#The Frighteners Fic

[inevitablemoment]

Chapter Five: She Wanted Sunshine (I Was Midnight Rain)

Anthea's date night with Molly is interrupted when Frank and Lucy call.

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It's back! It's back! It's back!

[a-most-beloved-fool]

tos jim kirk is very funny to me because he is so bad with children. you'd think he'd be good with them, but he isn't. i think he probably likes them well enough, he just. doesn't know how to talk to them. not one bit. has no idea how to interact. kids can tell he's trying, but he's bad enough at it that they don't really like him more for it. type of guy who you'd hand a baby to, and he'd hold it out in front of him with stiff arms. like, um. what do i do with this. he could be coached on proper holding technique, but he'd still look visibly uncomfortable the whole time.

tos spock is Not Much Better. i think that he feels more clueless around kids than kirk does, but kids also like him more. he doesn't have it in him to be mean to a child ever, so all the awkward kids adore him, and he spends the whole time with them sending desperate looks to other crew members, being like, 'help, i am ill equipped for childcare' and everyone around him is like, 'nooo, you're doing great!!!' while the child has a blast and he is wishing desperately to be Anywhere Else. however, he does refuse care of babies. somehow, he is even worse with babies than jim is.

bones, though - he's a kid guy. he loves kids and babies. he adores them, they adore him, it's a win win. and he looks over at kirk and spock Struggling and he laughs and laughs and laughs. (the kids, of course, think this is hilarious, and they join in on making fun of kirk and spock, even if they don't really know what they're making fun of them for.)

[ky-landfill]

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXIV)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... PHYSICAL!! THERAPY!! LET'S GET TO IT!! *80s aerobics music is piped in from nowhere* Also Flash numbero two was there.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Green one,” the quickfast one says. The masked teenager groans.

Danny looks down at his cards. He’s got a green eight. He drops the card onto the pile, and waits, perfectly aware that the girl is only down to her last two cards. The card flutters vaguely toward the pile on Danny’s bed cot.

He’s sitting with his legs crossed now, he admires. Holy crap. This is what dreams are made of.

“Bruce two,” the teen in the leather jacket demands, slapping down a—Oh, it’s a green 2+ card. It’s take two. Right.

The blonde girl scoffs, but her two cards bloat back up to four. Quickly though, with a little shuffling, the four become three with a green three slapped down on top of the deck.

Everyone is down to only a three or four cards. Danny is sweating through his medical issue tee and shorts.

Danny has not won a single game yet.

Danny really wants to win.

The masked teen (why is he wearing a face mask?? Like…over his eyes?? Not even his mouth??) opens with a new complication: a red three.

The red-haired quick-kid flicks a wild card plus four down with a smirk, pleased to make this Danny’s problem. “Blue, cnytte four!”

Okay, so what is cnytte?? Danny just got used to ‘take’. What is this new synonym. Why is everyone determined to hurt him like this. Why couldn’t these people just use Esperanto.

Whatever. Danny bites his lip and pulls the trigger: wild card plus four. He quickly points to the leather-jacket teen. “R-red. Br-take eight.”

The kid splutters. “Hey! That’s not the riht!!”

That is for sure how he and Jazz used to play it in after-school. The other kids never complained. “Is.”

“No, it’s not??”

Danny sticks his tongue out. The leather-jacket wearer squawks theatrically; it takes the mask-wearing kid thirty seconds to find the official pdf of the rules of UNO, and a new argument is off to the races.

“Atredde!!” the teen demands, snatching the phone out of the masked teen’s hands to show Danny the screen. “Þær, there!!”

“I can’t read,” Danny points out cheerfully. He can read some things, sure, but not when he refuses to look at the phone.

The phone gets closer and closer to Danny’s face, and Danny looks anywhere else—at the ceiling, the floor, and his bed, all without letting the guy point it out to him.

“Atredde,” the guy demands, the glass of his screen mashed against Danny’s cheek. Danny struggles not to laugh. “Atredde, atreddeatreddelooklooklook, you wearg—“

“No aðs, no aðs!!” the only girl of the group yelps, grabbing the spare pillow from underneath herself to start beating him with. Danny’s assailant shrieks. “Do you want to get in trouble with Wonder Woman?!”

“Wonder Woman wolde take my sid!” the teen hollers. Danny ponders if biting him would solve anything for all of two seconds before the doors smack open.

Everyone looks at Diana. Diana looks at everyone.

“I win!” Danny cheerfully announces, and sets off more yelling.

Danny does not, in fact, win anything other than a late lunch. Still, it is enough that he won, even if he has to sit through a gentle, brow-raised scolding as the nurse cleans his port and replaces his stomach-hole bag.

Lunch is a smoothie with powered vitamins and some pain medication mixed in. Life goes on.

For the first time, though, Danny doesn’t eat lunch alone; since he can, like, keep his bed relatively clean now that he isn’t constantly leaking ectoplasm everywhere, there are four teenagers crammed onto his bed with sandwiches, wraps, and sodas of their own. Danny can phonetically pronounce the brands on the side of the can, he notices. He has no idea what they mean, but sometimes the girl in the blonde bob and the too-fast teen will ask him to pronounce them, and they only snicker sometimes.

The teen in the mask makes a noise. “I want a lið. Wha want anything?”

“Nah,” No,” “Na þancs,” all echo.

Danny sucks on his smoothie straw. It tastes like bananas today. Ew; potassium. “What is… lið?”

The teen holds up a can of soda in his ungloved hand. Danny makes a face. He’d love a Mountainous Dunk right now, but gas in his bag…eugh. More trouble than it’s worth.

“No.”

The teen shoots him a pair of finger guns and darts out the door, leaving the rest of them behind to argue over UNO rules in at least two languages and without any expectation of resolving the issue.

Danny peaceably polishes off his smoothie. He’ll have to get the back done again, but eh. As long as no one’s directly looking at the process while it’s going on, he doesn’t super care whether or not anyone’s in the room, per se? Is that weird? Is this weird??

It’s probably weird. But also. Danny has fuzzy memories of roaming the building and leaking goo the entire time he was out and about, so… Suck it, he can do what he wants! He’s sick!! And maybe even dying??

“What is þæt andwlita??” the blonde girl asks, only for the quick-fast teen to poke Danny in what can be assumed to be a grumpy expression. Danny feigns a bite just to be mean. The other teens don’t even pretend to think it’s a threat—the blonde even laughs.

