#but they are nowhere to be found. driving me nuts

[californiaquail]

dug through everything trying to find my little command hooks and poster putty and those seem to have vanished into the ether but what i did wind up doing was digging my impulse purchased pair of snaffle reins out and oiling those with my beautifully scented leather conditioner that they dont make anymore and made myself sad lol

[staygolden-and-chaotic]

Dating Curly Shepard headcannon

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• softie behind closed doors and only with you.

•Curly would make you feel untouchable. No one would dare mess with you because everyone knows that if they crossed you, they’d have to deal with him. He’s quick to throw fists if anyone disrespects you, even if it lands him in trouble.

• Forget candlelit dinners dating Curly means joyrides in stolen cars, sneaking into drive ins, or climbing onto rooftops to watch the stars. He’s spontaneous and loves the thrill of breaking the rules.

• Curly’s cocky, but he’s also funny as hell. He teases you constantly, and you give it right back to him. The back and forth is one of the things he loves most about you he’d never date someone who couldn’t keep up with his sharp tongue.

• beneath all of that reputation, Curly’s a one women guy. If you’re with him, he is all in. He may not say it outright, but his actions, like skipping out with the gang just to see you speaks volumes.

• Curly’s temper flares up easily, and arguments can get heated. He’s not great with words when he’s angry, so you’d have to learn to stand your ground without letting things spiral. But he always comes back, apologetic in his own way, like showing up at your window with a stolen bouquet.

• Dating Curly means being dragged into his chaotic world of fights, police chases, and the unpredictable life of a hood. He’d always try to keep you safe, but it’s hard to avoid the drama when you’re with him.

• Curly doesn’t like it when other guys so much as looks at you. He’d never blame you, he knows you’re hot and that would spark guys attention. That doesn’t mean he won’t throw down though.

• Late at night, when it’s just the two of you, Curly lets his guard down. He’d tell you about his dreams, his frustrations, and his desire to prove himself beyond being “Tim’s little brother.” These moments of vulnerability remind you that there’s more to him than his tough exterior.

• Curly might not be the flowers and candy type, but he’d do little things to show he cares like leaving his jacket with you when it’s cold or carving your initials into his switchblade handle or even when your still hungry when you go out to eat together, he’ll push his plate to you without a word.

• No matter what, Curly’s in your corner. If anyone ever doubted you, he’d be the first to stand up for you, yelling, “They don’t know who they’re talkin’ to!”

• His sister Angela loves you. She doesn’t have many girls to hang out with and she usually can’t stand Curly relationships. That is until she meets you. Curly loves that his sister loves you.

• Tim at first never gave you a second glance. That was until he realized curly was head over heels for you. When he found out his brother was in his first serious relationship. He started to care for you in his own way. Like telling the gang to watch over you when him and Curly wasn’t around or making sure you got walked home every night.

• Curly’s hot headed nature means fights can get intense, but they’re never one sided. He loves that you can match his energy and won’t back down. After a heated argument, he’d be the guy to storm off, only to show up 30 minutes later, out of breath, apologizing in his awkward way. He’d say something like, “You drive me nuts, but I ain’t going nowhere.”

• Making up after a fight with Curly is electric. He doesn’t hold grudges when it comes to you, and his apologies are heartfelt, even if they’re clumsy. Expect kisses that leave you breathless and a cheeky “You’re lucky I’m crazy about you” thrown in for good measure.

• Your the couple that would be fighting so hard one minute and then be having a hardcore make out the next.

• Curly’s not I’m gonna buy you flowers 24/7 kinda guy, but he has his own way of showing love. He’d drag you to an abandoned field to teach you how to throw punches (because “You gotta know how to defend yourself”), or he’d steal your favorite candy from the corner store and toss it in your lap with a smirk.

• Curly’s the type to give you his jacket, not just because you’re cold but because he wants everyone to know you’re his girl. He’d also tell every greaser within a mile, “You mess with her, you mess with me,” just loud enough for you to hear.”

