#and it doesn’t feel like that much happened it’s weird

[wikiangela]

through the good, the bad, and the gross

rating: G words: 1.8k summary: Tommy assures his boyfriend that he doesn't look gross, even with the boils on his face.

[read on Ao3]

“You really don’t think I’m totally gross and disgusting?” Evan asks skeptically, a pout on his pretty lips, as soon as the door closes behind Eddie.  “No, honey, I don’t.” Tommy answers, somewhat genuinely, the boils on Evan’s pretty face trying really hard to get his attention – but his focus is his pretty blue, sad eyes. He still thinks Evan is the most adorable person on the planet, and mostly he’s just concerned about whatever’s happening to his boyfriend. Who is very much not cursed. “You’re still as pretty as always, I promise.” “Really?” Evan levels him with a look, still doubtful. “You heard me.” Tommy shrugs, watches as Evan gets up from his seat, then rounds the table to stand in front of Tommy. “I’d never lie to you.”  “Okay. Then kiss me,” he says, tone challenging, like he’s trying to prove a point. “What?”  “If you really don’t think I’m gross.” Evan shrugs, then pouts, giving Tommy his best pleading face. “I want a kiss from my boyfriend in my time of distress.” He sighs dramatically, and Tommy can’t help the laugh that escapes him. Adorable. “You’re impossible,” he says, aware that he can’t hide a huge, fond smile. “I have no problem kissing you, babe.” He stands up from his seat at the table. “Even when I look like this?”

“Come here.” Tommy rolls his eyes, steps into Evan’s space, grabs his chin, and plants a sweet, chaste kiss on his lips. He feels Evan smile, his hands settling on Tommy’s hips. Just as Tommy is about to pull away, Evan’s grip tightens, and his tongue slips into Tommy’s lips. He can’t help a fond chuckle, his boyfriend always so eager and hungry with his kisses. As always, he reciprocates just as intensely, pulling at Evan’s lip with his teeth, before licking into his lips, Evan tilting his head for a better angle- and then Tommy feels something weird touch the side of his face – it feels warm and hard and lump-like, and he recoils and jumps back on instinct, without even thinking about it. He’s met with Evan’s confused expression.

“I think it touched me.” Tommy mutters, not able to hide a shudder, and Evan scoffs, then pouts again, crossing his arms. In Tommy’s defense – it’s an infection, and felt kind of disgusting on his skin, sue him.

“So you do think I’m gross,” he accuses, going as far as to point a finger at Tommy. 

“Sweetheart, you’re not gross. These-” he vaguely gestures at Evan’s face, “these are a little gross, I’m sorry.” He says apologetically, and Evan’s pout deepens, his bottom lip pushed out to the max, his sad eyes make Tommy want to go back in time a minute and force himself to not jump away. It wasn’t that bad anyway, just… surprising, mostly. Though he should’ve expected that, kissing his boyfriend when he looks like this. “And what if it’s contagious?” He adds, having wondered about this before. He forgot to ask Eddie about it, damn.

“I can’t infect you with a curse.” Evan rolls his eyes, now looking mildly annoyed.

“Evan.” Tommy sighs, giving Evan a look that hopefully conveys equally the fondness and slight exasperation he feels.

“Actually,” Evan adds, suddenly dead serious, “if the curse is contagious, better not risk you and your gorgeous face, either.” He takes a step back, creating distance between them.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Tommy shakes his head, chuckling lightly. “You’re lucky I love you.” He sighs, feeling the softest, most loving smile stretch his lips, and doesn’t register his words until a few seconds later, Evan’s eyes, as well as his smile, widening. The thing is, he didn’t mean to tell his boyfriend he loves him for the first time while Evan’s face is covered in nasty boils and he’s being dramatic about it and convinced he’s cursed. But, well, Tommy does love him. With all the intensity, hyperfixations and late-night research binges, ridiculousness and beliefs in curses and such, and even all the boils included. He loves Evan, so much it makes him dizzy sometimes. And saying it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“You do?” Evan breathes out, blue eyes sparkling happily, an awed expression on his face. Tommy suddenly wonders how in the world he managed to not say it much sooner, if this is the expression he gets. Even if it’s accompanied by boils.

“Yeah. Of course I do.” Tommy takes a step towards Evan, reaches out to grab his hand and intertwine their fingers. “I love you, honey. Boils and all.” He adds with an amused smile, and Evan snorts.

“Really?” He asks, still a little skeptically, but Tommy knows it’s about the boils comment, not about whether Tommy loves him. He’d hope by now his boyfriend trusts him enough to know he’s one hundred percent truthful.

“Evan, how many times do I have to-” Tommy starts, rolling his eyes fondly, but gets interrupted mid-word.

“I love you, too.” Evan blurts out quickly, squeezing his hand, as if suddenly realizing he didn’t say it back. “I really, really do.”

“Good.” Tommy leans in for another kiss, but this time it’s Evan who leans away.

“I really want to kiss you, but I’m so gross.”

“I don’t care.” Tommy shrugs.

“Oh, so you’re not even denying it anymore?” Evan tries to pout again, but he can’t hide the happy smile on his face.

“You won’t believe me anyway. Those do not look good.” Tommy scrunches his nose as he looks over the bumps all over his man. It’s not that bad, truly. Tommy is mostly concerned. But he’d be lying if he said those don’t look nasty. Also, he never passes up an opportunity to tease his man. “But I love you anyway,” he whispers, and Evan’s expression melts into the softest, most adoring expression.

“You know, I kinda wanted to say it first.”

“Well, you should’ve hurried up.” Tommy shrugs, tone deadpan, but Evan laughs anyway.

“That’s okay. There’s more firsts I can beat you to,” he teases.

“You know it’s not a competition, right?” Tommy chuckles when his boyfriend shrugs, a playful smirk on his face. “Come here,” he repeats, leaning in again to capture Evan’s lips, and this time when he feels the boil touch him he tries really hard not to react. But he must react somehow, because Evan pulls away with a groan. He then buries his face in Tommy’s neck, and Tommy tries really hard to stay still feeling the bumps through his t-shirt and on his bare skin.

“I hate this, I feel disgusting.” Evan says, voice muffled.

“You’re still the most handsome, hot, beautiful, adorable man ever to me.” Tommy assures, his hand softly caressing over Evan’s back. And he’s a thousand percent sincere.

“You’re just saying that.” He grumbles, but Tommy can feel his lips curve into a smile against Tommy’s neck. A chuckle rumbles through Tommy’s chest. His boyfriend never passes an opportunity to fish for compliments and reassurances – and Tommy always happily indulges him.

“No, I swear, I really think so.” Tommy gently pushes Evan away just enough to look at his face, and can’t resist pressing a chaste kiss to his adorable pout. “You need me to say it again?” He teases, his fingers lightly grabbing Evan’s chin.

“Yes, please.” Evan pushes his lower lip even more forward, and Tommy laughs, and has to kiss him again, mostly successfully ignoring the growths on his man’s face. It truly doesn’t matter what he looks like. He’ll always be the most beautiful person in the world in Tommy’s eyes. “Don’t laugh, I’m suffering here.” Evan narrows his eyebrows, clearly trying to appear mock-angry and failing.

“Sorry.” Tommy shakes his head. “Listen to me.” His voice drops a little, he licks his lips and watches Evan’s eyes follow the movement. “I think, always and yes, even now, that you are,” he presses a kiss to Evan’s lips, his hands settling on Evan’s hips, “the most gorgeous,” he whispers into the kiss, before pressing another one to a spot on Evan’s jaw, “the cutest,” he traces his lips lower, venturing to the neck, grateful that the boils have only taken residence on his face, “hottest,” he sinks his teeth into the skin lightly, before soothing it with another kiss, accompanied by Evan’s sharp inhale followed by a pleased sigh, his breathing quickening a bit, one hand finding its way to Tommy’s hair, “sexiest,” he purrs with another kiss, “most beautiful man in the world,” he leans away again to look into Evan’s eyes. He finds him staring back, pupils blown wide, those pretty pink lips slightly open, and Tommy knows that expression so well, and he smirks, once again amazed that he can get him like this in just a few kisses. “And I’m as insanely attracted to you as always.” He finishes, watches as Evan’s eyes roam over his body.

“Yeah?” Evan swallows audibly, licks his lips. “How insanely?”

“Oh, you want a demonstration?” Tommy raises his eyebrow, as if it’s unexpected – like he hasn’t been intending to get this result from the moment he started speaking, which he very much was. He’s pretty sure they both were.

“Mhm, yes, please.” Evan nods, a smug but amused smile spreading on his face. “Just wanna make sure.”

“Alright, sweetheart.” Tommy presses one more short but lingering kiss to Evan’s lips, crowding him against the table and making him lean against it. “I can assure you. All day and night long if I have to.” He adds, smirking, as he drops down to his knees, his hands immediately on Evan’s belt. Evan chuckles breathlessly. 

“Works for me.” 

And if the next morning, when the boils get worse, and Evan needs a little more reassurance, Tommy is definitely not complaining – though they both agree to limit kissing, not wanting to risk it, but Evan pouts about it only a little bit, because, well, there are other parts of Evan Tommy can get his hands and lips on. He’s praying to Billy Boils to lift the curse as soon as possible, though, because he does miss kissing his man’s pretty face.

[also on Ao3]

[chickren]

hiii, could you elaborate on jaime's relationship with tywin in the books? and how tywin's introduction in the show diverges from that? 🥺👉👈

lol because that scene never happens in the books?

because nothing like it really happens in the books?

lmao, because, the first time we see any real sign of tywin and jaime’s relationship it’s tywin saying ‘tyrion, why do you suck while jaime is a god?’

it’s such a disservice to tyrion and cersei to pretend that jaime doesn’t have tywin’s approval, or perhaps even admiration.

unlike that weird season 1 deer scene, in the books tywin doesn’t blame jaime for being in the kingsguard. that’s aerys’s fault as far as tywin knows. after all, if tywin himself couldn’t prevent it, how could jaime? (sure we know better, but tywin doesn’t.)

and do you think tywin isn’t proud of jaime for killing aerys? do you think tywin wasn’t thinking ‘that’s my boy’ after the sack of king’s landing? that shit was right in tywin’s wheelhouse.

and then there’s the one interaction we see between jaime and tywin. jaime walks in knowing what he’s facing with twyin vs tyrion. that’s because jaime has always had tywin’s number in a way cersei and tyrion never did. why? because jaime has seen what tywin is capable of and he doesn’t like it. jaime quite literally takes tyrion’s kidnapping in agot into his own hands because he doesn’t trust tywin to look out for tyrion. as he’s on his way back to king’s landing in asos he thinks about just what he’s actually worth to his father and how much that calculation has taken a hit now that he’s short a hand.

so when tywin asks jaime to give up the kingsguard, does jaime hang his head and scuff his toe like his show counterpart? lmao. this is the difference in privilege between jaime and his siblings. jaime immediately says: noooo. and means it. not only means it, but from that moment starts plotting against tywin and cersei to save tyrion.