The teenager comes back and sits on Danny’s bed again, mattress barely bouncing as he makes himself comfy. It takes Danny a second to realize that he didn’t come back empty-handed, though—but instead of sodas, the guy brought back a tablet and a weird expression under his mask.

“…Look,” the teen finally says, and flips the tablet onto his lap so that the screen is visible. The teen clicks on a browser, and types in a word Danny isn’t familiar with, and pulls up a stock photo straight out of a photo frame Danny could buy at the craft store. He points to the smiling woman, the man, and the kid in the picture. “Moder. Fæder. Dohtor.”

Danny glances at the photo, and then at the teen. …Okay…?

The teenager bites his lip, and picks a new photo. This one has two men and a child, but it was basically the same. He points to each person as he named them: “Fæder and fæder, and sunu.”

Danny looks at the photo. He looks at the teenager. He looks at the photo again, and the masked teen backs out of the photo he onscreen to pick another one—with a woman and a man crouched around three kids and a dog.

“Moder. Father. Daughter. Daughter. Son.”

Realization breaks over Danny—oh. These are supposed to be families. These are family titles. Huh.

Danny scrutinizes the image. They…you know. They look happy. Danny used to…

…Mom, and…

It hurts too much to look at the photo for long. He knows that it’s fake, and he knows that models just get hired for show, but even the imaginary families hurt. Happy, loving people exist out there in the world.

Danny was in a box. Danny was in a box.

Danny—

The teen makes another noise, and Danny drags his focus out of his melancholy doom spiral with every tooth and claw. He manages. Barely. The masked teenager switches over to a drawing app and pops a tablet pen out of—nowhere, actually? Where did that come from??

The teen hems and he haws and he fills out a stick figure with some red and black clothing details—and a mask, and a bowl cut, which is how Danny figures out it’s a scrappy little self-portrait. It doesn’t look at all like the oversized tee tucked into the teen’s short shorts, but you know, whatever.

Next to him, the dude draws a giant, brick-wall-broad, no-eyed, man-shaped blob with upright pointed ears.

It’s. Uh. It’s sure…something.

“Son,” the teen labels himself, and then draws an arrow to the giant, colorless blob. “Father.”

…Danny squints. Is that normal? To have a huge hulking entity-dad, and then have a short, shrimpy-looking teen waif?

Like you, imaginary Jazz interrupts, since he was thinking about her.

He carefully bats the thought away before it can make him cry.

“My father,” the teenager adds, since Danny probably looks like he’s mostly paying attention. “Stincende.” And then the guy draws a bunch of stink lines coming off of him, just to prove a point.

Danny chokes more than he laughs. The teen’s friends laugh outright, teasing with words that are a little too quick for Danny to parse and snickering under their breath. The masked teen smiles quietly.

“So mean,” the teen in the leather jacket declares, cackling mercilessly. The orange-haired teenager wheezes breathlessly.

“Stincende hlaford of the trask,” the teenager adds mildly, cheerfully without mercy. “Very boring. Very stif. Very grimm.”

Okay, so some of those words were definitely straight-up cognates. Mr. Lancer gave Danny a C in English last semester, but Danny’s going to guess that, based on how their language is pretty much entirely similar, that the stink lines are more of a metaphor than anything.

“Gross,” Danny decides. He’s not sure if the word actually means gross or if it’s more of a medical-trash-and-waste-disposal sort of word, but his audience of four snicker and bump his shoulder and that’s good enough.

“Mmhmm,” the masked teen agrees. He clicks on an eraser tool, enlarges it, and wipes himself clean off the image. In his place, he puts a little white-haired figure in a white medical gown.

…Oh.

Between them, the artist puts speech bubbles, giving both the drawn Danny equal part in the imaginary conversation.

“Talking,” the teenager says without looking at Danny. Eventually, when the speech bubbles are done, he lifts his head. “Yes? No?”

…Is this a request? Is this a demand? Danny fists the sheets between shaking fingers. Nowadays, they always shake at least a little. There are no perfectly still days.

“Have to?” Danny asks, hesitant. It’s a common enough clarifier to use when he doesn’t want to do something. They try to explain what they can to him here, but the language barrier is thick and impenetrable in many places.

“No. He just wants to.”

“…Why?”

The masked teen frowns. He takes the tablet back from his lap and begins to draw something way more complex.

Everyone else slowly works on their food, but the masked teen doesn’t return until he has, from what Danny can tell, a thickly complicated organizational tree chart.

He recognizes a few headshot photos in the middle. The green guy. The human-looking guy in red that Danny does PT with sometimes.

Towards the bottom are the teenagers—both ones Danny does and doesn’t recognize, and some of the teens around him are photographed in different hats and outfits and masks. The quick-fast-red-haired teenager Danny’s come to recognize used to have shorter hair, apparently? Now it’s down to the teen’s neck. Meanwhile, the blonde girl’s got a haircut; her new look has a shaved undercut and a body too short to prop back up into her photographed pigtails.

The guy in the leather jacket looks the same.

…Danny holds up the tablet to compare to the teenager himself, who kindly poses the same way as he does in the picture in the same way: suns out, guns out. Yep. That’s him alright.

At the top of the organizational tree are three people—a dark-haired guy who Danny’s seen in passing, Diana, who is both a superhero and a super-minder, and some scary lookin’ dude who looks exactly like the doodle Danny just saw absolutely smothered in stink lines.

The tablet falls out of Danny’s hands. He’s not mad or anything, but he tends to drop stuff when holding it becomes too much of a burden.

So.

The masked teen’s dad, is, like…one of several bosses. One boss is the person watching Danny at all times, which is…weird. Danny isn’t sure he warrants, like, constant security from a high-ranking super-someone. He mostly just sits around all day. Sometimes he gets his stretches in. Sometimes he gets wheeled out to look at the stars, and then he just…sits some more.

Danny shifts in his seat. So maybe he. Maybe…

…Okay, so even if talking isn’t good, per se, at least maybe he’ll figure something out? Maybe?

Like. Maybe he’ll be able to figure out, like…why he’s here. Why he’s in space. Why they’re taking care of him.

Danny doesn’t look forward to talking. But it’s. Fine.

Probably.

He nods.

“…Yes?” the teen asks again, double confirming that this is what Danny wants. Danny doesn’t want this, but he wants answers, so he nods again, more firmly. But still. Staring. At the sheets underneath him.

“Okay.” The teen opens up a messaging app, and types something into the address bar. “Now? Or later?”

“Later.” Danny’s got to rest and digest lunch first.

