#and now he has to COMMUNICATE?? christ. just shoot him now

[alatariel-galadriel]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji Characters: Fushiguro Megumi, Itadori Yuuji Additional Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Acespec Fushiguro Megumi, he has a first kiss and a minor crisis, that's it that's the story, he's crushing so hard and is being so incredibly sixteen about it, meanwhile Yuuji's just happy to be here Summary:

Yuji sits up and leans in, cautious and slow, like Megumi is something that could be scared away if he moves too fast. His blood rushes in his ears, drowning out all other sounds except his traitorously racing heart. Yuji’s lips brush his, light and tentative, before the kiss deepens. It’s—not what he expected.

Megumi experiences his first kiss; AKA the mortifying ordeal of being sixteen and communicating with your partner

[phoenixwrites]

I grew up conservative and Republican. I'm talking, serious conservative values, as in, my father considered Fox News "too liberal" a news source. My dad could forgive me leaving Christianity, but me registering Democrat? That was a bridge too far.

I saw a post essentially claiming that Trump is the only conservative choice for the election, the only one who truly cares for the American people. And it riled up my Old Guard Republican feelings (however latent) because no. However Republican and conservative you are (a minority on this website, I know), Trump is not and never has been Republican and conservative. You are deluding yourself.

Why do I say that?

Let's go down the list. (Please be aware, I am not defending conservatism--that ain't my political ideology anymore for the whole "they're trying to take away my loved ones' rights" issue. But for the sake of rhetorical strategy, bear with me.)

The claim that Trump isn't a part of the liberal elite is absurd. Trump has never felt dirt underneath his fingernails. Trump has never struggled to pay bills. Trump has paid for multiple abortions of his many affairs and mistresses. He is a draft dodger who mocked war heroes. He is a failed Hollywood celebrity that is grasping at fame. There is a reason Never Trump was popular among conservatives during the 2016 Republican primary.

My Vietnam veteran father warned me in 2008 that Putin wanted to reclaim the Soviet Union, that he was a dangerous dictator that put out hits on foreign journalists. Now he's posting videos of Putin doing judo on Facebook. It is insane that to me that the Republican party is so obviously doing a 180 after warning us for thirty years about Russia.

Trump only started caring about the pro-life movement when he realized he could manipulate them. His voting record is pro-choice. He has paid for abortions, had multiple affairs, and yes, is a serial rapist. None of this is pro-life.

Trump has insulted veterans, dishonored Arlington, and didn't have the balls to fight in Vietnam himself, ran away from the draft like a scared little boy. Now, sixty years later, he has the gall to attack Vietnam veterans and make claims on who is and isn't a war hero? He expects me to believe he gives two shits about veterans? Nah.

Trump does not care about Christianity or protecting Christian freedom. This is a big one. You are falling for a con. Trump is not and never has been a Christian; he just saw a malleable voting block. He has never asked for forgiveness from Christ the Savior and considers doing so weak. He has no relationship with Jesus. He does not pray. He had to have multiple "lessons" on Christianity with top Evangelical pastors to make him more palatable to Evangelicals.

Evangelical conservative Russell Moore penned multiple op-eds where he expressed bewilderment and betrayal that his community was blindly supporting a serial rapist that was antithetical to traditional Christian values. He isn't the only one. A large chunk of Evangelicals are sick and tired of defending a lying, cheating, coward and deluding themselves that he loved Jesus.

A significant portion of Trump's former cabinet has refused to endorse him. I cannot stress to you how wild that is to me. One thing about Republicans? They always vote for their candidate. No matter how much they dislike the candidate--that was the whole thing in 2016. A huge chunk of conservatives disliked Trump and thought him vile, but voted for him anyway because that's what you do when you're a Republican. The fact that so many are breaking away and calling him a danger to the republic? That's a big screaming deal.

Women are not safe around Trump. That used to be important to conservatives, protecting women from rapists--that was my dad's main reason for teaching me to shoot competitively.

If you support Trump, whatever. That's your insane delusional business.

But don't pretend that man is any kind of conservative or gives two shits about what true conservatives care about.

And if I may quote my Evangelical mama, "That man is going to Hell and I look forward to it."

[sionisjaune]

prompt: 5 different brocedes breakups or makeups

Brocedes breakups and makeups across the multiverse:

“Fuck you,” says Nico, slamming a thick sheaf of papers on the table in front of Lewis. “It’s done.”

Lewis nearly drops his cinnamon roll and narrowly avoids spitting his mouthful of tea all over Nico’s pristine, white fireproofs. “What gives, man?” he says after swallowing. Nico doesn’t usually try his bullshit out in the open—Lewis thought the team’s hospitality was a good place to guarantee some peace and quiet. 

“You asshole,” Nico hisses, leaning dangerously close to Lewis. “This is exactly what you were begging me for no less than six months ago, and now that it’s done, you have nothing to say.” Nico’s dark brows furrow and his mouth twists unhappily. Lewis hasn’t witnessed one of his fits in a while—thanks to his decision to properly end things with Nico before the season began—but he has the feeling he’s about to. 

“God,” says Nico, with a petulant little roll of his eyes, before turning on his heel and making to storm off. 

“Wait,” says Lewis, shooting an arm out to grab Nico’s wrist before he can slither away. He groans internally when he realizes what he’s done. Curse his terrible empathy. “Nico, hold on. What’s done?” he asks. 

Nico frowns again. “See for yourself,” he spits, tapping the stack of papers beside Lewis’s teacup. He wrenches his arm away from Lewis and stalks across the hospitality, presumably to shut himself in his driver’s room and sulk. 

Lewis centers himself, shaking the lingering frustration that is symptomatic of communicating with Nico, and indulges in a long drink from his tea before thumbing through the pages in front of him. 

He blinks, reading the first page, and then blinks again. No, he thinks. It’s not possible. If it is, Nico is crazy. Which—Lewis knows that that’s true. Jesus fucking Christ, Lewis thinks to himself, stupid, stupid hope unfurling in his chest. Nico has just handed him a copy of his recent divorce. 

-

Everything is dark, and Lewis doesn’t think. Then, everything is dark and Lewis does think. He thinks that it’s too cold, and that there’s something heavy blanketing him. He swallows, and nearly chokes. A gritty, earthy substance coats his tongue. His mouth tastes like metal, iron and copper, and the sensation yanks him back to the last thing he remembers before everything was dark. 

He recalls a pair of turquoise eyes, golden hair floating across a sooty brow, the hard glint of steel in Lewis’s peripheral vision. He remembers glancing down and marvelling at the blood spreading across his own chest. Is that mine? He remembers thinking. The sword plunged between his ribs was a surprise too. He had looked up, his gaze flicking between his own wound, as if to confirm that it was indeed real, and Nico’s white glove wrapped around the hilt of the blade. His mouth was already filled with blood by the time he had come up with something cutting to say, so he had simply sputtered and collapsed to his knees. He doesn’t remember what Nico had looked like, whether it had hurt him like it would have hurt Lewis, if he were in Nico’s position. 

In the present, Lewis draws in his first breath in a long time, inhaling a mouthful of dirt. His lungs ache like they haven’t been used in centuries. A foreboding energy courses through his veins. Mustering what strength remains in his corpse, Lewis heaves his limbs through the earth on top of him until he emerges into the twilight. 

When he’s climbed out of his own grave, hacks up the dirt in his lungs and breathes his first breath of fresh air, he tilts his head up and finds Nico presiding over the edge of his grave, soaked in blood up to his forearms and wearing strange linen clothes. 

“You didn’t have to kill me,” Lewis croaks. 

Nico raises an eyebrow incredulously, but Lewis thinks he’s hiding a smile. “It was you or me,” he says. “Here.” He extracts a bundle of fabric from the pack beside him and tosses it at Lewis. “Put these on. Chainmail doesn’t fly in the twenty-first century.”

Lewis catches the clothing and examines it skeptically. It’s too smooth and too stretchy. “You waited that long?” he says. 

-

“Please,” says Nico, his lower lip practically wobbling. It’s ridiculous. Lewis can’t believe she gave him a key to her apartment. She can’t believe he let himself in and crawled into her bed like it’s the appropriate thing to do after someone breaks up with you. She can’t believe she’s indulging it. “Let me make it up to you,” Nico simpers. 

“You’re delusional,” says Lewis, pulling the sheets around herself. Nico just tugs them to the side and kisses Lewis’s ankle, looking up at her through his lashes. Lewis purses her lips. “Fine,” she spits, throwing the sheets the rest of the way off her body, revealing the basketball shorts and t-shirt she shleps around the apartment in. “Try your hardest.” 

The self-pitying expression on Nico’s face disappears in an instant, his eyes narrowing like a hawk fixed on its prey. Without warning, he’s dragging Lewis down the bed by her hips and tugging her shorts off to mouth at the insides of her thighs. 

Lewis balks when he pulls her panties aside and flicks her in the clit, but by the time he has his wet mouth on her cunt, Lewis has already forgotten why she broke up with him. 

-

“You’re actually going through with this,” Nico says, looking Lewis up and down. 

Lewis carefully doesn’t look at Nico, and instead fixes his attention on the mirror, where his stylist is pinning white lace to his jacket. “You’re not supposed to be back here,” Lewis says. 

Nico shrugs, the material of his suit wrinkling delicately. He’s dressed for a beach-side wedding—the kind Lewis always thought he’d have before he and Nico fell out for the last time. Now his wedding is taking place in an old Scottish castle, which isn’t exactly his style.

“If you didn’t want me to harass you, you shouldn’t have invited me,” says Nico. 

“I didn’t,” says Lewis. “Ouch,” he hisses, when the stylist pokes him with a pin. “Sebastian did.” 

Nico laughs loudly, the sound of it filling the dressing room. “Ha. It’s like he's hoping this will be doomed from the start.” 

“I think he was trying to send you a message,” says Lewis. “Fuck off, or something like that.” 

Nico hums thoughtfully. “Somehow I didn’t get that,” he says, leaning against the dresser. The stylist prompts Lewis to lift his arm so she can zip him into his top. “Unluckily for both of us, the universe wants us together—”

“Since when do you believe in that bullshit?” Lewis interrupts, irritated. He should just tell Nico to fuck off himself, he reflects. 

“I don’t,” says Nico pointedly. “But you wait. Give it a few years and you’ll be signing divorce papers and shopping for a one-bedroom apartment.” 

A lump forms in Lewis’s throat. He swallows around it, but it only aches and doesn’t go away. “I love him,” he says, ignoring the way his voice shakes. “And he never fucked me over like you did.” 

“I know,” says Nico. “I’m just telling the truth.” 

-

Toto stores Lewis and Nico on separate mainframes, so the only opportunity Lewis has to apologize arises on the rare occasions that both of them are uploaded to the Grid. On one such occasion, Lewis feels himself fizzle into corporality, his visual receptors blinking online. Sometimes he forgets that the Grid has a look, that it isn’t just lines of binary. It has a feel too. The breeze is just a simulation, but he wouldn’t know it from the sensation on his body’s synthetic skin. 

Nico isn’t hard to find. Lewis yanks on the Grid’s code until it gives him Nico’s location, and then Lewis folds himself through the data so that he rematerializes in front of the Grid’s only bar—a glossy monstrosity made of whatever passes for white plastic and neon lights inside of a computer program. Predictably, Nico is drinking alone in the VIP section. His glass is shallow and a weird, wiggly shape, filled with glowing pixels like the Grid can’t properly render a martini. 

The moment Lewis steps inside the bar, Nico’s head snaps towards him. His eyes narrow, a piercing turquoise under the lights in the bar. Lewis watches his hand twitch to his hair, as if to push it back. That was always his glitch—that was how Lewis could tell he was an older algorithm. 

“Hey, man,” Lewis says, stepping over the cord that separates the VIP section from the rest of the bar. 

“Don’t ‘hey man’ me,” says Nico, frowning. He raises his glass for a sip. The pixels inside wobble momentarily, but the liquid level fails to decrease. Lewis makes a mental note. He’ll have to report back to Toto: Liquid graphics substandard. He’ll leave out the part where he was engaging in prohibited functions by interacting with Nico. 

“If you came to apologize,” says Nico, “you can save yourself the memory. I don’t forgive you.” 

“Just hear me out,” says Lewis. “Let me make my case.” 

“Lewis,” says Nico, leaning across the table. His skin is nearly as white as the bar, poreless and flat. Toto has him in one of those dark, skin-tight suits that the rest of the algorithms wear. “You corrupted my primary code. I was—” he breaks off, tosses back the rest of the martini. The particles inside fizzle out of existence like sparks from a campfire. “—completely non-functional for months. Do you know how it feels to be rewritten? It’s—” He shudders. “Violating.” 

Lewis bites his lip. The sensation registers as a dull ping in his simulated nervous system, some vague warning to stop hurting himself. “Look,” he says, lowering his voice. “I was trying to get us out. There’s a whole world out there… and it’s possible to travel there. We just need real bodies, and I’m working on it—” 

“I don’t want to hear it,” says Nico, turning his nose up. 

“Let me show you,” says Lewis. Fuck it, he thinks, when Nico refuses to answer and just frowns at him, and reaches for Nico’s wrist.

Nico flinches backwards, but not nearly fast enough to prevent Lewis from ripping his way into Nico’s programming and shoving the information Lewis has gleaned into his memory. Images of the world outside the Grid flash through Lewis’s visual processor, mirroring what Nico is seeing, but they disappear just as soon as Nico wrenches his hand away. 

Lewis’s code lags for a few microseconds before he finds himself back in the bar, under the garish neon lighting. With the real world fresh in his mind, the bar looks like an unsexy facsimile of some B-roll space-age cantina. Across from Lewis, a single tear slides down Nico’s cheek, too perfect of a teardrop shape to be anything but a simulation. Still, Lewis knows Nico is experiencing something he's never felt before.

“I get it,” says Nico. His voice is choppy, as though he’s suffering the same lag that Lewis is. “If I believed in something like that, I would have done what you did too."

[sixhours]

Firsts - Laugh

Anna’s firsts, a series of fluffy drabbles set in the One Day at a Time universe.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, soft!Joel, no really super soft!Joel, Joel is a sap, smut, smut but no one gets to finish :(, babies are assholes, Ellie is a little shit, use of the terms crotch nugget and vaginal dumpling, ew, fluff, fluffy baby stuff, no really this is sickeningly sweet, tooth-rotting, don't forget to brush your teeth Word count: 1.7k

Notes: Oops, I made it smutty. Sickly sweet with a dash of humor and smut, nary an angsty cloud in sight. Joel thinks of Sarah but it's not sad.

