, yeah!!" "sing it with me you fuckers!". he made a villian song sound even more evil. wtf and well done

i trusted you i trusted you i trusted you i trusted you i tru

the long ass intro for hand me my [x], i'm [y]! is fabulous. the anticipation!!!

the tempo is also faster here than the original which is awesome but overstimulating as hell when the second half of the bridge hits

take it away, creeps

here's a song *first chord of 2012*

by retracing myyyyyyyyyyyyyyy ste-epppppppppp pssssssssss

the guitar riff that starts mr capgras makes my brain perk up like a bluetooth speaker being connected

FUCKING HURT EACH OTHER! COME ON!!!!

yet another banger intro! the latter half of this album does not miss!

can we drop this shit? i wanna see you at each other's throats, man, make some fucking noise. one two three oh YEAAAAAAAH

the transition here also. magical.

i definitely didn't almost cry at the end of fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva when the tempo slowed down and everyone was vocalizing

-ish is so fucking underrated oh my GOD you people don't talk about it enough

the people who sang "myself again" after "and i'm gonna be"...... read the room

the new harmonies on where do you get off, front street, and mr capgras give me life

overall i love it but i do believe that ww didn't sing the song with five names to spite me personally. he did sing it on in case i die but still. you don't know how much tax fraud i would commit to hear it live with a full band

[ilovepapahet]

James Hetfield HeadCanons

Black Album or 1991 another one of my favourite eras (ngl maybe my favourite) he’s so intimidating and I love it, I don’t know what it is about him he’s stunning

but anyways I’m doing hc’s for Black Album/1991

————————————————————————

SFW

From the outside people just see him as this intimidating grumpy guy who you’d want to stay away from but when he’s with you alone he’s the sweetest guy ever

he’s quite literally a big house cat (at least what I’d call him) he’s such a softy and loves laying with you or laying his head on your chest because in his words “you have soft tits”

he loves holding your hand when you both are out in public

he loves showing people that your his (I feel like just in general he does) he’s following you around the clothing store and when you show him a shirt or pants you like and you’d ask him if you’d look good in them

he’s giving you the best compliments and saying you should get them but if your think there to much money he’ll get the for you

and in saying that he spoils you with clothes and food and make up

not to the point where people think your using him for his money (obviously) but you do joke that he’s your sugar daddy

he’ll ask for your input on lyrics he’s been working on or riffs and when Nothing Else Matters came out and he told you he wrote the song for you

he got all red and flustered cause he thought you might have thought it was corny but you proved him wrong

he loves so cuddle with it’s his favourite thing he’s nuzzle his head into your hair or neck

NSFW

He’s rough don’t tell me no

he’d hold your hips in a death grip to the point where it leaves bruises as he pistons his cock into your pussy

He’ll say the most filthiest thing to you telling you your such a slut or a needy whore

and you love it

he’d grab your face (not hard) and make you keep eye contact with him when you cum he’ll also choke you (lightly) when he’s about to cum

or he’ll choke you when he wants you to be quiet but that’s only if your at the studio with him or in a hotel room (or literally anywhere backstage) he’ll tell you to shut up as if you could but it’s not your fault he’s fucking you like a mad man

he’ll use cuffs on you (I feel like in this era this is where he uses cuffs and toys and I heard somewhere in a interview James said he liked cuffs but I don’t remember if he said he liked using them on himself or someone else)

he’ll cuff you or himself to the bed and if it’s you he’s thrusting painfully slow into you and you’d whine because your not getting the satisfaction you need

hickeys everywhere your hickey central

he loves them oh so much seeing you marked up by him gets him going

breeding oh my god breeding telling you he’s going to pump his babies into you so your his

he loves to see you coved in his cum

on your face on your tits on your tummy he loves to see it practically painting you in his seed

he’s also definitely improved on after care

he’d clean his cum off of you with a soft warm towel or give you a bath to relax you after such a rough session and than gently kiss you all over and cuddle you tracing weird shapes into your skin

————————————————————————

I ❤️ 1991 James Hetfield

[magnolia-among-the-stars]

the last bit of us (chapter two)

Plot: Tyler Owens hasn’t been home in a year. He’s survived all the storm chasing and motel living with his new partners as they try to save lives. But with all the damage they’ve taken from driving high beams first into monster storms, it’s time to pay the piper and bring the truck in for repairs. And the only person who can fix them is the best mechanical engineer he’s ever met. Eleanor Harding, his estranged wife.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Estranged Wife OC (Harding Daughter)

Word Count: 2.7k

Playlist Song: the great war by taylor swift

prologue / one / two / three

I try with all I have to not feel any sort of pain over the look of hurt on the woman - Kate’s - face. That look of betrayal, like someone had killed her dog. Like a lover had kept a deep dark secret. I try to shake it off and hold on to the anger that my sad excuse of a husband had decided to show his face at my office. “So, I’ll ask again,” I turn back to the man in question. 

His smile has fallen and he looks at Kate almost apologetically before he drags his gaze slowly back to me. I ignore the sweet swirl of emeralds and sapphires in his eyes, I let the embers in my chest simmer. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

Tyler opens his mouth but all that comes out is an awkward gurgle of uhs. He clears his throat and glances down. I follow his gaze to see the thick clay mud speckling his good boots. The boots that I bought him on our first anniversary to wear to the rodeo. “I, uh…” 

I look up into his face with a hard gaze. I watch him close his eyes, collect himself. “I don’t have all day Tyler,” I say. My hands start to shake a little, the overwhelming buzz from the embers starting to billow into a subtle flame. The heat of anxiety starts to warm me from the inside out. I cross my arms tight over my mesh vest to stop the tremble. 

“The truck’s in rough shape,” he says, eyes opening to stare down at me. 

The loud cackle isn’t my intended reaction. It rips through my throat before I know to keep it in. I look over at Kate, gagging the slight discomfort in her features turning a little disturbed as she watches the two of us. I raise a brow at her and laugh again, turning back to the man. “Oh, the truck is in rough shape.” I nod once, then twice. I turn around to my team, watching with apprehension in the bay. “The truck’s in rough shape,” I call out, waving as if to say ‘false alarm guys’.

I can see Tyler wince again in my peripheral vision and when I turn back to him, the light nature of my tone is wiped from my face. “Go fuck yourself.” 

I only make it to the gate when I hear the music peeling down the dirt road. It’s loud, guitar riffs coming from the speaker on what I can only imagine is their RV. I watch as the other wranglers park and come staggering out of their doors. “Sorry we’re late, I had to stop t’ get some gas and,” Boone’s loud voice travels across the space as he comes up to Tyler’s side. He must miss the hard lines of Tyler’s face because he catches my eye and comes running. 

“There she is,” he calls out, wrapping his arms around my waist and spinning me around in a tight embrace before I can say anything. “I missed you, Ms. Fix It.” Boone’s voice is soft as his scruffy chin digs into my collarbone. 