“Okay.” The teen types into the tablet with the little pencil. Danny sees verbatim what the masked teen wrote when he turns it around: very literally, “Yes,” and “Later.”

There’s a little spot for Danny to sign his name. The teenager gives Danny his pen.

…Danny just hits the send button and is done with it.

[butaneurotype]

GUYS GUYS GUYS GOOO read ''Perseverance'' by @pastelaspirations !! ABSOLUTELY beautiful story that had me hooked since the start.

I am so obsessed with this fic and can only ever think about it everyday. At work or at home it is STUCK in my head.

If I hyperfixate on an AU of an AU it means it's GOOODD. READ IT !!!!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Fly by Moonlight

CW: Vaguely fantasy, hunting, possessive whumper referenced, bullet wound, guns, blood, makeshift surgery, implied dehumanization, scarring

Chapter One

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The sky above them was an explosion of stars. With her head tilted back until it tipped against the sleeping bag, providing her the barest protection from simple dirt, she could see the Milky Way itself, winding its ghostly way from one horizon to the other. It was funny, to think that she was a part of that winding, sinuous length of endless light. 

The people who think they came from stars, she thought, must have been people who thought highly of themselves. There was nothing more incredible than this, and it seemed impossible to understand how something as amazing as stardust could coalesce into the reality of wind rushing through leaves around their campsite, the simple beauty of her own heartbeat and blood.

Alongside the universes she could imagine above her, the moon hung heavy and full. Supermoon time, it was so much larger than usual, blocking some of the stars when Anaya tried to find them. 

The moon, she thought, felt like what it was - a piece of earth thrown into space by asteroid impact. Like a mother who loses the grip of her child’s hand, and all of history had been the story of their slow reconciliation. Or maybe of the child running, always staying just ahead of her mother’s reach.

Anaya Cross laced her fingers together behind her head, her heavy, dark hair providing as much softness as any pillow. Beside her, in another sleeping bag, her boyfriend Eden had long since fallen asleep. His heavy, soft breathing and the sight of his ash-blond hair falling over his forehead was another kind of peace. Eden only slept well in the wilderness, and Anaya never slept well at all. 

Even if she didn’t sleep much, here, she could rest by watching the stars. Her eyes traced a constellation, catching on the edge of the corona borealis and following its C-shaped swing from one end to the other. 

Then, she heard a sound.

It was a faded sort of boom, as if someone in the park had set off a huge firework, one of those big mortar kinds Anaya had been terrified of as a child and still avoided today. She frowned, shifting uneasily and pushing herself up a little onto her elbows.

At first all she heard was the wind, the soft whispering of the leaves.

Then it happened again.

Boom.

Anaya took in a quick breath and sat up fully, head tipped to one side. This time, the sound was followed by a high-pitched squeal, almost a scream, but totally inhuman. Anaya’s breath caught, and she scrambled to push herself out of the sleeping bag, leaning on her knees over to shake Eden’s shoulder. “Eden-... Eden! Wake up!”

Eden groaned, slapping ineffectually at her hand, before his eyes finally blinked slowly open. They looked fogged over, still half-asleep, but he moved to sit as Anaya popped up to standing. “Wh-... what’sit?” It was all one run-on sound, hardly language. “Naya? What’ss… what time’sit?”

“I don’t know,” She answered, shifting forward slowly. Between the stars and the moon, the night around them was nearly as bright as daylight, only with a cool, almost blue tint to everything around them. “I heard something. Like a-... like a gunshot. I think. From a really fucking big gun.”

“You heard-...” Eden’s brain was still struggling to come online. He raked a hand back through his hair, leaving it standing up in wild chunks all over his head, before he started wiggling his way out of his sleeping bag, too. He stood, scratching at his stomach underneath his ratty old t-shirt, gray sweatpants hanging low on narrow hips. “A gunshot? Here? But-”

“Protected reserve, I know. But I definitely heard it. Do you think…” She trailed off. All she heard now was the wind, rushing through the trees. Only-... was it only the wind? Or was there a discordant note, crashing of something desperate running for its life?

Boom.

This time she could see Eden heard it too, his eyes widening. The sound was closer, louder, more immediate. Anaya and Eden’s gazes met, and then without a word spoken the two of them half-ran, half-walked as one to the edge of the clearing and away from the obviousness of their campsite. Eden’s car was parked at the camp lot a three-hour hike away, and they were deep within a part of the reserve no one was supposed to go to. It had seemed romantic, when they came here and chose this space, carefully marking their trail to ensure they could make it back. It had seemed like a way to get away from it all and really find peace, let Eden get some real sleep.

Now, though, it seemed to hit Anaya all at once that coming out here - alone, with only her boyfriend, with no one really aware of where they’d gone other than ‘camping’ - had been monumentally, impossibly stupid.

Anaya crouched down behind a tree, keeping the campsite in view. Woods like these could get you lost within a few feet of where you’d been, the trees so close together that they hid you from your own trail unless it was well-marked. Eden moved to be just slightly in front of her, shielding her a little.

Not that it would matter against a gun that could make a sound like that.

“Poacher?” She whispered. 

“Probably,” He whispered back. Now the crashing seemed close, and Eden’s body was warm against hers even as both of them were shivering. “But what is there even to hunt here? You can find deer anywhere in this stupid state, you don’t need-”

The answer to his question came flying out of the woods in front of them.

A huge wolf that somehow still looked half-grown and spindly, with too-long legs and giant paws, flashed through their campsite in a reddish-gray gleam lit by moonlight. Until it tripped over Anaya’s cooler full of beer and went tumbling, high-pitched whimpers and whines filling the air. Anaya jerked forward when she realized the cooler now had a red smear along the white lid, but Eden grabbed her arm to pull her back out of sight. 

“It’s bleeding!” Anaya hissed. “That poacher shot it! We should go help!”

Eden’s grip only tightened. “It’s not a dog,” He hissed back. “It’ll just attack you. Not to mention the poacher will shoot you, too. Just stay here, Naya!”

The wolf stood on shaking legs, a low soft whine in its throat. The light of the moon seemed to turn the tips of its red fur to silver, reflected in its strangely human-looking eyes. Anaya blinked at the sight of scarring around its snout, like something had been wrapped there at some point until it dug in. It limped to the edge of the clearing, tumbling hard to one side before righting itself. Blood streamed from one back leg, clumping the fur and leaving a dark stain. 