• Once you’re with Curly, the Shepard gang becomes like a second family. Tim would give you his signature intimidating once over before smirking and saying, “Guess you’re stuck with him now.” The other gang members would treat you like one of their own, always looking out for you in Curly’s absence.

• Being with Curly means you’re pulled into the chaos of gang life. Whether it’s patching him up after a brawl or helping him hide from the cops, you’re his partner in crime. He’d tease you about how “bad” you’ve become, but he secretly loves that you’re down for the ride.

•Curly’s a guy who doesn’t say “I love you” often, but he doesn’t need to. He shows it in the way he’s always by your side, whether it’s standing behind you in a confrontation or staying up all night when you’re upset, even if he’s dead tired.

• Your family doesn’t hate Curly. Do they think you can do better absolutely, but deep down they know Curly is a good kid who’d do anything for you. They can see the way Curly looks at you.

• The first time Curly was gonna meet your parents YOU WHERE TREMBLING. Curly put on his best outfit he could find, that didn’t have any holes any it. He was well mannered and shy. Even you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

• Your parents heart melted. It was secretly an eye opener to not judge someone so quickly. Once you told them who you where spending your time with they did there own research and wasn’t happy. They realized that he had a huge police record, was in fights constantly, was hot head and had a mouth. They where shook when they saw this shy boy who even said “excuse me m’am” to your mom for accidentally bumping into her. GURL YOU WHERE SHOOK.

• Once in a while, Curly would surprise you with a soft gesture that completely catches you off guard. He’d scrawl your name in the dirt with his pocketknife, leave a messy note in your locker (“You’re cute, and your boobs look hot in that shirt”), or actually stay out of trouble just to spend more time with you.

• Curly doesn’t talk about the future often, but when he does, it’s always got you in it. He might joke about running away together, finding some place where the world doesn’t feel so heavy. “Someday, babe, I’ll get us outta here. You’ll see.”

• Curly’s not perfect, but his love is fierce, raw, and unwavering. You’d be his girl through all the ups and downs, the chaos and the quiet, because at the end of the day, he knows he doesn’t need anything else as long as he has you.

[multifandomdummie]

Do you think that Nami calls them by their full name when she is at the merge of madness because she is angry? Like full mom mode?

Let's say Luffy, Usopp and Chopper are running and playing around while Nami is trying to draw a map with the coordinates she meassure in the island they were leaving and needs to be focused and in silence so she can do it properly, but the three boys outside would not make this task easy.

Even though she is trying to be patience and ignoring the disaster they are doing outside, her last straw comes when something (or someone) collide with the wall of her workshop, making her go nuts.

Nami slams the door, creating an environment full of tension, the first person she sees is poor little Chopper, her eyes red as the blood she is craving, Usoppo hides behind Luffy who's just watching silently and she goes

- Tony Tony Chopper - with a voice that will give nightmares to the reindeer, he lower his ears in sign that he is, infact, scared - I swear to God I will make a stew out of you - Nami starts to move towards Chopper

- Im sorry, Nami - Chopper apologizes with tears in his eyes - I will stay quite - Nami doesn't look like she will hear his apologies

The next thing Chopper sees is the shadow of a santoryu swordsman over his head, Zoro lands just in front of him, headband and everything.

- not with the child, witch - Zoro's eyes darkens, ready to go feral if necessary, he wont allow Nami to touch Chopper

Sanji appears out of nowhere standing in front of Nami, his left foot on fire

- you wont touch Nami-swan - the aura of death increases - this will be a bath of blood, marimo - the cook announce

- bring it on, ero cook- zoro thigtens the grip on his jaw.