we see this reinforced when cersei begs jaime to save her from tywin’s machinations to marry her off again and he’s like, lol, tell that bitch no. to jaime it’s a very simple, very accomplishable thing if you don’t give a shit about tywin’s disapproval.

because jaime’s been walking away from tywin since he was a kid.

the only moment jaime even wavers in that interaction with his dad is when tywin disowns him. lol and that is not about approval. it’s because all jaime wants in the world is love, and up to this point love was a thing that existed exclusively in the realm of his family.

and lest there be any doubt, i ask you, who breaks first? the last real thing jaime hears from his father is a message sent through kevan. a peace offering, in the form of oathkeeper. here it is, son, the valyrian steel i’ve been trying to reclaim for the fam for years. it’s yours. you’re my boy.

and what does jaime do with tywin’s sword? lmao. i ask you. what does jaime do with tywin’s sword?

see, book!jaime’s story with tywin is not about tywin’s disapproval of jaime. it’s about jaime’s disapproval of tywin. it’s embedded in his chapters. it’s embedded in his character. everything about jaime’s latent lust for honor is a repudiation of twyin’s ethos.

he disapproves of tywin’s use of gregor clegane and amory lorch. he disapproves of tywin’s orders to kill aegon and rhaenys. any lack of understanding of tywin’s nature is destroyed by the tysha incident, which appalls jaime.

he isn’t looking for tywin’s approval. all he ever wanted was tywin’s love.

all of this is reinforced in feast. it’s everywhere in jaime’s vigil for tywin as he tries to do his duty but can’t cough up a single tear and even chucks the appearance of grief out the window when his living breathing son, who he definitely feels late breaking affection for, needs him. it’s when he looks around the realm and goes oh shit, this would have been tywin’s problem but now it’s mine and uses tywin’s reputation to accomplish his goals without actually employing tywin’s monstrous ruthlessness.

but mostly we know the whole show concept that jaime’s just always been trying to earn tywin’s approval is bullshit as far as book!jaime is concerned, because we’ve read jaime’s chapters and we know the truth.

it’s joanna’s disapproval that literally haunts jaime. not tywin’s.

[piftamere]

nine - keg stand (wc : 791 ; cw : vomit, drinking)

he abandoned her, even though she doesn’t know anyone, what a fucking jerk. she walks through the house, looking for him, or for a friendly face who’s not completely drunk.

nearing the kitchen to pour herself a drink, she hears yelling and cheers in the distance. she recognizes a name, one of her boyfriend’s teammates, who’s apparently doing a keg stand. she met them briefly earlier. they seemed more interested in the party and alcohol than in getting to know her, and the feeling was mutual.

she hears a loud crash and turns her head to look in it’s direction. the guy fell over, but he’s now back up, holding up his hands like he won a gold medal. as she’s focused on the blond guy’s stupid proud expression, someone bumps into her, spilling their cold, sticky drink all over her clothes. she curses and they shortly apologize before vanishing into the crowd. she smells like a fucking jager bomb now.

she looks around for a bathroom, giving up on her drink. she just wants to wash her dress and go home. she waits for half an hour in the bathroom line.

fucking frat party.

cleaning her dress takes her longer than she thought it would, impatient drunk college students bang on the door, urging her to hurry up. she takes a moment to look in the mirror, ignoring the line outside.

maybe she doesn’t have to leave, maybe she can still enjoy her night, with or without her boyfriend. her dress is wet and sticky but who cares. (she cares)

she takes a few deep breathes, ready to have a better end to her night. weaving through the crowd, she heads back to the kitchen where the music is significantly less loud. the windows are open and the cool air is a welcome addition. she overhears voices who appear to be coming from outside. her boyfriend’s teammates… they’re everywhere, some kind of curse she thinks.

she doesn’t pay much attention to their conversation, until she hears her name. though they’re slurring their words, she understands most of what they’re saying.

someone she can’t see says sheepishly, “yn seems kinda nice i don’ know…”

“tsumu”, who appears to be the guy doing a keg stand earlier, is talking loud, voice proud and arrogant.

“who cares, she's just a bitch he'll fuck for a few weeks then ditch like he always does.” he laughs as he says it, like it’s the greatest fucking joke ever.

“tsumu…” the other guy groans.

“what? it’s true! she’s hot, sure, but that’s all she is. i bet he’s already looking for the next one.” he continues laughing, and she stops listening.

her hands grip the counter, knuckles whitening. it would be so easy to put him in his place. he’s just a pathetic, drunk low-life. a few well-chosen words and he'd think twice about running his mouth again. but they get stuck on the knot in her throat.

fuck fuck fuck. why is it getting to her? she doesn’t know him, she never cared about assholes like him. so why can’t she get a fucking word out?

she’s frozen in place for a while, not sure how long. she feels stupid, embarrassed. no one else inside heard but all she wants to do is run away.

done with the night, she heads towards the front door, head hung low, without saying goodbye to her boyfriend or any of his “friends”. as she walks out, she sees someone leaning against the railing, actually he’s more slumped over it, as he most likely can’t stand on his own. she recognizes him and curses under her breath.

has he not ruined her night enough?

“leavin’ already?” he slurs over his words and lets out a hiccup, a drunken smile plastered over his face.

she ignores him.

“hey… did somethin’ happen?” a hint of concern can be heard in his tone, and it infuriates her. who does this egotistical dick think he is, pitying her?

she turns to face him, ready to take her anger and frustration out on him. he deserves it. hell, she deserves it. he won’t remember it tomorrow morning anyway. as she’s about to tear him a new one, she stops, seeing the weird expression on his face. her brows furrow as she tries to figure out what it means, but she understands a little too late. he leans forward, placing his hand on her shoulder to steady himself... before puking at her feet, covering her shoes in the process.

she abruptly pushes him off her. he hits the railing hard, mumbling what appears to be barely audible apologies.

she throws her shoes in the nearest trash can, and walks home barefoot.

fucking jocks.

fun facts

this is a flashback to when atsumu and yn met (their meet ugly)

this night is what hinata meant when he said atsumu owes him : he brought him back to their place, helped him clean up the vomit and didn’t tell anyone that he threw up all over himself

atsumu has almost no memories of the night, he knows he puked over someone or something, but that's basically it.

the guy speaking with atsumu about yn was bokuto, he forgot most of the night as well

yn can hold a grudge forever

author's note

i would be mad forever too just for the puking thing

i had this part sitting in the drafts for so long i'm so happy to finally post it

play dumb! - next

taglist : open!

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if you're name is crossed out i couldn't tag you, if it's not fixed in a week i'll remove you sorry :(

[illmoraineakoi]

As much as I adore the idea of Alan being like a dad to the Color Gang, I am absolutely feral for interpretations where that’s not really the case.

Or, more specifically, when those feelings are very one sided.

The CG look up to him and adore him as a parental/guardian figure, loving him almost like a father, especially Orange in particular who 110% sees and loves Alan as a father figure, while Alan himself sees himself more as a tolerant friendly landlord; just a dude who’s letting five stick figures live on his computer and not really interacting with them (except for Orange) very much beyond playing a few games for them or sparring with them. And even with Orange, it’s more of a friendship relationship than a parent-child one. Just generally pretty emotionally detached/distant towards them, not really feeling very strongly about any of them. Sort of how IRL Alan speaks about them as characters; fond, but not loving*. He still largely just sees them as stick figures. Like smart little living desktop pets.

Which makes all of the potential scenarios where they meet on more equal grounds (Stick!Alan AUs and IRL!Sticks/Human!Sticks AUs) potentially very juicy.

The CG and Orange in particular are always very excited to meet and actually interact with Alan, and Alan just feels overwhelmed and awkward by all the affection/attention. Or perhaps even confused about why they seem to like him so much.

Which can very quickly turn into a situation where the Gang notices that Alan doesn’t seem very comfortable around them, that he’s not nearly as excited and enthusiastic about finally being able to touch and hug them as they are with him. That he seemed to be kind of distant from them, withdrawing away from them. Oh, he’s friendly and polite, and he’ll talk to them, he’s not being mean or ignoring them or anything, but it’s not really like how they always imagined meeting him would be. It’s not as happy and joyous. He doesn’t interact/engage with them on his own. Doesn’t offer hugs or pats or much affection at all. He’ll do it if they initiate or ask, but he never gives anything of the sort freely.

Perhaps they think it’s because everything is so new and fresh, that maybe he’s feeling a bit overwhelmed. Maybe he just needs a little time to get used to them.

But when they give him that time…nothing seems to change. And they’re just left even more confused and concerned. Why was he acting like this? He was never like this before… (or so they think.)

Or perhaps a situation occurs where it’s revealed that Orange sees him like a father, or perhaps Orange even calls him his father, and Alan denies it. Corrects him. Tells Orange that he’s not his parental figure, that he always thought they were just friends. That all of them were just a bunch of sticks he was letting live on his computer. He wasn’t their dad, where in the world did they get THAT weird idea from? He was just Alan, the owner of the computer they made their home on. He barely even knew them.

And the Gang is both shocked and heartbroken. They hadn’t known Alan felt that way, just as Alan hadn’t been aware of how they felt. It was so easy for misunderstandings and misinterpretations to happen between them when they couldn’t really communicate very well.

But Orange, Orange is devastated. It hurts, so bad, because Alan literally created him. Alan was his creator, the closest thing to an actual parent he had. And yet Alan didn’t want to fill that role towards him, didn’t want to be his father. He could have seen and understood Alan not considering himself the others’ parent, since Alan hadn’t made them, but Orange was undeniably his.

But Alan didn’t want him like that. Didn’t see him like that.

He was just a stick figure who frequently helped him animate and lived on his computer. The fact that Alan made him appeared to be irrelevant.

So Orange puts on a smile and accepts it, apologizing for misunderstanding. But inside, he’s raw. The rejection feels so awful.

And it stings just how relieved Alan looked after his apology, like he was grateful that they weren’t arguing about it.

Because they don’t. What more was there to say? Alan had made his feelings on the matter very clear, and who were they to try argue against that? To challenge him, and demand he change his feelings towards them? To demand he love them? No, that’s not how things worked. That wasn’t how love worked.

You can’t try to force someone who doesn’t love you to love you.

Instead, Orange goes to his room, and sobs. It hurts so much. It feels like a chunk of his heart has been ripped out, leaving a giant empty gap where it had been. He can’t stop thinking about why Alan didn’t love him even though he made him. He can’t help but wonder if it’s because somehow he wasn’t good enough. Or if he’d done something wrong.

Or if it was because he was just a stick figure. Not human. Not a “real” person in Alan’s eyes.

He doesn’t know, but it hurts all the same.

The others, too, mourn the loss of the only parent-like figure they’ve ever known. They never knew their own creator, whoever the person who actually made them even was, they only ever knew Alan. It stings, how all of his weird recent behavior now makes sense. He hadn’t needed time. He had never loved them as much as they, apparently mistakenly, thought he did in the first place. It leaves them feeling empty and bereft, at a loss for what to do with themselves now.

And Alan is left totally oblivious to just how badly he’s just hurt them all.

And totally oblivious to what he himself has just lost, the potential for what could have been.