The wolf’s tongue hung from its mouth and it panted heavily even as it tried to lick at the blood and the wound beneath it, ears pricked and moving constantly. Its tail was tucked between its legs. Its nose went to the ground, picking up the scents of Anaya and Eden probably, and Anaya shivered when it growled.

The low rumble was more frightening than the sound of the gun.

At least the gunshots hadn’t been about her.

After a long pause, the wolf’s growl ended. It did what Anaya could only call taking a deep breath to steady itself, and then limped heavily away, out of the clearing in the general direction of the main hiking trails where Anaya and Eden had started their hike out here. Its nose stayed low, and Anaya heard Eden let out a breath in a rush once it was out of sight.

“Uh… what do we do now-”

Anaya clapped her hand over Eden’s mouth, shushing him and yanking him further back around the tree trunk.

The man with the gun - and holy shit, Anaya didn’t even know they made guns that big - stepped into the clearing, taking in the sight of the destroyed campsite smeared with wolf blood with a baffled, incredulous expression. He wasn’t too much older than them, maybe in his thirties, but he had a hardness to his jaw that said whatever his age, the years had definitely sucked the life out of him.

“Well… shit.” The man huffed, moving forward and using the muzzle of his gun to nudge the blood-stained cooler, lifting up the sleeping bag Eden had been in only a few moments ago. He ran a hand back over his crew cut, looking around. “Hey! Is anyone here? Anyone hurt?” The sound of concern in his voice seemed real. 

But Anaya and Eden were alone, in the woods, in the middle of nowhere. And this guy had an enormous fucking gun. They stayed silent, in the dark.

“God damn it.” The poacher sighed, looking down at the sleeping bags. “Shit shit shit. If he killed somebody… that little shit. Fucking campers on our land. Bet he chased them off. I’ll have to call Bill and report it. He’s gonna kill me when he sees Rusty got out, let alone that he made a mess out of campers… if they find bodies on our land again, we are going to have the government up our fucking ass…”

He pulled out a compass and looked at it, then looked ahead, eyes scanning the ground. He must have seen some of the wolf’s blood on a leaf in some underbrush, because he moved forward confidently then. He went through the clearing, from one side to the other, and then was gone. 

Anaya and Eden waited until the sound of the man moving through the forest had faded into the distance, and then looked at each other. 

“... Did we go too far and end up on private land?” Anaya asked.

At the same time, Eden said, “Did he say ‘if they find bodies on our land again?’”

Both of them stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Then, as if they’d come to some agreement that didn’t need words, they moved out to the wreckage of the campsite. Anaya rolled up the sleeping bags while Eden checked on the small cooler, wiped the rest of the blood off of it with a shudder, and then shifted it back into the heavy pack he’d carried out here. Anaya felt the tension rising between them, until it was tight enough it might snap. Her heart pounded so hard it found its way up her throat, making her occasionally stop to catch her breath. The two of them pulled their socks on and then laced up their hiking boots after. Neither even bothered to dress in daytime clothing. Their sweatpants and t-shirts seemed like enough, for now. 

The hike back was silent and slow.

They put one foot carefully in front of the other, following the markings Anaya had left wrapped around trees in non-obvious places. She undid each and every colorful ribbon, packing them back away. Taking back everything they’d brought with them. No sign they’d ever been here at all, ideally.

She found herself wondering where the park ended and private land began. There’d been no signs, no warnings. Not any that they saw, anyway. Then again, it’s not like you could mark every square inch of a wild forest like this one.

Above them, the moon hung heavy. When its light cut through the canopy overhead, it made everything otherworldly and beautiful.

If only Anaya could appreciate it, and not take every quiet step sure she’d see the end of a gun between her eyes the moment she looked up.

At some point, they got close enough to the trail for cell phone signal to come back, and her phone buzzed with a handful of missed messages. Nothing that suggested anything big had happened while they were out of reach. She didn’t dare check it - not yet. Not until she felt sure that the light from her screen wouldn’t draw in either an injured, probably hostile wolf and a healthy, definitely hostile guy with a gun.

She kept cycling her thoughts back to the sight of the thing. Something had been off about it, but she didn’t know enough about guns to even begin to know what. Hell, she didn’t know enough about guns to even know if anything was actually off, or if she was just thinking of movie-guns and not understanding that the real thing was different.

Exhaustion dragged at the edges of her mind, even as adrenaline kept her so wired that she knew she couldn’t possibly have fallen asleep even if they simply laid down right here. Hours passed, Eden and Anaya saying little to each other. They heard the boom just once more, far enough away that they felt themselves finally able to relax.

Wherever the guy had tracked the injured wolf, it wasn’t in the direction they were going. 

Finally, they stumbled back out onto the trail. 

Anaya checked her phone, as surreptitiously as she could.

It was almost three in the morning, and they had another good two hours of hiking on the trail before they got to the parking lot. 

“I say we sleep in the car,” Eden said, voice heavy and husky. When Anaya glanced over at him, his half-lidded eyes reminded her of a sleepy kitten, and she found herself smiling, briefly overwhelmed with love for him. He frowned back at her. “What?”

“You’re cute,” She said. He shook his head and started walking again, but she caught the edge of his smile before he turned to hide it from her.

“Pretty sure the T was supposed to make me handsome, not cute,” He said over his shoulder as he started walking again.

Anaya had to stifle a laugh - talking might be okay, might be safe, but laughter carried further. Especially Anaya’s laughter, which had a tendency to be too loud, according to her mother. Too loud, attention-taking. Just like all her emotions. “Well, you’re definitely handsome,” Anaya said brightly, falling in behind him. “You’re just also cute. You were handsome before the T, too, by the way.”

He didn’t say anything, but his shoulders straightened a little, and she caught the edge of a flush to his cheeks.

Her feet ached by the time they had Eden’s car in view, the ancient Subaru with its huge trunk thanks to the removed backseat a white gleam in the pinkish light of early dawn. The moon was still visible, just now beginning to fade as sunlight overtook it, wiped it out. Each throb was in time with her pulse, and Anaya’s brain seemed to have become mush at some point.

They could sleep in the back of Eden’s car, if they made it to a safe parking lot or something in town. Maybe the diner where they had parked before they came up here, those people had seemed pretty cool about it. 

Eden came to a sudden stop, and Anaya walked into him so hard the two of them both stumbled, Eden with a huffed breath, an oof that any other day would have been funny. But now Anaya just groaned. It better not be the poacher having found them. She was too damn tired to deal with that, or even be scared of it anymore.

At least if he shoots me I can get some damn rest, she thought.