The southern drawl of his nickname for me is a soothing cup of water, nearly extinguishing the burning in my chest. Boone was like a golden retriever. Boone had done his due diligence to send me postcards through the time since I’d last seen everyone. They’d always been blank, just pictures of different southern county spectaculars across the states but catching a livestream of the wranglers’ channel discretely playing on Carter’s desktop when he’d gotten up to go to the bathroom one day, I’d realized it had been the sweet man checking in. I missed his enthusiasm deeply, frustrated that Tyler not only took my heart with him when he disappeared one night but also that he took his whole crew of friendly faces with him. 

“Hey there Boone,” I breathe into his neck, my arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. “Couldn’t have sent a warning postcard?” 

The tall man pulls back, “You got my postcards? Oh gosh, that makes me so glad,” he says, placing a hand over his chest. My words register in his mind and his smile stretches wide with guilt. “I’m real sorry ‘bout that. It took all my convincin’ to get the guy to even drive here. Did he mention the truck?” 

“He sure did,” I nod, acutely aware of everyone watching Boone and I. Boone seems in his own world, blissfully oblivious to the two crews watching us. I glance back at the truck where Tyler, hands on his hips, speaks in hushed tones to Kate, another man I don’t recognize and Lily. She catches my eye and waves. 

“Can ya help? Ya know there’s no one else who can fix her up the right way,” Boone says, fixing his dirty cap on his head.  

“Boone, ya’ll can’t just show up here after all this time and just ask me to fix up the truck,” I say. There’s pressure starting to build behind my eyes and I have to shake my head to rid the feeling. I step backwards out of his grasp. 

“I know it’s a real shit thing to do. We wouldn’t have come if we weren’t desperate,” Boone says. He takes a peak over at Tyler, looking back at me with puppy dog eyes. “He would not have come if we weren’t desperate.” 

The comment tugs at my heart strings and I can’t help but look out at the fields around us. The tall grass sways lazy in the breeze, the sun starting to rise higher in the sky. My stomach growls a little. I sigh, starting to shake my head again. 

“Please El,” he asks again, my real name not something I’m used to hearing from Boone.

“Goddamnit Boone,” I say. I wipe a hand over my forehead and lick my lower lip. “What’s wrong with the damn truck?” 

Boone’s face brightens immediately, a wide grin back on his face. He hoots in glee, rushing the few feet across the path to hug me tightly. “Thank you, thank you,” he kisses my cheek a few times, his scratchy mustache rubbing against my skin. I try to push him off with a small laugh, noticing Tyler turning to look at the commotion. 

“Boone, Boone,” I say, laughing a little more at his excitement. “Show me what’s wrong before I change my mind, you bastard.”

He backs away, arms raised in surrender as he leads me back over to the truck. “Alright so, Ms. Fix It has offered to take a look at the sucker to get Betty back into tip top condition,” Boone announces to the group. Back in front of them, the lighthearted feeling of the moment with Boone fades though I catch Lily winking at me as I round the truck to look it over.

I can see the mangled iron of the drill blades under flakes of dried mud and grass. “What did you do to my base drills?” My tone is sharp as I turn to look at Tyler. 

“That was actually me,” a small voice quips from my right. I turn, identifying it as Kate. Hand raised, sunglasses tucked on top of her shiny caramel hair and guilty expression. My brows pinch together. “I took the truck through an EF5, got dragged through the ground. We’ve been going into more storms and Tyler hit a rock,” she continues. 

I only look at her, nodding slowly. “They weren’t built to survive EF5s but I guess that’s one way to test them…is that it?” 

“The rocket rig button isn’t workin’,” Boone adds. “We really need somethin’ with some more power.”

“Boone,” Tyler says, shaking his head at the man. He turns to me. “I can fix that, if you can just help with the drills.” 

I scoff, walking toward the driver’s side to pull the door open and examine the console but Tyler beats me to the door, sidestepping in my path to prevent me from tugging the door open. “I said, I can fix it.” 

“You came all the way here for a mechanic, didn’t you? Let me inspect the work,” I say, tilting my head and narrowing my gaze at him. 

“She’s been running mostly fine, just needs the drills,” he says again, squaring his chest. He looks calm for the first time since stepping out of the truck.  

I poke a stern finger into the soft material of his flannel as I say “Do you want my help or not?” 

He doesn’t flinch, only staring down at my hand hovering near his chest again. He must notice the lack of wedding band and the dainty engagement ring adorning my ring finger because when he looks back up at me, there’s a far away look in his eye.

“Move so I can see what other damage you’ve caused,” I say. 

It’s a low blow. I know it. He knows it. But too much time has passed for me to be kind in my compromising. The hard, stubborn look in Tyler’s eyes fades and softens at my retort. He looks away with a shake of his head, stepping aside while tugging the door open at the same time. My arm brushes against his shoulder as I slide past him. I lift myself into the driver’s seat and glance down at the panel of buttons I’d cleverly designed years ago when he started going out more seriously into the field. 

Crumbs are scattered all in between all the buttons, sticky residue from duct tape collecting dust. “God, would it kill you to take care of this and clean it every now and then?” I ask, cautiously brushing some of it away. 

Tyler ignores me, watching as I look over everything. I glance forward to see if my team is still watching and inhale sharply. The visor is flipped down to block out the sunshine. Gone is the old, tattered photo of Tyler and I on our first date. In its place sits a fresh, glossy photo of who I can only assume to be Kate staring at a storm. It catches me by surprise and the burning embers in my chest return. I make a mental note to dig out those papers from my junk drawer in the kitchen.

I look over at Tyler and we stare at each other for a moment. He’s watching me apprehensively, searching my face for a reaction, maybe an outburst. “Are there flares or rockets in the fittings?” I mumble, turning back to the buttons without waiting for his response. 

I barely hear him call to everyone to back up and instead try to shake off my unease. I hit the bright red button to shoot off the rockets and wait for anything to happen. I push it a few times, clearing out some of the crumbs that I can feel grinding up on the sides but still get nothing. There’s a piece of tap beneath the hitch button, Kate’s Barrels scribbled in Sharpie. I purse my lips and grab the joystick, pushing the button to deploy the drills. They shutter a little, digging into the ground and rattling to a halt with one digging further down than the other. I push the button to retract them and sigh, starting to climb out of the truck. 

“Well?” Tyler’s voice is thick as he steps closer. 

“You’re fucked,” I say, not bothering to look at him and instead motioning for Charlie to open the gate. 

“Can you fix it?” the curly haired man next to Kate asks. 

I look in his direction, then Boone is smiling like an idiot. “Course I can. Boone, can you get the truck inside for me?” 

Boone moves to jump into the truck at my request but Tyler grabs him, tugging him out of the seat to climb in instead. He starts the engine and Boone races to catch up to me instead. He’s joined by the others, walking behind me to the warehouse. 

“TempestEdge,” the curly haired one reads our sign and we get to the bay door. 

“Carter, can you grab my tablet please,” I ask and he nods, running back to my desk. 

“Wait, you guys are those government contractors building and updating infrastructures to withstand storms,” he says, sounding in awe. “You guys are like, state of the art.” 