When the two are ready to fight a pair of hands appear out of nowhere, suggesting Robin is nearby

- Oi, Oi - Franky gets in the middle of Sanji and Zoro - you guys promised not to fight in my ship anymore - The cyborg crosses his arms - it won't be suuuper nice if you break that promise or dirt the ship with a bath of blood - the swordsman decides to relax as Sanji lowers his leg and the fire is gone

- cooker-san - Robin's voice become present - would you make a cup of tea for me and Nami? - the woman spoke nicely

- sure, Robin - chwan - the curly eyebrows boy already forgot about the marimo and his stupidity - anything for you, two - he says as he rushes to the kitchen to place the kettle in the fire

- let's head to the kitchen, navigator- san - Robin grab Nami for the shoulders - that way you can relax

- they drive me crazy, Robin - the redhead complained, recieving a little smile and "I know, I know" back from the black haired woman.

- Chopper, let's go - Zoro turned around, founding a little Chopper tearing uncontrollably.

- Zoro - Chopper yelled as he rush to the swordsman arms, who picked him up - I was really affraid, Nami is scary - the reindeer complained, choking with his tears

- I know, buddy - Zoro started to climb to the crownest with Chopper holding him tight - but that witch won't hurt you if I'm here - the marimo said as the little one continue to cry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°°°°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don't know I kind of think this has happend at least twice a day since, you know, this guys are really chaotic and I love them for that.

This is definetely her face and aura when this happens

[blackllghtshadow]

Power the Machine (Part one)

Hey, sorry for disappearing for some time, but I'm back with full force and as promised I wrote about Karl, hope you like it <3

Warning: Violence, cursing, mention of fatal fate, anger.

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You worked for Karl Heisenberg, though you usually called him “Magnet” because of his powers. Your days were simple enough: wake up, have breakfast, walk around the factory, help Karl with the machinery, and, if you were lucky, step outside to gaze at the sun—or, as you liked to call it, “making yourself blind.”

You never liked the outside world, which was why you chose to stay in the factory. It spared you from thinking about your unhealthy relationship with mechanical things. You swore you were cursed—any time you worked on a machine alone, it either broke down or completely shut off. Karl found your misfortune endlessly amusing.

Today was one of those days. Karl was out at a “family” meeting, leaving you alone in the factory.

“Damn it!”

You screamed in frustration for what felt like the two hundredth time. You’d been working on a small cleaning machine to help with the dust everywhere, but as always, problems piled up. First, you’d cut your palm on the blade underneath the machine. Then you lost a screw. And to top it all off, the factory’s electricity decided to malfunction.

“I swear, if this keeps up, I’m never getting out of bed again,” you muttered to yourself, your voice echoing in the empty space. You were alone, after all. Honestly, you needed a break—your frustration was driving you nuts. And it wasn’t like you could go cry to Karl about it since he was away.

After another twenty minutes of getting nowhere, you gave up and wobbled to your room, deciding to sleep off your frustration.

You blinked awake, groggy but a bit calmer—until you saw Karl’s hammer hovering above you, about to slam down on your head.

“Fuck no!”

You screamed, rolling out of bed and hitting the floor just as the hammer crashed onto your bed, breaking it in two. The hammer floated ominously, swinging like it had a mind of its own. But you knew exactly who was behind this.

“Fuck you, Karl,” you grumbled, standing up and brushing the dust off your clothes. Storming out of your room, you made a beeline for Karl’s office, determined to make him pay for nearly killing you and destroying your favorite place to rest.

You slammed his door open, ready to unleash hell.

“Karl, you piece of shit!”

You screamed at the man, who wasn’t even paying attention. Annoyed by his indifference, you grabbed a screwdriver lying nearby and stabbed him in the shoulder with it.

“Y/N, what the fuck?!” Karl roared, shoving you away, his tone laced with anger.

Blinded by your fury, you lunged to stab him again, but he was quicker this time, using his powers to fling the screwdriver out of your hand. Undeterred, you jumped at him with fists flying. He blocked every punch, which only added to your frustration. Desperate, you aimed a kick at his groin, but he shifted just in time, making you hit his thigh instead. Before you could regain your footing, he trapped your leg between his.

Now off-balance, you had to grab onto him, wrapping your arms around his torso to avoid falling flat on your face.

“What the fuck is right, Karl!” you growled. “You destroyed my room!”