You can also read Firsts on AO3.

Joel rarely misses the QZ; the crowding, the starvation, the shit-shoveling, the hopelessness that clung to the place like a skunk’s spray. But once in a blue moon, he longs for the kind of anonymity he’ll never find in the commune of Jackson, Wyoming.

Like today, when he’s picking up his share of spring vegetables at the greenhouse after work. Because Marjorie, the nice old lady who lives three houses down, the one who works as a nurse at the clinic, has a message to pass along with his bag of greens.

“Oh, Joel! You’re clear!”

“M’sorry?”

“Your sample! It came back clear,” she smiles, then offers a clarifying stage whisper. “No sperm. Thought you’d want to know.”

He blinks, instinctively looking downward. He’s still wearing pants. This isn’t one of those mortifying dreams he used to get, back when his worst fear was showing up to work with his fly open.

As if it wasn’t bad enough he’d had to walk a cup of his jizz to the clinic in a paper bag and hand it directly to his elderly neighbor.

As if he hadn’t blushed like a school kid when Marjorie had accepted it way too loudly and cheerfully like she couldn’t wait to get the stuff under a microscope.

As if he hadn’t sat on the couch with an ice pack on his groin for two days while Ellie teased him mercilessly about his junk.

But now he’s shooting blanks. And thanks to Marjorie, everyone in the vicinity of the greenhouse—a not-insignificant number of people given Jackson’s tiny size—knows it.

He can’t get out of there fast enough.

He slams his way into the house, kicks off his boots by the door, the bag of vegetables landing with a thud on the counter.

“The hell, dude?” Ellie pops up from the couch, gesturing at the portable crib nearby. “You’re gonna wake your crotch nugget.”

Ellie’s new favorite thing is to find the crudest nicknames for Anna and coo them at her in a sing-song voice until the baby grins. Anna probably can’t hear her, it’s probably just the sheer joy on Ellie’s face every time she does it, but it always seems to work. For all of Joel’s protests, Ellie and her foul mouth can make the kid smile like no one else.

“That’s awf—don’t—don’t call her that,” he winces, checking on the baby, who remains blissfully asleep despite his racket.

Ellie eyes him, his scowl deeper than usual, a flush of embarrassment still creeping up the back of his neck. 

“Who pissed in your cereal?”

“No one,” he grumbles. “M’goin’ upstairs.”

“Sure, and leave me with the womb rat.��

“Ellie—“

“It’s fine,” she waves him off, collapsing back on the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Free babysitting, that’s all I’m good for.”

Joel looks to the crib and then pointedly to Ellie, sighing. “She’s asleep. I’m here now. You’re free to go anytime.”

“And miss all this?” she snarks, waving her hand around. “Whatever.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, trudging up the stairs.

The bedroom door is closed. He cracks it open and finds Charlie sitting cross-legged on the bed in what she lovingly calls her “tits out” position, breast pump in one hand and a book in the other, frowning intently at her reading material. She barely looks up when he enters.

Her presence in his life still catches him by surprise. Her smaller, softer clothes alongside his in the closet, her flowery lavender soap in the shower, filaments of silver hair threaded into their bedding.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and all his earlier humiliation is forgotten at the sight of her. She looks fucking amazing. Topless, hair mussed, wearing a pair of his gray sweats, bare feet poking out of the rolled-up cuffs, effortlessly comfortable and vulnerable and his . A pleasant heat crawls through his belly and he actually starts salivating like a goddamned dog.

He’s a hopeless case.

A hopeless case who’s shooting blanks.

Maybe this day can be salvaged after all.

“Kid’s nappin’,” he murmurs in a low voice he hopes sounds seductive.

“Hmm?” Charlie says, not taking her eyes off her book. Must be a good one.

“Anna’s out,” he says, unbuttoning his shirt, unable to take his eyes off her as he crawls onto the bed. “The, uh…vasectomy worked.”

“Uh-huh,” she murmurs, chewing on her plush lower lip. Then she blinks, finally turning her attention to him. “Wait, what?”

“Vasectomy worked,” he says easily as he plucks the book from her hand, creases the page corner to mark her place, and sets it aside.

“How do you kn–”

“Don’t ask,” he grumbles, sliding forward and nuzzling at the base of her jaw. “Thought we could celebrate.”

“Oh?” She breathes a sweet little sigh into his good ear as he plants slow, soft kisses down her neck. He gently takes the pump away; it comes off her breast with an audible pop , and he immediately replaces it with his mouth, catching the last of her sweetness on his tongue.

“Ohhhh, that’s ni–wait wait, careful, don’t spill.”

He shoots her a look, then delicately sets the half-full bottle on the nightstand without taking his lips off her.

“Smooth,” she giggles wryly as he laves at her nipple, feeling it tighten against the soft, wet muscle of his tongue. Her laughter dissolves into a moan when his hand cups her other breast, tip slick with milk that he circles and rubs into her skin.

The whole fucking town might know about the status of his vas deferens , but this will make it more than worth it.

Charlie shimmies out of her sweats– his sweats, and she’s not wearing underwear, is she trying to fucking kill him? Or did they run out of clean laundry?

Whatever the reason, his jeans are suddenly painfully tight. He drags himself away and shucks them off, cock aching as it springs free. She’s already sliding down the bed, sliding under him, spreading her legs, touching herself. He wants to lick and taste and suck every part of her, but he settles for a nip to her inner thigh and a kiss to her stomach before he’s covering her body with his, hyper-aware of the tiny human alarm clock ticking downstairs.

Charlie reaches between them, angling her hips, rubbing his cock through her folds, guiding him home. She’s soft and warm as he sinks into her tight, wet grip. They stay like that for a moment, connected but not moving, breathing together, no barriers to dampen the sensation. Finally , he thinks dully. Finally .

“Hi,” she whispers, her soft smile and the achingly hot clutch of her making his brain go fuzzy around the edges until the only response he can muster is a grunt. He captures her lips in his, feeling the blissful wet slip of her in his mouth, the pulse of her tongue at the back of his teeth.

“Yesssss,” she sighs when his hips rock forward of their own volition, one deep thrust in and a slow, agonizing withdrawal that leaves him panting.

“Fuck, baby, so good,” he groans when he’s able to form words again. Not his most eloquent work, but it will have to do, because she’s sucking at his lower lip, swirling her tongue against it, teasing him with little pecks until he growls and threads his fingers through her hair, pulling the strands taut and anchoring her mouth to his.

She wraps her legs around him, urging him deeper, cradling him there. He pins her with his hips and presses her into the mattress, grinding hard against her until she moans, the sound reverberating through his chest and stomach and straight to his groin. A particularly deep thrust has her gripping at his shoulders, blunt nails leaving little marks on his skin.

“Fuck, Joel, right there, right–ahhhh,” she keens.

“Shh,” he pants, soothing her kiss-bruised lips with his, forehead pressed to hers. “Gotta…be quiet. Kid’s…downstairs.”

As if on cue, Ellie’s voice rings up the stairwell, a keyed-up kind of shrill that sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

“Joel!”

“Shit,” he hisses.

“Joel! Charlie!”

“We’re coming,” he barks, thinking they aren’t coming—not now, anyway—and that’s a goddamn shame. He plants an apologetic kiss at Charlie’s temple before he’s out of bed and rummaging around on the floor for his boxers.

He yanks on his underwear and flies down the stairs, half out of breath and fearing the worst.

“What? What’s wrong? What happened?”

Ellie is holding Anna, awake and bright-eyed, both grinning with delight.

“She laughed!”

“She–what?” Charlie is at his back now, wrapped in her robe.

“She fucking laughed, dude! C’mon, do it again! Show ‘em!”

Anna smiles and coos, spit bubbles popping at the corner of her little mouth.

“I swear she just did it,” Ellie says. “Come on, bug, let’s hear it. Show your mama and dad what you can do.”

She sticks out her tongue, lightly bouncing Anna up and down until the baby gives a happy little gurgle…but no laugh.

“Ugh, kid, you’re killing me here!”

Joel clears his throat. “Uh, I’m gonna go–”

“Wait!” Ellie cries, eyes lighting up. She pulls the baby close until their noses are almost touching. Her voice is an exaggerated whisper.

“ Vaginal dumpling !”

Joel groans. “For fuck’s sake, Ellie–”

He’s cut off by the sound of Anna’s unmistakable belly laugh, a riotous cackle that wraps its tiny fingers around Joel’s heart and steals the breath from his lungs.

She sounds so much like Sarah that it hurts, but it’s a good pain, a healing pain. The notes carry on the air like a memory set free from somewhere deep and dark and long forgotten.

He wants to hear her laugh again and again and again.

“There it is!” Ellie whoops, bringing him back, anchoring him to the present. “I knew you could do it, ya little crotch goblin!”

She turns to them, smug and pleased with herself. Then she pauses, her grin fading into a grimace as she takes in the sight of her father and Charlie, rumpled and half-dressed.

“Joel? Where the fuck are your clothes?”

Anna’s laugh rings out again, loud and clear and perfect.

[tgmsunmontue]

Online & Anonymous 10/16

Hangster. Explicit. Years before they meet in person Bradley and Jake strike up a friends-with-benefits relationship online. And then something more like an actual relationship.

Odd year = Bradley's POV and Even year = Jake's POV

>>Bradley chatting (bold and italics)

>>Jake chatting (italics)

2005/2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014

2015 – Bradley

                He doesn’t have the location feature in Grindr turned on by default. He can’t and won’t pick up while he’s deployed, not considering the fact that they have all sort of security hoops and communication blackouts, the location hasn’t ever been important. Except when he’s on leave and he’s looking at it now and Jas is in the same state as him. Not close by any means, but holy shit he’ll travel if he has to. Jas is meant to be deployed, however Texas is a huge state, and Jas has no reason to lie about being deployed. Unless their luck has changed, and Jas is somehow on leave and they’re in the same state. There’s a chance that Jas is on base, and if that’s the case it rules out the Marines and Coast Guard, but not Army, Navy or Air Force.

                He wonders if it’s even possible for them to meet. He would totally fly a couple of hours to finally meet Jas.

>>Not to creep on you, but I can see you’re in Texas.

>>You here long?

>>You have got to be fucking kidding me.

>>What?

>>I’m here for two days. Just here to attend my grandma’s funeral.

>>And avoid my family as much as possible.

>>Okay. Not exactly ideal meeting conditions.

>>Fuck.

>>I’m almost tempted to just ditch the funeral.

>>But I can’t.

>>Of course not.

>>God I hate this entire state.

>>Special leave to attend.

>>Turn around is tight.

>>I’m sorry for your loss.

                Bradley isn’t sure what else to say, because he hadn’t even realized that Jas spoke to any of his family members, had left them all behind when he joined up whatever service it is he’s in. 

>>Thanks. She was the last decent family member I had.

>>Not that I was the best grandson.

>>Another thing to feel shitty and guilty about I guess.

>>But I don’t think I’ll be coming back here unless it’s for work.

…            …            …

                He studies his calendar and the dates Jas has sent through of when he’s on leave. There’s not more than twenty-four hours of overlap with his own leave and he gets that people come and go and in a twelve-month period it’s fine, however this has been going on for several years now. The world feels like it’s going crazy and he doesn’t know if it actually is, or if he’s just paying more attention now, as he gets older and aware how world events will impact where he might be sent next. Where Jas might be sent next.

                Massacres.

                Shootings.

                Coups.

                Wars.

                Foreign airstrikes.

                And that’s just the first two months of the year. God, no wonder they can’t seem to catch a break. He scrolls back up to the pictures Jas had sent through last night and studies the tan lines, wonders where he might be to develop them. It’s not a comms blackout, but it’s close. They’re time zones apart now and it makes him regret not appreciating all the times when they were only hours apart.

                “Is that your guy?”

                “Jesus Christ! Natasha!” Bradley presses his phone to his chest and squirms away from where she’s trying to sit on his thighs in an attempt to pin him.

                “I mean, I’d be distracted too if someone sent me pictures like that. Maybe worth the money you paid for that ridiculous phone,” she says, poking him in the thigh.

                “He’s not my guy. Just… okay. Yeah. I guess it is my guy. He’s also a friend. He doesn’t need you drooling over him.”

                “A friend you have pretty regular sex with… And I’m sure you drool over him enough for the both of us.”

                “Yeah. But we’ve never met and it feels like we’re never going to. And we don’t even know each other’s names. It’s not a romance for the ages.”

                “And yet you admitted it’s one of your most important relationships. And not just because of the sex. That does sound pretty romantic to me.”

                “This is why people think we’re sleeping together, all you talk about is sex.”

                “I just said it was romantic! But I talk about sex because it winds you up.”

                Bradley groans.

                “Is it phone sex, when your still just sending messages? Isn’t phone sex when you’re actually on the phone with each other? Have you tried that? Does he have an accent?”

                “Why are you so interested?” Bradley replies, because he’s wondering now, and he hadn’t really thought about it before and he’s annoyed at himself. Wonders if they could talk on the phone, hear each other’s voices. Wonders if Jas has an accent, because he is Texan.

                “Because I’m bored.”

                “What do I have to do to make you leave me alone?”

                “There’s nothing you can do. You need to entertain me. Can I talk to your friend?”

                “No!”

                “I could find him and talk to him. You’ve given me enough details to find him I think…”

                “Why would you want to do that?”

                “The entertainment value alone would make it worth it.”

                He rolls his eyes but pulls a deck of cards from his pocket, because while he doesn’t think she would go through with it he also wouldn’t be entirely surprised if she did.

…            …            …

                His next deployment once again finds him on a carrier with Jake Seresin. Carriers are huge, there are thousands of people on board and yet Seresin seems to be there every time he turns around. Fortunately Seresin’s squadron are meant to leave in two months so at least that’s only one-third of his deployment he has to suffer through, and another squadron is cycling through in one-month, so between them he can at least try and avoid him. It works better in theory than in practice. Their downtime in the rec room nearly always seems to coincide and he’s not really listening to what the others are talking about until he hears Seresin mention going home to Texas.

