#beyond santa monica

[kalpea-varis]

Reference Sheet for my gal, Lydia! She belongs to a storyproject/headworld of mine, which you can find more about on my Toyhouse: https://toyhou.se/liquidsnake/characters/folder:4683462

[arkham-prisoner]

Kratos as The God of War

Kratos as The God of Hope

[equallyshaw]

that one hurt | trevor zegras

zegras x oc hughes.

warnings: angsty, swearing, self doubt, and self belittling in a way. but, sweet ending (:

word count: 2.1k (longer than i anticipated lol)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

molly hughes, older twin sister to jack, glared at trevor as soon as he walked in and slammed the front door. trevor did not acknowledge her after the loss that evening between them and dallas stars. she crossed her arms as she leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as he walked right past her and to their bedroom. she sighed, cleaning up the rest of the kitchen after baking some cookies and heard trevor walk back in. he was going on and on about a harmless habit she did, "how many times do i have to fucking tell you about this shit? huh?! jesus fucking christ." he screamed at the girl. she froze in her spot, as trevor grabbed his keys from the counter and slammed the front door again. her hands quickly covered her mouth, as she let out a sob. she'd never been yelled at like that before, in her entire life. she'd made sure she was always in peoples good graces and always put the needs of others before her own needs and wants. she felt betrayed and felt as if her whole being had been stripped.

she quickly made her way over to the bedroom and grabbed a bag, throwing clothes and a bag of toiletries in there. she had one place she wanted to be and one place only.

-

molly pulled up to the townhouse alex had gotten in santa monica, and she saw alex sitting on the front step waiting for her. he stood up as she turned off the car, meeting her to grab her bag and give her a hug. he rubbed her back softly, as she cried into his shoulder. alex looked to molly as a sister and was beyond pissed at trevor, and was ready to tear him a new one if one of her brothers hadn't already gotten to him yet. alex took the bag from the back seat and let her walk inside first. "im-im sorry for just barging in like this, al. i didn't know where else to go." she said sighing as she made her way to the kitchen. "don't mention it molls, you're family. im always gonna be here for you." he said smiling and pulling her in for another hug. he kissed the top of her head, as she calmed down a bit more. "did you tell your brothers?" he asked softly and he felt her shake her head. "nah...you know one of them would be flying out here even if they have practice or a game tomorrow.." she said giggling just a bit. alex knew that to be true. "well good thing i dont have work tomorrow so lets make some pizza and watch the office?" he grinned, pulling back and heading to the freezer. "frozen pizza session? dont have to ask me twice." she hummed preheating the over and taking out two pans. the two worked in unision, opening the pizzas and placing them on the cooking sheets to go in. "do you have any seltzers?" she quesitoned opening the fridge and saw her favorite brand, "oh would you lookey here." she grinned taking it out and opening it. "its like you knew i was coming." she hummed chugging just a bit. "well if i didnt have it, we all know youd chop my head off." and she saluted him with a knowing smile.

the two spent the night watching the office and finished off both pizzas and molly with a few seltzers. the two passed out on the couch for what seemed like hours before molly awoke to her phone ringing with her brothers contact popping up. "hello?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes and seeing the sun begin to rise. "oh thank god you're ok!" jack said rubbing his tired eyes and molly heard luke sigh in the background. she looked over at alex who was sound asleep and she headed over towards the first floor powder room. she turned on the light, chuckling to herself as she saw just a tiny bit of tomato sauce on her chin. "wanna tell me why you turned off your 360 location missy?" jack demanded and molly rolled her eyes. "you have us worried sick - not to mention mom and dad calling us at 2 am asking if we had heard anything and then you've got trevor als-" she cut him off, "oh he was worried as to where i was? im sure he could give two shits jack." she said pinching the bridge of her nose and sitting down on the covered toilet. "whats that supposed to mean?" he asked taken back a bit, "maybe you should call your so called bestie back and asked what he said to me last night and see if you can put the pieces together as to why i turned my location off and left the house." she spat, and heard jack whispering to luke to call him. "he said something that really hurt me jacky and i-i had to leave. im with alex, im ok. i proimse, im just very upset with trev." she said softly, her lip quivering. "oh lovey, im sorry. what did he say? just so i know what to scream at him." he added the last part, causing her to giggle just a bit. "um-- its stupid." she hummed, trying to downplay the situation. "lovey it cant be that stupid if it made you turn off your location so nobody could find you and it cant be that stupid if it made you go stay with alex. just tell us molls." luke said butting in and molly sighed.

"i just have a weird habit and i knew trevor was in a bad mood and i did it anyways and so its my fault that he blew up at me. its my fault he screamed at me." she said feeling a few tears fall out. "he yelled at you?" jack said in disbelief. trevor didn't have a bad bone in his body, when it came to molly. he looked at her as if she hung the stars and the moon, and never had any inkling to hurt her. "that son of a bitch." jack breathed as he took lukes phone from him and marched into his bedroom. "there is no reason why he should have yelled at you loves. none. i don't care if he was angry or upset at the game, he shouldn't have screamed at you. don't make yourself feel as if it was your fault. we all have our habits, and knowing you its a dumb one and one that did not warrant his outburst." luke said trying to comfort his sister. molly nodded, "thanks lukey. its just, nobodys ever yelled at me before like that." she whispered and luke's heart broke. he knew how sensitive she was and how hard she worked to make sure nobody ever got upset with her. "damn he's really going in on trev right now." luke said hearing the shouting coming from jack's room. "oh lovely, well im gonna go back to sleep. its 5 am luke, yall are nuts for calling me." she giggled and luke chuckled. "goodnight lovey, sleep tight." and she thanked him.

-

it was around 11 am when alex and molly heard a knock on the front door, and mollys eyebrows crinkled. she sipped her coffee, before digging back into her sandwich while alex went to go see who it was. "seriously?" she heard alex's lack luster enthusiasm, "i know shes here. i want to see her." she heard trevors familiar and ever recognizable voice. "listen man, i dont really feel like yelling at you right now so please just leave." alex said and trevor wouldn't budge. "the three of them have already screamed at me and picked me apart for the better part of the morning. please, i dont need anyone else to add to that." trevor said with a hint of exhaustion in his voice. molly sighed, walking towards the front door and stood next to alex, "its fine al." and alex nodded and eyed trevor before he walked back into the kitchen. "outside. now." she said pulling the door shut behind her. "what the fuck do you want trevor?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. she saw his under eyes darker and exhaustion in his eyes, and the look of pure regret and guilt written across his features. "im so sorry molls, i really am. there is no excuse for what i said or did and especially me leaving. i shouldn't have left and i shouldn't have said what i said. you know that i didn't mean it lovey, please. tell me what i can do to get your forgiveness?" he asked pulling her in close by the hips. "first off, you can take your hands off of me." she said pulling them off of her, "and secondly, you can leave. im not ready to speak to you yet. you hurt me trev, that one hurt. especially since you know its the most harmless habit of mine." she said setting her boundary.

trevor knew it would be hard to get her forgiveness, but he was also happy that she was setting boundaries because he knew that her being her, it was hard to do. even though it hurt him, he understood why she was. "nobody has ever yelled at me like that before. and i will not allow it to become a norm in it either." she said taking a step back. "so please, just go. ill talk to you when im ready." she said and trevor nodded softly, a lump forming in his throat. "alright lovey." he said taking a step in front of her, and placing a soft kiss on her temple. "ill be at home waiting." he said looking into her green eyes, and she nodded watching him leave.

-

it was two days later and alex was off for a small road trip, so as molly hugged alex goodbye she decided she did not want to be alone and lonely in the house. she cursed herself at 'caving' quicker than she liked but trevor was also her person, she missed him. over the past 48 hours she thought about the situation, thought about what she wanted to say to him and she ran it over with alex who supported her wholeheartedly. she drove down from santa monica to newport, and savored the hour and a half driving down the coast with some alred's coffee. she pulled up around 2:30 in the afternoon and saw trevor outside with jamie, pulling their surfboards off of trevors car. good, molly thought. hopefully a surfing session did some good and helped him refocus. jamie smiled widely as trevor walked passed him, once he saw molly's car pull in front of the townhouse. trevor turned around to shut his car door and saw molly's car parked, and quickly made his way over towards it. "molls?" he called out and molly rounded the back of the car, coming face to face with the hockey player. shes smiled sweetly and then waved towards jamie, who just like trevor still had their wetsuits on. "ill be inside, im gonna go get settled." she said softly to trevor as she walked passed. "call me later if you wanna get dinner." jamie said to trevor and trevor nodded and jamie left. the hockey player quickly jogged inside, looking for molly.

she stood in the doorway of their bedroom, cream hydrangeas in a crystal vase sat tall on her bedside table. a new joan malone candle stood in front of it, and saw a small card with them as well. she smiled softly, walking over towards it setting her bag on the bed. she opened it, and sat down on the bed. the letter contained everything that trevor could never get out on his own, the letter explained everything that he wanted to say but knew he'd be too flustered to say it correctly and in the way he envisioned. trevor paused at the door and saw that she was reading the letter he had written once he'd gotten back from santa monica. molly's lip quivered, and she looked up towards trevor. he quickly found himself kneeling in front of her, grabbing hands that reached out for him. "youre not losing me trev, i promise you that. i love you way too much trev, youre pretty much stuck with me for life." she hummed, giggling a bit. he smiled widely pulling her in for a kiss. his hands softly grasped her cheeks, pulling her closer. after a few seconds, they pulled apart before going in for more.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

hope you all enjoyed! if you did, please like and reblog -- i appreciate it (:

random tags: @zegrasworld @hugheshugs @itsnotgray @slafgoalskybaby @zegrasbabyyy

[fastcardotmp3]

It's 2015 and there is a funeral in Santa Monica. There is a soldier, a father, freshly home from war. And there is a young man named Evan wearing someone else's dog tags. part i of (all my friends)

(all my friends are) funeral singers

buddie // rated T // different first meeting au // 7k words

excerpt:

“I mean, good on you or whatever, got the guy home, but what was the point? Closed fuckin' casket, they wouldn't even let me see him, so what was the—”

He cuts himself off. He drinks. Something like haunting appears in the narrow space between them and Eddie takes the beat of passing quiet as an opportunity to look. See. Study. 