…At least, until he goes through some Character Development and inevitably has some Realizations that “Oh shit, those actually ARE my kids, oh fuck what have I done?!” And he needs to claw back the gangs’ love and affection and trust they’d since given up on.

* - [Or at least that’s how it always felt for me, watching AvG reactions, though that could just be because IRL Alan just sounds kinda bland and introverted in most of his commentary on his own animations lmao “I mean I like Orange.” Bro that is your main character that has been spearheading your entire career for a literal decade, why do you sound about as enthusiastic about him as if someone just asked you about your favorite weather type lmao jk jk]

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 46

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 43, part 44, part 45

Something shifted between Steve and Eddie. Something important. There wasn’t any yelling. Or resentment hiding in their eyes. No, they were just talking with each other. Standing close and looking comfortable. No sign that they were flinging insults at each other last week. None of that.

They were just acting normal. Like they weren’t screaming at each other the past few weeks. As if they’ve been friends for years.

Which is weird, right? It’s weird.

Robin and Nancy are here too, off in their own little world. Just talking in some of the deck chairs. When they should. Robin’s so close to Steve, she would know about all the fights. All the things that would have been said. She’d be biting back. She’d be giving Eddie hell if he said anything too mean. But there she sits, like nothing happened.

How can everyone be acting like nothing’s happened? So much has happened and no one is talking about it. They’re all so ready to go back to real life, and Dustin feels so stuck. It’s like he can’t move on. Not when the consequences are staring him right in the face and he can’t stop looking at it.

Max is just sitting on the first step in the pool because she can’t swim without someone holding her. Her limbs are still building their muscle mass after the break. Not to mention that fact that she’s fucking blind.

But here she is, smiling and laughing. Not feeling out of place at all. Her life has changed on its axis, and she seems to be over it. Just moved on. Accepted her new life.

And Steve’s standing in the shade with his sunglasses on. Dustin saw him take a migraine pill earlier, but he’s still out here. When he doesn’t need to be. He can be inside taking care of himself, but he’s out here, watching them.

Talking to Eddie, who’s standing with his forearm crutches. He could be sitting. Resting. Not forcing himself through pain that Dustin knows is happening right now.

He’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Without all the layers, Dustin can see the damage to his skin. The reddened marks of healed tissue. Still ragged and slightly concave. So different from the rest of his pale complexion. Because the nerve damage wasn’t enough, Eddie has to have obvious scarring too. For the rest of this life.

They are just going to live like this for the rest of their lives and continue to smile. How can they continue to smile?

Dustin wouldn’t blame them if they never did. He wouldn’t blame them if they were angry forever. Upset that their lives have changed forever in seconds. One small event, and it’s over. He wouldn’t blame them. But somehow, they can keep moving. Keep walking forward.

It feels like everyone is ten steps in front of Dustin. Like something is tied to his feet, keeping him stead while they can move on. His mind continuously reminding him of their scars that they can just look past.

Steve keeps looking at him. Saying something to Eddie that Dustin can’t hear. Somehow, he knows it’s about him. Because of course, Dustin can’t act normal for one afternoon. He had to make this all about him, when he’s not the one whose life has changed.

Will bumps his shoulder into his. “Are you ok?”

Dustin shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, you just look like you’re anywhere but here. I know what that’s like, it’s not fun.”

Because Will has been through so much more than Dustin has. He’s been kidnapped, possessed, moved across the country. When what, the most Dustin’s gone through was breaking his ankle and seeing some of his friends almost die. Pretty run of the mill for them at this point.

“I’m ok,” the words come out of his mouth like a foreign language. He’s not even sure what they mean. “Just tired.”

“That makes sense. The fourth is coming up, that would be bad memories for you.”

Not just for him.

“What do you mean?” It means bad memories for all of them. His were the least of their problems.

Sure, he roamed around a Russian bunker for a night and ended up living. Max lost her brother, El lost her dad. They all fought against the mind flayer. It shouldn’t affect him more than him.

“I mean, you never really told us about those few days. All I know from it has been from what Lucas told me about Erica’s nightmares. And the little bits you’ve dropped like it means nothing. That week was hard for all of us, especially you.”

“I wouldn’t say especially me,” he tries to say.

“I would,” Will interrupts him. “You haven’t been the same recently. With everything that’s been going on, and with the anniversary coming up, I just wanted to make sure that you were taking care of yourself. You’re allowed to feel whatever it is you need to feel about this.”

Is he? Someone was supposed to keep smiling. It was supposed to be him.

He only wished his brain could realize that. So, he could stop thinking about bright lights and dark tunnels. The song that played in the background of the recording. Haunting as he took each step.

The weight of an electric poker in his hands. The way it buzzed as he pressed it against skin. How easy it was to hold in place. Watch as it made someone drop to their knees. To the floor.

Shoes on concrete, running faster than he ever has. Unable to process what just happened, immediately onto the next problem. Holding up the weight of someone he thought was so strong. Eyes so dilated, Dustin couldn’t see the brown of his iris anymore. His laughter rings through the elevator while the blood drips from his face.

There was so much more than he knew. So much more that Steve protected him from. But Dustin was smart enough to put the pieces together in those seconds. To feel the weight of what happened fully washing over him.

He couldn’t focus on it then, but he could focus on it now. When Steve has his sunglasses on and stands as far from the noise of the pool as he can while still keeping an eye on them.

It was Dustin’s fault that he had to at all. It was Dustin’s fault for a lot of the things that happened to them. If he hadn’t gotten involved. If he hadn’t pushed. Where would they all be right now?

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[7weaslesinacoat]

i keep seeing this and i saw another post saying something similar but it genuinely icks me so much when i see something like-

“insert character is actually a horrible person!” or “insert character is actually a good person!”

especially in comics, because first off-

these are fictional characters, i know we all love them- but they’re just placeholders with a name and personality that we tell made up stories about. they can’t be a piece of shit, because they aren’t anything, so don’t get so worked up.

second off when they DO come across that way, especially if the character is a protagonist or a “good guy”-

and then in one specific story or one timeline there is a dickhead version of them (batman is a great example, nightwing, talia al ghul- it happens so much in comics chat 😭) then i see so many fans or members of the community jump on the hate train for not just that characterization, but the character as a whole.

this also happens when said characters are given flaws to make them more realistic, talia al ghul is a huge victim of this (and usually MORE SO than most dc characters because she is subconsciously profiled all the time).

anywho, i see all these people dogpiling on a character even though 90% of the time that characterization is just a choice by the writer.

comic writers aren’t looking at protagonists and long standing characters and deciding “yeah they’ve actually been racist this whole time”, no, a couple writer made a stupid decision that got published. and the great thing about comics is that not everything you have to imagine as canon! not every iteration of batman is the batman that you love! and that’s ok, that doesn’t make a character bad.

and it definitely doesn’t excuse hating on fans of that character because your canon of that character doesn’t fit another’s.

(i feel like what we should be doing when discussing characterization is be aware that it is all taking place in comic books- like “oh my god i hate all star batman” or “in canon deathstrokes done some weird shit” instead of saying “i hate batman.” “deathstroke is a pedo”—even though he kinda is—

because what about media where he’s an anti hero? and what about the millions of media where batman’s *not* a dick? if your evidence for your claim is specific, make a claim about the specific evidence, and not the masses of unrelated data)

[bodhrancomedy]

Last Second Angels’ Brigade (Part 1)

by Bodhrán Mullan

Time stops just before I hit the water.

I don’t mean metaphorically. One split second I’m hurtling through nothingness; the wind tearing at my face, my scream somewhere eight feet behind me, snot and saliva and tears streaming upwards like a comet’s tail. The next I’m hanging nose-to-nose with a frozen wave, the air as thick as amber around my body.

Oxygen rushes into my lungs in a wild and painful gasp. I inhale until I feel like I might burst – my gaze locked onto the surface of the water. There is a fish beneath me, pale silver, contorted into a weird twist as it begins to flee my shadow. That sparks a second of guilt among the fear. Poor fish. It didn’t ask for this.

“You know, you haven’t sworn yet. That’s impressive.”

Lifting my head is a full workout. I swear I can feel my tendons creak under the tension. It doesn’t help much, the speaker is somewhere above me: to the left, I think.

I should be scared, but that has all suddenly run out of my body like my ears have sprung a leak. My heart races and I feel sweat beading on my forehead.

“Usually at this point I get a ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’ or ‘Holy Hell’ or something.” The voice is almost bored, richly accented but from where I have no idea. Not English or American.

“What’s happening?” I croak.                                                           

“Right on cue.” There’s a light splashing, like someone walking through a puddle, and then a pair of feet encased in silver trainers enter my eyeline. They’re standing on – no just above – the surface of the frozen water. “Wait a moment. I’d rather not talk at the back of your head.”

They click their fingers, and I flip onto my back. I don’t turn as much as flicker into position. The sensation makes my stomach heave suddenly. It is more like when you reverse a picture on a phone. There’s a nagging feeling of suddenly being two-dimensional.

There is… a person standing beside me. From my upside-down supine position, they tower above me with a face that’s all out of place and distorted. I can see right up their nose. There’s a pearl piercing in the right nostril. They’re brown-skinned with fluffy black hair and I can’t tell if they’re male or female. They’re wearing a white casual jacket and gold t-shirt combo, their pressed trousers matching the jacket perfectly.

Two massive, radiant, feathery wings sprout from their shoulders.

A lot of things click into place very quickly.

“Am I… dead?”

“In a very technical sense… yes and no,” the angel (because what else could it be?) produces a notebook from a pocket and a pen from behind their ear like a children’s magician, “You’re about to be.”

“Help me.” It slips past my lips before I even think it.

“Can’t. You made the decision.” They chew the end of the pen thoughtfully and shrug. “Free will, human autonomy, my hands are tied, yada yada.”

“What?”

“Big Woman Upstairs. She runs all the audits.”

A swell of fury hits me in the chest. I struggle to try and pull myself up, but only succeed in flopping like the fish beneath me in the syrupy air. “Then let me go! Why are you making it longer?”

“Got to. Last second, you see.” They leaf through the pristine pages and tut quietly, “Stealing a gingerbread biscuit from Tesco, 2004. But it does note here it was the type they smother in icing so I’d call that reasonable temptation.”

“Are you here to judge me?”

“Nah, that’s Peter’s deal. Way beyond my pay grade.”

“Then why?”

They look down at me, raising perfectly manicured eyebrows and say, “I told you. It’s your last second. You got to pay your dues.”

I gape at them.

“You, my friend, are the latest recruit to the Last Second Angels’ Brigade.”

The word ‘what’ forms on my lips, but the air isn’t there to voice it. This is far more bizarre than I had ever imagined dying to be.

“Ah, yes, you probably know them as ‘Guardian Angels’, but the Big Woman Herself decided that was a bit generic, plus you’re not actually angels. Just souls.” With the pen still stuck between their teeth, the angel whisks the notebook back into a pocket and leans their face forwards so it is directly above mine. The sun silhouettes their features into incomprehensibility. “We’ve got a few staffing problems up There, have done for a couple of centuries. We weren’t prepared for eight billion of you lot.”