“We try,” Charlie crosses her arms, tight smile on her lips as she and Birdie watch Tyler drive into the warehouse. Charlie nods in my direction. “El’s the mastermind of the operation, I just crunch numbers.” 

“The team is the mastermind of the operation,” I say, rolling my eyes. I put my hand out to shake his and Kate’s reluctantly. “I don’t normally come off this harsh. I go by my maiden name, Eleanor Harding.” 

“Javi Rivera,” he says slowly, trailing off. 

“Kate Carter,” she introduces herself, shaking my hand. “Sorry for the awkward introduction.” 

I don’t know how to respond so I just nod, turning to walk further into the warehouse. Carter meets me halfway with the tablet, while the others head back to their desks. “Thank you,” I say, starting to swipe through our inventory for possible scraps and parts I can use to fix the truck. Carter stops me though, placing my phone on top of the screen. 

“Before you do that,” he says, his voice quiet with the surrounding guests. “I think you should call your mom.” “Carter, my mom can wait for a call back. She probably wants to hear about how the test went. You know how she gets on days like today,” I say, pocketing my phone and going back to the tablet. 

“Wait,” Javi exclaims. I turn around in surprise, noticing he’s looking at some of the photos on the siding of the warehouse. “That’s where I know that name from. Your parents created Dorothy, they’re legends.” He turns back to me, eyes wide. My phone starts to vibrate again in my pocket. 

I dig my phone back out from my pocket to see the 14th missed call from my mom. “They’re something alright,” I say. A text pops up then. I read it quickly, passing the tablet back into Carter’s chest. 

“I was trying to tell you,” Carter says, holding my bag and keys out  to me. “I’ll catch a ride home with Charlie.” 

I glance up at him, the pressure behind my eyes building again. Can anything go right today? “Thank you.” I turn to head out to the truck without another word. Heavy footsteps stomp behind me, chasing me out the door. It’s not even 10 AM yet as I unlock the truck. 

“El, Eleanor, where the hell are you going?” Tyler bellows as he catches up to me. 

“It’s gunna take a few days to get parts, alright? I’ll call Boone when the truck is ready,” I say, tossing my bag into the passenger seat and starting the engine. It takes a few turns before the engine roars to life. Tyler’s hand catches the door, preventing me from taking off. 

“Hey, talk to me,” he murmurs, leaning into the cab. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t pretend to care all of a sudden, Tyler. You’ve got what you came for, I’ll fix your damn truck so that you can go head first into the next monster of a storm with your girlfriend, alright? I need to go,” I say, my eyes glossy when I look away from his hand to his face. 

He steps closer, pushing with force through my tight grasp on the door. He’s silent as he reaches up to grab the seatbelt, stretching over my hips and torso. I squeeze my eyes shut, distraught as my hands only find comfort on the steering wheel. The click of the buckle is so loud in my ear and I have to remind myself to take slow breaths until Tyler is no longer invading my space.

“Leave the reckless driving to me,” is all he says before closing the door and stepping back. I do my best not to look in the rearview mirror and I peel off down the road to St. Mary’s Medical.

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[gothamite-rambler]

"I am SNOWFLAME! Every cell of my being burns with white-hot ecstasy. Cocaine is my god, and I am the human instrument of its will!" Snowflame exclaimed.

Snowflame (singing in a gruff voice): Oh Harley! Oh Harley!

Harley (dread): Not this guy. Roy, stand back.

Roy (Arsenal): Can you not say my government name out here?

Harley (looking around nervously): Yeah, yeah, stay behind me.

Roy: Why, what's going on?

Snowflame: HEY I'M BEHIND YOU!

Jason (to Roy): Get ready for this.

The trio turned around, with Harley stepping in front to shield the bewildered Roy. They spotted Snowflame the cocaine powered supervillain, just as an electrifying guitar riff blared out, despite the fact that they were outdoors with no speakers around them.

Snowflame: I AM SNOWFLAME! EVERY CELL OF MY BEING BURNS WITH WHITE-HOT ECSTASY. COCAINE IS MY GOD, AND I AM THE HUMAN INSTRUMENT OF ITS WILL! COCAINE GIVES ME LIFE, ENERGY, POWERS MY SOUL! SNOWFLAME!

Roy (debating if the electric guitar riff in the background was real): Am I high or is there a guitar riff in the background?

Harley (aggravated): We still don't know where it's coming from. Are you high? If that's what's happening, get out of here!

Roy groaned, refusing to respond, covering his face in annoyance. Jason shook his head, signaling that Roy wasn't high.

Snowflame: Harley, Helmet man... Ginger man I've not met yet how dare you return to my jungle! I sell COCAINE to give others the euphoria that COCAINE provides! They can never be as powerful as I-

Harley (aggravated): Stop, stop, stop! Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I get it! He gets it. You say this speech every time I've had to deal with ya and turn off that guitar riff! I can't hear my thoughts!

Snowflame placed his hands on his hips, annoyed, then snapped his fingers, causing the music to stop. Roy looked around, surprised that the music had actually stopped.

Roy: What?

Roy started walking around, searching for speakers, while Jason chuckled, amused by the situation. Harley rubbed her forehead in frustration.

Harley: God, you're like the Creeper mixed with the Joker.

Snowflame (unhinged): You're no fun. Typical freaks like you who can't handle the true power that the life giver COCAINE provides!

Harley: Oh my God, Roy are you okay? Do you need to go a good distance. I know all the toxic drug talk is probably clouding your mind?

Roy (confused): I'm fine.

Harley: You sure? I get if you need to be away from this walkin' drug dealer.

Roy (offended): OH FUCK YOU!

Snowflame (gasping in horror): Have you deprived the follower of COCAINE the sweet white ecstasy to life? Ginger man, join me and we will rule the world with the power of COCAINE!

Roy (loud): I was never on cocaine! Harley, you don't seriously think- Of course you do... of course you do! Why did I go with you guys?!

Harley: That's what I'm sayin'. You can get a contact high from this coke head! Hood I told you to let him wait in the car!

Jason: Nah, I'm enjoying this.

Snowflame: Enjoy if you must, inferior male! My contact highs would explode your mind. Only I can feel the true power of my sweet nectar to life!

Jason (rubbing his forehead): I'm getting a headache being around him again. Roy, if you need another job he's hiring and pays in cocaine.

Harley: Hood! Stop it. Roy-

Roy: Stop calling me that! I'm not Ginger Man, and for this mission, I am not ROY! Is the name Arsenal that difficult to remember?! I was never on COKE either, you jackasses!

Harley (shielding Roy): I know how those gateway drugs work. Snowflame, keep ya distance from us we don't want your coke crack.

Roy: Those are different drugs.

Jason (trying not to laugh): You're not helping your case.

Roy crossed his arms and walked a few feet away, reluctantly agreeing with his friend.

Snowflame: You may attempt to inflict pain on me, but I warn you, one blow to me will make me stronger! I am no ordinary man! You see before you a man ON FIRE! A man who has consumed enough cocaine to kill a bear, but not I! I will not give up my magical powers that are provided by COCAINE! FOR I AM SNOWFLAME!