It's hard not to be curious, after all. He knew Greggs in only the way a fellow soldier can, but he looks at the shake in Evan's hands and the caved-in posture of his broad chest, that little peek of silver peering out of his loosened collar, and he's curious. 

“Did you serve?” Eddie asks, a nod to what he instinctively knows to be the shape of dog tags under a thin white dress shirt, a question he normally wouldn't be so bold to ask given his own propensity to want to dodge his answer to it at any cost. 

If it were Eddie, he'd probably snap about it, probably find a way around it, because talking about this thing he's only just barely escaped only to be so frequently rewarded for it, thanked for it, is beyond his understanding. 

Evan, though, is a surprising thing. The longer Eddie sits here, the more that comes to be painfully clear. Evan is a surprising, unexpected thing, refreshing for it in every regard, and his eyebrows knit together in confusion before he glances down the path where Eddie's gaze leads him, and laughs. 

He laughs and he presses a hand to his sternum where the tags must rest and he shakes his head like he can't believe what's going on around him. 

“No,” he says simply, takes another sip of beer, and deftly does not elaborate. 

And Eddie Diaz learned young how to read people. It's a skill which has kept him alive every time he goes and makes another new gaff in his joke of a life, saving him the grief of an overbearing father's expectations by looking at his pregnant girlfriend and saying, “we should get married,” before his parents have the opportunity to pressure him into it. 

He learned young how to read people, so he sees something begging to burst under Evan's skin, sees it like a homing beacon and sees it like a language he still knows how to speak despite all the ones he's lost in his search for identity. Father, husband, soldier, he can't find the words for any of it, but there's something here, on this patio in LA. 

There's something. 

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 11: Enemies to Lovers

Bad Education | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 20,061 Main Tags/Warnings: Buttler!Castiel, CEO!Dean, enemies to lovers, boss/employee relationship, character development, comedy Summary: When a multimillionaire grandfather wants to give his grandson Dean Winchester a lesson, he will search for a desperate method by hiring Dean's worst nightmare to be his butler. Will the charismatic Castiel be able to educate the most egocentric, selfish and rebellious rich dude and turn him into a perfect CEO? Or will they kill each other before that happens?

Better Than You | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 21,950 Main Tags/Warnings: Light internalized homophobia, office au, coming out, rivals to lovers, childhood friends, fluff, angst, happy ending Summary: Dean has many goals in his life, but there's just one that bothers him to death: to defeat the perfect Castiel Novak at any cost. This is a self-discovering journey, in which Dean will try his best to win against Castiel and not to fall in love with him in the meantime.

Maybe not a comedy (according to Jack), but he likes the happy ending | @seidenapfel Rating: Mature Word Count: 67,602 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Canon-Typical Violence, Angels, Demons, Angel Wings, Hell, Purgatory, Heaven, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Angst, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel's True Form (Supernatural), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mention of Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, possible Meg Masters/Charlie Bradbury, Additional Warnings In Author's Note Summary: Dean Winchester is dead. He died ten years ago, when he sold his soul to Demon Corp in order to save his brother’s life. He has lost everything, even his dignity. All that is left is a brutal tool to torture other lost souls on Inferno just like himself. Castiel’s orders are simple. Free one random soul from the pit on Inferno in order to bring it back to Angelus Associations’ headquarters on Paradiso. No one expects him to be successful, but, as a soldier, he never questions his orders. The moment Castiel lays eyes on the human overseer, everything changes. Castiel has found his mission, the man he needs to save. An adventure begins that takes Dean and Castiel from planet to planet, from Inferno to Purgatorio to Paradiso, and beyond. It’s a journey to find themselves and each other.

Vampirenatural: The Rebellion - Rogue | @Taymarpigeon Rating: Explicit Word Count: 225,822 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, World of Darkness, Human Dean Winchester, Detective Dean Winchester, Vampire Castiel (Supernatural), Angst, Smut, Gallows Humor, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Human/Vampire Sex, Blood Drinking, Blood Sharing, sickness and injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Kiiiind of Mafia, Kiiiind of Murder Husbands, Russian Castiel (Supernatural), Implied/Referenced Suicide, non-consensual biting, BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Acts of War Summary: From clubs to underground caverns, seedy motels, haunted hotels and exclusive mansions, Los Angeles has it all. It's a place for the pretty and the hopeful, but beneath its star-spangled façade are shadowy corners harbouring the vagrant and the vagabond alike. It's a world of corruption, sex and violence, Detective Dean Winchester has learnt to navigate with ease. Eight years at Santa Monica PD could never have prepared him for the underbelly of this so-called City of Angels though. Dean knows the shadows, he knows them intimately, but is he prepared for the World of Darkness?

[writersdiscouragment-blog]

Since my anon post I sent @louisferrignojr got folks interested, imma write this part.

Knowing that Kenny and Ryan agreed to be painted for the campaign made Oliver feel slightly better.

The campaign was good thing, he should have felt relieved that he and Lou were being professional and helping out for a good cause. But he still felt odd about coming back to Lou's place at the crack of dawn. He brought his camera just so he could still take pictures at Santa Monica afterwards.

"Hey!" Lou greeted him with a wide smile. "You brought your camera, nice!"

Oliver shrugged as he followed him in, "Yeah, figured I could take some photos after this."

"Nice." Lou said politely as he led them to the indoor pool.

Oliver liked the place, the pictures of Lou came out lovel. It was just, it felt borderline erotic in some of the pictures. There was a certain explicit vibe about the pictures that Oliver couldn’t explain.

“So how do you want me?” Oliver tried not to cringe and was all too hyper aware of Lou’s reaction. Or lack of.

How the older man didn’t even smirk or laugh was beyond Oliver’s ability to fathom. He should have been relieved that Lou was ever the professional about this. But he still couldn’t help but feel like his stomach was going to drop out of his body any moment now.

Lou dragged a wooden chair towards the wall of tall windows, the light and greenery shining through casted a light glow and shadows throughout the room. “Here’s good. I liked how the greenery came through in the pictures. I figured it would look in the painting.” He pointed to the chair, “You’ll be sitting backwards.”

Oliver realized that sitting backwards on the chair would expose his dick, especially if he had to sit spread eagle. Before he could remind Lou about their deal, the other man pointed to the stack of towels on the lounge chairs, “You can cover yourself with those towels, make it seem like you just finished working out.”

Oliver nodded, proceeding to take off all of his clothes and folding them neatly as Lou set up his easel and paints.

Oliver had been part of shoots before. Hell, he even took his own explicit seflies and posted them. But this was different.

He had never been studied like this. He knew Lou had a very expressive face and eyes, but this was something else.  He could feel Lou’s eyes going over his body, he could how the other man was focusing on parts of his body. The way he was sticking out his tongue and biting it made Oliver feel warm and cold at the same time. He forced himself to keep looking in the direction Lou him. To keep holding onto the small towel that was covering him but it was getting hard.

He was starting to cramp up when he heard Lou say he was done.

“Can I see?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Oliver took a moment to put back on his clothes. Because standing nude next to Lou was something he didn’t want to process.

The portrait was amazing. 

Lou had opted to make the greenery stand out by painting the plants and bushes as coming out of the windows. Oliver saw how Lou got his different skin tones right, how flushed his chest look and how vibrant his eyes and birthmark stood out.

“It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah?”

Oliver nodded, licking his lips, as he kept staring at the painting. “Yeah, painting is definitely your thing.”

Lou’s eyes widened, “Hey! That’s it!”

“What?”

Lou looked too excited now. “You said my pictures were missing something, something that showed “me”. Painting is me!”

Lou’s great idea?

For Oliver to take another round of photos of him covered in pain.

And of course Lou had non-toxic body paint.

“You want to do this now?” Oliver asked, hoping his nervous swallow wasn’t audible.

Lou shrugged, already taking his clothes off as he nodded towards Oliver’s camera, “You brought your camera and we have good light in here still, plus Aiden expects these by Friday…so.” He raised his brow, as if daring Oliver to bow out now.

Oliver felt his tongue still to the roof of his mouth as he watched Lou start to leave colorful handprints on random parts of his body.

“Mind helping me?” Lou asked casually, as though he wasn’t asking Oliver to literally fingerpaint onto Lou’s skin.

Oliver felt frozen as he dipped his hands in red paint and pressed them against Lou’s chest. “That’s good.”

Oliver shook the static buzz growing louder in his mind as he started to take pictures of Lou in random poses. The hands prints on Lou’s chest seemed to be getting the focus as Lou kept puffing out his chest.

“I think I need some more paint.”

“Really?” Oliver cringed, as Lou looked down at his body. “I think you’re good.”

Lou shook his head in disagreement, “I think I need some more color.”  Lou painted his hands blue, looking around with a quizzical look. “Where should I-?”

Oliver couldn’t help it, Lou looked ridiculous with his hands painted blue and just looking down at his naked body as though this was a life or death decision. He dipped his hands back into the red paint, “Maybe here.” He cupped his hands around Lou’s face, watching with panic glee as Lou’s eyes became wide.

“Really?”

“You said more color. You never said where.” Oliver smirked. The hand prints weren’t perfect, but they made Lou look…erotic.

His hair was already in curls and the red brought out his eyes. The paint nearly touch the corner of his lips, making Oliver’s blood feel warmer.

“I was thinking more so color on my body, but I guess-”

Oliver’s red hands were back to cupping Lou’s face as he pulled the older man for a kiss. Oliver wasn’t planning on it, but he needed to now. He felt himself push Lou towards the wall, relieved when Lou let out a moan that opened his mouth so that Oliver could deepen the kiss.

It was different from their tv kisses, of course.

This felt like his skin was burning and cooling off all at once.

He had always imagined what a kiss like this between their characters would have looked like.

But this felt heavier.

It felt too real.