[crackersandjuice]

the fic is not ficcing so i offer up the opening scene for a little pvpciv au thingy i'm trying to write

HEADS UP: This does contain gore. I don't think it's terribly graphic but the masses deserve to be informed o7

The first time Evbo watches his body stitch together, he wants to throw up.

He doesn’t, mainly because he doesn’t want to get in trouble for doing so. But he’s also wearing his new clothes. Covering them in vomit isn’t exactly how he should break them in.

Evbo curls his hands into his lap.

He’s kinda pretty, in a fucked up “pinned butterfly” way. The recording takes place in his own room, and he’s splayed out on his bed, starfished to keep his limbs from interfering with the process. Whoever placed him there stripped him naked, leaving nothing to the imagination.

He understands why. Sometimes, things got morphed into his body while it fixed itself, and that’s always more trouble than it’s worth. But still. He hates how he looks. He doesn’t like waking up naked, cold and alone and vulnerable. He hates how his corpse is treated so gently.

Especially considering how gruesome this particular death was. Evbo’s never liked being disemboweled. It messes up his stomach when he comes back, makes his digestive track all kinds of weird. Not to mention the other thing.

His entrails have been placed neatly at the sides of his, quite frankly, rather impressive vivisection. Clearly whoever was in charge of his respawn this time knows their anatomy. Every organ that he can recognize is where it’s supposed to be. The other ones, the ones that have been mutilated beyond belief, are shoved off to the sides.

He’s like a really big meat salad. Gross. Evbo swallows. Don’t think about it.

Eventually, the process starts. His organs start slithering around, putting themselves back into place. The unidentifiable ones piece themselves together, lines of separation disappearing as if they were never there. If there was sound, he can imagine what it’d sound like.

Wet. Squishy. Revolting.

Once the organs are back in place, the few broken ribs he had fix themselves too. Then his fat and muscles pull together, like an invisible string is holding them closed. He imagines what it’d feel like. His skin crawls as his corpse’s skin stitches itself together, too.

No, he very much does not want to find out how it’d feel.

There’s a hand on his chin, and Evbo lets his head be directed away from the screen. “What do you think?” The man asks. “It’ll be fun, right? Having it be televised?”

He’s heard the elevator pitch. People get their fix from watching this, and he gets to take longer breaks. It’s better than what usually happens. And he’s been feeling so tired lately.

Evbo’s eyelids flutter. “I…” He hesitates. The grip on his chin tightens.

“I’ll give you some time to think about it.” The man smiles. His teeth are still slightly stained, sharp and jagged. Good for breaking skin.

“Okay,” Evbo agrees. He’s going to say yes eventually. He knows that. The man knows that. This is nothing more than a waiting game.

Until the game is done, Evbo can cling to his selfishness a bit longer.

[undead-supernova]

Masterlist

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

plot: you and Mr. Munson are freshman english teachers at south jefferson high school and it seems that some of the kids think he's a better teacher than you. and, yeah, you're a little bit pissed

wc: 3.9k

no cw for this prologue - (lighthearted enemies to lovers)

a fun 2000s idea i had after watching the tv show English Teacher

title reference: We Are Going To Be Friends by The White Stripes

You were a curious moth to a smoldering flame. If anyone accused you of such a thing, you’d tell them they were crazy. And yet, here you were, staring at a piece of lined paper sticking out of a locker. 

It belonged to Dustin Henderson, obvious from the Weird Al sticker stuck next to another of a retro baseball hat that read This is my thinking cap! Yeah, undoubtedly Dustin’s.

You thought about trying to push it back in so he could avoid some stupid bully ripping it. There was no reason for anyone to do that, but Dustin was a freshman and, well, he wasn’t exactly the most popular guy here. 

Fuck it, you thought before taking a step forward.

As you touched the worn corner, you spotted your name poking out from the page. Next to it was…Mr. Munson’s?

You couldn’t help yourself from pulling it out just a little further.

I just think Mr. Munson is better

Huh?

You yanked the paper from the slit, fisting it with both hands as you scanned the page. That was undoubtedly his handwriting, haphazardly written like he was always thinking faster than he wrote. 

So what the hell was Dustin Henderson doing saying that Mr. Munson was a better teacher than you? Dustin was in your class, not his! How the hell would he know?

A sudden flood of panic washed through you, causing you to throw a glance over to Aisha sitting farther up the hallway, scribbling away at something.  She was always here before everyone else, begging you to give her homework early. Most days the answer was no. Most days.

But today, her attention seemed far away. 

You looked back down, noticing a bunch of tally marks in pencil and pen. Even one was made with…an Expo marker? What the fuck?

she’s hot though, someone responded under Dustin’s comment, taunting you in red ink.

dude I’m dating Suzie 

that doesn’t mean you can’t look

Mr. Munson is super fucking cool

Why did this feel like betrayal? Why was the word gnawing at your gut? Why was it bringing that bagel you’d scarfed down this morning up to the surface? 

“Find anything good?”

You startled, instinctively jumping backwards and into the chest of the person behind you. Whirling around, you were face-to-face with Mr. Munson himself. 

This was the first time he’d spoken to you. Ever. You’d been here since last spring, subbing for a teacher on maternity leave before she decided to become a stay at home mom. The hiring process was much easier after that. You’d see him at staff meetings and watch him holding the door open for the students after school like he was herding zoo animals off of his arc. 

And now here he was, looking way too put together for a Monday morning. He had a crisp white button down with a noticeably ironed black tie and his long hair skillfully tucked into a low bun. His shaggy bangs were freshly trimmed with little tendrils framing his face. You couldn’t help but think he was the only teacher here without dark circles under his eyes. 

“I…” you trailed, trying to parse through everything that’s just happened. The tally marks. The comments. The other candidate standing in front of you. The sheer amount of tally marks declaring you inferior to said candidate. 

Mr. Munson’s eyes flickered down at the page, eyebrows shooting up. Before you could respond, he plucked it from your fingers. He mouthed the words as he read, scanning intently.

And then he let out a wheeze of laughter.

“Dustin fuc—freaking, excuse me, Henderson. You know, he’s just—” He looked back up at you, grin fading as he noticed your deflated expression. “Woah, hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, hurt your feelings or whatever.”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine and you hated that it wasn’t fine. 

There was an image that flashed briefly before your eyes, of a note stuck to your locker with gum. A love letter from your crush, the one you held to your chest with a death grip as you floated through the cafeteria to his table. The great swell of hope before the roar of laughter that ensued. Before he high-fived his friends and let you down hard. 

But this wasn’t your hometown. The walls weren’t flecked in vertical lines of blue and gold. The lights didn’t signal a death sentence.

And standing in front of you was your colleague, stuck with you in this limbo between the past and the present.

“Don’t let it get you down or whatever. They’re just kids.”

You could’ve sworn he saw the swirling fog that lingered in your eyes. Was this him letting you down easy? 

Then why does it feel like a jab?

Mr. Munson was acknowledged as the favorite teacher of the freshman class last semester. You’d caught the tail end of this recognition, watching him laugh and roll his eyes as he gave a quick salute and sat back down. Mr. Munson, who already had everything figured out within the first year of teaching here. 

You opened your mouth, pathetically suppressing the urge to ask, How did you do it? What am I doing wrong?

But the wave of students coming through brought you back to the current moment, stifling any admittance of weakness.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you said. “Gotta run, bye.”

You turned.

“Isn’t your classroom that way?”

Wincing, you turned back around, watching a smirk fill Mr. Munson’s stupid face. His eyes flickered toward your classroom three doors down from his before back at you.

“Yep, thanks. I know where my classroom is.”

“Yeah, I bet you sure do.”

“Great.”

That was the last time you would ever speak to Edward Munson.

Two weeks after you two found the list, you’d decided to sit in the empty break room for lunch. Every time you went to the cafeteria, you saw Mr. Munson there, laughing with the music and band teacher, Chelsea Jennings. 

The numerous times you’d tried sitting even slightly near them, you always heard Mr. Munson talking loudly about his Creative Writing elective. He’d rattle on about the short stories he’d assign them as models with authors even you didn’t know. Names that flew past your head, some even being professors from the local university you hadn’t attended. Professors that he still talked to.

You had taken up the Poetry elective, quickly updating the curriculum to include more female poets and sprinkle in some of the moderns. You’d desperately wanted to talk to someone else about it, but insecurity spread the second you realized all of your poets were well-known. But how could you ignore Emily Dickinson, Annie Finch, Pablo Neruda, and Mary Oliver?

Chelsea wasn’t the only one who talked to him so casually. The other teachers would greet him with such warm demeanours that it made you feel sick. George Bedding, the junior geometry teacher and Mathletes coach, ruffled Mr. Munson’s hair and pretended to punch him before sitting next to him. The fucking P.E. teacher and football coach, Shaun Atkins, even clapped a hand on his shoulder while heading towards the line for pizza day.

The few teachers that had been more than welcoming to you were never around for lunch. Angela Bradbury, one of the senior English teachers, was always helping students or hidden away in her room, nibbling on her Wonder Bread sandwiches while reading the latest romance novel. Sarah Stewart, an art teacher, was your closest ally but spent her lunches working on her own projects. 

See? There was no need to be jealous of him. You weren’t stuck on the outs. You fit in just fine.

Or, at least, that’s what you once thought. Now you had no idea how you were being perceived. And if you hadn’t come to the break room today, you would’ve spiraled. Again.

The room was small, coated in depressing beige with flimsy cabinets filled with powdered creamer and Folger’s coffee that expired two months ago. The refrigerator could barely keep anything cold. 

So, yeah, no one really came in here. 

(The other teachers hid a coffee pot in one of the supply closets with the good creamer in a mini-fridge you’d all chipped in for. Rumor has it that even Principal Scott used it.)

You sat down at the folding table, lower back already aching from the lack of support the metal chair gave you. At least you wouldn’t run into Mr. Munson again.

He’d just laughed while you were in the throes of humiliation. You supposed he didn’t have to think much about it because he was the one who was winning. Even if he was just some guy in his mid-thirties who must’ve taken this job as a last resort.

As if you hadn’t done the same.

But that was irrelevant. 

And, yes, you looked at Dustin a bit differently after the incident. Every time he raised his hand, which was a lot, you couldn’t help but see his penciled scrawl. 

Mr. Munson is super fucking cool

You wondered dejectedly if they wrote that during your class. 

Before you could let out a frustrated groan, you noticed Mr. Munson in the doorway with a metal lunchbox covered in band stickers. He paused, wide eyes locking with yours. You couldn’t help but glare. 

Should the opinion of fourteen-year-old boys affect the way you treat another adult? No, probably not.

But you weren’t always known to be a rational person.

It could’ve been minutes. You couldn’t say. The two of you locked in a stare that seemed more like predator and prey than two teachers just trying to make it through another Tuesday. His dumb expression, dark eyes as wide as a deer caught in the fluorescence. You, a mountain lion trying desperately not to devour your sandwich, chips, and Coke in one bite. Including the aluminum can.