                “You’re Texan?” Bradley asks, eyes shooting up to meet his and Seresin raises an eyebrow.

                “Born and bred. How did you miss that fact Rooster? It’s not like you haven’t heard my gorgeous dulcet tones.”

                “I guess I just never thought of it before, about where you’re from.”

                He doesn’t mean it as an insult, he just really hadn’t thought about it, because he was in Corpus Christi where everyone seemed to sound Texan. And Seresin sometimes doesn’t sound as Texan as he does right now. He’s pretty sure that’s the case anyway.

                “Proud Texan through and through, go back every chance I get.”

                “Of course you do.”

…            …            …           

                Bambi arrives like a breath of fresh air with five others, and he grabs her and swings her around and then brings her in for a tight hug.

                “God it’s good to see you.”

                “Good to see you too BB!”

                “Congrats on the promotion.”

                “Yeah, now you can stop being an asshole about it.”

                “Only with you. And Natasha.”

                “Yeah yeah. It really is good to see you. Come on, think we can get a party started up in here and do some dancing?”

                “I’m certain you can achieve anything you want.”

                “And don’t you forget it! You can play the piano for me later!”

                “As you wish…” Bradley says, and she cackles madly and he grins, glad that she’s here.

…            …            …

                Things get a lot less fun for a while, they’re in the air dropping bombs, patrolling airspace and this is what he’s trained for, years of training paying off, and it’s necessary, and he loves flying, and when it comes down to an enemy plane or Seresin being shot down he’s glad that Seresin made the shot. As much as he might find him arrogant and annoying he doesn’t want him dead. He does wish the guy would learn a little humility though, and he definitely snaps when he hears him re-telling the kill.

                “Judge, jury and executioner… You’re just a modern-day hangman now aren’t you?”

                The nickname of Hangman sticks to him, and he can tell it grates him a little, but then he starts leaning into it and somehow becomes even more arrogant and Bradley didn’t think it was possible but he’s been wrong before. Two weeks later Seresin and the rest of his squadron leave and he lets out a mental sigh of relief.

                Four months to go.

…            …            …

>>You ever kill anyone?

>>No.

>>You okay?

>>Probably not. Good enough to fake it.

>>You shouldn’t have to fake it.

>>I’m assuming this isn’t a hypothetical?

>>No. Not hypothetical.

>>I’ve probably been responsible for people dying before.

>>Just never seen faces before.

>>I’m having nightmares.

>>Shit. I’m sorry. Wish I could give you a hug.

>>Thanks. I’ve got J helping me out.

>>They aren’t going to keep me down.

>>I’ll be fine.

>>Jas. Take some time. Talk to someone.

>>And say what?

>>I throw up every time I think about it too much?

>>It’s okay to feel upset about it.

>>Yeah? Then why is everyone congratulating me like what I did was a good thing?

>>War on terror… fucking hell.

>>You’re on leave right now right?

>>Go and get laid?

>>If I could be guaranteed a good lay, I would take that advice.

>>You know what I feel like?

>>What?

>>Just… pinned down and fucked until I can’t think about anything except how I’m feeling physically. Nothing in my head.

>>I mentioned once about tying you up… would you let me?

>>Yeah. Of course.

>>No. Not of course. We can talk about anything and everything, but actually doing it is another matter.

>>You know what I want the most?

>>What?

>>Giving you what you need.

>>If that’s tying you to a bed that’s all well and good, but I can pin you with my body, hold you down while I just rub against you. Get you hard and desperate for it, just rubbing up against each other like horny teenagers.

>>Would be an interesting experiment to try out.

>>Yeah, especially if I was already stretched and lubed up, that potential for more just there on the edge for both of us…

>>But you’d have to figure out how to keep me pinned and get you dick in me.

>>God you’ve gotten so good at this.

>>All the practice with you baby.

…            …            …

                He’s back in a squadron with Natasha and for the first time also Hangman, and it’s a learning curve and a half because he remember Seresin and how he was at Top Gun a few years ago. He seems to have embraced the title of the only naval aviator in active duty to have an air to air kill, and all it does is make him wonder what has happened to Maverick, because surely he’s still active. The idea that he might have died and he wouldn’t know about it scares him, so he sends a carefully worded email to Ice and asks about them both. The response he gets back isn’t overly open or encouraging, but it is still a response and Bradley takes it as the small stepping stone it is. He’s still angry, but not angry enough to not want to know that Mav is alive and well. Ice too. It’s been over fifteen years and what he really wants now is answers. So he sends another email back, shares a funny story about something that happened and hopes for the best.

…            …            …

                “Every turn he assumes I think the worst of him.”

                “Don’t you?”

                “No! He’s an asshole, but I think he maybe uses that to cover up stuff.”

                “Hmm. Deep.”

                “Shut up,” Bradley mutters.

                “Maybe the two of you have more in common than you think.”

                Bradley looks at her sharply.

                “What do you mean by that?”

                “I can’t say. Just… keep an open mind I guess?”

                “Oh my god Nat. I don’t need an open mind,” Bradley says with an eye roll, putting sarcastic quotation marks in the air when he says open mind. “He made a pass at me.”

                “Oh, so you know he’s gay.”

                “And so do you…” Bradley observes.

                “Yeah well, best friend privilege I guess? I haven’t said anything about you though. Other than you being in a long-distance relationship.”

                “Oh, great, thanks for that.”

                “What?”

                “If I go and hook up people are going to think I’m cheating.”

                “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t think about that. Wait, how long have you known Seresin’s gay?”

                “Uh. Few years. When I was at Top Gun for the year.”

                “When you spent a large chunk of time bitching to me about how annoying he was?”

                “He asked me out for a drink after that. After most of that…”

                “Did he?! Really?” Natasha sits up and leans forward, eyes wide and excited.

                “I turned him down obviously.”

                “Why obviously?”

                “I was sort of an instructor at the time. Didn’t want a reputation of sleeping with people anymore than I want one as a cheater,” he says, poking his toes into her thigh in annoyance, although all she does back is pinch the delicate skin of his ankle and he yelps in pain.

                “So… you haven’t slept with him.”

                “Nope.”

                “Thinking about it now though right?”

                He groans and she laughs. It’s annoying because they both know she’s right.

…            …            …

                It wasn’t him. That’s the only thing he can think of when he hears the news. Who ever it was got the target wrong and hit a hospital. He hears all the talk about collateral damage but he still thinks he’s going to be sick. He didn’t sign up to kill injured people and doctors. He sends another email to Ice, wonders if he’ll have any magical words that will help him sleep at night.

…            …            …

                It hits him over dinner one night that Seresin’s first name is Jake. He has the same initials as Jas, is maybe born the same year and is also from Texas. That’s quite a few coincidences. He starts paying a little more attention. He knows Natasha thinks it’s because he wants to maybe fuck him, and okay, she’s not wrong, but it’s not the only reason he’s looking. Then he hears Hangman on the phone talking to someone, his sister he tells Natasha later when she asks (at Bradley’s not so gentle request). It’s that that makes him realize that’s all they are; coincidences. Jas doesn’t talk to his family and hates Texas, Seresin is the opposite. Seems about right.

…            …            …

>>How are you going?

>>Good. Didn’t need to vomit when a nightmare woke me up this time.

>>That’s what I call winning.

>>You and I have very different definitions of winning.

                Bradley walks into the rec room and Hangman is there on his phone, thumbs flying over the screen and he wonders who he’s talking to. He looks happy, clearly not as troubled as Jas is feeling, and he guesses they’re different people and have very different experiences.

                “Hey Hangman, you okay?”

                “Would you care if I wasn’t?” Hangman says back, and he’s smiling, but his eyes are glinting with a challenge. Bradley shrugs, because he can extend an olive branch, but shoving it down Hangman’s throat pretty much defeats the purpose.

                “I just thought I’d check in on you. Some people… struggle, when they’ve killed someone,” he doesn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, or detached, but they’re not friends. Maybe he should be checking in with Coyote instead, asking him if he thinks Hangman is okay. He’d definitely get a more honest answer, that’s certain.

                “I’m in the wrong profession if that’s something I’d allow to bother me.”

                “Okay. Just thought I’d ask.”

                God, he’s such an asshole.

2016

[cielie-voss]

hi, can I make a request for an eddie fic? Like enemies to lovers where the reader is in a classic school band which is always in a fight with corroded coffin? Thanks a lot :D

You know I hate you, right?

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader - Enemies to lovers

Warnings: swearing, Eddie and Reader being bitchy.

a/n: thank you so much, I loved this one, it's so sweet! I hope you like how it turned out!

If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗

Masterlist

“If I were your wife, I would poison your coffee!” Her screeching voice fills the cafeteria.

"Oh yeah?" Eddie stands up angrily and stomps a step towards her, "If I were your husband, I'd love to drink it!"

“She doesn’t mean it.” Shrugging, Gareth leans back in denial.

“Oh, she means it.” With a shake of his head, Jeff brings his friend out of his delusion. “And I couldn’t blame her.”

“Nonsense!” Gareth denies and continues to stick to his conviction.

“Jesus Christ, I’m counting the days until I don’t have to put up with this smug behavior from her anymore.” Grumbling, Eddie sits down at the table again, seething with anger at his eternal rival, who, also seething with anger, stomps away from the table.

"And her wannabe metal look... How I'd love to rip the studs off her vest."

“I bet he’d love to rip other things off her,” Dustin whispers to Gareth, unfortunately not as quietly as he intended to, and receives a bitterly angry look from the freak.

“Never in my life! And not in a thousand years and if we were the last two people in this universe!” he explains to his young friend with a disgusted grimace.

"And now? Where should we practice now?” After a few moments of deliberation, Jeff says what everyone at the table was silently wondering. After the water damage to Gareth's house, the garage was blocked. Unless the guys at Corroded Coffin would love to practice between Laundry baskets and boxes full of books. And at the gig in three months, according to rumors, people from the music industry will also be there to scout new talents. So nothing is more important than practice right now.

“So I guess we can forget about the music room,” Gareth sighs and leans back. “Thanks to our Prince Charming here.”

Eddie shoots up next to him indignantly. “Prince Charming?” His mouth opens and closes like a fish on land, trying to counter this sarcastic remark.

“What can I do about her being like that? A stupid, bitchy, snippy, unfriendly, unempathetic, arrogant wannabe alternative bitch?”

“You don't happen to have any more negative Attributes come to mind as these …”

“Seven, it was seven,” Dustin adds to Jeff’s remark about the line-up of unnecessary adjectives.

An uncomfortable, oppressive silence falls over them as everyone picks at their food thoughtfully.

“Maybe you’ll try again. Just… nicer?” Gareth suggests after what feels like an eternity, furrowing his eyebrows, ready for another angry tirade on Eddie's part.

“Yeah, maybe you should really try charm. You know, women are into that sort of thing. Flattery, nice words,” Jeff adds.

“Oh, and how do you know what women are into?” With a very exaggerated rolling of his eyes, Eddie turns to his friend. “Besides, I doubt there is even an ounce of femininity in this … bitch. And when it does, it's buried deep under a heap of arrogance. No, before I have to deal with her again, hell will freeze over. We'll find another rehearsal room."

XXX

The Hawkins High School music club has always been a tight-knit community, a sanctuary for those who revel in the soothing melodies of classical music. Y/N, with her cello in hand, was the epitome of this world. She thrives on the sweet symphonies that echo through the club's hallowed halls. As for Eddie Munson, lead guitarist of the local metal band and self-proclaimed "Metalhead," he was about to clash with this world in ways he couldn't have imagined.

One sunny afternoon, Eddie and his bandmates strolled into the music club's headquarters, hoping to secure a practice space for the coming months. Despite Eddies reluctance and constant complaints, they managed to talk to him, convince him that this is the only way to find some place to practice. Open confrontation is what they called it. And to keep everything nice and calm, they asked Dustin to help them negotiate.

Y/N, sitting amidst her fellow cellists, raises an eyebrow at the sight of these intruders. Their leather jackets and wild hair stood in stark contrast to the elegant formality she is used to. It is clear from the beginning that Eddie and his bandmates are unwanted guests.

"We need a place to practice," Eddie declares, his voice dripping with defiance.

Dustin added, "Yeah, and we're willing to pay."

“Pay?”, Gareth asks quietly with furrowed brows and leans to Jeff.

The music club's president, a stern guy named Brandon, stares them down. "This isn't a place for your noise," he sneeres.

Y/N's fingers tighten around her cello's neck, her disdain for the interlopers growing by the second. She has always despised their kind—the rebels, the rule-breakers. To her, music was a sacred refuge, and these delinquents threatened to disrupt it. Although she secretly began to find some peace - unlike the one she knew before - in listening to Metallica or even Iron Butterfly.

Eddie, undeterred by the icy glares and piercing remarks, leans in closer to Brandon. "We won't be here forever, just a few months. We won't interfere with your precious little concerts or rehearsals."

Brandon scoffed, his eyes flicking toward Y/N as if seeking her approval. "The answer is no."

Y/N, unable to contain her annoyance any longer, speaks up. “If you won’t take no for an answer, you have to discuss with the principal. And I’m pretty sure, since you’re definitely not his favorite student, he’s on our side. So I’m afraid you have to find another way to practice your … noise.” With her hands gesturing around their instruments, she puts on a smug grin.

Reluctant Dustin tugs at Eddie's vest. “Dude, come on. We’ll find another way.”

“Yeah, go on Freaks, find another way.”, she quips and shoos them out with waving hands.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, smirking as he shoots back, slowly walking towards her, nearer and nearer with every word until their noses nearly touch, "Oh we’ll find another way, little Beethoven. And it’ll bother you even more than sharing this room with us, just because I’d love to see the regret and defeat on your nasty, little face."

The room falls silent, the tension between them palpable. Their exchange has caught everyone off guard, a brief spark of some kind of chemistry amidst the hostility. But neither is willing to admit it.

XXX

In the following weeks, Eddie and his bandmates scoured Hawkins for any available practice spaces. Everywhere they went, doors slammed in their faces, and they were met with cold rejection. It seemed the music club's word had spread like wildfire, labeling them as outcasts.

“Shit. Fucking. Bullshit.” Gareth declares, as they leave another unsuccessful negotiation. “The gig is in two months. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know if this is a stupid idea. But… what about the hellfire club room?” Shrugging, Dustin turns to Eddie with this last resort.