Lou’s moaning had him feeling brazen as he moved his hands to grasp Lou’s ass and press him closer, squeezing the muscle and cheering himself as Lou let out a whimper. Oliver felt goosebumps breakout across his body as he felt Lou’s dick harden against his pants. He only felt a tad bit evil as he grinded against Lou, making sure to bite down on Lou’s lower lip for extra emphasis.  

This was getting too real now.

He backed off slowly, his heart skipping a beat as he realized that Lou tried to lean and follow his lips again.

He knew he was panting, looking at how Lou’s eyes never left his lips as Oliver tried not to stutter like his TV character. “I should go. I think we wrapped up this campaign for your friend well enough, right?” he rubbed the back of his neck, flinching as he felt the paint stain his neck.

“Woah, wait.” Lou called out before Oliver could get his stuff. “A few more pics. I got an idea.”

Oliver felt overwhelmed and overheated as he watched Lou drag a chaise lounge to replace the wooden chair in front of the window.

“You’re still-” Oliver pointed to Lou’s dick, still half-hard.

Lou shrugged, clearly unbothered as he laid the chaise flat, bending over with his back towards Oliver. Oliver let out a hiss as he realized it took too long to avert his eyes from Lou's ass. His own handprints smuged and bright against Lou's skin. He felt his own dick harden as he watched Lou lay down on his stomach, exposing Oliver's handprints on Lou's ass. Lou's hardon was ovbious, it was pressing against the against the elastic seating of the chaise, causing a buldge to be seen. If the other nude pictures he had taken of Lou felt erotic, then these were just subdued pornographic.

The first set of photos were of Lou with his eyes closed, slightly smirking as his arms were hanging over the lounge. The second set, Lou’s eyes were wide open and staring directly at Oliver, his smirk giving away that there was a secret between them now.

“Got them?” Lou asked, getting up and wrapping his lower half with a towel that barely closed around him. Oliver felt himself staring at the gap where Lou’s hip and thigh were exposed, his half-flagged erection not going down and pressing against the towel for attention.

“Yeah.” Oliver opted to ignore how horse he sounded as Lou stood behind him and looked over his shoulder to see the end results.

“They look great.” He smiled, his eyes falling on Oliver’s lips momentarily. “You got some-”

Oliver didn’t breathe as Lou’s fingers brushed away something on his low lip. The final drag of Lou’s thumb across his lip was slow and heated. “Got it off.” Lou declared, “Just some paint.”

Oliver refused to stutter; he was NOT Buck.

“Thanks.” He licked his lips, only half aware that Lou’s hands were still covered in dried blue paint.

“No problem.” Lou clapped his hands together, “Thanks again for doing all of this. You’ve been great.” Lou sounded unbothered and so sincere that Oliver wasn’t sure if he had imagined the kiss. “Let me walk you to the door.”

Oliver pointed to the towel, “Dressed like that? You’re still-”

Lou shrugged, “It’ll go down eventually. I’ll deal with it after you leave.”

Oliver wasn’t sure if he wanted to know how Lou would deal with the erection that Oliver caused.

“Yeah, sure.” He answered, lightheaded as Lou patted him on the back and lead them back to the front door. “I’ll let you know when I submit the pictures to Aiden.”

“Same.” Lou smiled, sticking out his hand for Oliver to shake.

Okay, they were going back to normal.

Oliver could do that; he grabbed Lou’s hand to shake and felt himself being pulled roughly for a kiss. This one had Oliver let out a whimper as Lou let go of his hand to grab Oliver’s face, the kiss wasn’t as heavy as the one by the pool.

It was slow and torturous to the point where Oliver felt lightheaded when he felt Lou’s hand briefly grasp his neck.

He wasn’t sure how long the kiss went on but he was sure his lips and jaw were going to be bruised and red from Lou’s scruff.

He felt Lou pull away, his notorious mirthful smile on full display as he opened the door for Oliver, “Thanks again, Oliver. I’ll see you around.”

He kissed his co-star.

Twice.

He even made his co-star hard.

The thought didn’t hit him till he got into his truck. He waited till he was a block away from Lou’s home to check out the damages.

He swore loudly as he saw how bruised and swollen his lips looked- his lower lip tinged in blue paint. Oliver wasn’t sure if it was just the red paint, beard burn, or both that caused his skin around his mouth to look so red, but his skin was bright red compared to the rest of his face.

His neck was another story.

A perfect impression of Lou’s hand in blue paint covered his neck.

He shivered as he realized the implication of that.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

5k is so deserved! I constantly go back and reread your works and am always looking forward to what’s next ❤️❤️❤️

I’ve been having thoughts about a Hesh x femreader reunion request thats similar to your latest Keegan piece. Except reader was childhood friends with the Walker boys, but despite there being feelings between Hesh and reader they’re scared of confessing because of their friendship. they get separated when Odin happens, and both join the military and reunite during a joint Op with the Ghosts and readers team, and even after 10 years their feelings resurface and finally get together.

Can’t wait to see what you’ll write for all the requests!!

—To The Boy of My Childhood

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Ten years came and went fast, but the memory of the Walker boys stayed. One more than the other. You never got to tell him you loved him.] ❞

You remembered his kindness, above all. His big, pure, heart. Hesh wasn’t just someone you grew to know and then threw out like a pair of old socks, no, he was too good for that—a mix of playful boyishness and the makes of a fine man. You wished you could have told him how much he meant to you before it all just fell apart. 

Growing up near the Walker boys was a treat and a curse, not for yourselves, but for the adults—no one got in the way of you three. Late nights in the backyard, laughter keeping everyone up into the small hours. The fights and the near-instantaneous make-ups. 

The older years of deep-rooted attraction to the green-eyed boy of your youth.

David Hesh Walker had been everything you had ever wanted, and even when the ground shook and the word split, you still couldn’t tell him how you felt. But fate had plans for the two of you—it was only a matter of time. 

Ten years, to be exact.

You jump down from the helo, your knees taking the brunt of the weight from your gear as your team follows. Fort Santa Monica was a bustling stronghold right on the door of Federation occupation—enemies stalking like animals beyond the wall for a glimpse of weakness. The men and women here were anything but.

“On me!” You call out behind you, and the resounding rush of booted feet follows as you all move out along the helicopter pad swiftly. The unit you were assigned was given a simple task—assist the commanding Captain here and his men with wall defense to reduce the amount of casualties. 

Over the ten years of war, you’d honed yourself into something akin to a walking weapon. Found deliriously surviving in the remnants of the USA, your rage and anger gave you the skills you needed to still be alive when the soldiers found you; brought you back to civilization. It hadn’t taken much for you to sign up after that, thinking Hesh and his brother were dead. 

Hesh. God, you had loved him so much that the feeling hadn’t dimmed in the slightest even now. Being so close to home once more made you feel…strange. 

“Lieutenant!” One of the soldiers comes up to greet you all, shouting above the whir of blades—he was an older man with a shaved head and a large beard. “Welcome to Santa Monica!”

“Good to be here!” You call, a rifle hanging heavy on your chest. “Where do you need us, Sir?”

“Fall in, I’m bringin’ you to Scarecrow!” So you follow, leaving the sandy beach of the port and heading into the dense streets. There were civilians in this Fort, you knew, just beyond the checkpoint of fences. You have to wonder how they felt about this—trapped in a rat cage with the water and the war clamping to them tightly. 

“Heard your unit was well-known.” You’d learned the man’s name was Thomas Merrick—a Captain here. You blink at him, head tilting. “Scarecrow was eager to get you here, can’t say why.” 

“I was told you needed support at the wall, Captain,” you explain, brows furrowing. “Were my superiors mistaken?”

Merrick's brown eyes stare at you as you walk beside him, your men all speaking to one another from behind. 

“No,” is all you’re told. 

This ‘Scarecrow’ was known as only that, and your lips thin at the comment leveled at you. Strange. 

Your other men are shown their barracks, and you send them off to get rid of their packs and belongings while you continue on with Merrick to the control room—eager to meet this Captain and get real answers. 

When you get there, the second you push open the door and Merrick takes his leave, you’re greeted by one of the old faces that you could recognize anywhere. 

You freeze just three feet into the room, locking eyes with this mythical ‘Scarecrow’ but it wasn’t some great war strategist, at least, not as you know him.

“Mr. Walker?” You pause, blinking in confusion. Elias Walker—Hesh and Logan’s dad. Your heart constricts in your chest. 

He looks at you, a small smile on his stern face as his arms crossed, nodding his head. 

“Thought I recognized that name in my request for transfers.” 

“Holy shit,” you breathe, a grin breaking out over your face for the first time in ages. Part of you wanted to race and hug him—bathe in the comfort that his rare soft looks would bring you when you were younger…but you weren’t that kid anymore. Being alive was enough, and with the things you’d seen, it meant far more than anything else. Elias seemed to share that sentiment, as he walked over and put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it. 

“How did…how are…” Your head shakes quickly, memories flooding back along with the pain. But there, in your chest, a flicker of hope—something more blooming back to life. “Logan?” Your voice is tiny, pleading as you pause, gazing into Elias’s eyes. “...Hesh?”

“I already called ‘em back in. They’ll be here soon.” He gives you a proud nod. “I’m glad you’re still here, Sweetheart.” 

You laugh, smile wobbling. 

Alive. Hesh was alive. 

Every wall you’d built falls the second boyish laughter echoes out from the halls. You turn, hearing feet move down the floor, closer and closer as your body stills like a statue. 

Alive. 

When a shoulder pushes open the door, you stop breathing as a far older David enters the room, Logan, as always, not far behind. 

He’s mature now, with a beanie over his short brown hair and the presence of a grown man holding down responsibilities—he was smirking back and his brother, saying in a voice that haunts your dreams, “Think we should tell him what Riley found today, Logan?” 

The younger brother stops short, locks eyes with you, and his body goes as tight as a fishing line. 

Hesh’s brows furrow. “Logan?” He turns to you and those green eyes go confused for a moment, lips going thin. It’s a flash of recognition that re-ignites them—a flicker of something long past before they snap wide with fierce realization.

Blinking quickly, the man watches you, hands at his sides jerking forward by a millimeter as if to grab for you at even a single glance. No one speaks for a long, long time, and maybe you don’t want them to. Hesh and you are locked in a look of pure pain and elation—a dance of life and death. 