Out loud, she only mumbled, “What?”

Eden swallowed. Anaya could hear it. Something about that woke her back up all at once, sent brand new adrenaline flooding through her. Her head began to pound in time with her feet and her heart. Would anything not hurt by the end of today?

“There’s something under our car,” Eden said, voice hushed. 

Anaya stiffened. “The wolf?”

Eden took one step forward, and then another. He squinted. “... No. I think it’s… a person.”

“A what?”

Who would be out here? Thanks to flooding on the more well-known trails, this park had been more or less empty of tourists. It was one of the reasons Eden and Anaya had chosen this for their off-trail campsite. Eden moved slowly forward, and Anaya followed him. Once she got closer, though, she moved more quickly, dropping her bag next to the car and moving into a crouch.

The sound of her pack hitting the pavement made the boy curled up under the car flinch, his arms jerking to cover his head with his hands, knees nearly to his chin. Anaya caught a glimpse of reddish-brown hair through his fingers, a swath of pale skin marked with brown freckles at the shoulders, the tip of his nose.

“Hello?” Anaya whispered, reaching slowly out. Her fingertips just touched the boy when his eyes snapped open and he looked at her with wild, animal terror.

His eyes were the same color as the wolf’s. 

His hair was the same color as the wolf’s fur had been, reddish brown, maybe tipped with some gray.

His left leg had a wound blown right through it - bullet wound, Anaya thought a little wildly, I’m looking at the entrance and the exit’s at the back, he’s lucky it didn’t hit the artery there - and the blood was… everywhere.

The boy’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a useless snarl. His teeth were flat, human, except for maybe his incisors being a little too long, a little too sharp. He had scars marked across his face, around his neck, all over his arms. Some old, simply silk-soft skin marked in risen lines, some fresher, still bright red. A couple even looked like they’d been bleeding recently, too. He made a sound that Anaya only realized after a beat was an attempt to growl.

“... This is the wolf,” Anaya said, voice low. “Eden… Eden, this is the wolf.”

“What? No. That’s clearly a dude. The poacher must have seen him and shot him.”

“No, this is-... his eyes Eden-”

“That’s not a wolf, Naya. End of story. That is a dumbass teenager who did dumbass things. Somebody’s probably looking for him.”

Anaya thought of the poacher’s confusion, his angry concern. “... Yeah, somebody probably is.”

Eden dropped into a crouch beside her, casually pulling out the knife he always had on him, flicking it so the blade showed. “Naya, something’s wrong with this kid.”

The boy’s eyes went to the gleam of sharp metal and he whined, curling up tighter. Anaya frowned, looking at his leg. The blood. The wound. The way the boy’s skin was ash-pale under his freckles. The scars, half of them rough but the other half precise.

Knife-blade scars. She had some old ones herself, although hers had been self-inflicted.

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, felt it trembling under her touch. She could barely reach him, he was so far under the car. “Hey.” She gentled her voice as much as she could, rubbing lightly. Goosebumps rose where her fingertips went, but the trembling seemed to settle a little. “Hey, kid. You’re… you’re really hurt. We’re gonna call someone-”

The boy scrambled backwards away. “No!” His voice came out hoarse, as if he wasn’t used to speaking - or speaking with a human mouth, anyway. “No! Don’t! Don’t call!” He made it to the other side of the car, scrambling to his feet. Anaya went to chase him, but in the end she didn’t have to - as soon as he tried to put weight on his leg, he went down hard, scraping the palms of his hands on the pavement and letting out a pained cry.

Anaya swallowed. “Eden-”

“I’ll call 911-”

“No,” she whispered. “He’s scared of that. Let’s just… let’s just put him in the back of the car, yeah?”

Eden paused. “Naya, are you fucking out of your mind? Where are we gonna take him? He needs a hospital.”

“Or a vet clinic,” She muttered, ignoring the look Eden gave her at the dark joke. “No, let’s just. Okay, let’s just… we have our first aid kit. You know how to do stitches-”

“Stitches, sure, but I’m not exactly qualified to treat wounds like that.”

“Try. Let’s get him into the car. Hey, kid? Kid, hey.” Anaya went to the crumpled heap of teenager, grasping onto his arm. He shivered and tried weakly to pull away, but between the pain and the blood loss, he wasn’t exactly able to put up much of a fight. Eden opened the trunk of the car and threw in their packs while Anaya helped the boy to stand. She could hear Eden laying down the towels and sleeping bags, opening up the first aid kit.

That’s why she loved him. He might think she’d lost her mind on this, but he’d still follow her lead.

The injured boy gripped onto her once he was upright, his eyes dancing in terror from Eden to Anaya and back again.

“Don’t,” He whispered. “Don’t.”

“We’re just going to get you bandaged up and something to eat,” Anaya said, voice soothing, easing him into the trunk until he could lay down in there. “Then we can talk, okay? First off, we need to stop the bleeding.”

Those odd eyes stared at her, but he laid down on his side slowly. Anaya had been vaguely aware the boy was naked, but only now did it hit her that the boy didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care. 

“I’m Anaya,” She said, softly, taking his hand and holding it while Eden took a wet cloth and began to wipe away the blood to try and get a better look at the wound. “I’m Anaya Cross, and this is my boyfriend Eden Yarrow. We’re going to help you.”

“There’s no exit wound,” Eden muttered, looking at the backside of the boy’s thigh. “He needs a surgeon, Naya-”

“Well, good thing you trained to be one, huh?"

"Yeah, before I quit residency-"

"Eden, just... can you get the bullet out?”

Eden exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Probably. It's a pretty clean wound. I definitely shouldn’t, but…”

“Well, try.” She turned back to the boy, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles, back and forth, back and forth. The kid stared at her like she’d grown a second head, but he didn’t pull his hand back. He just… watched her, with those strange canine eyes. “Hey. We’re gonna get the bullet out of you, and then we’ll help you get somewhere with people.”

“No,” He said again. His eyes moved from one to the other. “No… people.”

Eden’s eyes closed. He muttered something under his breath that Anaya didn’t quite hear. Then he moved to dig around in the first aid kit again. 

“Okay. Well, we’ll figure that bit out as we go, then. Can you tell us your name?”

She thought of the poacher mentioning Rusty.

The boy was quiet for a long, drawn-out silence broken only by a hiss when Eden used a sanitizing wipe on the wound, cleaning it out again as best he could. Finally, almost under his breath, he whispered, “Misae.”