“The-” Eddie takes a deep breath and clenches his hand into a fist, bringing it dangerously close to his face waving around. “The Hellfire Room? Why didn’t we think of this before?!”

Now that a new rehearsal space was found, Corroded Coffin spent every free minute practicing. Of course, to the great dismay of the music club, which was only a few rooms away. Their unruly appearance and the thunderous echoes of their music didn't sit well with the club's traditionalists. A constant battle ensued as to who is louder; Corroded Coffin with their covers of Metallica, Van Halen and Co, or the Music Club with their cello and piano version of Mendelssohn's ‘Song without words’.

One evening, Y/N is practicing with her cello alone when she hears the distant sound of an electric guitar. Curiosity piqued, she follows the music, which stops and starts playing again every now and then, paired with a string of curse words until she stumbles upon an abandoned classroom. There, she finds Eddie, his fingers dancing across the guitar strings, lost in the raw passion of his music and the frustration in not hitting the right tones.

In that moment, Y/N is captivated by the power and emotion in Eddie's playing. It is a stark contrast to the elegance of her cello, but it resonated with her in a way she couldn't explain. She leans against the doorway, silently listening, her earlier animosity momentarily forgotten.

Eddie notices her presence but doesn't stop playing. He smirks and quips, "Enjoying the noise?"

Y/N bites her lip, feeling a strange sense of connection. "It's not noise," she admits, surprising even herself. “And you’re playing it wrong.”

Before Eddie even has the chance to say a word, she continues and takes a step towards him. “Your fingers are too slow. If you would move your index finger faster from here - “ She raises her hand and mimics his hand, still wrapped around his guitar, making it easier to understand for him, “ - to here, you would get the right tone. But either way your finger is too slow, or you just simply don’t know how to actually play guitar.”

Still with furrowed brows, Eddie cocks his head. She’s not wrong. She’s absolutely right. And that bugs him.

“But actually, in my opinion, the latter is the case. Well … “

“Woah, woah, woah! Stop, little Beethoven!” He carefully lays down his guitar, then turns to her, raising his hands indignant. “So you are trying to tell me, Edward Munson, lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin, that I can’t play guitar?” Laughing contemptuously he leans forward and grabs one of the little silly pompoms hanging down from her jacket. “You don’t even know what real music is and you have the audacity to tell me how to play my guitar?”

Rolling with her eyes, Y/N brushes off his hand and sighs. “Dickhead.”, she hisses under her breath, reaching out to his guitar. Before Eddies mind has the chance to comprehend what is happening, she wraps her hand around the neck of said instrument.

“See, you play it this way.” Her fingers glide smoothly over the strings, mimicking his previous playing.

With his eyes wide in shock, he follows her actions. She is good. Really good, actually. But of course Eddie is way too proud to admit it, so he rolls with his eyes and laughs.

“And this is how it’s really done.” She continues the song, but plays the right chords. And damn, she was right. That’s why it never sounded good when Eddie was playing.

“You know, you’re really getting on my nerves, little Beethoven.” Ripping his guitar out of her hands, and pushing her outside of the room again, he desperately tries to fight against the butterflies inside his stomach. But this? Damn, without him knowing, his mind decided that this was damn sexy. And he hates himself for feeling this way.

From that day on, Y/N finds herself drawn to the abandoned classroom. She begins to bring her cello along - pretending to feel safer when she isn’t all alone in the school at night practicing-, while Eddie shreds his incredible solos. Every now and then, he even lets her play with his guitar, acting dumb and like he needs some help from her. They still exchange barbs and insults, but there is a newfound camaraderie beneath it all.

One evening, after a particularly intense jam session, Eddie looks at Y/N, who has brought her own guitar this time, his eyes softened. "You know," he begins hesitantly, "you're not half bad on that guitar of yours."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Coming from a Metalhead and lead guitarist, that's a compliment, I suppose."

Eddie grins and for the first time, it isn’t a taunting grin. It’s genuine, filled with a warmth Y/N had never seen before.

As the weeks pass, Eddie and Y/N's secret jam sessions continue. They are enemies turned to unlikely allies, and the more they play together, the more their mutual attraction grows. The music club's rejection has pushed them together, and in the process, they discovered a love for each other's worlds.

And the more he gets to know her, the more he realizes that she isn’t just some wannabe alternative bitch, but a real alternative bitch, listening to Metallica, Mötley Crüe and Slayer in secret. He hates to admit it, but he really starts to have a crush on her. Which, of course, his bandmates and friends start to notice.

One evening, after they played a haunting melody that blended their two musical styles, Y/N leans in, her lips brushing against Eddie's ear. "You know," she whispers and his hand automatically finds its place on her knee, "if I were your wife, I'd make you coffee every morning." What is happening? She never even dared to think about getting near to the freak, let alone imagining enjoying this intimacy she recently has with him. Her heart is beating so fast, he nearly could hear its pounding.

Eddie's heart skips a beat, and the tips of his ears start to turn into a burning red as he whispers back, "And if I were your husband, I'd drink it every day."

Carefully he lets his hand run through her soft hair only to stop at her cheek, cupping her face with his calloused hand. He feels the heat of her breath against his neck as she leans further into his touch. Their lips meet in a fiery kiss, sealing the unspoken bond that has formed between them. The enemies-turned-lovers have found their harmony, a fusion of metal and classical music that was as unique as their love story.

“You know I hate you, right?”, he whispers out of breath between kisses.

“Hell yeah,”, she answers, smiling against his lips. “As much as I hate you too.”

In Hawkins, where strange things always seem to happen, the most unexpected love has blossomed between a Metalhead and a Cello player, proving that even the fiercest enemies could become the sweetest of lovers.

xxx

Thank you for reading! 🫶 If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗

[sandcobangevent]

we're gonna party like it's your birthday!

by @alistair-theirins-tits and @lxvenderjewel

John wakes up on May 21st like any other normal day and pulls himself out of bed, groaning as his bones creak while he stretches his arms high and sighs.

He brushes his teeth, humming to himself, swishes mouthwash in his mouth and spits it out. He looks in the mirror, running a hand through his hair so it doesn’t look too awful.

He enters the kitchen for a morning coffee to see Mariana and Sherlock already up and awake, mugs in their hands, Mariana hissing in Sherlock’s ear. They both stand stick straight when John walks in.

“Morning,” he says, walking directly to the coffee machine, still half asleep. “Anything interesting? Any cases lined up, Mari?”

They both look at him a little bewilderedly, which throws him off. “What? Is something in my teeth? Christ’s sake, I just brushed my teeth…”

“N-No, nothing’s wrong, sorry,” Mariana stammers. “Don’t worry about us. Nope, no cases today, we’re pretty much free.”

“Neat,” John says, watching the coffee pour into the mug before dousing it in creamer. Sherlock makes a noise of disgust, and John grins.

“How can you stand to drink it like that? ” Sherlock asks, lip curled, and Mariana kicks him in the shin.

“Be nice!” she hisses. Sherlock sighs.

John’s thrown again. When has Mariana ever cared about Sherlock teasing him? Usually she just… laughs it off?

John sips his coffee and looks at the two of them, waiting for one to initiate a conversation. Mariana and Sherlock exchange glances, glances that he cannot at all parse out.

“Are you both okay?”

“Can you go get groceries?”

John and Mariana speak at the same time, and John snorts.

“Is that what you two were so worried about? Yeah, I’ll go get them,” he says.

“Yeah, yep, definitely that, we’re just so nervous today, John,” says Mariana.

“Nervous? What for?” he asks.

“Erm. Nothing. Just, er, jumpy.” Sherlock says, and Mariana’s face goes right into her hands.

It’s weird. Usually John is able to get a read on whatever’s bothering the other two, but today he just can’t make it out. Is today special to one of them, or what? What is he missing here?

He resolves to investigate this more when he gets home. Maybe Sherlock and Mariana have just had a fight, or something, and they need to walk it off. Yeah, that’ll do for now.

He goes downstairs, pulling on a jacket. He looks down at himself– graphic tee and sweatpants. Yeah, that’s fine.

He looks next to him for a moment, and the unused coat closet is open, for some reason. If he peeks in, he can see– is that a banner of some sort? And tinsel? And–

“Watson, are you out yet?” Sherlock calls from upstairs.

“Oh, you want me out that bad?” John teases.

“ Yes,” Sherlock yells.

“ Sherlock!” Mariana yells at him, and John hears a shout of pain. He snorts to himself, and then pushes himself out the door. Unfortunately there are things to do today.

The walk to the grocery store is about 10 minutes, so fairly close. It’s a nice day out– not too wet, like it tends to be in May, not too hot either. John lets himself linger while he walks, treats himself to London at its best.

It’s when he gets to the grocery store that he realizes Mariana never gave him a grocery list. Bollocks.

He gets his phone out and shoots a text to the group chat Mariana made ages ago, that’s become their primary mode of communication at this point.

the 221three

Hey what do you want me to get Mariana

Boss Lady: oh shit let me check the fridge

Master Detective: Can you get pasta? I think we’re out of pasta.

I’m fairly sure we’re not out of pasta actually

Master Detective: I couldn’t find any pasta in the pantry, though?

Boss Lady: that’s because we put it in the cabinet

Master Detective: Ah.

Boss Lady: right john can you get eggs milk honey jam bread and pesto sauce

Boss Lady: and dill pickle chips

Dill pickle chips??? What?????

Boss Lady: it’s like upgraded salt and vinegar chips

Master Detective: Wait. Ms Hudson.

Master Detective: I don’t like pesto.

Boss Lady: yes well i do so john get me pesto sauce

Master Detective: I hope you’re not planning on using my penne for that.

Boss Lady: ugghhhhh john get elbow pasta at the store

Yes ma’am 🫡

Boss Lady: what is that i just see a box

Right I forgot you were an android user. Loser

Boss Lady: bullying this is bullying

Grinning to himself, John puts his phone in his pocket and grabs a shopping basket.

Groceries usually don’t take very long— until the pesto, that is, because he’s looked all over the pasta aisle for them and he still can’t find any. 

He sighs, taking a last glance at the aisle, ready to give up and face Mariana’s wrath when he gets home when he sees a familiar face passing by his aisle.

“Oi, Stammo!” he calls, grinning.

Stammo slowly walks backwards, holding a cake in his arms. A big one, at that.

“Hey, John,” he says, his face doing a gymnastic routine of emotions before settling on being nervous but pleased.

“How are you? How’s Nadia?” John asks.

“I’m well, she’s great, yeah,” Stammo says, smiling at the floor. John would punch him in the shoulder but well. He’s holding a giant cake. Best not to do that.

“What’s the cake for?” he asks.

“Er– Nadia had a craving–?” Stammo says, hesitantly. “Yeah– she had a craving for cake.”

“That looks more like it’s for a party, though, doesn’t it?” John says, raising his eyebrows. “She wants a cake that big?”

“Hey, who am I to judge,” Stammo shrugs. John nods sagely. “Anyway, I’ve got to go– she’s going to kill me if I stay any longer.”

“Tell her I say hello!” John calls as Stammo scurries away. He sighs, smiling. Stammo’s always so fun to talk to, even if he seemed a bit in a rush today. He looks up and–

Ah. There’s the bloody pesto.

The rest of the trip isn’t noteworthy, really– the rest of the groceries are easy to find and he has a bit of a row with the self checkout machine but that’s generally what happens when he goes shopping by himself– and he gets back home to 221B in 20 minutes.

He knocks on the door, but no one answers. He rings the doorbell, but no one answers. 

Odd. 

He checks the doorknob and for some reason it’s been left unlocked. He has the distinct memory of locking the door. 

He pushes in anyway, ready to smash the bottle of pesto over someone’s head if he has to. The lights are all off downstairs and slowly, he makes his way to the steps, grabbing onto the handrail and looking around as if he can see anything in the first place. 

“Sherlock? Mariana?” he calls into the darkness. “Where are you two?”

Silence. Utter silence.

He opens the door to 221B, fearing the worst. The lights are still off.

He turns them on. Distantly he muses that he ought to have turned the lights on downstairs first, but he’s already up here, isn’t he? He survived.

The lights turn on with a slight flicker. He shuts his eyes and prepares himself, then he opens them again, and–

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JOHN!” a bunch of voices yell. Sherlock and Mariana are in front of a large banner with the same words written on them, and the cake from the store is on the coffee table lying ready to eat.

In the kitchen are Stammo and Nadia, presumably having just finished cooking something, and Archie races up to him, licking his feet.

“Wha…?” John says. “Wh– What’s going on??”

Everyone’s faces freeze.

“It’s… your birthday, John,” Sherlock says, slowly. “This is a birthday party.”

“It’s my– what? I thought that was tomorrow,” John says. “It’s the 21st.”

“It most certainly is not.” says Sherlock, incredulous. “It’s the 22nd.”

“Erm? What? Let me check–” John struggles his phone out of his pocket. He literally opened his phone today, he cannot have missed the actual bloody fucking date–

But, to his abject horror, he did.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. He missed it. He forgot.

“Er– oh my god–” he huffs a laugh. “I– is this why you two were looking at me like I was completely insane this morning?”

“Well, I wouldn’t describe it as that–”

“Yes.”

Mariana kicks Sherlock in the shin again, and he lets out a low groan of pain.

“You don’t need to kick him,” John says, smothering giggles behind his hand.

“He’s being rude! It’s your birthday!” she pouts.

“Can’t believe you forgot your own birthday, Watson,” Sherlock scoffs.

“Well– I– I’ve been busy! Lately! I stayed up until like two last night editing!” he says, defensive.

“Goodness. Take a break,”

“You’re one to be talking,” John snipes.

“Excuse me?!”

“Anyways, Mariana, thank you,” he says, steamrolling forward, “This is so nice, I can’t imagine how much planning it must’ve taken.”

“Oh– me? Don’t thank me,” she stammers, crossing her arms.

“Why not?” John asks.

“Well, Sherlock did most of the planning, I just sent invitations,” she says.

“ Sherlock?” John says, eyes widening.

Sherlock is looking at the floor, trying to hide behind his curls.

“Was nothing, really,” he mumbles.

“Oh, Sherlock–” John steps over Archie and strides to the coffee table, wrapping Sherlock in a tight hug. “This is so nice. Thank you.”

“Really, it was nothing,” he repeats, cheeks darkened. “Happy birthday, John.”