There aren’t any words for it beyond the sudden mad scramble for the other’s hold. 

You collide in a sharp breath and a hand to the back of your head—keeping you to him as you both grasp for purchase; for a glimpse of your childhood back.

“Jesus Christ,” Hesh breathes, anchoring you to him as his chest sputters. “Oh my fucking God.”

“Hesh,” you whimper through a sobbing laugh. “You son of a bitch, I should throttle you.”

He scoffs wetly into your ear, hands quivering and voice cracking. 

“Me? If I remember, Doll, you were the one to take that tumble down the hill—I…I tried to find you, y’know that? I swear, I didn’t want to leave but I—”

You pull back and slam your lips to his. 

It was far better than an ‘I love you’ when he melted and grappled you closer.

[slushiepizza]

Prêt à Manger

this fanfiction has suggestive themes. but not actual depictions of sexual interaction. still, i'd prefer it if minors don't interact.

Pairing : Doc/Hush

Tags : Meat Themes, Food as a form of love, hunger as a form of love, knifeplay (for the sake of teasing and not to the point of wounding), graphic depictions of eating, getting together, kissing, vaguely horny, unhinged doc, depictions of corpses

Word Count : 3,192

ao3

Notes : Thank you so much to @joshusten for accompanying me through writing this whole thing. This wouldn't have been finished without their help! This is a challenge for myself to describe the intersection of the feeling of being hungry for food, and being hungry for love and companionship/desiring over someone. Also to describe love interests appetizingly, while describing food titillatingly. I think Hush and Doc's dynamic is perfect for those themes- considering he isn't human and thus is unfamiliar with those sensations, and also that he canonically DID learn how to cook for Doc's sake.

To Hush, hunger used to be a foreign concept.

But ever since he took on his humanoid form- the fleshy disguise that was a mockery of what he was capable of- there’s a simmering under his skin, crawling and clawing for something. There’s a sort of hollowness that couldn’t be filled.

Hush manifested in an underground tunnel full of humans. There were signs above him with words like ‘to Union Station’, ‘Santa Monica’ and ‘Mind the gap’. He followed the crowd to a stationary vehicle, ethereal and glowing with artificial light. As soon as he stepped onto the platform, the metal doors closed. Inside, it was cramped and narrow.

Someone’s elbow was digging into his side and someone pressed against his back. He found the fact interesting, as he discovered that most humans liked their personal space. But not here. Not inside the tunnel that currently moved in speeds that reminded him of Aria, the windows that lead to outside blurred what remained of the scenery into long lines of color. 

Between the sea of people, Hush took in the surroundings as best he could with people breathing down his neck. A man was sitting on the far end of the cargo. He took out a bowl with a transparent lid. He opened it, revealing the insides of rice, meat, and vegetables. He spooned the food into his mouth and chewed with vigor. Beside him, a woman is holding a cup with a dark liquid, steam wafting off of it. She took a sip and winced. The next time she approached the drink, she slowly blew on it, disturbing the vapor. She let out a sigh as she swallowed. In the forgotten corner near the window- a couple was kissing and sucking on each other’s lips. One of them slid their hand down the other’s thigh. The action produced wet, smacking noises and the humans around them looked revolted, turning their backs away. 

He sensed that they all felt a similar sort of feeling, a concoction of desire, relief, hunger, craving mixed into one. Hush didn’t find other humans interesting, but he noted that there was something to be made of the fact that there’s an animal-like primalness to the act of eating something. To him, Arcana is just a source of power floating in the vastness of Aria. He didn’t need to chew or swallow- it’s just absorbed into his form, imbuing him with energy. Hush recounted that Doc also took pleasure in the act, losing themselves in the morsel. 

—

Doc pulled a chair and joined Hush at the kitchen table. “Oh, man. I’m starving,” they sighed as they took a burger out from its paper bag, the colorful logo of its origins crumpled beyond recognition. “Still not into food? Eating in general? We can share it if you want,” they gestured the bun towards his direction across the table.

“No, thank you. Arcana is more than enough sustenance.”

Although he still relied on Arcana as a source of energy, his body never seemed to be rid of the feeling of lacking something. It’s a phantom sort of sensation- like it knew how it’s supposed to act when unfed, but couldn’t seem to find the right functions to do it.

“Suit yourself, then.” They took a bite and hummed in pleasure. Their white, ivory colored teeth sank into the bread and patty. It was pliant under their grasp, their fingers marking it with dents. A crunch from the lettuce. “Wow. That really hit the spot.”

Doc wiped off their mouth with the back of their hand, yet their lips were still shiny, slick with oil, the meal marking an evidence of their appetite just. Hush watched unblinkingly as they chewed, barely swallowing before inhaling and going in for another bite. He noted that there’s something strangely intimate yet taboo about the way humans eat. Like it should be done behind closed doors, away from onlookers.

His human companion themself- had a particular affinity for food that was eaten directly with their hands. “Tastes better that way. Burrito, fries, sliced fruit. Sushi. It’s kind of nice to touch and feel it going into my mouth,” they said, muffled between bites.

There’s something sacred about the way Doc eats. They always do it with a reverent sort of enthusiasm. Completely indulging themself in it, not holding anything back. They cradled the burger as if with affection, with tenderness.

Hush felt oddly shameful, as he watched the food disappear past their lips into the cavern of their wet mouth. The act of watching them eat, almost voyeuristic in nature.

He imagined what it would be like to cook them a meal- the food that they metabolized being his own picking. He’d gather out the ingredients, meticulously cut and sear it.

He made up his mind to do so.

—

Hush found himself in front of a glass display of animal carcasses hanging from hooks. The flesh was plenty, hanging off the bone with white fat between the muscles. He couldn’t recognize what they used to be. The hook twisted the carcass slightly when a stray gust of wind moved it. On the rack, other rolls of meat filled with what looked like herbs sat. It was bound with twine rope, the layers of meat dimpled out provocatively. 

“You!” the burly man beside the display acknowledged him, sharpening his knife with a clink, clink, clink. “Are ya’ buyin’ anything or are you just gonna stare?” 

“Sorry.” 

Doc told him that it was wise to apologize whenever someone is displeased with him. They said it could get him out of unsavory situations. 

“What do people usually buy?” he asked, taking good care to make himself look as conventional as possible. 

“Eh,” he mindlessly tapped the cutting board with his knife. The cuts of meat around him shook slightly. “Rib’s popular if ya’ got the money. Shank for broth. Maybe…flank? For steak.” 

“The flank, then,” he said, looking him in the eyes as a sign of respect. He looked uncomfortable under his stare, and averted his gaze down to the board. 

“Ya got it.” He groaned with effort as he took one of the hanging pieces and put it on the table. Hush noticed that there’s hints of extremities, like two protruding hind legs. The man’s knife scored the top membrane- a thin film with a pinkish hue- to reveal ruby-red fibrous muscle. He cut the muscle away and folded it into a neat roll. “She’s a beauty, this one.” 

There’s a strange sort of tenderness the butcher had for the meat. The man was protective of them, like a father might for a daughter. He’d give Hush a glare whenever he stood too close to the chops, and cut the skin with a delicate hand when he himself was anything but. 

“How do you usually cook it?”

–

The flank sizzled in a sea of butter and garlic, red slowly turning into brown. Hush flipped the meat and it made a loud sound. 

Strangely, it reminded him of the demon in his companion’s apartment. The surge of rage and power that ran through his veins when he saw them threaten his companion. The explosion of connective tissue and viscera on the kitchen floor.

Both an act of devotion, he thought. His power tore through sinews and bone- and the knife in his hand sliced the flank clean, revealing the pink, rare, inside. Tempting in its dampness. 

Doc opened the door with a clatter of their keys when Hush was setting the steak on the dining table. It looked accurate enough to the pictures he saw in the books he studied. A firm, supple steak in the middle of the plate. A fork and knife on its side. He even set the table with a tablecloth, candleholders and a bowl of apples in the center. Romantic wasn’t quite the word he looked for when he did all this, but it was quite accurate to how picturesque the spread was. 

“I made you dinner,” he turned to them. “Oh, I was wondering why it smelled so strong,” they laughed as they put away their shoes. “Thanks, Hush. Appreciate the effort.” 

They looked surprised when they saw that the kitchen was clean despite the smell- although he committed to making the meal by hand, he’d used the help of magic to wash the dishes. “You really know how to spoil me,” they teased. “What’s the occasion?” 

“I like seeing you eat,” he confessed. “There’s something…appealing about it.” 

They raised an eyebrow, and good-naturedly huffed as they walked over to the dining table. “Thanks. I guess. I’ll take that as a compliment. Hey, you even set the table and everything.” 

“Yes. It’s to add to the experience. Humans eat with their eyes first, before their mouth.” 

Doc sat themselves down in front of the plate and gave Hush a strange look when he kept standing. They pat the seat beside them.

“Aren’t you going to sit down?” 

“Okay,” he obeyed and mirrored their sitting position. Hush watched as the human took the fork on the side of the plate and put a piece of steak in their mouth. “Mm. It’s really good,” they groaned. “Definitely not bad for a first try, Hush.” 

Hush felt satisfaction when he saw them enjoying the meal, the warm light of the candle lighting the planes of their face that twisted into indulgence. “To be honest, it’s kind of odd to be eating just steak and nothing else. But y’know what. I think there’s an appeal to it.” 

They cut another piece with the knife and pierced it with a fork before nudging it to Hush. “It’s your first time cooking anything, is it not? I think you should at least try what you made. Fruits of your labor and all.” 

“Why didn’t you eat with your hands?” he asked. “You said that it makes things taste better.” 

“Oh. Well I guess steak isn’t really a…hand food. In this scenario, anyway. Do you still wanna try this?” 

“No,” Hush answered. 

Doc hummed an assent and continued eating, Hush watching intently as they swirled the steak in butter before slowly closing their lips around it. He wondered if they did it on purpose.

“I’ve told you that there’s a lot of things I’d like to give you,” he broke the silence. “But, there’s something…I’d like you to give me.” 