“Missy?” Eden said, nose wrinkling. “Your name is Missy?”

The boy’s odd eyes narrowed. “Misae,” He repeated, a little louder. Mih-say-eh. Some of the gravelly hoarseness was leaving his voice, the more he spoke. Anaya wondered if he didn’t speak often. 

“That man with the gun called you Rusty, I think,” Anaya said, keeping her own voice gentle.

“... their name for me.” Misae hissed through his teeth, lips pulled back in a snarl again as Eden began to probe into the wound, eyes closing tightly. Tears leaked fro the corners of his eyes. Anaya gave him both her hands and he gripped on tight enough to hurt, making a sound that was clearly meant to be a canine whine. “Not… my name.”

“But Misae is your name.”

“Y… Yes.” His head lowered until the top of it, the shaggy reddish hair, pressed against her. He kept pushing against her, until she twisted one hand free and laid it there, scratching her fingers against his scalp. His whining softened, then. It was all so terribly… doglike.

No.

Wolf.

Anaya tried not to look as his leg twitched and oozed blood even as Eden carefully worked one of the tools he kept on hand into the wound, searching for the bullet. Misae didn’t answer at first. She leaned over, hoping her voice could carry through the pain. “It’s okay, honey. You’re going to be okay.”

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Misae groaned, finally laying his head directly in her lap. She could feel his tears soaking into her sweatpants, the hitching of his breath as he fought not to sob. His voice was a whisper she barely heard, twisted around his pained, frightened whimpers.

“Th-thank… thank you…”

“Found it!” Eden shouted, triumphant. He might have been reluctant to do this, but there was a reason he’d worked so hard to fill his first aid kit with anything you might need to stay alive in the wilderness when medical care was too far to get to in time. There was a reason he’d trained as a surgeon. He was good at this, he always had been. He wiggled the little tool, making Misae cry harder, but then something bloody and shimmering beneath the red came out, and Eden dropped it on a towel beside Misae. “Intact, even. Nice.”

Eden was focused on getting the wound closed up and stitches sewn. Anaya though, watched blood slide along the surface of the bullet, too big, a terrifying size. The gleam of the metal, though, along with the strange runes carved into it, made her eyebrows furrow. “... Eden.”

“Mmmn?” He dipped the needle, pulled it through skin. Anaya knew if she looked she’d faint dead away, so she kept her eyes on the bullet. On the shine. 

“That’s… that hunter shot him with silver.”

Eden stilled and looked up, his eyes catching on the bullet, too. Then shifting over to Misae, who was shaking like a leaf, eyes open now, wide and almost sightless. In shock, Anaya thought, not that she knew for sure or even really understood what being in shock meant. But it reminded her of people going into shock in the movies, on television. Eden’s eyes moved to meet Anaya’s.

“Once I finish stitching him up,” He said, voice low and calm, “We drive this car as far away from here as we can get before we stop.”

“We’re taking him with us.” 

“... Naya-”

Anaya’s jaw set and she raised her chin. “We’re taking Misae.”

Eden looked down at the boy, who didn’t seem to hear or even see the two of them any longer. Then he huffed and went back to what he was doing, sewing slow, careful, precise stitches even as he had to continually wipe away blood, too. “Fine. We go as far as we can with him, and then we… think about what we do next. Figure out how to call his family or something.”

“Fair.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They paused, and smiled at each other.

Then Misae whimpered, and Anaya realized she’d stopped scratching his head. She started up again, and felt some of his shaking settle once more. “Do you have family?” Anaya asked, trying to distract him as Eden finished up. “Someone looking for you?”

Misae was silent for so long that she thought maybe he hadn’t heard her.

Then he answered, voice low, “No family. Not… anymore."

"Did you run away from them?"

"No.” Misae's body shuddered, and Anaya found herself rubbing her thumb in little circles just behind one ear. "No."

"Then-"

"Dead. Everyone... is dead. But me."

-

[feroluce]

Randomly consumed today by the thought of henghill cuddles, but like from a specific point in their relationship, like after they've only recently started laying in the same bed together.

It's something that takes them a long time to work up to; they both have nightmares, and yeah, Dan Heng is a Vidyadhara and he can heal himself beyond anything Boothill could accidentally do to him, but still. Boothill is made of metal now. He's heavy. It wouldn't take much, just a single flailing limb to cause some damage. He still gets up after Dan Heng falls asleep, and sneaks down into the guest cabin in one of the other cars.

But he'll lay in bed with Dan Heng until then. At first Boothill would always try to situate a blanket between them, because well. Metal isn't exactly pleasant to cuddle. But more and more lately, he's noticed Dan Heng keeps worming his way around their soft barrier and just kind of...rubbing his hand along him? Open palm up the curve of his side, across the planes of his chest, into the star-shape at his solar plexus, down the plates of his abdomen, back to his side again. Fingertips tap soundlessly against metal, or press into dents and divots, or smooth over old scars in the steel.

"Ya don't hav'ta do that, ya know."

"Does it bother you?"

Dan Heng's hand has already stopped, settling somewhere on the futon, neutral ground. Boothill clarifies that no, it doesn't bother him. But he can't feel any of it. He only knows he's doing it because he can see the motion out of the corner of his eye. Dan Heng doesn't need to go through the extra effort to do things for him like he would someone with a normal human body.

And Dan Heng goes quiet, just long enough that Boothill gets curious and turns to look at him over his shoulder. He has the cute little furrow between his brows, like when he's thinking.

And then he opens that pretty mouth of his and says, "That's alright, I think I'm doing it for myself, anyway" and Boothill nearly wheezes because wow, Dan Heng is almost never quite that honest when it comes to himself fdklsajlkd

Boothill cackles in surprise and asks point blank what he means, because what could he be getting out of that? Given the implied permission, Dan Heng's hand starts it's usual route again. Side, chest, solar plexus, abdomen, side. Boothill can practically hear him chewing on his words.

"I like that you're warm," is what he finally says, and Boothill suddenly feels like a bullet has just grazed something vital. "All the processes you run increase your temperature," Dan Heng's hand fans out across a span of steel and he holds it there, like he's soaking up the heat. "And your metal is smooth, it feels pleasant to touch," his fingertips move in circles, slip into a divot perfectly sized, rub back and forth. Boothill silently wills one of his cooling fans threatening to open up to stay closed.

"I like how you feel under my hands. That's all." Headshot! No recovery possible.

"...Suit yerself, then," and Boothill quickly turns back over before Dan Heng can see it in his face, how close he just hit to his heart.