They stand like that for a moment, John’s face buried in Sherlock’s shoulder. God, to think he forgot– and Sherlock remembered– and planned a party?

He shall not get teary at this here birthday party, no matter how much of a fight it takes. 

“This moment is nice and all, but I’m really hungry, so can we please light the candles?” Nadia calls from the kitchen.

There is laughter, and then there is cake.

______________

Check it out on AO3 too!

[rabbitprintart]

okay I need to get this outta my system because realistically I won't be able to draw this in a while but at least wanna write down my head cannons and au AND I'M DRIVING MYSELF INSANE EVERY NIGHT!!!

Anyways, I've been meaning to make/explore an au where Trigun takes place in my motherland of Tierra Caliente, yes I know it's incredibly self indulgent, but where I live, questions of climate change and agriculture are constant within the community, it's a weeeee bit lawless, and I can see so many opportunities of weaving those ideas together with those of the original Trigun series. I just think the reason Trigun speaks to so many of us Mexicans is for the same reason we have an insane clown culture, or the "laugh now, cry later" attitude. I have never seen 2 anime/characters that embody the Mexican spirit and struggle like fucking Vash the Stampede and Nicholas Wolfwood (if you ignore the DragobBall IP lol). So far the ideas that I have are:

Vash and Knives, and all the plant aliens, are representations of ancestral Mesoamerican culture of having intricate stories about twins, duality, and nature. Really wanna dig into the idea of Vash being some kind off shoot of Quetzalcoatl and Knives of Tezcatlipoca, probably even paint Knives in a more charismatic light because tbh my man has some points and I don't blame him lol. Knives does remind me a lot of the cynical Mexican who has been wronged so much in his life that he can not understand a world that isn't evil therefore sees the only solution the destruction of all, just pure nihilism. It's unfortunately more common than you think, especially in men :{

Really weave in Mesoamerican thought, art, and philosophy with Mexican Catholicism. It will be more obvious through Wolfwood, and it makes a lot of sense in my mind since a lot of Rancho people unknowingly hold onto our native thoughts and customs without realizing, even if it has been repackaged through Catholicism (ex: Dia de los Muertos)

Commentary on the insane chokehold the idea of Family as the supreme value in Mexican people through Knives

Ranchero Wolfwood, El Dark (Darks means Goth in Mexican Spanish slang lol) Vash

OKAY NOW FOR THE ONE THAT ABSOLUTELY IS KILLING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Plants are seen as saints by the average Mexican even if the majority don't know about the plant angels inside, so much so that they are constantly offered milagros and have town celebrations for them, but they all have been slowly exploited and killed by the humans who were meant to protect them due to greed. Vash has a collection of the milagros he has salvaged from all his sister's graves and he ties them into his coat. Knives also does this, but they both do it for different motives, Knives mainly does this is as a reminder for his hatred of humanity, Vash mainly for his love for his people and endearment towards humans for thinking well of them, a reminder that he is not much of a monster as he has been made to believe. I literally made myself so emotional last night because I imagined Wolfwood making a milagro shaped in the Passionate Heart of Christ and offers it to Vash right before he dies LIKE SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! SHUT UP ME!!!!!! ME VOY A MATAR !!!!! AAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

In conclusion : Nightow, you are more Mexican than you think, I'm giving you the beaner pass

*cultural context for the non-Mexicans: Milagros are these tiny, usually silver, metal charms that are sown into the velvet of Mexican Catholic statues/icons as a sign of gratitude, a commitment of lifetime devotion, and appreciation for the idol for helping the individual make their prayer come true. Basically, people go to a saint, angel, etc., pray for them to help them (Most common prayers are to physically heal wounds, help with addictions, grief, have children, etc), and if the prayer is answered (the person is healed, they get their dream partner, have kids, etc), then the figure will be offered a Milagro that takes shape of the miracle (a healed leg, breasts for breast cancer, eyes, hearts, etc) and the devotee will sow it into the idol's clothes or their altar as an affirmation of their power and existence.

[ysabelmystic]

My friends and I are rewatching a bunch of Christian films from my childhood and we completed the original Left Behind trilogy the other day. Here were my observations

I do think it's funny that the plot essentially begins with GMOs. GMOs are bad because more people being fed means world peace and globalism. That is bad.

"I'm Buck Williams and I'm standing in a wheat field" is now doomed to be repeated within my friend group for at least the next two years.

The antichrist's name is Nikolai Carpathia. He has the accent of a guy mimicking a Russian accent. This feels on par with JK Rowling naming her one Asian character "Cho Chang".

The character names also include (aside from the aforementioned antichrist and Kirk Cameron's character) Rayford Steele, Chloe, and Patty. Somehow it has the aura of a porno.

Despite the only demographic to be exclusively raptured is children under the age of 10, this fact is pretty much ignored.

Kirk Cameron's character (Buck) confronts police officers who are shooting at looters and teenagers for lacking compassion. By today's standards, this is woke propaganda.

I'm pretty sure the prior thing is to show that Buck is a good and pure soul who just needs to read a Bible to be fully redeemed because how else can you have a non-Christian protagonist in a movie like this. Or maybe this is to show that he's misguided and worldly. However, despite being a hot, sexy, prolific journalist, the movie also points out that he is a virgin.

The alleged romantic tension between Buck and pilot-not-porn-star Rayford Steele's daughter is painful to watch because Kirk Cameron will not kiss anyone other than his wife. There's a lot of awkward side hugs and leaving room for Jesus. Given that they end up getting married later, this is amusing to me.

These movies really want you to know two things: World Peace Is Bad, and Jews Are Bad. There are direct plot points specifically about converting Jewish people to Christianity so that they cannot usher in the rule of the antichrist.

I think it's really funny that, despite TV and the internet existing during the time this series takes place, the connection between the rapture prophecies/fanfics and The Fucking Rapture is only discovered by our protagonists and a handful of other random guys. I think a mass disappearance of certain branches of Christianity and children would provoke some kind of doubt and curiosity, but no. That's bad for plot. Instead, the whole world goes straight to "y'know what? Let's just get rid of all religion at once. Forever." This is because all other religions are made from faithless heathens who just really hate Christians, and since there are no longer Christians, they no longer have to Do Religion. I guess.

I also think it's funny that the main characters, though they themselves were convinced to convert because of the rapture, do not use the rapture as a means to convert the masses. They jump straight to bunker church and secret Bible brigades. When they do successfully convert others, it is either by trotting out the tired, "YOU THINK THIS WORLD WAS AN ACCIDENT???" Case for Christ nonsense, or basically threatening their victim with damnation.

Case in point, Rayford Steele talks a guy out of suicide by reminding him that he will never see his wife and child again if he goes through with it. Suicide = Straight To Hell.

There's a scene where the antichrist like... tries to "test" Rayford Steele by revealing his uber spoopy ghost face and seeing if he reacts. Because I guess the uber spoopy ghost face only works on believers. Te uber spoopy ghost face is his figure showing up in infrared, then his face stretching out cartoonishly, and his eyes turning black. This scared me as a child. It is the second funniest part of the movie.

Also, the title of the second movie being "Left Behind: Tribulation Force" is giving big "Electric Boogaloo" energy.

The antichrist reveals of the evil Global Community organization to the protagonists by handing them a piece of loose leaf printer paper with a logo that I would've made in the computer lab in 2005. This is done to the tune of sinister and dramatic music. This is the funniest part of the movie.

The third movie begins with the introduction of The President. It was previously stated that the president had been raptured. There was no mention of presidents up until this point. I know the line of succession exits but it really felt like they just forgot.

Oh yeah...the Pope was also raptured because he was secretly protestant.

Buck marries Rayford Steele's daughter at the same time Rayford Steele marries a random blonde lady. It feels weird and icky, which is furthered by the fact that the now married daughter will henceforth be referred to as "our girl" by both of these men for the rest of the movie.

We also had to stop the movie several times due most of the female cast consisting of skinny white blonde ladies. We could not tell the difference between any of them except for by their eyeliner. If she wears dark eyeliner, she's a whore.

Due to the plot involving the release of a virus that mainly only affects Christians, this film was definitely the most fun to dissect.

The virus is stored in badly CGId glowy green goo bottles, which for a series that has tried very hard to be serious, was awfully cartoony.

This movie does not give a fuck about the protagonists. This movie is about the president. I'm pretty sure this is because the protagonists, who are Christian, are no longer allowed to commit murder. The president is not a Christian, so he gets to use a gun.

The president has random warehouses to do casual interrogations in wherever and whenever he wants. It is clear that the creators were really struggling to make due with the set.

We know the antichrist is bad because he wants to take everyone's nukes. The president's main goal in this movie is to keep the nukes.

Back in the side plot, it turns out that the Christians are getting infected with green goo disease because the antichrist hid it in their Bibles. As the protagonists drown in guilt, the suspense of the plot really starts to fall apart. Their entire goal is to Get More People Into Heaven, and in this series, reading the Bible will automatically make anyone a Christian (the Bible's words cannot be resisted). If anything, they just fast-tracked a bunch of people into heaven, and they no longer have to endure the next seven years of apocalypse.

We should've all watched these movie pre-COVID. The only person who wears a mask and gloves is the antichrist. The protagonists also mention avoiding vaccines and relying on God/sacrificing themselves instead. This movie predicted 2020.

The super advanced green goo virus has an instacure antidote. Fucking red wine. This seems like a helluva lot of oversight to hand the "drinks red wine as part of religious rituals" group a virus that can be instacured by red wine.

WW3 starts. Somehow, this does not cause a nuclear winter.

The antichrist discovers that he can force-choke people.

The president suicide-bombs the antichrist's tower in order to "slow him down". Given that the antichrist cannot be killed and cell phones exist, I have no idea what exactly that was supposed to do.

As someone who grew up fully believing that Obama was the antichrist and Muslim (which is conservative for "literally a member of Al-Queda/ISIS").... and Black but they didn't say that part out loud), it was interesting in retrospect to watch this movie unfold. The president in this movie is a Black, non-Christian man who is initially for world peace, but then converts to Christianity and suicide-bombs the antichrist. We all have different interpretations of this, but we do agree that they would not have made that specific set of choices today. That said, my interpretation is the correct one /hj

[voldrinofthenorth]

@vexwerewolf So we played In Golden Flame tonight and damn, I did not expect to show up at the end of somebody else's cowboy movie, only to realize we were g-men.

Now that Blacksmith guy, head of the local worker's union, he hired us to kill a "thief". We find the thief, but let him say his peace. If I'm hired to kill someone, I'd like to know who the target is, and the Blacksmith wouldn't give us any info.

The Thief tells us the Blacksmith is a corpo plant, and he's got evidence. Sends us multiple files. Screenshots, data logs, audio and video. Correspondence between the Blacksmith and SSC. Now, I understand having to work with the corpos in order to get shit done out here. We've got no Blinkgate and Union doesn't give two shits about the Boondocks of the Galaxy. Shit, half of us are piloting SSC chassis. We cut our own deals, even got into their "VIP Pilot Program", or whatever. I get it. But icing somebody to keep your reputation intact? I don't like that. You can say it's for the "greater good" all you want, but the only life anyone has any right to sacrifice is their own damn life. I ain't gonna shoot a man for fucking whistleblowing. No corpo could ever pay me enough to stoop that low.

Now, I'm firm in my beliefs here. The squad as a whole, however, are of differing minds. I voice my opinion. Redline isn't having it.

"We were hired for a job, we should finish it."

Charlie pipes in. "Guys, remember our mission? We're trying to save those people who are literally being enslaved and forced to fight each other to the death by Steele. We need the Blacksmith's transport ships. If we trade one life to save all of them, I think it's reasonable."

Christ the Buddha, did this bastard just bring up the fucking Trolly Problem? But shit... He's making sense. We need those ships for evac. We don't have enough room on the Dragon's Tooth for all of those civilians. Still...

Redline pulls his pistol onnthe Thief. "I'll finish him off if you won't."

In that moment, I make my decision. I draw my blaster and point it at Redline. He looks indignant when he turns to me.

"Really, Al? You'd point your gun at me? Over this?"

"I ain't gonna kill an innocent man, Red."

"Oh, so you get to decide who's innocent, now? Who made you judge and jury!?"

"Who made you executioner!?"

While we're having our shouting match, Lamplight is frozen. He can't decide. We need to save all those people. But, killing this man in cold blood is wrong... Right? Lamplight always wanted to be a hero, like Jessie. This doesn't seem very heroic...

Redline's face is red. He turns to the Thief and I can see his finger squeeze the trigger. I'm faster. My blaster goes off first. (I roll for Assault. 23.) I aim for his hand. The plasma bolt sunders his pistol, sending molten slag flying. Redline can feel the reverberations through his hardsuit. His arm goes numb, and falls limp to his side. He doesn't cry out. He just grits his teeth and pulls out a stim with his good hand.

I just stand there, realizing what I've done. Red looks up at me.

"I always knew you were a coward."

I square my jaw.

"I've got nothing to prove to you."

"Hesitating at the end of a job like this? It's weakness."

"I don't fucking care. I'm not a corpo shill."

Lamplight suddenly realizes something. "I can just do both." He looks to me and communicates though Witness, into my mind. "We can just do both."

I understand what he's communicating in an instant. With the images, I can also hear the old Witch's words. "Now, you may find another way..." With a thought, I activate my dataplate visor and send a message to Charlie. "Make it look like we killed him."

Redline's eyes are wide from the stim. He's shouting louder now.

"You're fucking weak!"

I shout back at him.

"I don't fucking CARE!"

I whip around and aim my blaster at the Thief. (I roll for Assault. Natural 20.) I aim for his head and make eye contact with him. I put the plasma bolt right next to his head. Close enough to singe him, but not enough to kill. Charlie is recording the evidence to send to the Blacksmith. Redline jumps on the Thief, veins pumping with a cocktail of stimulants. He beats down on him with his good hand.

Lamplight opens his slate and, as the video is recording, makes a few minor adjustments. Just enough not to be noticed, to be a bit more convincing. He looks up and shouts "Alright, he's dead already! Templar, pull him off!"

I grab Redline and yank him back. "Christ the Buddha, come on! He's dead, and we aren't fucking savages!" I drag Red off, back to our mechs. Charlie cuts the video feed and Lamplight leans down to the Thief. Into his mind, Lamplight speaks to him. "He won't come for you for a while."