Roy: Is he OD-ing or is this some torture method from the matrix?

The guitar riff blared back to life. Jason laughed at the sound, while Roy looked bewildered.

Roy: Seriously, how does he do that?

Snowflame: COCAINE MAKES ME DO THIS. AND WHAT IS THIS OD? OVERDOSING? BAAH! I am IMMUNE to such a weak act! I BURN with thought, accelerated thought! Always moving. Always on! I never sleep! I am the ONE!

Harley: Says the man who ate three bricks of cocaine like they were brownies.

Jason (clapping): Okay... I can't every time... he's like an escaped mental patient.

Harley: J- Red Hood, you are insulting your boyfriend!

Roy: I'm not insulted... We're not dating! I'm embarrassed for this Snowflame nutjob and pissed off.

Harley (turning to Snowflame): See what you done? He's mad.

Snowflame: Hahahahaha! WEAK! Another FREAK who can't handle the true flame to life! I will never give up my COCAINE! COCAINE is my God, I am its vessel and I am the human instrument of its will! I relish you weaklings to defeat me for I know you will LOSE!

As the guitar riff came to an end, Snowflame nodded, pleased with his monologue. Meanwhile, Harley glanced at her nonexistent watch.

Harley (irritated): You done?

Snowflame crossed his arms and nodded, as if to indicate that he had successfully made his outrageous point.

Harley: Goodie… can we have a moment to chat?

Snowflame: Yes, I will prepare over here! Precious COCAINE let's get started.

Snowflame sat down on the ground next to a cutting board piled high with white powder. He began chopping it up with a credit card, treating it as if he were dining on a gourmet meal.

Jason stood by, chuckling at the deranged drug addict. Meanwhile, Harley walked over to Roy and yanked him by the arm, keeping a safe distance from the cocaine-fueled supervillain.

Harley: We got about a minute, look at that man's smile. There's only one thing runnin' through that coke fiend's mind and it's snortin' coke which gives him more energy. What’s your plan, Jason?

Roy (suggesting an idea): What if-

Harley (raising a hand to silence Roy): Nuh-uh, R-Arrow man? Nah, that’s not it… I forget your hero name most of the time. Ginger man, I can’t, in good faith, let you be close to him. I don’t want you relapsin'. Sit this one out.

Harley turned Roy away, snapping her fingers like a strict parent and pointing in the direction of the car. Roy growled in frustration, gripping his bow tightly in anger.

Jason (nodding in agreement with Harley): I can't believe I'm saying this, but she has a point… A solid point. I got a contact high just from punching him once, so yeah, sit it out.

Roy: But-

Harley: Nuh-uh. Car. .

Roy (pouting and stomping his foot): Man, this is embarrassing! It wasn’t even coke I was addicted to; it was heroin! I’ve been clean for years! Damn it!

Roy took a few steps away and sat down, clearly annoyed. He refused to go to the car like a child.

Harley (to Jason): Jason, what’s the plan?

Jason (holding up his gun): Can I shoot him?

Harley: Yeah, but he’s strange. He can take a bullet, I’m not sure-

Jason shot Snowflame five times as the man bounced around after snorting his booger sugar. Snowflame fell to the ground. Five seconds passed then he jumped to his feet.

Jason (surprised): I forgot he could do that, but I was high after punching him. You gotta admit that is kind of awesome.

Harley groaned, rolling her eyes.

Snowflame: FOOLS! You think your measly human bullets can stop the COCAINE that flows through my blood! I am a TRUE GOD! Fueled by sweet co-

Roy (at his breaking point): Would you shut up!

Roy shot Snowflame with an arrow. The guitar riff abruptly cut off, but the former addict paid it no mind as he grabbed another arrow and nocked it in his bow.

Roy: I didn’t go through withdrawals, one relapse, custody battles, and losing my father figure just to deal with some 80s villain!

He fired another arrow, then another, and another—totaling four in all. Snowflame toppled backward, one arrow embedded in his arm, one in his stomach, one puncturing his hip, and the last lodged in his thigh. Despite the injuries, Snowflame remained hyped up but severely wounded.

Snowflame (weakly): Snowflame ... Will tap out.

Jason clapped as Roy seethed, letting out a frustrated groan.

Roy (fuming): What an asshole. I can’t stand guys like that. I’m heading to the car, and it’s my choice!

Harley nodded, thinking she admired Roy's determination. Meanwhile, Jason noticed how irritated Roy was by the coke addict bragging about something he had struggled with for so long, a battle he had fought to escape from that dark place.

Harley: I'm proud of him. High-five?

Jason brushed past Harley to reach Snowflame.

Jason: You’re lucky Arsenal got pissed off.

Harley shrugged and gave herself a high five.

Harley: My years as a rehab counselor are paying off.

Jason: You were a drug counselor too?

Harley: I was a psychiatrist, obviously. And I didn’t sleep with my teachers!

Jason (laughing): Understood.

[sirianasims]

The Don Diaries

Don will not have time to correct this mistake and tell Dani how he feels though - because Kyle Kyleson, Slacker Extraordinaire, has arrived! *cool electric guitar riff plays in the distance*

Dani is immediately smitten and OH HI MIRACLE.

And also HI GRACIE. Man, all of Don's past mistakes are out in force today.

Kyle and Dani are hitting it off though. Kyle is perfect - he's got the physique of Don but not the personality or issues of Don. Great choice, Dani.

Uh, Don? What are you coming out here for?

DON THIS IS NOT THE TIME NOR PLACE AND IT NEVER WILL BE

Fucking hell, Don. You're in love with her, just talk to her about it like a normal person.

Oh, wait, that's right - you can't. You fucked it up, Don. It's too late. Go back inside and call Cali Girl.

I don't know who at EA designed Kyle but they had a sense of humor. He's a lazy slacker who will randomly call you and pretend he's a long lost friend who needs to crash at your place for a while, but one of his traits is Genius. Talk about an underachiever.

Dani immediately invites the buff himbo upstairs under the guise of teaching him how phones work or something. Or maybe she's trying to prove some sort of point to Don.

Don knows very well what is about to happen in Dani's room, so he goes to finish his latest dating app and leaves Herbert to supervise Matteo's lunch for a moment.

As Don predicted, Dani is about to get to know Kyle a lot better.

And so, while Don rocks the dating world with yet another hook-up app...

... Kyle also rocks Dani's world.

Don tries to keep his distance to Dani after this. Has he truly lost her for good?

Maybe there is such a thing as too little, too late.

Don't think I can't see you, Bob. I've given up on you. I hope you're suitably ashamed.