They set the utensils on the plate, resting it. Their expression was thoughtful, unreadable. “...What do you want me to do?” 

“There’s a…feeling I get when I’m with you. Like I’m starving but there’s nothing that could fix that. It’s like…” 

Hush reached out to hold Doc’s hand. They gently squeezed it back and traced the back of his palm with their thumb. He guided it to hover above his neck, before lightly pressing it against his skin. He let out a noise from the back of his throat as he moved it down his clavicle, to his sternum. Their hand was warm when he moved it down his stomach in a straight line. 

He brought it up again, back to his neck and traced a horizontal line across the base of his throat. He felt Doc’s heart speed up, along with the tension in the atmosphere. He started another line at the bottom of his ribs, tracing across the fabric of his clothes.

“Like gutting a fish,” they muttered, entranced. “Or…butchering lamb.”

“Yes,” he approved. “Like meat. Like something alive.”

“I share a similar sentiment,” Doc uttered, half-lidded. In a quick gesture, they dropped themselves down to the table, pulling Hush down with them. The remaining plates clinked with the sudden movement. Hush noticed that they looked utterly pleased with themselves, as if laying between leftover steak and utensils like they were part of dinner was an indulgence he couldn’t understand. 

“I have something to offer you. A form of thanks for dinner.” 

Doc reached for Hush’s right hand and covered it with their own, not unlike how he held theirs earlier. Hush balanced on his other arm, caging them in with his body. They flashed him a rakish grin from below. Hush licked his dry lips, feeling like he was going to be swallowed whole, even when they couldn’t hurt him in a way that matters. He could feel their intense emotions: hunger, thrill, desire, frustration. Doc trailed both of their hands against their sternum, moving it past the collar of their shirt. It stopped on the right side of their neck, slightly below their jawline. They sighed into a pleasured smile, their eyes rolling back before meeting his gaze. “Do you feel it?” They whispered, wide-eyed and frenzied, firmly pressing his hand against their supple, pliant skin. 

Hush could feel the thump of a pulse, loud and clear through his heightened senses. It was a delicious sort of sound, the rush of something and its channel opening, closing, and opening again. A rhythm. “There’s thumping. Like your heart in your chest. I don’t understand what you’ve offered me.” 

“You will, in a bit,” they replied. “Your lack of pulse,  the lack of breathing, the lack of body temperature- it suggests that there’s nothing to be revealed. As it should, if what you told me was right- a disguise, a vessel for you to put a fraction of your power in.”

“That’s true. In a way,” he said, noting that he could feel their breath on his face- contrasting his lack of. “This isn’t… me. But more of a form of me.” 

Doc toyed with the ends of his hair that pooled on the side of their head, twirling it with their fingers. They laugh sardonically,” To a being like you, the human body is simple, inconsequential. But we have our secrets, too.” 

“It’s not,” Hush rebutted. “Human bodies are irrelevant to my purpose. Not yours, somehow. I want to know more about yours.” 

“Oh, you flatter me,” Doc slurred, their eyes ravenous. “Much like how you’re a container of instrumental force, the human body is also teeming with energy. Our veins are thrumming with life. Blood rushes to our extremities, pumping. Stomachs shrink and expand and absorb. This body…is the opposite of silence. It’s noise. Mechanical and biological in the way magic isn’t.” 

Hush could feel the pulse in their skin get louder and louder, along with the sloshing of blood, its passage narrowing and widening. A drop of sweat dripped down his human companion’s face. They reached for the knife- still dirty from the steak earlier. Doc finally let go of Hush’s hand in favor of wiping it off with their shirt, revealing their abdomen. 

“Hold this with me,” they pleaded.

Doc repeated their earlier position, his hand under theirs. They breathe heavily, their chest rising and falling. Doc guided the knife to the left of their chest. “Between the third and fourth rib- closest way you can reach the heart,” they muttered shakily, letting out a sound of pleasure from the back of their throat. They let the knife dig into their skin, not enough to pierce through, but enough to let the fabric of their shirt sink into its edge. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Hush whispered. “Why do you want me to?” 

“Why?” the word rolled in their mouth. “You had every chance to. I know you could do it, even without the knife. I’ve seen you destroy Reticuli in seconds. What made me different? Just because you’re interested in me?” 

“If I’m in the way of your purpose- if I stood in the way of your mission, would you? You let me go after capturing me when we first met- is that not a defiance of your purpose?” 

“I-” he faltered, eyes searching for meaning when there was none. 

“Aw,” they cooed. “Am I so important that you’d forgo what you were made for?” 

“Either way, I’m not asking you to,” they laughed warmly, their breath warm against Hush’s pulseless neck. “I’m giving you an option because I know you wouldn’t do it.”

“You knew? What’s the point of doing that, then?” 

“I like you. And I trust you. I need to know that this isn’t a mistake,” Doc said lightly, as if they were used to being on the other end of a knife. Realization dawned on Hush- the fact that unlike himself, who did the things he did for the sake of his larger purpose- Doc seeks thrill, jumping headfirst into an opportunity to put their life in danger. It’s a strange form of taking control, being out of it and accepting that they couldn’t do anything but give in. 

“I can feel the gears turning in your head, Hush.” 

Doc tangled Hush’s hair in their fingers and tucked it behind his ear, lightly grazing his cheek with intention. “It’s cute.”

Hush felt the ever-so-familiar feeling, the clawing mix of hunger and desire coiling in his immaterial gut. He licked his lips. Doc shrugged at the lack of an answer,”Well, If you’re not interested. I’ve worked up quite an appetite.” 

Doc supported their weight on one of their elbows and leaned forward. They reached back for an apple from the centerpiece bowl and started to peel it with nimble hands. They cut a piece and popped it into their mouth while keeping their gaze on him, as if daring Hush to do something. 

For once, Hush felt himself break. 

He took the apple from Doc’s hands and did something that would’ve been unthinkable before he met them. 

Completely irrelevant to his purpose, completely self indulgent. 

He took a large bite out of it, tasting the odd flavor. There’s a crunch, and he could feel his teeth sinking into the flesh. Cloying and sweet. Wet. The juice drips down his lips, down his chin, onto his clothes. He let it and watched Doc swallow, wordless. It’s succulent, ripe. Unmoored, he finished what he could, leaving only the core intact. 

“Delicious,” Hush commented, looking down at Doc, sprawled and pinned like a butchered animal.

Hush sensed the want to gorge, a craving. He could no longer tell whether it was Doc’s or his. It’s hazy, like his being was covered in fog and he only relied on the sense of taste for sensation. Doc looked at him, hungry, ravenous. When their gazes met, they both understood, a phrase coming to both their minds. Good enough to eat, his thoughts repeated. It wasn’t a fight for dominance, but rather submission. The will to give in to be ravaged by the other. 

He pressed his lips to theirs. It was Doc who deepened it, eating his face and mouth, draining him of what he has to offer. It was frantic, depraved, spit-slick and messy. He let out a noise. Hush noted that it was not unlike the pleasured sigh Doc did when they ate the burger. 

On the dinner table, Hush felt himself consumed as he indulged in what he had deprived himself of. This was the closest Hush was to being human since his half-death. 

The closest he was to being sated.

Satisfied. 

Full.

[jmdbjk]

Beyond the Star

Don't know how we'll watch this without crying...

Santa Monica Jikook in the teaser.

My little anchovy... I'm crying.

I absolutely love Take Two. It's one of my top favorite songs. But it always makes me tear up because it has such a nostalgic vibe. So the fact they are using it in this docu-series ... I know I'm gonna be a blubbering mess once a week.

[mango-parfait]

10 Years

Part 1/?

Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x Lyusya 'Lou' Melnikova (OC)

Warnings: MDNI 18+, strong language, canon typical violence, war related topics, mentions/descriptiond of a miscarriage, implied trauma, hunting of an animal.

Word Count: 2.8k+

A/N: Just a bunch of drabbles I've written of Keegan and Lou with the intention of exploring their relationship during the years right after ODIN, to the current events in Cod Ghosts. I thought that they deserved a little bit of spotlight instead of gathering dust as unfinished drabbles. The years will not be in order unless I ever decide to continue the series. Thank you to @moosch, (And a few other mutuals) for encouraging me to post this because I'm way too scared to do it ;;u;; And also thank you for encouraging and enabling my russian literature brainrot that has influenced my writing style <3

Chapter summary: Lou goes out hunting beyond the walls of Fort Santa Monica. Her mind racing and muscles tensed and tight - Keegan had called her a liability, looking at her with a look she could only describe as contempt. Her mind wanders, memories comes back. Keegan comes looking for her to bring her home.

Year two, 2018, Fall

Leaves crunch under her boots- a sound filled with the childhood joy of running and leaping into gathered leaf piles in the backyard of her home, now just a thrum in Lou’s mind. Instead of the passing of a season, it’s a bone cracking under her weight. Orange hues of the trees and foliage- a reminder of lasers coming down from the sky, it’s still hard to forget the sound the ground made when it cracked open, and the screams of the people around her. 

"Eyes on the ground, Lyuda. Look for movement in the leaves, dips in the soil. Nature tells you everything you need to know." Her father’s voice rings in her ears. Rough and scratchy, an indication of one cigar too many. Back then, she'd do anything to avoid going into his study every Saturday morning because of the smoke and stench that clouded every inch of nose - but now, she'd give anything to see him again.

She walks on, each step a tense moment- her eyes darting around the ground. Tracking for games, tracking for Federation movement, it was the same. Maybe there’s game out here in the safe zones - a deer maybe, or a squirrel, or a rabbit. Maybe she’ll get a rabbit or two and bring it back to the guys at base, Merrick would be happy, so will Ajax, Torch, Kick and- 

Her chest surges in anger and bile rises in her throat. She swallows it down and presses her rifle closer to her body.

Keegan.

"Civvie like you shouldn’t be here, could’ve left with the trucks to the camps and yet you chose to stay. Dumb move, rookie."

His voice, low and serious- as it always was, rings out in the silence of the barracks hall. Cerulean eyes burning into hers as he folds his arms across his chest, gazing down at her with a dissatisfied look- or perhaps disgust, she cannot remember. 