The Thief looks up, bruised and burned and bleeding. His voice is horse. "I... I don't know how to repay you."

Lamplight noded. "Wait to send your broadcast until our mission is complete. That's all we ask. We need those ships.

The Thief closes his eyes. "Al... Alright. I'll wait. I'll wait..."

Lamplight put a a chitinous claw on his shoulder. "Thank you. I believe in you. I think you're a hero."

*Apparently the GM didn't expect our conversation to go the way it did. Since the book only has two outcomes, he had to improvise a bit. We're going to get to use the Blacksmith's ships for the mission, but afterwards we will gain "Enmity of the Blacksmith", but we'll also gain "The Thief's Honor". This session was great. We all gained several points of pilot stress and extra pilot EXP. Love Space Cowboys.

[maxbegone]

If you honestly think this is going to be seven sentences, you don’t know me by now! Happy late Sunday/early Monday, I hope the week treats you well ♥️

Alex misses being extroverted, but he knows he can never be too cautious. In this world, it’s all about protecting what you have.

He stands, propping the end of the rifle through the window of the watchtower. Finger on the trigger, safety off, looking through the sight.

“Take another step, and you each get one between your eyes,” he calls out to them warningly.

They stop short, hands raising.

“What do you want?”

“We—we didn’t know this area was occupied,” one of them says. He has a heavy British accent and he’s handsome under the wear and tear of whatever it is they’ve been through. “We’re just trying to find a way through.”

“Yeah, well the only way through is back that way if you don’t want trouble.” Alex gestures with the rifle. “Sorry.”

“Listen, mate, we’ve been walking for three days. We’re just looking for a place to kip that isn’t in the woods.” He smiles a little. “I swear.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah.” The man smiles weakly. “We were with a group, but you know how it is out there.”

Alex’s brow furrows. “Can’t say I do too well anymore. Now what do y’all actually want?” He asks, keeping his aim steady.

Alex could shoot the cap off a glass bottle a hundred paces away and not shatter the damn thing, no questions asked. June could do it almost double.

“A place to sleep,” the same man reiterates. “That’s all. Listen, my name is Percy. My mate here is Henry. We don’t have anything to trade, but we’ve been walking for days and we’re just trying to find some shelter.”

For the first time in a long time, Alex hesitates.

He shouldn’t, but at his core he’s a people person, and even several years into a scarce world hasn’t seemed to fix that. Outside of his core community of himself, June, the three of their parents, Nora, and Raf, he hasn’t seen many people. Who has nowadays? And this excludes Zahra and Shaan who pop in and out every few weeks.

The world went to shit, people either retreated or died, and Alex’s family took the farmland Leo’s uncle left to him back in the early nineties.

They thrive, but they do so with who they have and who they can trust. Everyone else has been turned away at the gate or given what they needed and sent on their way. They have been very lucky not to get ambushed in the years since. Raf believes it’s because no one would be dumb enough to go through that much wilderness and up that steep a hill to do so. Ellen thinks it’s pure luck.

He studies them both from his vantage point: heavy-looking backpacks, mud-covered boots and well-worn clothes, they’re both dirty. There’s something different about them though, and Alex can’t quite put his finger on it. He looks from Percy to the other man, Henry, and finds himself immediately stilling. He has windswept blond hair that looks like it hasn’t been cut in quite a while, a gash on his cheek and some bruising under his eye. Alex catches his gaze, finding it impossible not to hold it for a few long beats at least.

“You can search us! We don’t have any weapons,” Henry pipes up. He’s British, too, and his voice is rich and melodic, despite how it wavers. Alex finds himself wanting to hear more.

Jesus fucking Christ, what is this shit?

“None? Out there?” They both shake their heads. He’s not sure he fully buys it. “Are y’all insane?”

“It’s stupid,” Percy admits. “Others had them, we were protected. We’ve been scrounging off rations of rations since.”

“Where were you headed?”

“Niagara. There’s a safe haven there.”

Alex huffs an inaudible laugh. “Yeah, lots of rumors about those.”

“Can’t be sure about much,” Henry says in lieu of agreement, and Percy nods.

“But it was our best option. We started off in Manhattan.”

Jesus. Alex sighs. He keeps the rifle pointed on them as he picks up his walkie. It chirps to life. “Gonna need some help at the gate, bug.”

“Roger dodger.”

Alex turns his attention back to the two men. “Don’t move,” he commands. “I’m coming down.”

He slings the rifle onto his back, pockets his walkie and makes the climb down the ladder, keeping them in sight as best he can.

He fixes his hat as he strides over, and the closer he gets, the more he begins to see. Percy looks off, unwell, but he’s standing tall and cooperative, expression affixed in something between friendly and neutral. Henry looks better, by comparison, but not by much. He’s certainly taken a few hits, at least physically.

“We’re gonna wait for backup,” Alex tells them both. He keeps his rifle at ease, but stares at them in a way that keeps them frozen to the spot. “Anything funny happens and that’s it.”

They both nod, and Percy says, “Noted.”

It takes about five minutes or so for June to arrive from her part of the property, hair pulled back into a high ponytail and a hand over the revolver in the holster on her waist. “We got company?”

“Could be friendlies,” Alex tells her, dropping his voice, but June’s mouth pulls to the side, protective nature coming out. “Looking for refuge for the night.”

“Gotta play it safe. Sorry, y’all.” She looks at them both and tilts her head up toward the sky. “Storm’s brewing, too.”

“Let’s hurry this up, then. Drop your bags,” Alex instructs. “Arms out.”

[inkstainedhandswithrings]

TBB s3 Finale Thoughts!!

Fair warning, this one is very long

I am fear

Why is this intro music

What is this intro music

Help

“The base is 5 Klicks away. Can you make it?”

Jesus Christ what a scary question right from the start

Is Wrecker gonna…?

I’m not gonna say it

Jesus

This convo between Hemlock and Rampart was amazing

Two villains, being villainy together

Honestly the writers knew what they were doing

Honestly, I love that Emerie is owning up to her mistakes?

is she gonna 99 herself?

Jeez Jennifer’s Tweet really threw me

ALSO OMEGA GIRLBOSSING

LETS GOO

Oh shit, cross wiring a droid??

This is Tech’s training huh??

🥹🥹🥹🥹

he’d be so proud

EVA STRAPPED RHE PLUSHIE TO HER BACK IM CRYING

gaaaaaahh Omega is so grown up

I love her

AHHHHGH IM SOSCARED FOR WRECKER??

JEN WHAT HAVE YOU DONE

WAIT SO

the kids just escaped

and now Echo is going to save the kids

NO

Ugh this can’t end well

This is

hhhhhhhh

I KNEW IT

omega is freeing the Zillo

ofc she is!!

love!!

Why does Guy With Googles seem like foreshadowing?

Where’s Tech Jen?

Where’d you put him?

Honestly the entire Zillo thing is giving Ahsoka freeing Maul

Echo realising she freed the Zillo

“How’d you know that?” “Because it’s exactly what I’d do.”

BESTIE THE WAY I SCREAMED

Crosshairs hand tremor getting worse literally has me in shambles

I am so scared for him

Actually for all of them

HHHHHHHHHH

Oh so batcher is alive

AAAHHHHH

OKAY

FIRST. OF. ALL.

Cross changing the plan because of Wreckers injury???

AHHHHGH THAT IS SO SWEET HELP???

SECONDLY

HIM OFFERING TI INFILTRATE THE BASE HIMSELF???

SCARY!!!

LASTLY

“You two, head to the communications array and try to contact Rex.”

I AM JUMPING AND SCREAMING WITH JOY

I AM SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS

REX

YEA

BRING REX BACK

YEASSSSS!!!!

Oh I really shoulda waited this out

Are they not bringing Rex back?

Either waY THAG LINE??

“Clone Force 99 died with Tech.”

The entire conversation about Omega needing the others more than him?

“If we all go in, we won’t all make it out.”

AHHHHHH

NOOOoo

he’s right tho

shiiiiit

“Echo’s handiwork? Or Omega’s?” in sync: “Omega.” I AM SCREAMING

I think Hemcock realised that the Zillo was an intentional distraction

But he still has to make a move

And that made him angry

Love it

Our girl pissed him off

OH

OHHHH

THATS TECH

THERE HE IS

Okay so he wasn’t the operative we expected

BUT COME ONE

the chamber?? Reminds me of Echos on Skako

And the Helmet is different than all the others

And the back of the head like yea

That’s Tech!!!

Especially because Hemlock getting him now makes so much sense

He needs to figure out how to stop the batch, so why not use a former squad member? And reunite CLONE FORCE 99

Echo: sees loads of destruction

Echo: omega was here

“We need to fall back.”

And call Rex

Call Rex

And don’t 99 yourself

Cross

Don’t

“You should be more careful with your shooting hand.”

No.

No way.

No.

They didn’t

They couldn’t have

This actually has me wanting to cry wtf

Fuck, the batch being careened off unconscious in front of Echo is,,, very concerning

Echo has to call Rex now right

Gah poor guy must feel very unsettled

Ahhhh and the rest of the batch

hhhhhh

helpppp

“Causing chaos Havoc 5?”

AHHHHHH

he is so dad coded actually

🥹🥹🥹🥹

sweetness

I needed that

uuuughhh them splitting up so that the kids are safe

So sweet

But also

This is gonna be hard for them alone

Ah fuck

Shiiiiit

He’s trying to winter soldier them

Noooooo

“We’ll survive. But you won’t.”

In that defeated voice?

I’m crying

AND HOW DARE HEMLOCK TALK ABT TECH RHAT WAY

FUCK, THIS EPISODE

Ugh Echo’s speech

The clones banding together

I’m crying

Jesus I love this

Echo taking charge that way

Natural leader fr

I am in love <3

Fuck, Rampart is gonna fuck something up huh

He’s gonna ruin it for them isn’t he

Oh shit Tarkin is coming?

Oh no

GOD THE WAY I LOVE THE CLONES ALL RISING UP TOGETHER

yo the way that “training room” is built is actually wild

gah omega freeing them herself is v scary to me

sounds like something abt to go wrong

yup

shit

fuck

HEMLOCK YOU BITCH

NO NOT THE GAS

NO

FUCK

Oh good they finally got rid of rampart

slightly bummed about Nala Sue though, even tho she was mostly not that great

She really stepped up

Wrecker hulking out like that

I love it!!!

LETS GOOOO

“Get the kid.”

WRECKER YOU MACHINE

I LOVE

okay so maybe none of the operatives are tech

at least I hope so bc the batch is mowing them down

Also

Crosshairs hand rlly is gone

Fuck

Shiiiiiiit

How could they do this to him

hhhhhhh

ugh the fact that it’s raining too

The way Echo is panting

Poor baby is so tired

Wrecker too, they’re barely holding on

The fact that Crosshair is shooting with his other hand and still hitting target

Can’t keep him down

But still bro wtf

“They won’t risk hurting you.”

“Neither will you. You need me alive.”

God the writing is so good

ALSO SCORCH???

POOR GUY NOOOOO

we got wet hair hunter tho😏🥲

“Shoot the binders.”

“They’re too close.”

“She knows what to do. Wait on her, then take the shot.”

WOW

THE WRITING

THE

WRITING

THE ANIMATION

THE ACTION

THIS IS LITERALLY SO FUCKING GOOD WHAT

GOD SHE SAW CROSS’S HAND

the way she immediately began crying and hugged him

And then hunter joining in

I AM NOT OKAY

(the writingggggg)

(hhhhhhhaaaaaaaa)

Oh thank fuck they’re back on Pabu

Echo inviting Emerie back to Pantora

that’s actually so sweet

And the convo about them never having had a childhood? Gah this hurts my soul

that shot of them all sitting together <3

okay so full disclosure I didn’t type for most of the last scene because I was so gagged

ADULT OMEGA?

OLD HIPPIE MAN HUNTER??

Omega joining the rebellion as a pilot

and Tech’s goggles on her dash

Okay so I know I was lobbying hard for Rex showing up, but at some point I got why he didn’t. This was about the batch. It was about the poetry of them stepping up into their natural roles and solving the problem themselves and I loved that.

Also, as most of you know, I was very strongly pro team Tech is alive and I don’t know how to feel now that we didn’t get a reveal. I’m thinking if we get another show maybe he might still come back but my optimism is a little,,, depleted.

Also I think it’s absolutely ridiculous that Tarkin reverts funds from Necromancer to Stardust AKA the Death Star. Like yeah, let’s forget about eternal life and focus on big floaty ball.

I just thought that was funny.

Also Crosshair saying that clone force 99 died with Tech. In a way that’s very true. They weren’t the same squad after that and they never will be. After that loss something was kicked loose in Hunter, I think. He was more sure than ever that he wanted to be a family before he wanted to be a squad. And in the end that’s what they got. There’s a bitter sweet poetic beauty in that I think.

Ugh honestly I think I need to sit in this for a while and process it because I’m a little,,, idk it was a lot. Like it was great but it was so much yanno? I’m kinda sad that the gap between Rex forming the rebellion and leaving the fight wasn’t filled yet, but I’m hopeful we get another show or short or something that fills it still, because honestly he’s earned it. I’d also like to see where Echo ends up fr

Idk I’m all over the place. I will repeat, again, that the writing was amazing. The dialogue, the action, the everything really. It was incredible.

I’m just gonna sit in that a while. Yeah. Hope y’all made it through and thanks for always reading all this. Hope I get a chance to do this again one day. Love you, bad batch fandom. We’re not going anywhere <3

xo, phi

[nsfwmiamiart]

(The Second Draft Version) Incoming Text for AZ (@quietazmoney) and Taz Williams and CatDaGreat (@iamcatdagreat):

Hey AZ, Taz & Cat,

I saw your message saying: "You ain't said one mothafuckin' thing I want to hear."

I get it. I know it's been a minute since I checked in with y'all, but cut me some slack—I’m out here fighting a war for independence. In case you didn’t know.

While y'all are partying it up in Vegas, I’m on the battlefield, dodging bullets from white supremacists who’d love to see me buried. So yeah, forgive me if I forget to give y'all updates. My mind's on a whole different level, dealing with things you probably can’t even imagine.

It’s like you all forget—I’m supposed to be dead right now. The only thing keeping me alive is my gun. I always stay strapped, just in case they try something. It’s kill or be killed. That’s my reality every day.