HELP US HERBERT YOU'RE OUR ONLY HOPE

[ellabsweet]

[ੈ✩] 𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐓 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 • 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐒

synopsis: in which you’re fooled.

pairing: rockstar!ellie x reader x rockstar!abby

warning: mentions of cheating and drug usage but i believe that is all ! let me know in case there’s anything i just wanted to put this out already because of the traction this is getting which is making me sososo happy thank you everyone i love you <3

authors note: ——

← previous part | next part →

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐑.𝐈.𝐏 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇

approximately two years earlier…

“Who’s the pretty girl?” Ellie asks after snorting a line of powder from the small bathroom’s sink, a banging to the door from an urgent adult being dismissed by her and the dealer.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that”

“Oh c’mon you know the one. Sad eyes girl who watched the whole show from her seat at the bar like we were a band worth shit, like we’re going to be someday”

“They call her bunny around here. ‘Cause you know, a cute shell for a sex addict, y’know some misogynistic shit. She’s a regular to all The Deadbeats show on this shitty bar, you only want to fuck her now? Get on some fan service?”

“You’re fucking gross, man. I just digged her vibe, is all”

What Ellie meant by that was, she saw her soul reflected in your eyes and it scared her shitless but not enough to go untouched by the exchange, drowning in curiosity and magnetism the drugs made sure to intensify your face in her mind as though a printed sticker inside her brain. What Ellie meant was, she thought God was a girl with sad eyes and skimpy top watching her band in the corner of a loud bar piercing right through her like a Heaven and Hell collision midst a guitar riff.

Daniel took one last sniff of cocaine before he slammed the door open, the yell in his throat setting off a headache in Ellie: “Bunny! Come meet your rockstar!”

“I like your songs-“

“We’re gonna get married” You errupt in laughter with that, the sad eyes Ellie had attatched to the memory of you suddenly disappearing in bright amusement, she felt as though she could use your happiness as a new kind of high “I’m not joking, I would carry you in my arms straight into a chapel right now”

“Does that line usually work with the girls you go for?”

“I don’t know, you’re the first I tried it on. Is it endearing enough to convince you to elope?”

“You know every single person in this goddamn bar wants to get in your pants after that guitar riff, right?”

“I’m gonna be fully honest with you right now. I’m fucked out of my goddamn mind today, if I stare at you too long from the mix I took you’re gonna start having two heads and still I might dig it. But God, even then you look so fucking sad”

“Jesus” you scoff “alright junkie well I’m gonna go now-“

“You look so fucking sad and I see you. It’s like I’m seeing an angel cry, like I’m watching God in a party outfit wandering around and listening to my band, like a little bunny eyed daydream fucking painting on a museum wall that makes critics bawl into tears listen, shit, what I’m saying is you’re a fucking tsunami and I feel like I’m flooding and we haven’t even kissed and you don’t even seem to like me all that much right now but when I was up there?” Ellie pointed at the stage “You felt it too. My lyrics. You felt my stuff I know you did, like some soulmate shit like you feel my pain too like we’re both just trying too damn hard. I’m not insane yet, you’re something let me be something to you, I think I can be”

You didn’t answer her. You just kissed. Crashed your lips into her like you were coming up for air because something in your booze made something about her nonsense make sense. You thought you saw her in a dream when she first went up on stage, thought her to be one of those blurry faces in good nights of sleep that passed right through you, familiar in a mystical sense, in the stupidest way. Her lips on yours tasted of pure alcohol and it made you dizzy, weak in the knees. She knew her way around your body, waist and neck like a map engraved itself to the palm of her hands and you melted straight to them.

For two months you believed she was right that day, onto something. Talked about grief and music and love and death and space and leace and thought you knew her forever. Then The Deadbeats got more traction, moved to the spotlight. Then you caught her fucking a fan in the studio.

“All of Ellie’s girls think they’re special”

“Listen Abigail I don’t want to fucking hear it so you can fuck right off” You grabbed your bag, tears prickling in your eyes as you did so before the blonde grabbed hold of your shoulder, instinctively having you look back at her, perhaps the first time you truly looked at her all this time.

“But you really are.”

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[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Now that there's an animated adaptation of Midnight Sun coming, and given the industry's recent track record (see: Minecraft Movie), what's the worst, bad faith, cash grab adaptation idea you can imagine? I figure if we inoculate ourselves then the reality won't suck so much.

My nightmare: Streaming has a long history of making shitty attempts at "adult animation", so we'll get an Edward who constantly cusses and does lewd jokes. It'll be like the HBO adult animated Velma (Scooby Doo) show where the writers' disdain for the characters fills every scene. The first episode will focus on how Carlisle helps plan a murder of some overly suspicious deputy so they can keep living in Forks.

Anyways, worst case theories? So we can feel better when it's not THAT bad? Or else use the apollo prophecy meme on your post a year or two from now.

My 'realistic' prediction

Twilight: The Edgy Animated Adult Series with Twelve Times More Drugs and Swearing

Oh man, yours is worse than mine. I mean this guessing the future business is a little silly in general, but I think that wouldn't happen as Twilight's not...

How do I put this?

Scooby Doo is a beloved, vintage, IP that's so well-known it's a part of American culture/Americana. It's in that weird place where it's acceptable to do edgy reboots of it because everyone already knows the premise of the Scooby gang, each individual character, the bad guys, and their mysteries.

You don't have to explain who any of the characters are supposed to be, so you get a "ah ha ha ha isn't it funny that Velma swears now?" because you know she's from a 1960's cartoon.

Twilight's not quite old enough for that and, at least in my opinion, not pervasive enough for that. It was a huge sensation, but was never as big as HP, and dominated only a subset of the YA audience (female-targeted YA romance). Ask a person off the street and the most they can probably, maybe, tell you is "sparkly vampires and Team Edward and Team Jacob". So, at best you get riffs like we saw when Twilight came out with the Simpsons and various other parodies where the parodies... really didn't know what to do with the characters or what it was even about. "Milhouse turns into a poodle, I guess? Is that funny? It's funny, right?"

Twilight just isn't old enough and as big as it was, I don't think was widespread enough.

So, I think we're going to get an earnest reboot.

But you do now have me concerned. And I may be eating my words later on this post and reblogging with a clown face.

Other Theories

Alright, let's see what we've got/what we can come up with:

Yours: HBO adult comedy horror fest

Mine: Boring, Snoozeville, Tame, Generically Arted Palatable Twilight that is Designed to Be as Appealing as Possible

Other options I can think of are...

Interview with a Vampirepalooza/Oh God I Don't Know What's Popular: given the recent success of Interview with a Vampire, an edgier adult story with adult characters, Netflix will look to make Twilight their exact own version of that. Except they won't understand what made it work there. We sexy it up but in a CW way, the kids are all still in high school but the fact that the Cullens are fucking each other is brought up relentlessly in an edgy way. The vampires all look hot, hot, hot but in a normal human way where you're not terrified they're some crystal robot out to eat your limbs. We'll keep some of the artsy weird dialogue, but Edward will be both somehow made more sympathetic (as he is the lead we end up with) and 'dark' where he's dangerous in a sexy way and not in a "you smell like my personal heroin way".

The Buffy Route: remember that one teen show from the 90's that was so good it spun off an entire genre of television that essentially hadn't existed before? Twilight becomes a fun teen oriented show where the characters say witty, fun, teenage-like things and get into episodic mysteries while somehow trying to remain in the realm of Twilight. Edward loses his edge, Bella loses her unrelatable nature, and we really play up every time a character has a funny line and write a lot more in there. Unfortunately, it's not a well written teen comedy show and so the lines are just generally bad and the plot never seems to go anywhere and it's just boring.