Karl growled right back.

“You destroy my factory every damn day, and I don’t go around stabbing you for it!”

You paused because… well, he wasn’t wrong. But you weren’t about to admit it. You started squirming, trying to free your leg, but Karl kept it pinned, clearly enjoying your struggle.

“Let me go, you asshole!” you shouted, smacking your palm against his chest repeatedly. When that didn’t work, you resorted to pinching his nipple and twisting it hard.

Karl howled in pain then shoved you back with enough force to send you stumbling a few steps. He clutched his chest where you’d inflicted your very justified revenge.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he snapped, glaring at you as if you were the unreasonable one in this situation.

“Oh, I don’t know, Karl,” you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe it’s the fact that you tried to crush me with your giant freaking hammer? Or maybe it’s because my bed is now a pile of rubble! Take your pick!”

Karl rolled his eyes like you were being dramatic. “I wasn’t actually trying to crush you,” he muttered, straightening up.

“Oh, well, that makes it so much better,” you retorted, throwing your hands in the air. “Next time, just say you’re summoning me instead of trying to turn me into factory paste!”

Karl gave you a lopsided grin—the kind that said he knew exactly how much he was irritating you and enjoyed every second of it. “What’s the fun in that? I figured this would wake you up quicker.”

“Wake me up quicker?!” You were practically foaming at the mouth now. “Karl, I’m going to—”

“Relax, will you? You’re fine. Aren’t you?” He gestured to you dismissively, as if nearly killing you was a minor inconvenience.

You glared at him, hands clenching into fists. “Oh, I’m fine all right. Fine enough to kick your ass.”

Karl laughed, loud and hearty, like you’d just told the funniest joke he’d heard all week. “Kick my ass? Sure, sweetheart. I’d like to see you try.”

You didn’t need more of an invitation. Fueled by your rage, you lunged at him again, this time aiming for his smug face. Karl caught your wrist mid-air, holding it with ease like you were a misbehaving child.

“You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that,” he said, his voice taking on a mocking, almost paternal tone. “But you’re gonna need a lot more than that to take me down.”

You gritted your teeth, twisting in his grip. “Let me go, Magnet, or I swear—”

“What? You’ll scream at me some more? Maybe try to stab me again? Face it, Y/N—you’re all bark and no bite.”

Something about his tone, that mix of smugness and amusement, made your blood boil. Without thinking, you lifted your free hand and slapped him across the face. Hard.

The sound echoed through the room, and for a moment, both of you froze.

Karl slowly turned his head back to look at you, his expression shifting from shock to something much darker. His lips curled into a wicked grin, and his eyes gleamed with a dangerous glint.

“Bad move,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

Before you could respond, Karl tightened his grip on your wrist and yanked you forward, spinning you around so your back was pressed against his chest. He trapped your arms at your sides, holding you firmly in place.

“Let me go, you overgrown magnet!” you hissed, thrashing against him.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest behind you. “Not until you calm down, sweetheart. You’ve caused enough damage for one day.”

“You’re the one who broke my bed!”

“And you’re the one who stabbed me!”

You opened your mouth to retort but quickly realized you didn’t have much of an argument there. Instead, you let out a frustrated growl and stomped on his foot as hard as you could.

Karl flinched but didn’t let go. “Nice try, but it’s gonna take more than that to shake me off.”

You stopped struggling for a moment, breathing hard, and craned your neck to glare up at him. “I hate you.”

He smirked, leaning closer until his lips were near your ear. “No, you don’t.”

That smug bastard.

[bwwhitney]

I got sidetracked while I was looking for my top posts of 2023.

I found this fascinating in a self absorbed kind of way. It is entirely possible that nobody else will be interested, but since this is my blog, I'll post whatever I like.

My first original post was on May 7, 2012

And since then I have made 3723 original posts.

My most popular post, by far, is this video:

I had to delete it a few years ago because the stream of notes was driving me nuts. This was before we could mute things like that. I'm not going to say how many notes, as that is not the point of this exercise. What I would like to know though, is what is it that people find so appealing about this? After all as someone pointed out, I have a leaking gutter.