What was worse was the longer you stared, the more you noticed how attractive he was. Properly attractive, with lips coated in what seemed to be tinted chapstick. There was no way his lips were that pink, right? And he had to be using some kind of mascara with how dark his eyelashes were. Then there was his hair, seemingly still stuck in the Eighties with the waves. At least he brushed his hair at all, which was more than any of the greasy-haired teenage boys that frequented the halls. Maybe he could be something to aspire to.

Maybe he already was.

Mr. Munson moved silently, only heard as he pulled out the chair across from you, the legs screeching against the dirty linoleum. You surveyed his lunch, an already cooked ramen cup with a Dr. Pepper. He must’ve found a better microwave in Sarah’s closet.

The teachers of South Jefferson High School had a lot of secrets hidden in their closets. 

You finally dug into your sandwich, nearly moaning in relief. The school had implemented some new rule that the kids couldn’t bring snacks or they’d be “confiscated.” This rule applied to the teachers as well which was fucking cruel. You’d said your tearful goodbyes to apple slices with caramel and coughing fits between periods because you’d tried to choke down packets of Cheez-Its.

However, you weren’t prepared to watch Mr. Munson heave noodles into his mouth with a plastic fork, slurping and sucking the entire time. You couldn’t help your grimace, desperately trying to hold back the sound of disgust in the back of your throat.

Until he looked up, stray noodles plopping back into the styrofoam.  

“Uh, what kind of sandwich is that?” 

He only swallowed after he posed his question. Jesus Christ, this was the guy the kids were deeming their favorite? If only they saw him like this.

“Turkey and provolone,” you responded curtly. 

He lifted an eyebrow. “Really? ‘Cause I see other stuff on it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Banana peppers and onion.”

“And lettuce.”

So much for that scared little deer. Now he was some annoying warthog or a fox trying to slither through chicken wire.  

“Why are you interested in my sandwich?”

He shrugged, a hint of a smile growing in the corners of his lips. You hated it. “It, uh, looks good.”

“It’s Jersey Mike’s,” you said bluntly. 

Mr. Munson only shrugged again. “I only have ramen at my apartment.”

“Right.”

“And that fridge is a piece of shit.”

“True.”

“Woah!” he exclaimed, a huff of laughter leaving his lips. “Did we just agree on something?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the feeling of being a teenage girl again. It figures you’d revert after being in this environment for so long, with the stinging scent of cleaning supplies and hormones spreading like diseases. But nothing prepared you for this to transport you back to a time once easily forgotten.

On instinct, your tongue grazed the front of your teeth, laving over the missing braces that hadn’t been there for nearly twenty years. 

“Why do you care?” you snapped. 

Something flickered across his eyes, too quick for you to distinguish. “Oh, I see,” he started, pointing his fork at you. It was then you noticed that it was in fact a spork. “You’re still pissed off about the list.”

You feigned a snort, waving him away as you took the final sip of your Coke. “What? No way.”

Another pearl of laughter flew out of him. “Has anyone told you you suck at lying?”

“Has anyone told you you’re annoying?”

As soon as it flew out of your mouth, you realized just how mean it sounded. You winced.

Mr. Munson let out another laugh but this one didn’t sound the same as the last. “If I had a penny for how many times I’ve been called annoying, I think I’d be, like, the wealthiest guy alive.”

“You’d surpass Bill Gates?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood.

He pretended to think about it before nodding. “Oh, yeah.”

“Wow.”

You couldn’t help the ease you felt when he played along. But the irritation started right back up as he reopened his mouth.

“I know you’re impressed,” he teased. “It’s okay. Go ahead and gawk.”

“Yeah, I’m absolutely starstruck.”

“Don’t worry about the list.” When you rolled your eyes again, he added, “Seriously! Those guys are just bored. I bet you’re a great teacher.”

“Thanks.” You didn’t even pretend to mean it.

After another shovel of noodles, he said, “But, just between us, I am kinda the best English teacher here.”

You couldn’t help a third eye roll. “I sincerely doubt it.”

A smug grin filled his face. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be sponsoring the new book club next semester.”

A flare of anger flooded your veins.

“What?”

“Don’t get too jealous there,” he teased.

You shook your head. “No, I’m sponsoring the book club.”

He let out a hum and tilted his head. “You sure? ‘Cause I didn’t see your name on there.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t see Edward Munson on that list.” You said his name with a certain amount of venom that you knew wasn’t lost on him. His resulting scowl said it all.

He stood up, smoothing out his shirt and fiddling with his tie. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to deal with us being partners then.”

You were at a loss for words, unable to do anything but watch him move towards the door. “Been great talkin’ to you,” he said. He threw his napkin in the trash can before glancing at you over his shoulder. “I’m Edd-ie, by the way. Don’t wear it out.”

He walked away but you couldn’t help but throw a napkin at his fading figure. It made it as far as the end of the table.

That was the first moment you wondered why he’d decided to eat here in the first place.

“There must be some kind of mistake!” you exclaimed.

Principal Scott shook her head for probably the fourth time in two minutes. “I don’t see why you can’t work with Mr. Munson on this. If anything, that makes the club stronger.”

“It’s my chance to try and connect with these kids,” you explained, desperation leaking through your professional demeanor. “Ed—Mr. Munson has been here way longer than I have—”

“Only by a year,” she corrected, but you were far from over.

“ —and he has a leg up on me with them! I want to start making an impact! Kids these days are less interested in reading than ever before. It stopped being cool. What if I could inspire them to care? What if I could get them to read things that change their point of view on the world, to inspire them to think further outside of the little box their environment puts them in?”

Eddie was impressed by your speech, even if he wasn’t supposed to witness it. He’d actually been on the way here to talk to Principal Scott himself to try and keep his spot as the club’s head sponsor. Maybe keep you there but reduce your authority.

But then. Well. He heard you talk like this.

“And that’s great,” Principal Scott continued. “I just don’t see why you and Mr. Munson can’t do that together.”

“The kids like him,” you said before coughing. “At least, that’s how it seems.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “How am I supposed to do this work if he’s taking the spotlight? I’m just supposed to stay sidelined?”

He thought about the first time he saw you, at that first staff meeting you’d attended. You fidgeted a lot, all flustered and nervous like all new teachers were. Even in your fear, he thought you were pretty. Standing there, shifting from one heel to the other like you’d rather go barefoot than stand in the opposite corner.

You’d looked over at him at the same time, caught up in an awkward staring contest where both contestants refused to stop blinking and had no idea when to call it quits. It didn’t help that you seemingly relaxed at the connection. It was kind of adorable.

When he saw you in the halls after that, he found himself pausing to observe you. You were always there to wish the kids a good morning and a good rest of their day with a certain amount of sincerity that he could never muster. If there was a hyperventilating kid in the hallway, you were the first one to huddle them into your room to help them down from whatever ledge their raging hormones put them on that day. 

Once, he’d walked past your room to see you opening a drawer while saying, “Don’t tell anyone about my secret stash, okay?” You pulled out a bowl of candy that even had his mouth watering. The student nodded her head, puffy-eyed but already reaching in. “If you promise to keep it a secret, you can come get candy whenever you want. How does that sound?”

If you were outside directing carpool, the worst of all the roulette wheel of responsibilities South Jefferson had to offer, you always seemed energized. Like it wasn’t a chore whatsoever. 

He knew you cared about these kids. He did.

But you seemed to have absolutely lost it at the mere implication that you weren’t already everyone’s favorite English teacher. You’d developed some personal vendetta against him as if it was his fault that fourteen-year-olds with greasy hair, braces, and cruel acne flares thought better of him. Especially Dustin Henderson and his group of nerds. He meant that with all the love in the world, of course.

The way you spoke to him was more intriguing than infuriating. Amusing, even. But then you said his name with such disdain, such vitriol. It prodded at something deep inside him, a well of nearly forgotten memories that seemed to overflow the second you said his name like that.

So, yeah, maybe he was starting to develop a bit of a vendetta against you.

Eddie had to shift his plans. Clearly you weren’t going to give up easily. Maybe he’d annoy you to the brink of insanity and get you to drop your sponsorship. He’d always had proficiency in that skill. Besides, it wasn’t too mean. What was another push?

“Don’t you think you’ll get better turnout rates if he’s there?” Principal Scott reasoned. “If the kids like him so much, you can use that to your advantage—and his. I know Mr. Munson is a dedicated teacher. He’s given your speech to me dozens of times about things that quite frankly matter less. He’s passionate. Just try to work together. It doesn’t have to be that complicated.”

“Fine,” you conceded. “Fine. I can do that. Thank you for your time, Principal Scott.”

“Call me Carrie.”

“Yes, thank you, Carrie. I’ll see what I can do.”

Eddie thought about walking away. Really, he did.

But there was a part of him that really wanted to see you. Your figure had been obscured by the doorframe and, sure, he’d gotten enough from your words alone.

Nothing prepared him for the sight before him. You were utterly defeated, scratching at your neck as you hunched forward. The cross-strap bag you always carried was slipping off of your shoulder, causing you to groan as you fixed it. 

As your eyes flickered up, he watched the scowl that seemed reserved for him deepen.

“What?” you challenged. “You wanna gloat?”

It was then Eddie realized he’d been grinning. He gestured to his face. “Was I not already gloating?”

“I can’t believe this,” you grumbled, quickly strolling past him.

But Eddie had a hard time knowing when to stop. And maybe, just maybe, he was solidifying his new plan. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?

“You could take a picture, you know,” he continued. “just so you can keep up with every face I have when I win.”

“Shut up.”

Oh, he could get this done before Christmas break was over. If he challenged himself enough, maybe by the end of next week.

“I can lend you a camera if you’d like.”

You halted with a huff. “I’m trying to get things done for these kids. I’m trying to help them. Do you not get that? Or is this just a mask you wear to make people like you?”

Eddie tried to disguise the quirk of his eyebrow as he considered your words. But judging by the upwards flick of your eyes, he knew he’d been caught.

What was it that you saw in him that hadn’t been uncovered since his youth?

“You think so low of me.”

“I haven’t been given a reason to indicate any other kind of reaction to you and your incessant need to be a pest at any given time of the day.”

Eddie resisted the urge to give you a slow clap. Instead, he settled on “You done?”

You took a deep breath before nodding. “Yes.” Something seemed to shift as you took another deep breath and straightened your posture. “Winter break is coming up next week. We should try to figure out how to make this work. Why don’t we go get coffee or something and hammer out the kinks.”

“I think that is a great idea,” he replied, his tone more mocking than anything. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You opened your mouth, seemingly to say one thing before hesitating and starting over. “Meet me next Tuesday at Java Bean at one p-m.”

Eddie grinned, smugly wondering what your reaction would be when he said his next words. Professionalism be damned.

“It’s a date.”

Your eyes widened, amusing Eddie to no end. Oh, yeah. That hit something. 

“Do you hear yourself?” you asked, nearly scoffing at him.

There were those eyes of yours, searching for something in his. As if you were both trying to find the truth behind your cement walls of defense. But you gave up first, spinning around and trudging down the hallway.