Hannibal the Twilight: some really artsy director gets involved and we now have a show where the symbolism of Edward walking around as a man-deer takes over the entire fucking thing. Nothing ever happens, Edward just shows up in Bella's dreams as a snarling man deer. When characters talk to each other, it's in artsy nonsense dialogue where it feels like both are reading 2000's era chatbot scripts to one another as they mix metaphors about ponies, china pottery, and dust motes. The plot is so non-existant the only important episodes to watch in a season are the premier and finale, except even then it's unclear what happened.

Audience Input

Anyone else got any wild guesses here?

[badomensgoodomens]

RIFFS AND REGRETS - NOAH SEBASTIAN

oc name used: arabella

warnings: mention of sex?? throwing up??

unedited btw

summary: lol u dont get one keep reading.

The pounding on the bus door was enough to drag my sorry ass out of bed. I should NOT have drank that much. “Bella!!!” the pounding was repetitive. “Sorry! Sorry! Geez. i didn't even have a bra on.” My drummer, leo, stood infront of me with the hangover holy grail. coffee. 

I rub my face, god i slept in my makeup. He hands me an iced latte, in which i accept gratefully. We were currently parked in the bus sector of good things festival, approximately two days before it kicked off. I knew he was here, engraved into the back of my fucking skull. I just wonder if they were still together. 

I was talking about noah of course, the topic of him having haunted my dreams the past 4 years. Silhouettes of Silence (SOS) kicked off after we stopped being friends, which im sure  was a real slap in the face for him. I do briefly remember the events leading up to the pure distaste and hurt i feel towards the man, but i could honestly go on forever. 

I was snapped out of thought as leo repeatedly snapped in front of my face. “Get your shit together you haven’t even seen him yet” he says, raising an eyebrow at me. “Wheres lucy and gene?” i ask, glancing around the poorly furnished bus. “Probably hooking up somewhere." “I ought to fire those two one of these days.” 

With a sigh, i get up from my position on the leather couch. “Cmon, we gotta go set up our merch tent.” much to my absolute dismay, we were opposite none other than the bad omens merch tent. I just avoid eye contact. I loiter near pierce the veils tent, danielle had babysat me my entire childhood so we were close. 

“Silhouettes of silence, huh?” i heard a voice behind me. I could recognise that little shit anywhere. “Folio!!” i turn on my heels, running towards him. I hug him tightly, even after all this time he still smells and feels the same. “Ive missed you, man.” he says, pulling away. I shrug awkwardly, “hah… sorry. Kind of skipped town after everything went down. Im proud of you, you look well.” i say, shifting awkwardly on my feet. “Same to you bella, you look better.” he says with that stupid smile. “We should hang out some time.” i say, smiling at him. “Mhm, bring back our thrifting adventures.’ he says, glancing back to his tent. “Hey i gotta go, catch you later yeah?” he says, disappearing before i can even say anything. 

“That was an absolute disaster.” i gesture to danielle, who had appeared next to me. “Eh, id say it wasn’t too bad. If the rest of em are like that, this’ll be a breeze for you.” she responds. “Just wish it wasn’t like this.” i say. She hums, before stepping back to return to her organising. I take a deep breath, it was day one and i was already exhausted. I manage to leg it back to the bus without another unnecessary encounter with an omen boy, but at what cost. 

I step inside the dark tour bus to be met with the sound of moans and skin slapping. 

Oh my god. 

“Abstinence in the tour bus they said. Itll be fun being in a band they said” 

—--------------------------

Another day of rehearsals and setting up, pre show day nerves hitting me hard. I go for a walk after the suns set, just minding my own business. It was late, and quiet. Moments like this really kept me alive. My bassist and guitarist were immature, i feel like im going no where with my life, im still caught up on a GUY- oh god theres somebody behind me. 

“You look like shit.” 

“Oh my fucking GOD jolly you scared the shit out of me you creep.” i hiss, turning around. He just laughs, walking alongside me. “Its like 11pm, why are you out here walking alone?” he asks. “Thinking.” i mutter, looking down at my feet. “Fuck. i cannot see.” he mumbles, turning his phone flash on. 

We do a lap of the festival grounds, just catching up a bit. “You look different.” jolly says abruptly. I stop walking, now confused. “Sorry?” “its just.. I dont know. Youve lost weight, dyed your hair, started a band, covered yourself in tattoos its just.. Weird. You definitely look more.. You.” he says. I ponder for a moment. “Geez youre observant.” 

We finish our lap off, before going our separate ways to our buses. “Soo… seen him yet? Leo asks, sprawled out on a leather couch with some chips. “No… not yet atleast. But i'm gradually ticking off his bandmates.” i respond, sitting down next to him to steal a chip. “They were your friends too, bella.” he says, his voice softening on me. “Dont get all sappy on me” i say, shoving him. He laughs.

—--------------------------------------------

Showtime. 

I  could actually throw up. 

I stand infront of the shitty bathroom mirror, some comfy flares and a hoodie on for now. I take deep breaths before warming up my voice.

Everyone gathers for soundcheck. 

“Hi yes im in my slippers, uhhh someone give me a song to sing.” 

“Floral and fading!!!” 

“My voice doesn’t go thaaaat high!!” 

Its about 3pm now, ive already pregamed some drinks and some artists have even started. Leo is curling my hair, while i cake on some makeup. “Im so not ready for this.” i say, setting my face. “You’ll do perfectly fine, warm your voice up.” he says, poking my side. 

I stand backstage, cracking my knuckles. Something I usually do out of pure fear. I rock on the balls of my feet, zoning the fuck out. “You got this.” Lucy says, standing in front of me. I just nod, anxiety swirling in my stomach. “You’re on in 10.” the stage manager says, walking behind me. I sigh, rubbing my face. “Im gonna shit myself” i choke out a laugh. 

I finally get my shit together and step out onto the main stage. Our song ‘urban legends’ blares through the plethora of speakers, my stage presence is bipolar compared to me naturally. I’m confident on stage, not in real life. 

Passion seeps through my voice as i perform our debut album, ‘echoes of silence’ the crowd is ecstatic, feeling the vibe. I transition into our newer songs, whom have grown popular on tiktok. Its exhausting really, but i love the adrenaline. 

As our set closes, i stalk past all the sea of backstage members, catching the eye of the one man id been trying to avoid. I don’t have time to care though, i can hear leo walking behind me, trying to get my attention. Fuck. i need a bucket. 

I run into the backstage bathrooms, throwing up. Gene and lucy hold my hair back. My ears are ringing and i feel queasy.

The last thing i hear before i black out is

“Is she okay?”

_____________________________

credits to whoever came up with 'abstinence in the tour bus' i read it somewhere and think of it religiously lol.

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Hazband 2: Band AU

Buckle Up, Buttercups. This is gonna be looooooooooong.