"Elias thought he was doing you a service, taking you in and then throwing your ass at me to babysit. You’re not Ghost material, you’re a liability, should’ve left when you could."

No, her mind is wandering. He didn’t say all that- he wouldn’t.

"You’re a liability, not a Ghost."

That was all.

Reaching a small stream, she kneels down to brush her fingers along the dirt. A dip. A tiny indent in the soil, a rabbit maybe- It made sense for animals to gather near a stream for a quick drink.

She crumbles some of her biscuit rations onto the dirt and puts a good amount of distance from the stream to hide behind some boulders.

She waits, her mind starts to wander.

Anya, her baby sister- only a teenager when Lou left Russia to study in America. She promised that she would be home for New Year last year. Now she’ll never see her again. Was her hair still as golden as the wheat fields and eyes as brown as wet soil? Whatever she’s doing now, hopefully she's happy doing it. 

Time passes as Lou sits quietly in her hiding spot, eyes scanning the stream to see whether any animals have taken the bait. A rabbit appears and she readies her rifle the way her father had taught her as a young girl.

But she doesn’t listen to her father's words this time- it’s the Ghost Sergeant's. The anger surge in her chest once more at the thought of him. 

"You’re a liability."

Oh, she should’ve socked him in the jaw for calling her that.

The Sergeant knew how to get under her skin, spot her weaknesses and make her correct it immediately, his gaze always hard, sometimes even bored- either way, it's hard to read his expressions sometimes. He was strict and had taught her how to fire a rifle more efficiently, tackle long distances, control her breathing, to kill quickly, to survive one more day- one more op.

To survive.

To fight.

To live.

"Tuck your elbows in. Hips tight. Shoulders don’t pass your heels. Stock against your shoulder. Again. Do it again. One more time. Nice shot. Good job. Not bad."

Four months as his mentee. ‘Rookie’- he called her, part of the team and not yet part of it. The name had stuck and everyone started calling her that. It had even gotten to Elias, his hard face blurting out said nickname in a mission debrief. She hated it. 

A bullet fired from her rifle- the rabbit falls. Perhaps this will do for now, Lou can clean the carcasses and then bring them back to the butcher’s for processing and get meat jerky out of them. More meat in her ration packs and something she can share with the guys. Picking up the carcass and clearing it out right by the stream, her focus remained sharp as the carving knife in her hands twists and cuts its way through the tendons of the rabbit- stripping it of its skin.

Keegan had asked her once whether she had any knowledge of wildlife during a training hike after she had pointed out bare patches of grass in a passing field, saying that it was caused by one too many deers going through the same route over and over again. 

"No, sir. I just read it in a book once."

She wasn’t really sure why she lied to him.

Dunking the rabbit into the water and letting the water carry its blood along its streams, she keeps the image of the sergeant’s face in her thoughts. The day he called her a liability, his brows were furrowed a little more than usual, the frown was obvious even with the knit layer of his skull mask. The op wasn’t a tough one- if it could’ve been considered an op, just some quick scouting trip to a mall with minimal Federation patrols that they avoided easily. Afterwards, it was just a matter of setting up a vantage point, collect intel for Command, pack up and head home. It was easy, even for a rookie like her.

But she couldn’t recall what she had done wrong to make him call her a liability- maybe she adjusted the scope on her rifle incorrectly, maybe she had worn her shirt inside out. Or maybe he just felt like saying what he always thought. Either way, Lou couldn’t deny the emptiness in her chest when he said it to her face getting back to Fort Santa Monica, his eyes burning down at her as he folded his arms.

All she could do was just stare up at him with confused hurt. 

She impatiently digs the knife into the carcass, incision ragged and forced to get its guts out.

Her father’s voice rings in her head once more. "Be careful, daughter. Nice and easy- like painting a brush or like when you’re helping mother sew." She ignores him again.

The way she twisted the knife felt like the first person she had killed. A federation soldier- most probably a recruit sent out to scout the area where the hospital was. She would’ve let him pass if he didn’t choose to turn the corner that led to the room where she was hiding with a couple of the kids.

A stab into the neck with a crooked screwdriver, she held onto him even when her hands were slick and slippery with his blood. Only letting go when his body went limp in her arms.

A liability. Liability. Might as well make it a cuss word at this point, judging from how much it pissed her off. How can she be a liability when she went through basic training, did so well at long distance shooting that Elias had a long talk with about joining the Task Force?

Why a liability when she went through another month of training under Elias just so that he could start her way up to becoming part of the Ghost team?

Why a liability when she had suffered what she had suffered in No Man’s Land for four months when ODIN’s missiles scorched and cracked land for miles?

Why a fucking liability when she has fought, killed, starved and scavenged for those four months?

Dipping the carcass into the stream once more, Lou watches the blood staining the water and lets itself be led away by the current. The sight reminds her of sooty tiled floors of the bathroom in the ruined hospital, her lower half soaked in the blood that pooled beneath her. A miscarriage- that was what the medical staff told her. They said that it wasn’t her fault, supplies were running out, and with Federation soldiers constantly swarming around the hospital- it made it hard to scavenge from the other buildings in the vicinity.

The memories of deep dark blood made her nauseous and Lyusya takes in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. The baby she had lost, Constantine for a boy and Anya for a girl.

The mother she could’ve been. Now she’ll never get her chance.

So why would Keegan call her a liability when she had suffered what she suffered. What was all the pain, tears and blood for then? If she had gone through all of that just to be tossed into civilian camps and coaxed to live like normal then all that she had gone through in No Man’s Land would’ve been for nothing. 

Nothing at all.

Memories return. The piercing pain on the day it happened was like a million daggers to her stomach. The pitiful stares of the women as they tried to help her. Tried to. There was nothing much they could do.

Dirty bathtub. Tap not working. Ash and soot in the air. Blood flowing from between her legs. Gunfire in the distance. Her mother's face comes into view. She'd be there to wipe her tears and clean the blood off her.

“Rookie.”

Her thoughts come to a complete silence. The voice- so familiar. So hated.

Keegan.

She turns to look over her shoulder, unable to mask the scowl on her face.

He’s unmasked this time, dark stubble all throughout the jaw and around the lips. The blues of his eyes dimmed significantly without all the black fabric covering his entire body she sees him in so often. The bane of her existence fully clad in issued USMC shirt and pants with his dog tags hanging off a beaded chain around his neck.

Keegan wasn’t smiling, but she could detect the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes. Oh, how she must look to him right now- the woman that attacked him in No Man’s Land, his rookie- cleaning game by the stream on an autumn morning just outside base.

“Knew you were lying to me about not knowing how to hunt.” Keegan takes a few steps forward and tilts his weight ever so slightly to loom over Lou to see what she was doing- it took everything in her not to bristle at his intrusion, he was not a welcomed sight at the moment.

“Ajax said you were outside for a walk. Never heard of someone going for a walk with a pocketful of knives.”

She turns away from him and lowers her gaze back to the task at hand and gets to cleaning the second carcass. “Just needed to clear my head, sir.”

“To hunt?”

“I was hungry.”

“That you have to hunt?” He takes another step closer and kneels beside her to watch. If he couldn’t sense her irritation growing just by being near her, then it’s clear that he’s deliberately ignoring it. “Could eat the chow back at base.”

“No.”

“No?”

“The rations are not sustainable, sir.” She hurriedly follows up, dumping out some bullshit excuse.

Keegan snorts and then stays silent. Watching her cut the guts out of the rabbit carcass with such practice and precise movements as if she had done this a million times. When he guessed that Lyusya knew how to hunt, he pictured coffee by the campfire, holding daddy’s guns and cheering him on- something he’d see in a movie.

How much did he know about the woman that he saved from No Man’s Land? Not much, that’s for sure. Something’s off about her today- he already knew why.

A gust of wind passes and Lou could smell the sea on the man. She knew he’d gone for a naval op with Merrick to do some scouting on a Federation submarine last night- they’d left out the details because she was a ‘rookie’. A full night of swimming, scouting and fighting. What the hell is he doing here then?

“You could have just asked to use the shooting range for a bit, clear your head that way.” 

“Out here is better..” She plucks the carcasses out of the stream. “Go back to base without me, sir. I won’t be long.” 

He stands up with a grunt and places his hands on his hips, eyes scanning their surroundings. The safe zones outside the Fort were as safe as they could be - if the Federation keeps to their word. As nice as this patch of grassland was, it wasn’t as safe as his rookie would like to think.

“Like hell you are.” He tells her with a sigh, frown forming on his lips- she’s so fucking stubborn sometimes. “You’re lucky enough to catch game out here, but it’s gonna run out the longer you sit on your ass. Time to go.”

Lou doesn’t look his way- the scowl on her face is better hidden from his eyes as she works on wrapping old newspaper around the carcasses and places the bundles in a canvas bag.

And to be honest? She doesn’t want to go back anytime soon. Her heart aches to wander around the open fields a little bit more. To be able to feel like a girl once more, not the broken woman she was after ODIN, and certainly not the woman that’s training as a recon sniper, fighting to survive one more day and being trained by the blue eyed son of a bitch that called her a liability.

Fuck, she’s so pissed about that and him being here right now isn’t making it easier to not snap. 

“Just leave me alone.” She stands up and sweeps dirt off the knees of her pants. “Why do you care? I'll be back in an hour.”

He huffs and folds his arms, eyes glaze around their surroundings once more. “You're not making this easy.”

“A liability never does, sir.”

His eyes narrow at her, only to be received by defiance. But Keegan's eyes didn't hold any malice just irritation and maybe a tinge of confusion. He remembers what he said to her after their mission- the hurt on her face was enough to be seared into his memory.

A year since ODIN, a year of constant fighting. This war was expensive, tiring and a drain on resources. Keegan was tired- he’s been tired since Sand Viper. If it weren’t for the loyalty for his fellow marines and the entire Ghost Team, he would’ve packed up long ago. Move to the property in Missouri that’s been on his mind, and maybe even raise some chickens.  