“See you Tuesday!” he called after you, smiling triumphantly when your shoulders locked up.

Oh, yeah. This would be a cake walk.

thank you to @jo-harrington for all the time she took helping me with the writing process and @littlexdeaths for always making the best dividers. i love you both so much it's hard to articulate.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Does anyone have an steddie x reader requests? Can be smutty or fluffy, I have no preference.

I DOOOOOO!!!

SMUT 🥰Reader (f) is with Steve, has been for over 5 years. Moved really fast, was all good and dandy fell inlove, live together. But reader is craving the attention of another, just to feel something new, to know she’s still wanted or attractive to others. Eddie is one of Steve’s close friends / reader broke down and explained to Steve how she feels (still loves him and only wants him but craves just something more) / Steve brings this up to Eddie asking for advice, and somehow ends up with Eddie confessing that he always was attracted to reader and it goes from there….. ? Eh? 🫠

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) voyeurism, zelophilia, choking, spanking, degradation (by both reader and Eddie) masochism, Eddie calls reader a slut and whore, perv!steve

"I don't think I understand," Eddie says as he sips on his beer. Him and Steve are sitting on his couch while a movie plays in the background.

"I know it sounds weird," Steve replies. His cheeks are flushed as he thinks about you having sex with his best friend. He doesn’t know why he’s to turned on. He’s unsure if it’s creepy or hot and feels a chill run down his spine as he thinks about it more. He doesn’t want to freak you nor Eddie out, so he’s trying to play it off like he’s uncomfortable with the whole thing.

"No, just tell me again and I think I'll get it." Eddie sets his beer on the coffee table as he turns to Steve to give him his full attention.

“Y/n...she...she wants to sleep with you." So that was what Steve had said and he wasn't just hearing things. This is the exact thing that's played out in his head more times than he can count, but he never thought it'd actually happen.

“Why would she want to do that when she has you?" That's what Steve doesn't understand. He knows that what he's into is a little vanilla, but you've never complained. In fact, you've told him that you really enjoy it on multiple occasions.

“She wants something different." Steve doesn't fully understand it himself and he's just trying to not feel offended about the whole thing.

Steve unfortunately knows about all the freaky shit Eddie is into (even if he really wishes he doesnt) and he knows that's why you're so interested in fucking him. He supposes he gets the appeal to a certain extent, but not really, though.

"Are you offering me the opptortunity to fuck her or just asking for advice?" Eddie's secretly hoping it's he first one as he's been wanting to do exactly that for so long. He wants to know if you're as much as whore as he thinks you are.

"Both...I guess?" Steve's still having a hard time wrapping his head around the whole thing so he's not exactly sure certain what he's supposed to say.

“Well, if I'm being honest, man, I've always had a crush on her," Eddie admits and he feels his cheeks heat. He wasn't planning on ever telling anyone that, fully prepared to take it all to the grave, but he supposes it's too late to take it back now.

Steve doesn't know why Eddie is telling him this as it has always been so obvious, but he can see that a huge weight has been lifted from his chest. He doesn't care, though. Eddie would never do anything about it and has been nothing but respectful about the whole thing.

If anything, Steve feels bad for the guy. He's watched the two of you with longing throughout your entire relationship and said and done nothing about his feels for you. And now Steve feels like a dick for unintentionally rubbing the whole thing in his face.

"Alright," Steve sighs. "I'm gonna offer you something I've never offered any other friend. This is a one time opportunity so if you say no, that's it, I'm not offering it again. So...choose wisely, alright?"

Eddie is actually on the edge of his seat now as he leans forward, so invested in what Steve's about to offer him even though he has a pretty good idea. Steve licks his lips then takes a deep breath then speaks again. He can't believe he's about to do this, but he feels like he owes the both of you.

And because he's such a good boyfriend and best friend, he says, "I'm offering you one fuck with my girlfriend. The only condition is that it has to be tonight and it has to be right now-"

He doesn’t know what this feeling is, but the jealousy is making him feel some type of way. He can feel his cock getting hard just by the thought of it and now it’s all making sense.

"Yes," Eddie replies before Steve's even finish his sentence.

And if Steve’s being honest, imagining watching you and Eddie getting it on is making him even more hard, to the point where he has to cover his crotch with the blanket on his couch to hide the whole mess.

"Alright, let's go then." The two men rise from the couch and head to Steve's car to head to your apartment., one buzzing with excitement while the other feels a little queasy about the whole thing.

The front door to your apartment opens and there's Steve and...Eddie? What’s he doing there? Unless…no, there’s no way. Why would Eddie be there for that? And would Steve have asked him? It was very clear that he was uncomfortable by the whole thing so you dropped it, not wanting to make him feel even worse.

The two of them move into the living room and you’re quick to turn off the tv once they stand in front of the coffee table. Whatever is going on, they mean business.

“Can we talk to you?” Steve asks and you give the duo your full attention.

“Sure,” you nod, making yourself comfortable on the couch. “What’s this about?”

“Well,” Steve, sighs then turns to Eddie. “You tell her.” Now your interest is piqued. They really have you on the edge of your seat now.

“Steve has decided that he’s going to let us…” Eddie trails off, but you know exactly what he’s getting at.

“Let us what?” You know what he’s referring to, but you need to hear him say it. You actually need to hear the words come out of his mouth.

“I’ve decided to let the two of you fuck to get it out of your systems,” Steve tells you and you can see he’s still hesitant about it. You told him that you would leave it alone, but it’s become clear that he just wants to make you happy.

“You’re going to let me fuck your best friend?” You ask with a chuckle, not quite believing what’s happening.

“Yeah,” he nods. “I-I don’t know, the jealousy…turns me on.” You can see his cheeks flush and think it’s adorable. Everything’s starting to make sense now. Now you totally understand why Steve was always asking you to flirt with guys in bars beige taking you out to his car to show you that you belong to him and only him.

“And I don’t now, I also want just want to see you guys…I think I’m coming around.”

“You are?” You ask, unsure if you believe him considering that just last night, he felt uneasy. But what you didn’t know was he was just desperately trying to hide his kinks. He was just afraid that you were going to judge him.

“I am,” he nods. “I think it’ll be hot.”

“Wow, Steve, I’ve never pegged you as a perv.” You step closer to him, pressing your lips to his briefly before pulling away. “You wanna watch me fuck your friend, hm?” All he can do is nod and you find yourself stepping closer to Eddie.

You feel your heart race with excitement as you grab onto his arms, leaning forward and capturing your lips with his. They’re soft and his kisses are rough unlike Steve’s. His tongue takes no time to slide into your mouth and you moan as it tangles with yours.

His hand moves into your hair as Steve moves closer, already turned on by the whole thing. Watching his girlfriend making out with his best friend was doing something to him.

Eddie’s lips move to your jaw and he gives it a nibble, causing you to gasp and a whimper falls from Steve’s lips.

“You like that?” Eddie asks. “Does Steve do that to you?” He does sometimes, but Steve doesn’t even care what Eddie says. He’s so close to coming and he knows he can get there if you guys just fuck already.

“Mmm,” is all you respond and then Eddie’s lips are on your neck, licking and sucking in the skin as he forms a hickey on the spot right under your ear. Your moans are getting even louder and Steve is loving hearing it be caused by someone who’s not him.

“Fuck,” you whine and Steve moans, resisting the urge to get himself off right there. “More.”

Eddie’s teeth scrape along your neck and you feel your knees buckle, but he’s quick to catch you, pulling you so close to him that you can feel his rock hard cock against you.

“God, Eddie, take her top off,” Steve whines and as you moan again, Eddie’s hands moving to the buttons as his teeth slide against your skin again. Your orgasm is approaching fast and you can feel it.

Eddie pulls on your top and it opens as a couple of the buttons fly across the room. You gasp as the suddenly movement and Eddie is quick to push it from your shoulders, pulling it from your body and letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled pile.

He then moves to your bra and unhooks it as his lips find your collarbone as the thing fall to the floor between you. He then pulls away to get a look at your tits then buries his face between them.

“They’re even more beautiful than I thought they’d be,” he mumbles against your skin as his hands fumble with the button of your jeans. You help him and together, you’re able to slide your jeans off your legs before throwing them down onto the floor next to you.

He then grabs onto your ass and pulls you close to him, giving it a squeeze as his lips find yours again.

“Give it a smack, Eddie,” Steve instructs and Eddie obeys, smacking you hard, causing a gasp to fall from your lips as you fall into him from the impact. “Again,” he says. “Harder.”

Eddie smacks you even harder and you feel your cheeks stinging, but love the feeling. It feels almost euphoric having someone do these things to you.

You slide your tongue into Eddie’s mouth and push him back towards your room as his shirt comes off. He takes off his pants as Steve retrieves a condom for you, hurrying back so he doesn’t miss anything.

As soon as Eddie’s underwear comes off, you can’t help but stare at his rock hard cock, noticing immediately how much larger it is in comparison to Steve’s. You’re now wondering how it can possibly fit inside you, but you definitely want to try. You want him to fill you. You want tears to well up in his eyes as both he and Steve tell you that you can take it.

He grabs you and pushes you down onto the bed and Steve is quick to follow, sitting on the backs of his legs as he watches Eddie get on top of you after he's put on the condom, both of you moaning loudly as he enters you. He thrusts hard and deep as he pins your hands to the bed so you can't move anywhere. You're so hot underneath him like that and now he can't even blame Steve for wanting to fuck you any chance he gets.

Your moans are so loud and hot that both men swear they could both come just by hearng them. And Steve is close, God, is he close. Eddie's thrusts get harder and faster as he slowly tries to fit all of himself inside you inch by inch. He's only halfway there and you already feel tears pricking in your eyes.

"A little more, honey," Steve tells you. "You can take it." You can take it, you know you can. It hurts and you feel like you're going to be torn in half, but there's no way you're asking him to stop. You can't.

"Yeah, listen to your boyfriend, y/n," Eddie commands. "Just a little more." You can't help but notice how much more rough he is than Steve, and how much you enjoy it. You want him to degrade you, to tell you how much of a good little slut you are. But all of that comes to a stop when Eddie's hand wraps around your throat, giving it a tight squeeze.

Your eyes bug out as you stare at him in shock. You have no idea how he knows exactly what you like, but he does. He's not afraid of potentially hurting you like Steve is. And the thing is, you like the pain. You like the way his hand chokes you, the way you feel your throat closing up and how he lets up just when you feel like you're going to pass out.

And little do you know that Steve's taking notes, paying full attention to what you like and what you don't so he knows for the next time he fucks you. And he's not even upset. He knows that you never fake it, but maybe it's time to do something new.

Once you're breathing again, his movs back to your hip, pounding into you again and again sliding the whole ting in and out as you cry on his cock, feeling it stretching you out. You finally reach your orgasm and feel yourself slipping away as you go dumb.

"That's it, baby," Steve says as he encourages you through your orgasm, pushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead. "Taking Eddie so well, honey."