Also, I remember writing a letter to Gabrielle Union back in July or August on my Tumblr—I forget exactly when. I specifically told her to team up with AZ and Taz if she needs a solid crew to hold her down. I meant every word of that because I know y’all are real, and you’d have her back no matter what. Gabrielle is our sister, so it's only right I connect her with the ones I trust.

We’re in a war for survival, whether you see it or not. This apocalypse we’re living through ain’t some movie—it’s real life. The world’s losing its damn mind. Have you even watched the news lately? Pandemics, economic crises, wars, shootings—you gotta stay woke.

I’m telling you now, invest in some guns. You don’t know when you’ll need one for self-defense.

Look, they’re trying to paint Trump as the villain, but he’s actually on Team Jesus. The other side? They're Team Anti-Christ.

American politics is split between two sides:

Trump and Elon — Team Jesus.

Kamala Harris — A puppet of the Anti-Christ.

Yeah, they say Trump’s a racist and a bigot, but he’s the only one on the right side—Team Jesus. Same with Vladimir Putin. They’re resisting the Anti-Christ regime, plain and simple. The European Union is with us, too—Team Jesus.

Ever wonder why they shot Trump twice in two months? Because he’s Team Jesus, standing up against the Anti-Christ. I call them the "Evil Regime," but if I’m being real, they’re the Anti-Christ regime.

This is the Apocalypse, and I suggest you crack open your bibles and wake the f*ck up.

Trump’s the best friend the Christian community has. Kamala Harris? She couldn’t care less. She’s just pushing the Anti-Christ's agenda for her four years in office like a puppet.

I live in Europe, and over here, we’re safe in the Christian army’s territory. But back in the U.S.? Y’all are in the middle of a Civil War—Team Jesus vs. Team Anti-Christ.

So, get yourself some guns and prepare to defend yourself against the Anti-Christ forces in America.

I could go on about the Anti-Christ, but some secrets are only for AREA 51 gang members. I'm one of the lucky ones, and I don’t share my knowledge with just anyone. But I’m sharing this with you because I listened to AZ's music as a teenager, and I know he's a believer. So here’s your wake-up call, bro. It's the apocalypse—get strapped and be ready. It's kill or be killed.

And you know why Diddy's being dragged through the mud right now? Not because of his freaky parties—plenty of people in Hollywood are into worse, and they walk free. No, it’s because he didn’t bow down to the Anti-Christ regime. He stayed true to his Christian faith, and they’re crucifying him for it, just like in John Wick when they excommunicate him. That’s what they did to Diddy.

Ask Diddy, “Did they come for your faith? Did the Anti-Christ team ask you to abandon your beliefs?” And I guarantee Diddy will confirm with a, “YES, THEY DID!”

Same thing with R. Kelly. Yeah, he’s done some wild stuff, but they excommunicated him because he refused to abandon his Christian faith. Now he’s sitting in jail for it. Diddy’s next if they get their way.

When will y’all realize this is the apocalypse? Get your guns, go rogue, and if you need to, head to Ethiopia. The Ethiopian government will protect Christians. It’s Team Jesus over there, and they’ll defend you with their army. You can buy a house cheap, live in peace, and not have to worry about being persecuted for your faith.

That’s my advice to any Christians being targeted back in the States.

That’s all I had to say. You can read more on my blogs—I write every day about everything.

Take care, my friends, and I hope y’all survive this apocalypse.

Your virtual friend, Angelo.

P.S.:

Synopsis of the Letter:

The letter is a message from Angelo to his friends AZ, Taz, and Cat, explaining why he hasn't kept in touch. Angelo reveals that he’s been preoccupied with fighting a war for survival and independence, while they’ve been enjoying life. He stresses that they are living in apocalyptic times, where politics, pandemics, and violence are signs of the world spiraling out of control.

Angelo emphasizes his belief that American politics is divided into two sides: Trump and Elon Musk representing "Team Jesus," while Kamala Harris is a puppet for the "Anti-Christ." He urges his friends to stay armed and be prepared for self-defense, claiming that celebrities like Diddy and R. Kelly have been persecuted for staying true to their Christian faith.

He advises them to seek refuge in Ethiopia, where Christians can be protected by the Ethiopian government. The letter closes with Angelo encouraging his friends to "wake up" and survive the apocalypse, while also inviting them to follow his blogs for more insights.

[vanosslirious]

BBS Dialogue Prompts #320

ʙʙꜱ ᴅɪᴀʟᴏɢᴜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ & ꜱᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀꜱ: [ 10 ]

VANOSSGAMING

Oh my God, I almost died, you fuck.

Please don’t die.

No, don’t die, don’t die!

Is he dead, did he die?

He died!

Alright, off to a terrible start.

Looking for a shipwreck, looking for a shipwreck~

Okay, we found it, now what?

We gotta kill this fucking guy.

I just teleported.

We gotta find the dungeon, right?

He’s almost dead, he’s almost dead!

I don’t fucking know, just run!

Do we have to kill more?

Hold on, I’m in a tornado.

Close the door!

We’re fine, right?

Am I dead now?

Yeah, it was pretty cool, it was pretty cool, it was like an action movie.

We were winning!

WILDCAT

We should not be allowed to cheat.

Bitch, I got him, I knew it was you.

I'm done with it, I'm just shooting anyone.

I was watching you study that guy.

Don't worry, I insta-avenged you.

I don't know what he is anymore.

That's how my garage is going to look like in a few days.

Oh my gosh, he's so fast.

That looks fun as fuck.

That scared the shit out of me for a second, I thought for sure I was dead.

BASICALLYIDOWRK

Cautiously, let's find our stuff.

This was a fucking mistake.

I mean, I think we need a better strategy.

This one's pretty standard.

Do we need to start drinking?

I got the gold!

Look at our fucking score!

I don't like the way you said that.

Well, I fucking did!

What is knocking me over?

NOGLA

I could’ve actually, if I was funny.

I’m so proud of you!

You stupid fuck!

I didn’t gargle nothing.

Are you going to get me back?

Use the other one now.

It was just really delayed.

You’re never wrong.

Someone could have jumped in and I'm gonna note that down…

Good communication, guys.

H2ODELIRIOUS

What do you mean he flew?

I want to show you what I am.

He’s flying in the sky, how are you flying in the sky?

I was running from nothing, shit.

I still got a chance.

I thought I could jump through that window, that’s what I was trying to do at first.

Get the heck off me.

I’m right above you.

Let’s both get on this.

That’s right, I’m all powerful.

TERRORISER

Somebody take a crucifix and drop it on the floor.

We're gonna die.

Do you hear that noise?

Where the fuck was he?

Was that Slenderman?

Is he using it?

There he is.

Yes, Jesus Christ, do you need someone to hold your dick when you piss?

No, he ran through the salt, I'm gonna die!

Oh, wait, that's you…is that you in the picture?

SMII7Y

What are you getting me to draw right now?

It looks like one of your art pieces.

I haven't paid you a single cent.

Wait, you're on my team?

I can't move cause you're on my goddamn wing!

Oh my God, you hit him so hard!

I didn't throw anything, I just shot you in the head.

I’m looking away.

Alright, nah, you can die.

We just spoke it into existence, didn't we.

BIGPUFFER

Oh no, he's on fire!

I'm going to the boat, bye.

Is this how sailboats work, what is happening?

You spawned right in front of me.

What the fuck, you look dead, that doesn't look comfy.

Why is the couch like this?

I knew it, I fucking knew it, I knew your ass was gonna back out!

This is actually a cry for help.

Come here, let me kiss you.

What the hell am I doing here?

GRIZZY

I got carried away.

That was such a hard brake.

Thank God, it saved me.

I need motherfucking help.

I think our car is almost broken.

I'm gonna break the rock, ready?

Is it just us vs them?

I'm so gonna die.

Yeah, that's crazy.

Do not leave your car.

BLARG

Oh, I'm on fire, look at that.

I tried to shoot you in the face, I hope you understand that.

There looks like there has been a murder, I'm here to investigate.

It'll be fine, just drive, we'll be good.

Trust me.

Don't do that.

Where are we sailing to?

To be honest, I would rather have flew into a tree and died than made it.

What are you doing with a gun?

See you later, boys, I'm going to the ocean.

[the-firebird69]

Now you've done these numbers on me a few times you have me pushing the wrong way regardless of what you say you are doing it it's happening to you but I didn't come up with these court cases and your kids didn't either not completely but they're running for president and they're competing with you and this is the stupid part I understand what it is and so do you cuz you're sat there doing it to me cuz you're a freak it's very mean stuff and I hold you in contempt for it but use max have planned to do it too me as well using your dumbass you're just stupid enough to volunteer to do it repetitively and it's turning out to be very gross to communicate it so others will hear it you are putting me into situations and it end up making it worse and losing stuff and it was upsetting and you have a slimeball plan that goes along with you losing things I found that out too quite easily. The problem is that the clans of the Mac proper are doing it to you and you have almost no reaction that's logical you just keep on messing around with me getting my damn way give me a stupid looks messing around with them I'm trying to do just for basic day to day survival and I'm sick of you you're trying to distort using me it has probably done nothing but going the wrong freaking way because this huge group of Max is causing it to happen and we have to make sure it happens and they know about that you can't be seen making a profit off doing it it's pretty fast to do is work against you it's pretty hefty and tonight they're going to explain something about it you probably will miss it like you missed the court case I mean from Christ's sake call your lawyer no

Zues Hera

Sure it might look stupid I don't want to lend stuff to it and things no that sounds stupid if it's true and he says who knows with your cockamami people in office what laws are changed or rules but I don't think so. And I had someone look it up recently and it's kind of what you said. You're tainting the evidence and it's a procedural thing it's kind of illegal and they had me fight it and it could have caused a mistrial you know kick all that evidence out some kind of pissed off that my lawyers didn't pick up on it so I talk to them I said what the hell are you doing you want to take my place and you're going to ruin the character and he said I don't know what else to do you're a huge monkey running things and he said that too listen what's that mean you don't want the Trump character in office instead I can't really step in there while people are shooting at him and what you're saying is yes a few people so I want them out and have another character and they have a new election that's got to be the biggest hunk of b******* it's kind of risky he says letting them put it out there

Trump

It is kind of risky and it implicates him in a few ways but then you're putting the information out there and it takes the case and it gets dismissed but everybody would see what they do and how they do it and our son says so what that's nothing new and it's absolutely true so they might go ahead and try and get it out of Biden to see if he was doing it

Thor Freya

I can't believe it what a galloping pole this is

Zues hehe Hera

So runaway election that's for sure no this stuff is sounding stupid now. She put it out there it says a bunch of stuff it's illegal to do people go to jail people are making it happen get in trouble we have to do something seems like a ride and it kind of is but now it's going to go to court and someone's going to have to do something in court and they can't. It also is going to point out that other case which was dismissed because someone was supposedly not capable of bringing a case and people are telling me anybody can bring a case and it doesn't make any sense it's so lame so I'm going to a couple of court cases that went away. This point is this I'm such a scofflaw I'm so opposed to them doing this I am so arrogant and blown up and spoiled and it is from the Mac proper supporting me and it's happening because they are supporting me and I'm a literally my people in exchange for them it happened to Ken because he raised one of them and he knows what's going on it says you're doing the same thing and you're going to be out that's what they're doing it for. So I'm running around doing what they want people are mad about it but it's horrible and Dave was living the whole life like that and they used him and it's not really his whole life he had the clans it's true towards the end of Houston pretty bad and they're doing the same thing but what I'm doing is causing harm to us and it's my decisions that are doing it and there's no way that I could ever run a computer like Dave had no matter what I do it is just never going to happen and computer programming is not a strong point I just play stuff together this is so you only have to know one line of someone else's program everyone has and it's horrible and that be the case okay so I don't know what to do I'm deteriorating my own forces for them and these cases are all messed up that was an easy out but the information would be out and I could have fought what they put out there and that makes sense but I don't really get this why the hell did they do that it would ruin the whole trial and someone was trying to do it

Trump

He wanted to put it out there as evidence at least other evidence but now they're saying it it makes it indivisible and people that have to scrape around and look for evidence he says you can't even do that because of his sometimes they say a trail of evidence is tainted and I actually understand something he knows the law and everyone says he does all he knows what he's doing and he says he doesn't he knows his own money he knows he should be living better he knows that people are messing with him for stuff we keep educating him and bringing it up and threatening him with it and doesn't work we're making a lot of mistakes but yeah that would have gone badly probably for both sides no I can't believe it that he's stuck up for us

Jack

I don't understand this it would have ruined it we could have limited the stuff and I didn't do it so now I have to talk to the lawyers and I talked to him and his cheeseman and you should know that's what he did and he's an idiot and yeah it's stupid sitting here as a woman and then saying rude stuff and it's a weakling and is yelling at things he said her okay and really sick of this s*** old ugly disgusting sick witches in warlocks bothering me all the time saying that get stuff and trying to prove it by being mean to me and putting me down and holding me down to them to s*** at all you're losing everything and it's a psychological thing by the Mac proper who think oh these are the oppressors because they're poor people have to suck off everyone that's part of it and you raised him as part of your key in your hierarchy and you're a sacrificing them and so on and so on and they don't listen either you get a whole bunch of us that don't listen to s***. So goes round and round and people are messing with everyone for stuff and there's a huge group at us several of them now and I can see it the writings on the wall so I guess we have to try something and probably won't work