[sergeantsporks]

Hunt-low would actually be really interesting if you explored the way their respective traumas would occasionally fuck up their relationship & also focused on BOTH their traumas instead of just making them cute, but y’all aren’t ready for that conversation.

[distorted-twink]

This post is about Gale Dekarios.

He's a faggot! That wizard is gay! He's a fucking faggot! Gale Dekarios is queer! Stop erasing his attraction to men or nonbinary people!!! ¡!

[starcurtain]

I think my favorite breed of RenHeng is definitely:

Even in the Shackling Prison, Dan Heng had just enough memories of Yingxing to be hopelessly, achingly in love with the man despite never meeting him in his current life, spending years agonizing over the cognitive dissonance of wanting to leave every single shred of his previous incarnation behind but being unable and unwilling to let go of the exquisite gentleness and warmth of that one person--

Only to be told that Blade is Yingxing. That his greatest source of horror and anger is the same person whose calloused fingers nightly trace the line of his cheek in his favorite dream, the one that used to make Dan Heng feel like a treasure, like something worth keeping--

And how, how is it fair that he's still being punished? How deep are the sins of his past that he isn't even allowed to keep the illusion of being wanted? How could Dan Feng take every fleeting glimmer of Yingxing's love and leave Dan Heng with only his hate?

How is he supposed to live, having all these broken, beautiful memories--and still having nothing at all?

[witchofthesouls]

You know the film Who Framed Rodger Rabbit where humans and Toons live there together?

Imagine the sheer chaos to occur if any Transformers iterations landed on that type of Earth. No one knows who the fuck these giant robots are as they definitely aren't Toons. Meanwhile the bots can't help but be confused by these strange creatures living alongside the organics.

The Toons however see both factions as perfect targets for mischief. Starscream crashing into a wall via a super realistic painting, poor Optimus getting flowers full of dynamite or Bumblebee having multiple 'Kick Me I'm Fake' signs plaster on his bumper by Toon cars. Megatron feels like they landed in a looney bin as he fails to intimidate the 50th cartoon rat on the ship.

This probably lead to kidnapping a human cause no one is making progress when they're constantly getting menaced by law defying entities.

Oh man, the childhood nostalgia is so real here 🤣🤣

Look, the Toons would break the Autobots and the Decepticons. Cybertronians are not strangers to special powers, but beings that regularly defy all sense of laws in such a blase, hilarious manner without one ounce of logic yet yield so much damage?

The factions' respective medbays will be constantly full of mecha with processor crashes and circuit burnout. Soundwave, Prowl, and Red Alert will have to be put into long-term stasis for their mental and emotional health.

You want peace? Or a long-term armistice? Send in Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck as Trojan Horses.

There is no escape from their antics. Those creatures are everywhere.

Land. Sea. Air. Fucking space in a random astro-suit.

(Mechs would be driven mad trying to find who the hell is Marvin the Martian in any database. Including the Galactic Alliance.)

Even Megatron will break.

He will become hollow mech, desperate for respite, and beg for mercy. A new phobia for the fear of the sound of carrots being crunched and chewed would be implemented in their disorders. As well as Daffy's crazed laughter once they can reliably track it.

But the biggest kicker? All the humans would just chuckle or outright laugh at their declarations. Aliens? Really? Are you sure? What's the gimmick?

Many humans shake their heads, elbowing people around them because there's a new joke going around. Apparently, the Toons caught into the mecha anime explosion, so now they have sentient Gundams walking around with an epic battle of good versus evil.

(Que some Americans shouting things in Japanese. Some want to improve or keep up their language skills. Others just want to be dicks. It would be funnier if humans had so much experience picking out the robots in disguise from the Toons' general mayhem and shenanigans.)

The Toons know that those are real aliens but are too delighted by the sheer potential chaos of having fresh meat, ahem, new neighbors.

[livingininsomnia]

Reader x Silver: Omegaverse, implied non-con, open ended, yandere Silver

You come to slowly, wrists tied up with silk, sitting in someone’s lap.

“You’re awake,” a horribly familiar voice says.

“… Silver? What…” you trail off groggily, before turning still as his hand rests possessively on the back of your bare neck.

“S-Silver?” you stutter, trembling as lips touch your jaw. “Where are we?” you ask, a jolt of adrenaline rushing with the panic.

“You broke your promise,” he ignores you. His fingers rub your neck, possessive, drawing a shudder.

Unbidden, a whine rises from your throat. He presses his lips to your neck, and you break out into cold sweat.

“W-what,” you cry, tensing. You can feel his teeth against your skin. You struggle in his arms. It’s an empty threat, but it still chills you.

“Silver, please, why…?” you plead for an explanation.

He clicks his tongue in dissatisfaction, easily keeping you pinned in his arms.

“You don’t remember,” he says, voice deadly quiet.

Your voice hitches at the eerily empty tone.

“I’m sorry,” your voice breaks, “Silver, please, I d-don’t, I’m scared,” you say in tears.

He slides a hand down your waist, through what feels like satin, or silk, a beautiful white dress that only frightens you.

“You promised to marry me,” he says quietly, fingers rubbing against your hip bone.

You breathe in a sharp, bewildered breath. “I-I? When-but then, even if- but I’m beta-“

You break off. Your whole body heats up almost violently.

“Love, was that why? You should have told me.” Silver’s voice comes oddly distant, like his mouth is muffled, or your ears are underwater.

You shake. His fingers grasp your chin. “Ah, is it finally working?”

Dread builds up along with the heat. Your stomach roils. This isn’t normal. This isn’t a simple fever. No, this is a heat. But you’re not-

“Silver… How.. What did you do?”

“The Fae have their ways,” he says vaguely. “And I am blessedly, deeply loved.”

[necrotic-nephilim]

i simply must know: what are your thoughts on jaydick?