Eddie's pace slows down as you're fading away and he thinks it's best to call it a night, hoping, praying that you can't walk in the morning as he pulls out of you. He gathers his clothes from the floor as you tell him over and over how good he was. And as Steve walks him to the door after he's dressed, he makes sure to let his friend know that he can do that as many times as he wants as long as Steve can watch again. Eddie agrees and flees the apartment as Steve goes to take care of his fucked out girlfriend, wondering how he got to the point where he got to the point where he got off by watching her fuck his best friend.

[ancha-aus]

Sansnautica sneak peak - Cuddlefish and the... selkie?

:3 so... i went ham... and look at that...

A drabble :3 Just for you guys :3 sneak peak of Cross and Sans meeting.

POV Cross :D

-----------

Cross looks around nervously.

This seem calm…

But then again there had been an intruder ship again.

Sure it had fallen and crashed but it was also poisoning their world with radiation.

Farm had explained to them what radiation could do. He had been a landdweller back before the floods after all, long before the Precursors even came to this planet. Before Nightmare and Dream gifted him his mer form to be safe in the water.

Cross didn’t like being away from the others. But he was the only one immune to this poison that infected their planet.

And so the only safe option to scout the area to see how bad it had gotten.

His shiver hadn’t wanted him to go but Cross offered. He wanted to do this. He wanted to do this for the very people who saved him from the isolation he had been in. The prison of hibernation he hadn’t been able to escape himself.

The Precursors… XGaster had put him in a hibernation and on ice. Something about his immune system and stuff being helpful.

Cross didn’t care. All he remembers from that time was invasive hands. Of being stuck on cold metal tables. Of knives cutting into him and pain.

When he woke up from another forced sleep he had been met with Dream. Dream looking at him full of worry before Dream brought him out of the partly flooded base.

Cross had been ready to pass out with fear when he saw the gigantic black form of Nightmare. Only for Nightmare to easily take both him and Dream and keep them both safe as he left the area with lava and that disgusting building that had held him prisoner for so so so long.

The world had completely changed since he had been last outside.

At least the shiver was nice. They helped him. The taught him about the world and helped him rediscover old forgotten instincts. Helped him relearn the language of the mers that still sounded like singing to him.

He owned them so much.

The least he can do is swim into this radiation to make sure that it wasn’t getting closer to them or getting worse.

Cross takes a deep breath as he nears the shallows. Time to go to where the ship crashed and reaper territory.

Cross nears the area and waits.

Huh… No poison?

Cross frowns as he speeds of. Easily dodging any of the sand sharks that pop out. Cross makes grins at the sight of them. They remind him of Horror and Horror is such a sweet mate. It makes Cross not worry about the sand sharks at all. He just remembers the way that Horror would lay partly buried in sand as he basks in the sun and warm sand.

Cross grins as he twirls in the sea. Nearing the sight of the disaster and ruined reaper territory.

He manages to get all the way to the ship and frowns. Where is the pressure of the poison? The way it will feel like a sludge over his being? It isn’t here at all?

Cross frowns and makes sure to remain near for a while. Maybe it is one of those slow acting ones?

But nothing happens. No pressure. No weird side effects. No slightly hazy sight.

It is gone.

But how is it gone?

Cross backs up and frowns.

They had already checked the metal shells that had shot off the ship. All of them holding creatures from the ship but none of the surviving for longer than a day or two.

Cross did feel bad about that. Same for the rest of his shiver. They hadn’t wanted to interfere or risk themselves but coming back from checking something else only to find a broken open shell and ruined items? Yeah. Cross doesn’t feel good about it.

Still he frowns as he hears the first reaper. Best to get back to the others now and report that the radiation is gone.

It is good. It means they can all start really searching and investigating the area to make sure nothing is trying to settle or nothing dangerous entered the planet again.

Nightmare said nature was already in a fragile balance after the Precursors infected them with this illness.

Cros is very happy that his shiver seemed immune to it but he had seen the green spots appearing on others and seen them die quickly. The shiver had told him stories about this little group that had crashed here ages ago. How the three had kept moving before one killed a reaper and caused another one to attack their little nest area.

Cross grieved for those in private.

He swims by the shallows when he suddenly freezes.

That…

That is one of those creatures!

Those shell creatures!

Cross knows because he can see the like second skin and the obvious brands on that skin of the symbol of the crashed ones.

The other catches a peeper and turns and stops.

Their face is just a blank sheet and Cross feels very nervous.

They continue the stare at him before slowly starting to move closer and Cross feels himself tense. The other stops and tilts their head slightly. They slowly raise the hand not holding the peeper and Cross gets ready to rush away. But then the other grabs the underside of their own face and just pulls it back and-

It reminds him of when Geno or Blue undoes part of their seal skin to show their landdweller form.

And suddenly there is a skeleton skull staring back at him. Large sockets and soft little pure white eye lights.

Cross swims a little closer as his mind races. There had been mers on that ship? Why? Why would- the brand. The branding on the skin… does… was… are they? Where they like him? Trapped? And the crash knocked something lose?

Is that why Cross only sees them now? Is this the first time this selkie managed to get ot and explore?

Maybe they had their skin hidden away. And they managed to reclaim it before escaping the ship…

Cross’s mind is spinning when the selkie looks at the fish they are holding. They seem to be having trouble with staying afloat. Having to use this tool on their back to propeller upwards before having to keep moving the little flippers to try and stay at least on the same level.

The little selkie offers him the peeper.

Cross feels his soul start to melt. The little guy is trying to share. Poor selkie was probably locked away and it desperately looking for food only to be willing to share… maybe they thing Cross was also a captive?

Cross inches closer. Trying very hard to not seem dangerous to the other.

Cross decides not to go too close and uses his tentacle to take the peeper. The selkie just stares at the limb. So very curious and Cross can see the other’s hand inch towards him before being pulled back.

Cross quickly backs away. He doesn’t want to scare them. This is fragile. They are vulnerable and have no idea what they can eat… Oh! Maybe if Cross shows it is completely fine to eat they will feel more reassured? The selkie tilts their skull at them and Cross quickly looks to the fish and eats it quickly.

Some movement and Cross glances up to see a tiny tiny grin on their face. As soon as they notice him looking they make sure their face is normal again. Cross quickly focusses on the fish. Why aren’t they emoting? Weren’t they allowed to do that? Cross knows that XGaster hated him emoting… maybe this also happened to the other?

Cross finishes the fish and sees that the selkie is still watching him curiously. Cross decides to be a bit bold and swims a few circles around the selkie, going down a bit with him as the other continues to sink slowly.

Cross can see that the other starts to look at his form more curiously and Cross takes the time to study the other. The brands seem fully intergraded into the other’s skin… That can’t be good. He isn’t even sure if Dream would be able to heal this… poor guy… Cross reaches for the brand on one side of him. Were the leg, or well leg-fins? Seem to start. He tries to be gentle as he touches it.

The selkie immediately twists around and backs up a bit. Okay! Oh no! That hurt apparently! Oh Cross feels terrible! He can’t stop the whine as he gives the other more room. He didn’t mean to hurt him… but that this imply that this is a new brand? Or that they were just rebranded?

The selkie looks annoyed and guarded as they cross their arms and frowns at them. Cross feels even worse. He didn’t mean to hurt Little Flippers! He just wanted to make sure it wasn’t hurting him!

The selkie relaxes a bit and frowns a little before relaxing. A small grin appears on their face and Cross feels a bit better.

Then they take out a tool and hold it up hopefully. Euh.. what is that?

They make a show of using it on themselves before showing him the other side of the thing. It seems to be text of some type, not that Cross can read this one. And there seems to be a picture of a skeleton on it.

Oh! Maybe it is to show the form under the skin of a selkie? Maybe he is curious about it Cross is like them! Cross holds out an arm and waits with held breath.

Cross feels his anxiety leaves when they look so excited after using the tool on him. Staring at the screen eagerly before tilting their skull slightly confused. Cross follows after him and takes a glance himself. It doesn’t make sense to him but it seems to have worked.

The selkie stares at him and Cross tilts his skull at them. Trying to get them to interact with him again.

Cross sees no real reaction aside from some confusion on their face so he backs of. Oh wait! Maybe doing little tricks helps? A bit of playing? Cross makes a backwards flip before looking at Little Flippers again.

Little Flippers just look confused. Don’t… don’t they know about playing?

They sink a bit and use their items to geta bit higher in the water again.

Why can’t Little Flippers swim okay? Did those other creatures hurt them? Is that why they can’t swim anymore? They don’t look bothered by it as they give a shrug but Cross does not agree. It is dangerous if he can’t swim fully. What if something gets him?!

Wait! Why hasn’t he even tried to!?

Cross focusses on the other “Hey… I am Cross. Who are you? Do you need help?”

Little Flipper shakes their skull before swimming up?! Why?!

Cross watches as they break the surface before coming down again and they make a few sounds as small bubble of air leave their mouth. It sounds deeper with sharper tunes than what Cross is used to but not bad per se.

Though there is no way this sound or language will travel far through the water.

Cross feels another sense of loss. Did those creatures force him to adapt? Were they trying to force a poor selkie to adapt out of the water? Is that why he is branded? And can’t swim? And seems to need air to communicate even when he looks fine without air in the water?

Little Flippers makes a few more sounds and seems happy to at least try and talk to Cross.

A roar breaks their little moment and Cross turns to see stalkers attacking. Cross doesn’t think as he rushes them as Little Flippers barely manages to dodge one attacking them!

No! Don’t touch them!

More stalkers appear and Cross makes it obvious they are not welcome. Cross growls and scares them off easily enough.

But by the time he turns back Little Flippers is gone.

Cross spends more time searching the shallows for Little Flippers. They wouldn’t have gone too deep right? With them not being a strong swimmer? But he finds nothing.

Cross can only hope they are holed up somewhere safe. Made a little nest for themselves to remain safely in.

Cross knows he needs to inform the others quickly and rushes off to get to them.

[dira333]

Team Rocket - Hinata x Reader

meet-cute - for @true-deru for the Milestone Event Week 1

Your wig itches, but you’ve spent too much money and work for your cosplay to look this good to let that stop you.

“Oh, you two look so nice!” Someone tells you as they pass you by and you furrow your brows. You’re pretty sure you came here on your own.

It happens two more times until you see him, just over there at the food stall, digging into a box of Takoyaki as if he’s never eaten before.

“James?” He doesn’t look up. Oh well, that was weird on your part anyway.

But then the guy next to him in a Meowth Cosplay - the details on it are amazing and no doubt costly - nudges him in the side.

“What?” He looks up before following an outstretched paw.

“Oh, you look like me!” He smiles so brightly it feels like the sun rises a second time today and you almost flinch away, a little flustered.

“Yes,” you swallow the sudden bout of insecurities. “I’m Jesse. You’re James.”

“And I’m Meowth.” The third guy adds before turning back to his friend. “Chibi, I’m going to check on Kenma, I’ll see you later.”

“Oh, okay, bye Kuroo.”

He waves at his friend before turning back to you with a smile. “So you like, uh, Pokemon?”

You grin. “Yeah, I love it. Your name is not really Chibi though, right?”