But here is his little rookie, the woman who spent her childhood in drama school reciting Shakespeare and reading Classics like drinking water, a woman who could- with every chance she got, choose to leave when she could. But she didn’t. Elias told her that she'd make a recon sniper, and like a little puppy, she lapped up the compliment like canned wet food.

Keegan had never meant to hurt her the way he did. She could’ve lived a normal life again and yet- she’s here. 

His rookie.

One can’t help but shoulder the responsibility.

“Whatever you are, it's time to go back to base.” He turns to walk back in the direction of the fort, its walls safely within sight.

Lou was reluctant. She could follow- then again, she could turn in the other direction and walk further into the treeline. But when Keegan turns - she freezes, her mind fights to stay. 

“Come on, rookie.” He says to her, voice unexpectedly softer. “I'm not leaving you behind.”

He doesn't walk until she does. A couple of steps forward, a tentative gaze in his direction- he continues down the trail back to the fort with her in silence.

-End-

[stabbyfoxandrew]

omfg the mer au??! if I may request some more of it 🙇‍♀️🫶 so excited!

WIP Wednesday (5/1) | Mer Roadtrip AU (Part 2)

“We just had to nab the little bastard on the hottest day of the year.” Romero mutters, sounding as miserable as Nathaniel feels. Nathaniel thinks it serves him right, but doesn’t make it known. Instead he just slowly bounces his leg and tries not to let himself panic. Panic is useless. Especially when he’s already caught in a snare with nowhere to run.

-

For a while, the three of them sit in complete silence in the suffocating heat. Nathaniel has sweat dripping from every pore and he’d kill for a bottle of water. Of course, he’d never ask for it. His luck they’d produce a bottle of cyanide from under the seat and dare him to refuse it.

No, he tells himself. If they were going to kill him they’d have already done it. They’re taking him home like Lola said. And that means Nathan himself is waiting for him. God, the thought makes Nathaniel’s stomach roil. Or, maybe it’s heat sickness. He doubts it.

“Jesus Christ, I’ve got to roll the windows down at least. Get a little air moving in this bitch.” Romero says. It sounds like he’s making a statement, but really he’s asking permission from Satan’s favorite child. Because Lola is in charge here and all three of them know it.

“Just yours.” Lola says, waving her right hand, the one that's not on Nathaniel's wrist. “We’re fine back here, aren’t we Junior?”

Nathaniel nods obediently and Lola grins. Romero rolls down both the front windows, but it doesn’t help in the slightest. The car’s barely moved in the last five minutes and there’s not even the slightest hint of a breeze, so they’re just cooking this deathtrap of a sedan. And they will be for a long while, judging by the scene laid before him. Traffic around here is a nightmare on a good day, which today decidedly is not, and it’s bumper to bumper for what seems to be miles. They might as well be in a parking lot.

What an idiot Romero must be. Why he’d have chosen this road, which leads right into Los Angeles, is beyond Nathaniel. It makes no sense. It— Nathaniel glances at the dashboard where a GPS is shoddily mounted to the A/C vents. They're headed for the airport, which he figured, but... Oh.

Romero took a wrong turn, he bets. He was probably supposed to take Santa Monica Boulevard, not the freeway. Well, at least he hasn’t gotten any smarter since Nathaniel’s been away. That’s sort of reassuring.

“What are you smiling for, Nathaniel?”

Nathaniel wipes the grin off his face and clears his throat. “I’m just happy to see you, Lola. It’s been so long.”

“It has.” She says, leering at him like he’s a piece of meat. Her free hand grips the side of his face and turns him to look at her. “You’re all grown up now. You look just like your father, you know.”

“He really does," Romero says, looking into the rear view mirror. "It’s sorta eerie.”

“It’s not eerie, it's genetics,” Lola says, rolling her eyes. Then she finally releases Nathaniel’s face, he turns away from her to look out the window even though there’s nothing to see. Wait. Nathaniel’s eyes slide down to double check what he just saw.

The door isn’t locked. 

Maybe there’s a way out of this net after all.

[howtotwirlaknife22]

Broadway pt 1

A/N: it took me literally so long to write just the first part and for what. Laziness. That’s what. Anywayyyyyys I hope ya’ll like it hehe I spent months on this 🫶 the next part will be out at some point, so stay tuned!

❗️TW’s❗️: NSFW, cannon typical violence, descriptions of torture, descriptions of amputations, descriptions of bodily harm and injuries, descriptions of PTSD, some(?) inaccurate descriptions of military operations

Prologue:

🔞❗️NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MDNI BEYOND THIS POINT🔞❗️

“We touchdown in fifteen.” The pilot said, snapping her from her thoughts. She had been so in her mind the entire helo ride that she didn’t even realize they were almost to her new base. She looked out the window to her left and took in the broken terrain. The closer they got to fort Santa Monica, the more she could see the ruins of Los Angeles. The buildings once so full of life now toppled over onto each other and were slowly crumbling to dust. The earth had begun to retake itself, vines and flowers growing up on every surface that hadn’t yet fallen. Grass was growing through the cracks in the earth, and wildlife was freely roaming through the streets of what was once a bustling metro. She watched the ground below pass by as the helo inched closer to base, and she inhaled sharply through her nose, held it for a few beats, and let it out to try to calm her nerves. While she was excited about working with this new team, she couldn’t hide her anxiety. This was a big change compared to her previous squad, but she knew the captain had seen something special in her skill set to even recruit her onto such a team. Still, this was new territory and was going to be an adjustment. She had heard numerous stories of the men she was recruited to work with, and she could barely contain the sense of pride she felt when she learned they’d chosen her to work with them. She was determined to prove herself useful. As the helo approached the base, she could see the men and women on base hustling back and forth going about their day to day duties. Given the recent victory in the Atacama desert, the time for rest should be now. However, given the recent losses in the team and tensions with the federation escalating again, she had been tasked with assisting the team’s information tech specialist and picking up slack where it was needed. The pilot began descending to the landing pad, and amongst the bustling crowd of soldiers working to clear the area for the helo landing, she noticed tall and stocky man standing with his arms crossed in an open hangar. She couldn’t decipher his expression. He almost looked..tired?

“You nervous?” The crew chief asked, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“M-me?” She stuttered, caught off guard by his question. “No. No I'm fine.” The crew chief chuckled and shook his head.

“Maybe you should be. I heard this guy’s a real stickler. A ‘doesn’t take any bullshit’ type of guy. But hey, not my leadership. What do I know?” Hearing this, she cleared her throat and squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. The crew chief noticed the discomfort in her demeanor and smiled at her, giving her knee a quick tap with his gloves. “Hey, I’m just fucking with you. I’m sure he’ll get you situated nicely.” Hearing this, she piped up a little more, smiling thankfully at the man. “But the part about him being a stickler? That is true. I wouldn’t get on his bad side.” The man’s face hardened. Her lips drew into a straight line and she quietly muttered.

“Oh..okay. Gotcha. Thanks.” She smiled at him and the pilot simultaneously spoke with air traffic controllers over the comm lines. She couldn’t make out exactly what was being said, but she knew the drill. She reached out for her duffle bag and pulled it closer to her, preparing for landing as the helo slowly touched down onto the landing pad. Once they were cleared to exit their seats, the crew chief stood and reached for the door handle, slinging it open. She stood after him and threw her duffle over her shoulder, exiting the aircraft. Once her boots hit the hard concrete under her, she felt another tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see the crew chief nodding at her.

“Good luck!” He shouted over the sound of the propellers. She smiled and nodded back at him.

“Thanks!” She shouted back. The man pulled the door of the helo shut and with that, she watched the helo ascended into the sky once more. She gathered herself after watching it for a few beats and turned on her heels to march her way over towards her new captain. As she got closer, she could notice that the man was tall, yet stocky. He had a grey and white uniform on, and his beard had flecks of grey woven throughout it. He stood with his arms crossed across his chest, and his expression was a mix of exhaustion and stoicism. There was another man with him, and he was also tall, but this man had a more lean frame. A couple of scars littered his face, and he had just the slightest hint of a five o clock shadow. But the thing that caught her attention about this man was his icy blue stare that seemed to pierce straight through her as she approached. She finally made her way to them and stood at attention a few paces before the captain, saluting firmly. “Sir. Sergeant Rosalie, reporting as ordered.” His lip twitched ever so slightly, and she could feel the anxiety creeping up her spine. She wondered if she had already messed up her first meeting by messing up the proper greeting of her superior? The man finally spoke, his voice gruff.

“At ease.” He held out his hand and waited for her to shake it. She relaxed her body and reached her own out to shake his firmly. “Captain Merrick. This is Sergeant Russ. But we call him Keegan.” He said as they shook hands, gesturing to the man beside him. She extended her hand to shake Keegan’s, and he stared at her hand for a moment before he reached his hand out to shake. He seemed wary, like a wild animal reluctant to take kindness from humans. Merrick exhaled sharply through his nose. “So, you’re the one they call Broadway, huh? How in the hell did you get a callsign like that?” Broadway blinked slowly, taking in the question as she felt her face heating up in embarrassment.

“Ha..well, funny story sir-“ she was abruptly cut off by Merrick as he held up his hand to stop her sentence.

“If it’s a drawn out story then never mind. we need to get you acquainted with the rest of the team and settled in. Your first mission brief is at 0800 tomorrow morning. Keegan will show you to your bunk.” With that, Merrick turned on his heel and walked away from Broadway and Keegan. She blinked slowly, confused and a little embarrassed as to what just happened. Keegan took a step beside her, snapping her from her confusion. She turned and looked up at him, his piercing blue eyes burning holes into her.