!!! JayDick my beloved, man do i have thoughts. disclaimer that all of these thoughts will be pre-Flashpoint in basis unless stated otherwise just because that's the canon i like best.

to me. JayDick is one of the more incestual ships of Batcest. there's this desperate, driving want from Jason, to have Dick as an older brother. he and Dick never really got to be brothers, they were definitely friendly with each other when Jason was alive, but because of Dick's distance with Bruce, he never got the chance to bond with Jason. he always made sure Jason knew he could go to Dick for help, but beyond that Dick wasn't particularly emotionally available with Jason as Robin. but Jason held Dick in a high regard and wanted to be his brother, even saw himself as Dick's brother. when he came back from the dead, i think the illusion shattered for him, but he still clung to that want for something familial with Dick Grayson.

i've vaguely rambled about Nightwing: Brothers In Blood before, because i think that arc really shows a lot of Jason's true feelings about Dick. of everyone in the Batfamily, Jason cares for Dick the most and wants an honest relationship with Dick more than anyone. Dick is the big brother he never got to have.

meanwhile on Dick's side there's... well, apathy would be the kindest way to put it. i think Jason's death pulled a lot of violent anger out of Dick, but that anger was toward Bruce at moreso the concept of Jason's death than Jason as a person. because Dick never knew Jason that well. so there is this guilt on Dick's side, guilt that he couldn't have in some way prevented Jason's death, guilt he wasn't at the funeral, guilt he didn't do more to accept Jason and possible guide Jason to be a better Robin. this is Dick's mantle after all, so when the first person to wear it after him so violently dies in it, that's a mark on his record too. even if Dick didn't give Jason Robin, he still okayed it and gave it his blessing, so he carries that on his own back.

but when Jason comes back it's... well, messy. Dick openly says he kind of wishes Jason had died when he faced Bruce and the Joker, and he hesitates a bit when he needs to save Jason's life. during an arc of the Outsiders where Jason helps out with genuinely no ulterior motives, nothing nefarious, he just knows Black Lightning is innocent and wants to prove it, Dick still doesn't trust Jason and has no reason to be trusting him. i saw a post on here say that pre-Flashpoint!Dick would've agreed with what Bruce did to Jason during Gotham War (reprogramming him to have a fear response to adrenaline) and like... ngl i agree with it. Dick does *not* care for Jason and regards Jason with a lot of apprehension. and that's the fun.

because usually, in Batcest shipping that centers Jason, it's always the other person in the ship seeking out Jason, trying to bring him home, trying to domesticate/fix him, etc. but for JayDick, i think it's the opposite. Jason would try to be good for Dick, if he asked. Jason wants to be close to Dick, he's reaching out when he knows he shouldn't and doing it in the most fucked up ways sure, but he cares about Dick. we bring up "Jason asked Tim to be his Robin" a lot, but never "Jason also asked Dick to be his Robin". it's always going to be misguided and fucked up because Jason doesn't know how to handle this love he has for Dick, that's an echo of the person he used to be. a person Dick doesn't even *see* in him anyway. that shit is fun and fucked up.

i think the one interesting thing Rebirth did was that one Nightwing Annual where Dick calls Jason 'Robin' to snap him out of killing someone. because in the moment it was to remind Jason of who he was. which is the fun of it. when Dick pictures a kind, loving Jason, he pictures Robin, not Red Hood. that will always be the version of Jason that Dick loves the most. i don't think Dick believes Jason could ever be good enough to be redeemed, but if Dick Grayson loves anything, it's a passion project of trying to fix someone. if Jason came to Dick and tried to be good (without putting on the Nightwing suit-) i do think in the end, Dick would try to help him. Dick wouldn't believe in Jason, but he'd put an honest attempt into helping Jason try to be good. and that's where the relationship for them works the best for me, imo. Jason wants Dick to be his older brother. Dick is apprehensive but looking for pieces of the "old Jason" in this person he doesn't recognize. it's weird and fucked up and they make it work so well. it's really one of my favorite Batcest ships for exploring the incestual nature of brotherly love. it's the Cain Instinct if i've ever fucking seen it.

honestly you could sum this entire ship up as "Cain Instinct but they want to fuck each other after the fist fight" and i do think you would be correct. they say i love you with bloody fists. it's so fucking good man, i love these two.

[bandtrees]

hiatus catastrophizing has made me really worried for how find us alive will end. given the weight it gives character deaths and injury, i don't think anyone will die or anything like that - but i think, and maybe this is just my angst brain talking, site-107 has evolved so much and its people have adapted so well over time, into something unrecognizable as the foundation, that i think when they get out they will be completely incompatible with the outside world/the foundation at large and we'll get a tragic "the shift grew to symbolize hope in isolated community that cannot persist in the 'real world'"-type ending.

(in particular, anna got an ask about the idea that the 107 employees will all be amnesticized when they're found, and that concept's stuck with me...)

a foundation site has become a place where d-class are treated like people, where people who'd previously hardly spoken are now close community members, where a contained anomaly can atone and return to his work and his friends, where anomalies themselves are treated with affection as the pets of a physically+mentally disabled field agent who was considered disposable by the foundation long before she became disabled.

and that's wonderful. it makes me so happy. but i have to fear if the rest of the foundation will be as understanding of the hope and triumph the staff of 107 have gone through - and i don't think they will. fua's story is all about making normalcy, and i would say at this point in the story, shown most recently by gravett and klein, that they've achieved it - but won't it hurt, just like it had in the initial shift, to have that normalcy taken away?

[johnslittlespoon]

how mad are y'all gonna be if i sorta kinda cockblock gale and john in ch4 LMFAOOO the chapter will still be rated E... cannot elaborate further... but for the sake of sexual tension/frustration...

[knickknacksandallthat]

now all i can think about is matt asking jean if he and kevin have bumped baguettes yet and the chaos that follows

anon, the gift that keeps on giving...Matt's completely inappropriate use of french pastries:

*Jeremy, Jean, and Kevin return from hospital*

MATT: Hey, you guys are back! Great! We have a question for you.

AARON: *sliding hand over face* oh no.

DAN: *pointing finger at Matt* Matthew Donovan Boyd, don't you dare-

MATT: so, I mean, clear this up for us if you can, boys. What exactly are you doing with Kev?

JEREMY: *visibly confused* You mean...other than taking him home from the hospital?

MATT: And?

JEAN: And what?

MATT: Come on, Moreau, don't play dumb. Tell us - are you and Knox bumping baguettes together with him?

JEAN: *deadeyeing matt now* What.

AARON: Jesus fucking Christ, Boyd.

ALLISON: Shush, don't stop them - I'm recording.

MATT: Dude, I'm just saying - are you putting the tang in his tart? The cream in his eclair? The flake in his croissant? The meringue in his macaron? The pain in his au chocolat? The tutti in his frutti?

KEVIN: *brow furrowed as he turns to Jean* Are you suddenly opening a French bakery that I'm unaware of?

JEAN: *handing his coat to Jeremy and rolling up his sleeves* Boyd, in the name of Kevin's honor and justice for all of France, prepare to have your ass kicked.

Part 2 to this ask