He laughs. “No, I’m Shōyō, Hinata Shōyō. My best friend has his own stall here but he’s not good with crowds so we came as a group to help him out. He picked Pokemon Cosplay for everyone.”

“And no Jesse?” You point at yourself. He shakes his head.

“That’s weird. Especially considering he’s got a Meowth Cosplay.”

“Is it? What’s my character like? Can you tell me about it?”

“For sure.”

It doesn’t take much to get you talking about this topic. It’s way harder to make you stop.

You realize you’ve buried him under a mountain of words when he checks his watch.

“Sorry,” you rub your neck, scratching that little itching spot there, too. “I don’t stop when I start talking but I promise I’m working on it.”

“Oh no, that was really cool to learn about. I just don’t want to miss my cue to check in on Kenma. Do you wanna come along? I’m sure he’d love your Cosplay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, absolutely, come on!” Hinata grabs your hand to pull you along, his gloves matching yours.

And it’s fun, really, to get dragged through the crowds by him, being the Jesse to his James, even if only for a moment.

“What do you, uh, do for work?” You ask at one point when the crowds won’t let you get through as easily. 

“Oh!” His eyes light up. “I play Volleyball. Do you know that?”

“I mean I heard about it. What do you do?”

“Oh, it’s so cool!” He drops your hand to explain, gesturing wildly.

And then he stops, chuckling to himself. “Now I’m the one talking too much.”

“No, it’s cool! I love it when people are passionate.”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Me too.”

And when he takes your hand this time, no rushing needed, you promise yourself you’ll ask for his number before the day ends.

He beats you to it.

[vodika-vibes]

Hii, I wanna get in on the hurt/ comfort train while it’s here. Could you do one with your choice of “It wasn’t your fault/I’ve got you don’t cry/what did they do to you?” Thinking about how berserk most clones would go if some drunk/dick tried to spike your drink or grab you by the hair or slapped your ass or physically grabbed you and pulled you against them to kiss you or raised a hand to their girl in any way. Only if you’re comfortable with any of that!! But said drunk/dick is cooked because when one of the bros gets into a fight with a natborn they all gotta join in to make them regret ever being born, if their an alpha/spec ops/arc it won’t matter they were ever born because their about to die. Did I mention I’m paranoid yet always putting my foot in my mouth and getting myself into shit?

Time Stands Still

Summary: Colt doesn’t often get the chance to leave Kamino, so when he visits you, you like to make the most of it. But Colt is there to take care of you when a night out goes wrong.

Pairing: ARC Captain Colt x F!Reader

Word Count: 845

Warnings: Reader was drugged at a club

A/N: So, this could probably be better. But I'm tired and anxious, and this is all I have in me right now. Sorry, I hope you don't hate it. And if you do, please don't tell me because I'll probably cry.

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You wake up nauseous.

Horrifically nauseous. Bed enough that you immediately roll off your bed and stumble into the bathroom to empty your stomach.

It doesn’t do much to help your nausea, though. And in fact, now that you’re moving you notice how bad you feel.

It almost feels like a migraine. The nausea, the vomiting, the way that the lights hurt—only there’s no pain to go with it. Maybe you’re sick?

“Cyare?” Colt’s voice comes from the bedroom, there’s something that almost sounds like alarm in his voice, which is weird. Why would he be alarmed?

Ugh, and why is it so hard for you to think?

“Cyare?” Colt appears in the doorway to the bathroom, and the worry clears from his face, “Cyar’ika, why are you on the floor?” His dark eyes flicker around the room, and his gaze softens, “Did you get sick?”

You slowly nod, “Feel awful,” You admit, “Like a migraine without the pain.”

He kneels in front of you and gently pushes some hair off your face, and you tilt your head back to look up at his face. There’s a strange expression twisting his face. Like grief…and guilt.

His hand moves, and you notice that his knuckles are split. You gently catch his wrist and turn his hand so you can examine his hand, “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing, love. Just some split knuckles.”

“Let me find the first aid kit—” You shift to stand, but the nausea has you crumpling in on yourself again.

“Don’t worry about me, love. I’m fine.” His lips twist, and then, slowly, he brushes his fingers against your cheek, “Love, my beautiful, perfect cyare. What do you remember about last night?”

“Last night?”

You cast your memory back, to try and remember the night before. But it’s all blank. Well, sort of.

You remember going to the bar with Colt and meeting up with some friends, and some of his brothers. And that’s it.

You don’t remember.

Why don’t you remember?

What happened to you?

You don’t realize that you’re starting to hyperventilate until you feel Colt’s hands, warm and strong and steady, on your shoulders. “Cyare, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

You cast wide, panicked eyes up at your boyfriend, “What happened? Why can’t I remember?”

His hands slowly move to cup your cheeks, to smooth across the top of your head, and then drag down your spine. You feel the tension, and panic, draining from your body the longer he just touches you.

Colt’s dark eyes remain on your face, steady and unwavering, “You were drugged, love.”

“What?” The word leaves you with all of the breath in your lungs. But, you had been surrounded by friends, by people you trust, people who you know would look after you, who who have looked out for you before.

“Your friend, the twi’lek? The red one? He slipped drugs in your drink, and then tried to get you to leave with him.” Colt’s voice is as gentle as his touch, and yet his words make you want to cry.

Antian is your friend. You’ve known him since you were in diapers.

“I…I don’t…did he—?” You can’t finish your question, the words like lead on your tongue.

“He didn’t touch you.” Colt’s voice is so firm, that your gaze, which had been locked on his chest, snaps up to meet his. “As soon as I realized what happened, I got you away from him.”

You remember his split and bruised knuckles, and slowly you reach up to touch his jaw, “Is he…alive?”

Colt’s steady gaze doesn’t waver, “Does it matter?”

The answer is written plain as day on his face, and your lower lip wobbles, “I’m so sorry.” You whisper.

“No. It wasn’t your fault.” Colt’s steely gaze softens when he sees your distress, “He made a choice and he suffered the consequences.” His fingers lightly.

“But, if I hadn’t trusted him—”

“He was your friend. You’ve known him for years,” gently, Colt helps you off the floor, “Of course you trusted him. It’s not a bad thing, to trust the people around you.” He guides you back into the bedroom and helps you lay back in bed.

“Why do I feel so bad?”

“He gave you an overdose,” Colt explains quietly, as he kneels next to you, “I’m not going to lie, love. Today’s going to suck. But I’m going to take care of you. One my my brothers is on his way over with some medicine to make today a bit easier though.”

“...okay.” You take his hand and press it against your cheek, rubbing against it, “And you’re not mad at me?”

“Never.” Colt leans in and kisses your forehead, “Get some rest love, I’ll be in the next room. Try to drink some water?”

“I can do that.”

“Good girl,” He kisses your forehead one more time, “I love you.”

And, finally, the tiniest smile lifts the corners of your lips, “Love you too. Thank you. For saving me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for protecting you. It’s my job.”

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[thesealantern]

Pink corruption headcannons! (Varying from nonsensical, angsty to silly, most of these are weirdly specific but stick with me okay?)

• Pentellow was completely illiterate for a good chunk of her life, Iris has taught her the basics of reading and writing and while she can read simple texts fairly easily she still struggles with writing. Every time she needs to write anything she has Iris do it for her, she walks around the room like an old military general while she’s dictating. (It helps her think)

• Occasionally, when Iris is particularly upset, frustrated or stressed, he’ll blurt out something his dad told him as a kid. No one ever takes it to heart and half the time it isn’t even something particularly offensive but every time it happens Iris feels terrible and I’m telling you this man sits on his bed staring at his hands like “I am no better than my father”, he can time all instances this has happened and yes they haunt him when he’s falling asleep.

• Anytime Pyrare tries to write a letter to the other caretakers it ends in catastrophe. He refuses to shrink for the task, so either he tried to just write in very small letters and the text is absolutely unreadable, he asks Gold to write it who then proceeds to shorten it and leave stuff out (and has occasionally just changed the contents of letters entirely, mostly when it’s someone he doesn’t like) or there was that one time he just sent Pentellow and Iris a monster sized letter. It was a pain to deal with, they still have it somewhere because Pentellow insisted they keep it.

• Iris has a weird hatred towards a very specific kind of cursive most of the people back at the palace (including his father) used. Anytime he sees it anywhere he just gets super irritated, it’s honestly kind of amusing. Is Iris aware that a grudge against a style of writing is stupid? Yeah, but he doesn’t care.

• Gold and Cyanide like to play chess together sometimes, they’re both fairly good at it and their games are super intense and take a long while. The other heroes all collectively suck at chess (Orange is mediocre, Tsavorite and Cyan are a lost cause) but join in if it’s at Pyrare’s place, though that usually leads to them using the ridiculously sized chess board to make up their own games.

• The first time Gold saw a non-monster shape he was absolutely flabbergasted, he did know of them, but for most of his life he hadn’t seen one (I imagine Pyrare and Gold lived a fairly isolated life for the most part) and Pyrare never made it sound like a big deal so he just kinda thought they’d be a bit shorter. The fact they had two eyes was also kind of weird, sure he has two eyes but he just thought that was a hero thing.

• Seeing the inside of a shape-sized house was even more baffling, Gold still hasn’t gotten over how tiny some things are.

•Every time they spend a long time in shape populated area Pyrare is just STARVING, there’s no way any of the inns they stayed at have portions close to what an adult monster needs. He never complains about it though. Honestly I think he would just pass out at one point, the lack of food mixed with so much travelling is bound to catch up to him.

• Kind of random but monsters probably have a much slower heartbeat than shapes. Since most large animals have larger hearts but they pump at a slower pace, I’m pretty sure it has to do with temperature regulation but idk man I’m no biologist.

[mossflower]

finished homestuck!! and adding it to my ever growing list of ‘media near-universally labelled as cringe that actually kinda slaps’

[myrkulitescourge]

imo karlach’s soul coin usage seems like it should have been a little more significant than it was.

she only ever really stops to consider the magnitude of burning through a person’s soul for power during an origin playthrough—otherwise she rationalizes to the player that they’re doomed anyway, and if using them gives her an edge in combat, why not use them for good instead of leaving them to be used by evil? the dialogue with lann tarv in act 2, where he tells the story of each soul he's handing over to her, tries to humanize each soul coin, and still she doesn’t really budge and disapproves pretty heavily if she's told no in regards to using them.

it just seems like something that could have caused some kind of conflict between her and wyll, given he sold his soul to a devil in dire circumstances and takes issue with the player for sleeping with mizora, because she 1) is mizora, and 2) similarly expends tormented souls during her romance scene, even if for a different purpose. but it just... never really comes up?

i love karlach. but that seems like it should have gone Somewhere, from a writing standpoint? karlach values wyll as a person but is willing to use currency forged from souls like his for the sake of a temporary power up. she knows the soul is consumed when she uses them. that whole exchange with lann tarv is there to emphasize that every soul coin she destroys was a person once. but it all kind of loses narrative purpose if this combination of factors doesn't mean anything? karlach doesn't change at all in her willingness to use soul coins, no matter what the player says or how much she cares for wyll.

idk. missed opportunity that wyll doesn't have any dialogue about this, of all things.