-"Insider Bands" playing on VH666 streaming services on a computer monitor / TV screen sitting on the desk against the far wall-

Charlie: (laying on her belly on her bed and chewing her nails like a cartoon goat chews through a field of grass as she watches the TV)

Riff Rascal: Alright, dudes, dudettes, non-duders, and rock-aholics! That was Simple Plain's newest single "Why Are We Kids?!". Coming up next, our guy, our big shredder, our big bad-

????: Dammit, Riff!!!! Just get on with it!!!

Riff Rascal: Yo, sorry, boss lady! Coming up next, we have our expert in all things metal and shredding, Axel Steelgrave, conducting a super secret, super exclusive interview with one of Hell's latest and greatest! Stay tuned!

Charlie: (whines and plasters her face into the comforter) Fuck! I really messed up! I shouldn't have released that album, guys! What if Vaggie doesn't like girls outside of the metal scene?! Then I'm just the creepy, stalker, pop diva who messages her on Sinstagram every once and a while! And likes all of her posts! And comments on each picture! And-

Razzle: (trying to finish polishing Charlie's hooves after a full pedicure and hoof care) Baap?

Charlie: So? It was only ever mentioned once in a tabloid that she was once in a poly ship with a man and woman before. Nothing set in stone. Who listens to tabloids anyway? She said she was a lesbian in her last interview with Angel Metal Monthly.

Dazzle: (brings up a wide array of nail polishes) BaaaAaaAp?

Charlie: Yes! She messages me back almost immediately after every message I send her, but that doesn't mean the's interested in me. She hasn't been online in a week! (rolls over and flops onto her back, covering her eyes with her arm) Not since Katie Killjoy did that whole news segment on my new single music video and album.

Dazzle: (painting Charlie's hooves in a deep red hue called "Wicked Sinister") Baaaaaaap. BaaaAAaaap. Baap. (clicks his hoof in a way that's supposed to look like a sassy finger snap and blows heated air over the paint)

Razzle: Baap! (scowls) Baaap. Baaa. Baap!

Charlie: Thanks, Razzle. No, Dazzle. I really don't think this is some kind of rebound. I really started liking her during the Battle of the Bands gig over at the Jackpot Hotel and Casino. She was the first person who didn't openly laugh at me being there even though I was the only pop singer there.

-VH666 blares back with a heavy metal guitar riff-

Axel Steelgrave: Hey, good evening, everyone. How's it going? Tonight, we have a very special guest. (camera pans out to show Vaggie sitting next to Axel in an interview chair) Lead singer, guitarist, and rocking girl, Vaggie the Steel Vagina from Fallen Angels.

Charlie: WHAT?!?!?!?!?! (crocodile death rolls around in her excitement and falls out of bed, completely wrapped in a burrito, and worm crawls over to the TV) RAZZLE!!! DAZZLE!!! TURN IT UP!!!

Razzle: (salutes) Baap! (grabs the remote and turns up the volume)

Dazzle: (sad bleats as he looks at the mess of nail polish everywhere) baaaaaap.....

Vaggie: (trying not to snarl at the name) It's just Vaggie, Axel.

Axel Steelgrave: Oh, sure. Sure. Well, thank you so much for taking the time to come and see us. Not gonna lie. We were shocked to hear that you were coming out with a new single so quickly.

Charlie: (plasters her face to the screen) New Single?!?!?!?!?!

Vaggie: (blushes slightly) Well, I figured after hearing the Princess's new album and call-out, I should work on a reply.

Angel: (from behind the camera man) You wouldn't have had ta write and record a whole new song and music video if you just sent 'er a video of you jacking it all week! I've never heard dat vibrator work so hard in its life! I swear I smelled smoke last night!

Charlie: (squeals, gasps, and shrieks all at once and falls backwards)

Vaggie: (jumps up from her seat) Angel! What the Fuck?!

Axel Steelgrave: Well, well, well, I guess that answers my next question. I take it this new single is going to be good news for the Princess?

Vaggie: (still steaming as she sits back down and tries to compose herself) I know you have the video on hand. Why not play it and let the fans see for themselves?

Axel Steelgrave: I couldn't have said it better myself. (to the camera) With that being said, let's take a look at a sneak peek of Fallen Angel's new single: "Dear, Charlie - For Somewhere Better".

-Video cuts to some random point in the music video where Vaggie is standing in black leather skirt that has the leather ripped into strips in a hoola-skirt style, black halter tank top, thigh high leather heeled boots, and black fingerless gloves, holding and shredding a guitar. Angel is a pink, fabulous gay disaster on drums while one set of hands works a keyboard.-

Vaggie: (singing) We'll ignite. Still dreaming wide awake. On the hunt for "Somewhen brighter". Pull me close now, and I'll dream until my dying day. Till we create a new "Somewhere better". The promise of a life. Like a thousand suns inside my broken heart. I can see through your eyes. And embrace the flame that guides me through the night.

-Video Cuts back to the interview-

Axel Steelgrave: (freaking out excitedly) Wow! That's quite the statement! Good on you, Steel Vagina!

Vaggie: Vaggie.

Axel Steelgrave: Before we end this exclusive, is there anything you want to say to the Princess in case she's watching?

Vaggie: (Face falls briefly as her eye widens and a blush colors her face) Oh.... (shakes her head to compose herself, looks into the camera, and makes a telephone gesture) Call me~

Axel Steelgrave: (laughing) Alright! You heard it here first, folks. "Dear, Charlie" will be available on HellTunes tonight at midnight. Thank you all so much for tuning in. And, as always, stay rocking.

Charlie: (finally managing to unravel the blanket and sitting on the floor with a bright red blush) C-Call.... Her.... She wants me to call her... (jumps up and down like a teenager in a bad "not another teen movie" while holding Razzle and Dazzle's hooves) SHE WANTS ME TO CALL HER!!!! (pauses) How?! I don't have her number!

-DING!-

Charlie: (dives for her phone on the floor and opens a new Sinstagram message)

FallenAngelVaggie: Hope you got a chance to watch "Insider Bands" tonight. Talk to you later? Maybe over coffee? XXX-XXX-XXXX

Charlie: (takes a deep breath) SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Vaggie: (leaning against the wall of the VH666 studio, holding her phone against her chest, and taking a long drag of a cigarette)

Angel: Hey! I thought you were quitting! (yoinks the cigarette and plops it between his lips)

Vaggie: Dammit, Angel! I said I'd be done once my case is empty! (digs in her pocket and pulls out an angelic steel cigarette case) It still has four left! I haven't even lit up in nearly six months!

Angel: I know! Proud of you for that. That interview rile you up that much that you gotta wreck six months of hard work?

Vaggie: Ugh! (slams her back into the wall) You think Charlie got the message?

-squeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

Angel: (looks up at the sky towards the Morningstar Mansion where it looks like fireworks are going off on one of the balconies) Oh, I think she got it~

[clairyclue]

my thoughts on Majestic Rep’s RTC

it’s a lot sorry guys

tags: @jencattv @ray-winters @keatondj

(spoilers below the cut)

you can tell when ocean starts questioning her attitude and how conflicted she is, especially right after WTWN 

jane gets startled so easily poor baby

noel’s riffs are amazing!! (noel’s lament)

the choreo is awesome too!

mischa is a such a sweetie he genuinely cares so much about the other choir members 

mischa flipping ocean off before “i love you guys” haha

constance’s finger guns after “fornication” 

constance laughing at ocean out down jokes and then switching up is so funny 

i love oceans line delivery she’s like three seconds snapping i love it 

jane going from being able to move

fluidly during the songs to being stiff again she looks so confused every time 

ricky. just ricky ❤️

connie i thought the crystal meth joke was funny 

^^ i love all the dialogue in that scene i don’t remember it in original cast slime tuts 

fuck mischa’s adopted parents fr you can tell his anger is a defense mechanism because when he feels comfortable with the choir he’s so sweet!!

MISCHA FALTERING WHEN SAYING HES TALIAS FIANCÉ 

“THANK YOU FOR KILLING MY MOTHER AND INDIRECTLY KILLING ME” 💔💔💔

MY LIFE IS AWESOME 

(i’m gonna start categorizing by song now i don’t have much for WTWN and Noel’s Lament so)

jane dope 🔥🔥

mlia gives mad sibling karaoke vibes 

karna i see u bopping along 

the singing too is immaculate 

OK JANE i see u dropping it down 

TALIA

this mischa genuinely seems so into it he deserves so much credit in way of character work 

the way he gets all bashful during his Talia monologue 💓

background harmonies (constance is carrying and also i can hear her so well!!)

again riffs!! well done 

the choreo goes crazy!! this applies to all the songs tho 

the arms making a steeple 🥺😩

THE ENDING RIFFS 💔💔💔😩😩😩😭😭🥺🥺😞😞

the projection i’m gonna end it all 💔

MISCHA FUCKING CRYING INTO NOELS SHOULDER HELPHELPHELP and even once the dialogue moves on he’s still clinging to him and Noel rubs his back

“ocean why aren’t you talking right now it’s weird” (ricky in the bg: ☝️)

i love u connie awkwardness 

jane is so reactive to everything she hears like a little puppy 

“OKAY!! 😁😁😁😁” (autismo lore dump time)

oceans face when he’s explaining it 😀 to 🙁 to 😟

AND THEN SHE FUCKING MOANS U CATHOLIC FREAK (no offense to catholics reading this)

noel’s face me too bud 

ricky’s lore is kinda gross just because it wasn’t always this way. but sigh what can you do

SPACE AGE BACHELOR MAN:

ricky my little freak boy ❤️

spacedolls realness coming through 

“sure…😬”

rip ricky u would have loved therian tiktok 

little curtain face thing “it gets weird now :)” (•.•)

“THAT SON OF A BITCH !! 😡😡😡”

the emotion behind his lines the whole time tbh adds to the comedy (“i thought i told them !! 😕😕”)

the ending “b-b-b- bachelor man!” (“meow!!”)

we love u mischa hype man (again sweetest man alive)

constance’s “oh man!” was so agressive i loved it the one in the soundtrack seems so sad. this constance is less shy more awkward and i love it

THE BALLAD OF JANE DOE:

i know i know. but choreo. 

vocals!! ily jenna 

bg vocals as well!! 

the mixing 🥹

OK THE OPT UP????

the choreo at “a choir never complete” reminds me of the opening funeral scene from beetlejuice. definitely fits the vibe!

the borderline growl/anger in “and i’m asking why lord” yes!!!!

she sounds so desperate. crying. 

“does no one care?!” again the anger and emotion!

THE BG VOCALS AT THAT ONE PART SO GOOD THEYRE ANGRY FOR HER IT SEEMS 

the roller coaster. them being sucked back into it choreo wise. reverse looking. 

THE HIGH NOTES 💋💋💋

ocean being the one to put the birthday costume on means a lot to me. idk

ocean comforting her too 🥰🥰

janes birthday claps!

SNATCH !! 🧁🧁

ocean doing connie’s hair ❤️

savannah scene!! 

we don’t get to see it but i know the waltz is happening 

“ur ma best frand 💓“

^ and then ocean immediately snaps my heart again. 

“no you don’t ocean. 😕”

i understand oceans monologue she just. executed it badly. 

constance 😝 beat her ass girl 

“or they’ll call you a cow” baby. come here. 💔

constance. i get you. i get u connie baby. 

JAWBREAKER/SUGAR CLOUD:

oceans face ❤️ i don’t know how to describe it but she looks. proud. and her sitting almost re-evaluating everything in the back. (assuming)

ricky giving her the mic ❤️

HER GIGGLE

them scooting her around aghhhahahdhdbdheh

cloud props!

CONFETTI AND BALLOONS AND IM SMILING LIKE A FOOL

jane looks so happy with her ballon skipping around 🥹

the ending!! ILY CONSTANCE 

mischa helping her down awww

ocean and connie hug!!

can’t forget the nischa hug

ocean losing her voice inflection and sounding so genuine. so scared. so raw. 

janey when she gets chosen 🥹🥹

ocean and connie hug 2

JANE REACHING FOR RICKY SNDBDJWKDJDKF

ITS NOT A GAME/ITS JUST A RIDE

crying over the ending brb 

the slideshow will always get me 

something about the whole scene. houfhhhhhhh

“and you give and choose while you live and lose” and the lines preceding it get me 🥹

ARE THOSE REAL VIDEOS OF JENNA?!?!?!

KARNA SOUNDING LIKE THEYRE GONNA CRY

the first lines of it’s just a ride. no music. so raw sounding 🥹 the teary voices. the haphazard harmonies. 

ocean and mischa holding each other. big bro little sis 💓

“WOO!”

THEIR FREESTYLE DANCING! 

they’re having so much fun. they’re dead but they’re LIVING for the first time. 

all of the hand holding. my babes. 

[shotmrmiller]

https://www.tumblr.com/testoster0ne/711690776657248256/reece-by-jake-odonnell?source=share

this is so soap..........

frat!soap who was the one known to have fucked probably jolene herself would open the door like that to the frat house.

you're just there to pick up your friend who's a little too drunk to walk home by herself and this man is oppressive with his junk swinging and crop top.

you know him, everyone does. he's the pretty scot with the sea for eyes and a quirky mohawk cut. and he's caused a riff between your friends because he fucked them both.

oh you know him, this rat bastard. thing is, he doesn't know you. and that's what captures his interest.

"never seen ye before. ye new?"

idiot. "no, and you'll never see me again. excuse me." your fingertips digging into his shoulder as you push him aside, and quietly head upstairs.

"ach, tha's no way to enter a man's home, aye? at least a name, bonnie."

gross. not pet names. "what're you a cop?" whatever he might've answered with goes unheard because you're already beelining to your friends boyfriends room. (trying your best to not think of that meat cleaver that was in between his legs. who wears shit like that? freak.)

btw, he would wear tighty wighties, and he'd look spectacular in em cuz he's the type to use bleach on whites so they're like blinding whenever he's got them on. he takes good care of himself and his clothing.