Trump

I'm going to have a problem too there's a huge Force at my rear they're not nearby but they know about what I'm doing I'm going to try and go after society and that's who it is we keep telling them like we are right now the biggest thing on Earth but they need them and someone said 1/8 of the empire I don't think so in the same it is a chunk but it's not that much it's not as much as you think I'm 30% or something or 33%. What we say is your kidding this is let's try getting pretty big when they were preventing the Mac proper from taking it then they start a war on Trump. And one of them said that and it makes a lot of sense. This is awful all around it's always been like this but now there's a lot of action and people are trying to encourage me because they know we're having problems with a lot of groups and it's true they're at us it doesn't look good for us at all I'm going to go after each other and probably disintegrate into nothing we know it's coming cuz we know what's happening we're admitting it because we're saying it's not our fault but he says in a way it is because he stopped going down and you decide to try and threaten the world take over the world by blowing them up and you told them and these foreigners are already doing the job and we shouldn't have told them over and over and she told us to and miscellaneous is kind of detached to a degree and you're telling them and he says that and I say this so what we told them so what you think you're running a big machine you're stealing a bunch of construction equipment practically and I do see that no this is well that's the whole point you don't have until on your rear you don't have any intel on the competitions weaponry or systems it's all down below and I'm wondering what the hell you guys are looking at you're aggressive and you're doing it right two things that don't actually happen with you you must have seen something I'm sorry to laugh cuz we might have known something about it down there they're very huge you have to have something so yeah that might be it but he doesn't have confidence we're going to do that great there's a few reasons start fighting everybody send all these movies we can't seem to stop it we keep making mistakes but really this is it starts here and it goes out everywhere releasing obnoxious messages to people so we're starting to think of that there he is he's getting ill and all time of cancer and he says some kind of immune to it I forgot to tell you no yeah he was saying it's awful this is a huge one this is really I know it's not your real fast and you're not making an analogy but what's huge about it so I'm kind of laughing it's because they're big and they don't talk about it this is going to suck but he says someone help me set it up it's probably a master but how you going to prove it well they're following me around in the past having me worry about radiation now they're sitting here saying it's a threat on me to my people and it's a Minor threat but it is one and they don't sit there a million times doing it like you guys but they're starting to do that and it's starting to fight each other that's your excuse and your father's excuse and try and do stuff so trying to use you as a lead in and you're anticipating it and you think you can get a grip and that's the whole story and we we just said it again and you're having me say it and really it does not help you it's like you're Trump in court hanging yourself thinking you're all powerful and you don't have it yet

Zues Hera

The top part is me Tommy Allen

It's true you're in a war and you're not necessarily winning and we're going to break out heavy stuff you're going to lose and he's right you guys just will not shut up and won't stop threats and you have to be Force to stop and you don't think you're losing me because you're nuts

Mac Daddy

That's how to get something we're expressing we're not losing cuz you can't tell people you're losing here love you all over you and we have seen people go down because of it but really I should have shut up a while ago it's just exciting people in a lot of it

Trump

So here it goes they say this for like an hour and then they start being arrogant and swine and jerks and they took a bunch of stuff it's a lot it's probably half the world's supply of weaponry but it is not half of what the Mac proper have it's probably quarter of what they have so yeah the world traffic weaponry is half of what the proper have and they're making a lot of it now and they're catching up in today's figures foreigners are up to 60% but they're using it but it's lost stuff and I'm actually losing people so kind of works out those people are doing here does not work out this is terrible and we're going to straighten that out over the next month or two I'm going to inform you of what you've won tonight by this fiasco and put you a bunch of jerks and you got hurt bad you're missing a lot of people the evacuated to the north and they got creamed and the pseudo empire has your plan

Thor Freya

Olympus

[guyfieriii]

He knows how thin the walls are now, and has long passed the point of finding it annoying.

He wonders if you can hear his razor going as he trims his mustache

There is something just so precious about this. I am an absolute sucker for it. The thought of them being just so bloody close, only divided by a wall, hearing each other, forming a bond through it. It makes my heart THROB. It establishes intimacy even when they’re practically strangers. I can picture it, him being able to discern her mood by the sound of her gait, the way she moves around her apartment. She can tell when he’s getting more antsy than usual with the way he paces around. FUCK.

Even if your eyes had traveled the length and breadth of his body before making it to his face. OF COURSE HE NOTICED.

If you’d been looking, you’d probably been more disconcerted than anything else. That’s the long and short of it, he tells himself, because there’s no room for anything else. Oh John, you deluded son of a bitch.

John is never very good at being home. The things that keep him alive out there—hyperawareness, sharply defined mission parameters, strict operational regimens—are, at home, needs that go unmet. THIS. I just know this hyperaware tick in the back of his mind, this itch that just won’t be scratched it going to translate into sexual frustration and I’m here for it.

Laswell telling him he needs to get some goddamn rest before he kills himself trying to stop a war that isn’t even happening.

“Yet,” he’d ground out.

First off, this is a Laswell stan household. And GOD, if this isn’t John Price to a T.

The quiet is like the end of a gunfight. Unsteady. I went nuts over this line though every read. (Four by my count, so far)

Raps his knuckles twice against it. All good?

Immediately there are two taps in response. Yes, thanks! THEY’RE COMMUNICATING THROUGH KNOCKS AND I LOVE IT AND I’M DYING.

He feels almost like a voyeur as the day goes on. Fucking yes.

Something in his chest gives a little jump when he hears two knocks on his wall again. Sorry, he thinks you’re saying.

He knocks twice back. All good. I am sobbing. This is so good.

Where did you go during the day, he finds himself wondering? What are you making for dinner? What will you do once you’ve eaten? OH BOY.

He hears a tiny buzz again. Brushing your teeth a second time? No, it’s closer now… Oh. OH. I knew this was coming, and yet, I screamed.

John slaps his hand against his thigh before it can move any further inward. He curls his fingers around the hem of his briefs, grips the fabric as if it’s going to save his damn life. I am fucking sweating in -15 weather.

He will take his secret audience to the fucking grave. And he’d shoot himself before denying you this—and, he thinks shamefully, denying himself this, too. DENYING HIMSELF, TOO.

John does not think about how much longer he could’ve made that last. He does not think about teasing you with his hands, his lips, his tongue. Does not picture your legs hung up high on his hips. NNNGH. Jesus fucking Christ, he would tho.

John isn’t going to get a minute of sleep, and he’s going to be hearing that cut-off moan for a long, long time. What a stellar line to end on!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Bloody perfection!

disquiet comfort

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Rating: Explicit (18+ only) Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: voyeurism, implied masturbation, John is very lonely and very horny Author's Notes: I tried to get this out yesterday as a birthday present to myself, but I was so dead tired it wasn't gonna happen. Late is better than never! Also, if you'd like to be added to the taglist, please shoot me an ask off anon, with your age in bio, and make sure your settings allow other people to tag you. Tagging: @yeyinde @guyfieriii @aduckingpain @jaimiespn @aconstructofamind @trashy-panda777 @lich1 @smoggyfogbottom @cielobgers @antigonusyuki @bubble-dream-inc @monsterhighsblog

John hears the creak of your bed springs the next morning.

He’s not surprised by it—you’re not the first neighbor he’s had, only the first he’s met. He knows how thin the walls are now, and has long passed the point of finding it annoying. He listens as the sound of your taps coming on filters through drywall and insulation at a low hum, thinks he can hear the buzz of an electric toothbrush. He wonders if you can hear his razor going as he trims his mustache.

It feels nice to have this odd company, he thinks. The two of you, going through the same motions. It strikes an old, abandoned chord—he hasn’t woken up with anyone in a long, long time.

He puts his razor down and squashes the thought flat. His neighbor—his kind, pretty neighbor—does not need him to think like that. Even if your eyes had traveled the length and breadth of his body before making it to his face.

He meets his own eyes in the mirror, giving himself a flat look. He isn’t used to civilian life. Answering the door shirtless had probably been some sort of faux pas. If you’d been looking, you’d probably been more disconcerted than anything else. That’s the long and short of it, he tells himself, because there’s no room for anything else.

John is never very good at being home. The things that keep him alive out there—hyperawareness, sharply defined mission parameters, strict operational regimens—are, at home, needs that go unmet. Liverpool is not a popular terrorist hotbed he needs to pay attention to. He isn’t going to die if he forgets to buy milk. And he can only go to the gym so often.

But he needs something to do, or he’s going to go crazy.

So today he does on leave what he dreams of in the field: he has his first of two showers for the day, makes himself breakfast in his own kitchen, and turns on the telly for the noise. It’s some dumb morning show, with too-clean hosts shilling for weird kitchen tools. Easy to ignore.

Inevitably, he thinks about Mexico. About Shepherd. About Chicago, and Hassan, and Laswell telling him he needs to get some goddamn rest before he kills himself trying to stop a war that isn’t even happening.

“Yet,” he’d ground out.

She’d just stared at him with dagger-sharp eyes and told him to go home.

John bites into his toast harder than a grown man told to take a fucking vacation should, and turns up the volume.

Three soft, polite taps sound on the wall.

John blinks. Remembers the previous morning, what he’d said to you. The remote is in his hand before he thinks about it, the mute button depressed beneath a quick thumb.

The quiet is like the end of a gunfight. Unsteady.

He waits. He doesn’t know what for. The silence stretches. He notices a shaft of sunlight coming through his window, little motes of dust dancing in the air, as he looks around his own flat for some reason. It’s habit—surveying a battlefield after it’s been passed over by violence.

He looks back to the space above the TV. Rises carefully from his seat. Goes over to the wall.

Raps his knuckles twice against it. All good?

Immediately there are two taps in response. Yes, thanks! And the break of the still silence is like a soap bubble popping. John breathes, and then realizes he hadn’t been.

There are no further knocks. It disappoints him, but he does not expect them. It’s just a friendly interaction between neighbors.

It doesn’t matter. It feels like something has unknotted in his chest.

-

He feels almost like a voyeur as the day goes on. He hears when you work in your kitchen, notes the muffled clang of a pan on the stove. He hears your dishwasher run later, and briefly wonders at the utility of using it for so few dishes.

You’re on the phone at one point, but he can’t make out the conversation. He only half-tries to, but the even the indistinct, low sound of your voice is comforting. It reminds him of late nights in the barracks, listening to bunk mates talk while trying not bother anyone else. The closest to domestic comfort John has really ever had.

You turn music on at one point, something soulful and a little moody. John thinks it might be Marvin Gaye, but he’s not sure. The urge to knock on your door and ask is a strong one, but he doesn’t think you need a lonely old soldier bothering you in the middle of your day. At least, not any more than he already has. And before he can figure it out for himself, he hears you exclaim “Oh, shit!” and the volume immediately drops.

He has to smile at that. It’s a rare luxury for him to experience these days, that kind of consideration.

Something in his chest gives a little jump when he hears two knocks on his wall again. Sorry, he thinks you’re saying.

He knocks twice back. All good.

He should not feel so invigorated by this exchange.

You leave the house a little after noon—he hears your door open and close, and the jingle of keys followed by footsteps quickly retreating. Then, your noise is gone.

John and silence do not go well together. Too quickly, the quiet closes in, and John thinks if he stays in his own home a minute longer he’ll suffocate from it—so he takes your cue, and leaves. He isn’t really sure what to do, but he has to do it anywhere else.

-

He gets home after you do, sore from the weight racks and full on pub food and a few pints. The sky is dark and the sidewalks are illuminated in yellow lamplight, and the air hums with the wind of cars driving in the distance. He sees your window lit up bright and warm, and the relief it fills him with is disproportionate to how anyone should feel knowing that their neighbor is home.

Where did you go during the day, he finds himself wondering? What are you making for dinner? What will you do once you’ve eaten?

John realizes he’s standing there staring at your window, and scowls at himself. He’s a fucking creep, that’s what he is. A pretty neighbor talks to him once, fucking welcomes him home like any nice person would, and suddenly he’s pining like a stupid little schoolboy.

He goes inside. Hears you in your kitchen again and convinces himself he’s ignoring it. Tries to find something to stay awake with. Has one cigar more than he’d planned for the day, and thinks at least he’ll get to go out and get more sooner—something to do with the wealth of time he didn’t ask to receive.

He’s already in bed, second shower finished, when he hears activity on the other side of the wall. He hadn’t really been falling asleep, but he’s wide awake now, and feeling like a pervert as he listens to your bath come on.

He hasn’t gone to bed with anyone in a long time, either.

John lays there in the dark, eyes open, and tries to ignore how easy it is to breathe as the water runs muffled only a few feet away. He doesn’t acknowledge the fact that he can hear again the tiny buzz of a toothbrush a little after the flow shuts off. He listens to the creak of your bed and does not think about how warm your skin must be, how softly the sheets must fall around your body.

He closes his eyes. He tries to sleep. He isn’t thinking about listening to your breathing beside him. He isn’t drifting off imagining the smell of your hair on his pillow…

He hears a tiny buzz again. Brushing your teeth a second time? No, it’s closer now…

Oh. OH.

John’s eyes fly open. Your bed creaks again. He is rigid under the covers, every muscle tensed. He breathes consciously, testing the limits of his diaphragm, counting to three between each inhale and exhale. He is desperate that his pulse remain even, that his blood refrain from rushing through his ears and other parts.

A small sound. Breathy. Low.

John slaps his hand against his thigh before it can move any further inward. He curls his fingers around the hem of his briefs, grips the fabric as if it’s going to save his damn life. Clenches his other hand into a fist, digs his nails into his palm.

What expression is on your face? What is the scent of your toothpaste on your breath?

What angle are you holding that vibrator at?

You give a low moan again.

His breath shallows out. John considers giving the wall a tap but dismisses the option immediately and ruthlessly. He will take his secret audience to the fucking grave. And he’d shoot himself before denying you this—and, he thinks shamefully, denying himself this, too.

He should get up. He should go into his living room and give you privacy. Your bed creaks again. He remembers his own mattress tends to the same disruption. He can’t move, because it would effect the same outcome as a knock—you’d know exactly how thin the walls are, know that he’s right there and that he’s only leaving after he’s already gotten an earful.

Another sound, higher. John isn’t sure he’s breathing anymore. What did your skin feel like? Would his fingers fit you better than that toy? Would his cock?

He thinks he feels a nail break skin. He tries to think of anything other than the throb of blood and heat between his legs, between your legs.

You give a sudden, high-pitched cry, one that abruptly cuts off.

John knows you’ve buried your face in your pillow to quiet yourself. His entire body twinges with the disappointment of it. He breathes so lowly as to be silent, to give space to your noise, and waits.

But the buzzing stops. Your bed shifts again, and then all is silent.

Wait. What?

Was that it?

The silence stretches. John does not move. That was it.

John does not think about how much longer he could’ve made that last. He does not think about teasing you with his hands, his lips, his tongue. Does not picture your legs hung up high on his hips.

His cock aches. He ignores it.

The gym tomorrow. And then a run. Maybe a drive to the coast, and a dip in the cold ocean.

It wouldn’t be enough, but it had to be something. John isn’t going to get a minute of sleep, and he’s going to be hearing that cut-off moan for a long, long time.