“C’mon kid, let’s drop that bag off.” He began to walk away, leaving her and expecting her to follow. Broadway scrambled to pick up her duffle bag and threw it over her shoulder, jogging lightly to catch up to him. For every stride he made she had to make two extra to keep up. As they walked the base, she began to see the most recent devastations from the Atacama desert. They passed by the medical wing, and she could hear the agonizing screams of wounded patients. She could see bloodied and bandaged soldiers sitting on cots being treated by medical specialists. Some of the soldier’s eyes were filled with a dreadful expression, a glazed over, far off look in their eyes. Some had lost their limbs, others had lost their sight, and some looked to have been horribly disfigured by methods ranging from fire, acid, and even torture. Broadway had long forgotten about following after Keegan, and stood by the door of the medical wing frozen in place. She felt horrible for those suffering. She knew how it felt coming down from the adrenaline of the battlefield, as it wasn’t a feeling any soldier could easily shake, but she could never imagine the internal suffering a person goes through after such atrocities like losing a part of themselves, both physically and mentally. She was brought back into the present when she felt a hand clasp her shoulder firmly. “Move it. We don’t have all day.” Keegan grumbled, gesturing for her to come along. She turned back to the doorway as she readjusted her duffle bag on her shoulder, and a nurse who noticed her staring quickly left her patient to slam the door to the medical wing shut. Broadway took that as her sign to leave quickly. As she caught back up with Keegan, she noticed the other soldiers who walked the corridors. Those lucky enough to come out of the battle uninjured had hardened expressions, some even sporting scars on their face and neck similar to Keegan. Each one walked with a powerful step, with their heads high and a mission in mind. She admired their confidence. When Keegan stopped, he typed a code into a door and opened it, nodding for her to enter. She smiled politely and nodded back, entering the room and looking around. The room was small, and plain, but it would do the trick for now. As she dropped her duffle bag to the floor, she turned around to thank Keegan, only to yelp when she noticed him standing inches away from her. She hadn’t even noticed him move. She gulped and stared up at him.

“Ha…sorry..you scared me for a sec there.” She said as she nervously rubbed the back of her neck. Keegan narrowed his eyes and scanned over her with them.

“Brief is at 0800 tomorrow. I would advise you not to be late. And I would also advise you get some shut eye, you’re gonna need it.” He gave her a small smirk, and with that he turned on his heel, leaving her in her empty and cold room. She stared at the door, then quickly walked over to close it. She turned back and took in the empty room once more. She sighed quietly and made her way to the bunk, sitting on the less than comfortable mattress and slowly stripping her boots off her body. She pulled her legs up and let her body relax into the mattress. She sighed and stared up at the ceiling, her mind racing with a million different thoughts as sleep slowly took over her body.

[karin-gespenst]

dear Fred,

we Love you. All of us have noticed how you go above and beyond for other people and it is admirable.

Many years ago you were a boy in Poplar, no shoes, but with the spirit for getting things done. Your childhood showed you what you wanted for your own family: stability. It wasn't always easy, but your girls knew you would be there for them.

Then you were sent to war. right into the danger and awfulness that got so many people killed. you knew your family back home was not safe. you must have missed each other so much!

then losing your beloved wife, that shock is still felt today. a single father in uniform, trusting family to keep your children alive. Your girls were extremely happy when you could finally come home and you were together again. Making ends meet is hard for many people in Poplar and you got very good at finding new ideas all the time to bring in some money or make a trade. People trust you, they count on you because you have shown your skill and your good heart many times.

Your girls grew up, and you became a granddad. One of the best things in life and you adore those littleuns! Shame that they're so far away most of the time. But you found things to do and people to look after. You offered help to friends and strangers alike and that's why the Nonnatuns know you'll always be their hero.

Serving the community in any way you can, with the CVC, or as Santa's helper, on the stage and behind it, Fred Buckle is known as the man you need.

You found love again, a woman who is as steadfast and as deeply rooted in the East End as you are. Together you cared for so many different people, from all walks of life. You gave Reggie a new home and made sure he could find his way and thrive. Vi and you together are what we call a power couple, a pair who gets things done and mountains moved. And through all of the days and changes you remain on the ground, literally, planting and digging and building and harvesting. Sharing. You will never be a rich man if you can help it because you'd rather give everything away than leave someone without.

You saw so many cubs grow into decent ment with a sense of pride in their skills and in working together towards a goal. On many occasions it was you who coaxed Sister Monica Joan out of her spells of confusion and darkness. When Tom became widowed you held him and made sure he was as clean shaven as Barbara liked him to be.

You are exceedingly friend-shaped and a fabolous dancer, you can teach driving as well as reading maps and we know the borough would have fallen into chaos if you had not fixed all the bikes and tables and contraptions and doors and even more bikes.

Fred Buckle, you've earned your cheerful musical theme and long may it sound while you grace our screens with your presence!

[fanterfane]

E-Boy Exodus! (Patreon Request)

Patreon Sketch Request for SnufferinSnagglepuss! Kaetaro Californication!! A poor isolated east coast boy never stood a chance once he stepped out onto that coast. Never before had he experienced a place where he could truly be himself without having to worry about what other people thought. He was happier than he'd ever been in his entire life. However, just how quickly he mentally betrayed his original place of origin was mortifying beyond belief. At least he can blame it on that damn suntan lotion speaking corrupting him, just like all the other poor boys that tasted the sun kissed sands of Santa Monica! It's the cursed suntan oil speaking still... right? I spent 20$ on 4 bottles of water in Santa Monica when I was there. It was great. :p

[mariacallous]

The Los Angeles fires are already one of the most devastating disasters in California—and national—history. Fanned by high winds and fed by a prolonged drought, the blazes rapidly spread across thousands of acres in the nearby Santa Monica Mountains and into several neighborhoods. More than a week since the fires erupted, they have destroyed at least 5,000 homes and countless other structures, in addition to causing numerous deaths, evacuations, and other impacts. Costs are ballooning, with initial estimates reaching $50 billion or more—nearly five times the cost of the largest wildfire ever previously recorded. 

While the visible destruction to homes, businesses, and livelihoods has understandably garnered most of the attention, the fires are also a reminder of the struggles to recognize and reinvest in the country’s water infrastructure.  

Typically out of sight and out of mind before any disaster hits, the plants, pipes, reservoirs, and other systems responsible for treating, moving, and storing water are facing a variety of threats in Los Angeles and beyond. Immediate challenges became evident from a lack of water to help combat the rapidly spreading fires, with dry hydrants, depleted storage tanks, and drained reservoirs struggling to keep up. The Los Angeles Department of Water and Power (DWP)—the primary utility responsible for overseeing this infrastructure—faces soaring demand yet has few resources to respond, financially or otherwise. And these short-term impacts do not begin to touch all the long-term concerns around water quality and supply likely to emerge from the wildfire’s various byproducts and contamination.   

As frustration and confusion mount alongside the fire’s damage, the finger-pointing has already started. The state has launched investigations into the fire’s cause, including the dry hydrants. Private lawsuits are hitting the DWP. And pundits and policymakers, including President-elect Donald Trump, are pushing different claims (and falsehoods) about the region’s water resources. 

But the ultimate reality facing Los Angeles and the DWP—similar to many other communities and water utilities nationally—is one of underrecognized and underinvested infrastructure.  

The city’s existing water infrastructure faced an impossible expectation—and task—as the historic fire spread. While Los Angeles has endured recent droughts and dry vegetation helped ignite the fire, water supply was not as much an issue as the infrastructure’s underlying design and function. The hydrants, pipes, and other systems were built to service ordinary residential, commercial, and industrial customers—not to combat unprecedented wildfires or other disasters. Simply operating and maintaining these systems represents a formidable challenge for utilities such as the DWP, which provides 163 billion gallons of water across 739,000 service connections annually. 

Whether during a disaster or normal operating conditions, the DWP and other utilities too easily get ignored or blamed by policymakers, residents, and other stakeholders amid a lack of sustained, proactive investment to manage existing and evolving infrastructure needs. Nationally, more than $744 billion is needed to address all the various drinking water and wastewater improvements over the next two decades, from fixing leaking pipes to upgrading treatment plants. Los Angeles is just one piece in that complicated puzzle. Local utilities tend to not only be the primary owners and operators of all this infrastructure, but also the primary investors, responsible for more than three-quarters of all public water spending each year despite often lacking durable and predictable customer revenue, state support, and federal funding. When combined with increasingly extreme impacts fueled by climate change (including wildfires), these investment needs are only increasing over time. 

Rather than being used to cast blame at underequipped and overwhelmed utilities, disasters such as the Los Angeles fires should serve as a rallying cry to get ahead of these infrastructure challenges. Federal, state, and local leaders need to prioritize the immediate wildfire response and recovery, but they have a collective need—and opportunity—to ensure existing systems offer safe, reliable water service at all times, not just during a crisis. This takes additional money, of course; federal funding from the Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act (IIJA) needs to play a key role, especially by targeting investments in more climate-resilient upgrades. More innovative and flexible financing at a state and local level geared toward these upgrades matters too. But meeting this need also requires more comprehensive regional planning, data collection, and capacity-building (e.g., staffing and technical knowledge) around evolving climate threats. 

Improving water infrastructure alone will not prevent or solve disasters like the Los Angeles fires. And no single actor or action will solve all of Los Angeles’ or the country’s water infrastructure challenges overnight. But repeated disasters—from the Los Angeles fires to past tragedies such as Hurricane Katrina—serve as continued reminders of the need for proactive water infrastructure planning and investment. Doing so will not only help limit future devastation, but also support improved environmental and economic outcomes over time.  

[germanpostwarmodern]

At 95 Frank Gehry still works on his trademark buildings that made him world famous. But at the beginning of his career it were his houses that actually put him on the map of critics, future clients and an interested audience. In his houses he brought to bear the assemblage character that for quite some time characterized his work. Gehry experimented with forms and materials and once admitted that Robert Rauschenberg had a major influence on his houses.

Mildred Friedman, who has frequently discussed and commented on Gehry’s work, in 2009 published „Frank Gehry: The Houses“ with Rizzoli which still is the most comprehensive publication on this aspect of the architect’s vast oeuvre. For the book Friedman selected 21 of Gehry’s houses designed in the 1960s to late 1980s and thus mainly designs conceived without the help of CAD. The selection starts off with Gehry’s own house in Santa Monica and continues with well-known examples like the Davis Residence, the Spiller House or the Norton House. In browsing the book one realizes that only one of the houses is located outside of California, namely the Winston Guest House in Wayzata, Minnesota. Each of the houses is presented in numerous photographs, drawings and plans that offer valuable information beyond the undeniable visual appeal. A neat book!