I have the same question with the rest of the photos on this list. I know why I took them, but why are these popular when others are not?

Over the years I've posted a number of photos and videos of the very photogenic river behind my house.

This one makes me think of @mojo5050 , who unfortunately hasn't been active here in quite some time. It is nowhere near as good as their work, but I figure if I keep practicing maybe someday ...

This one brings to mind the Queen of the Enchanted Forest, who, also no longer active here, is greatly missed.

I'd go back to Wales in a New York Minute.

Happy New Year everyone.

[iustitians]

ooc; assorted small Neuvillette headcanons

Various little stuff that's fun to talk about but wouldn't really fit anywhere else.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Neuvillette has the entire legal codex of Fontaine memorized. If you call him to recite a specific point from a specific article in a specific law on the spot, he will.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

The game never gives us a word for the thingies on his head, which drives me nuts, but oh well. Most often I will refer to them as his horns, but people are welcome to call them feelers, sensors, tentacles or whatever. In any case, they are not decorations, but rather parts of his body. He is very much not fond of people touching them, and since it’s a known fact in Fontaine, it’s generally seen as a show of blatant disrespect, even though he never bothered to make it against the law in spite of people’s expectations. To be honest, Neuvillette is not used to most forms of physical contact in general.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Neuvillette does not need his cane for walking, it’s first and foremost his catalyst. If he does walk with it - which he does often, out of habit - he usually defaults to supporting his right side, but he’s not consistent.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

The game never tells us where Neuvillette lives, which I choose to interpret as being because the general Fontaine populace doesn’t know either; given they don’t even know his name, it fits. Because of that I believe personally that he does not live in Palais Mermonia. My own headcanon for it is that his “home” would be deep at the bottom of the ocean, somewhere far beyond human reach, and possibly locked away in a personal domain, because I imagine he can create those.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

In his first century as Iudex, Neuvillette did in fact survive several assassination attempts. Fontaine was very unstable and volatile after the Cataclysm and the death of Egeria, and had to undergo a process of major reform and change. As such, many did not take kindly to this stranger from nowhere coming in to immediately take one of the highest positions in the land without even having to try for it. A few times, someone was able to sneak firearms into the courtroom and shoot at him during a trial; he either was missed or shielded himself on time, but at least once he was hit – only to immediately heal himself on the spot much to everyone’s shock. On one occasion a letter containing a small explosive also came to his office; the public never found out about that one, but clearly, it must have failed. Between all those unsuccessful attempts, the resulting strengthening of security measures, and finally the attitude of Fontainians towards him changing, the assassination attempts eventually came to an end. If someone still tries to plot something nowadays, it’s usually uncovered at the planning stage and never gets far.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

The game jokes about this once, but I believe that Neuvillette does, in fact, hoard a few types of “treasure” in a proper stereotypical dragon fashion - though his definition of the word would be different from what most would expect.

He has three main types of “hoard”:

Firstly, as a matter of a little personal whimsy, he likes collecting Lumitoile. He's a bit particular with it though - he will only pick up ones he finds dead, refusing to take their lives for the sake of his collection, or throw living creatures into a hobby stash. Using his powers, he preserves them and collects them in his domain.

The second type of hoard was initiated by his daughters – they introduced him into their “currency” system, and he wound up with a small pile of mechanical tokens as a result. He would be happy to simply give those to the Melusines, but they insist on being fair with him, something he naturally appreciates being who he is, and so he engages in trade with them, if only for their enjoyment.

And finally, he has ended up with a collection of various small memorabilia and mementos left behind or given to him by the many, many people he has worked with over the years. He continues to add on to it to this day, and in this way, even as all those people pass on and leave him behind, he has something left of them. Every item has a person and a story attached to it, and he recalls every single one without fail.

[dearabby1990]

Chapter 36: Forever & a day

The drive back to yours felt longer then usual you dozed off sometime during the drive only to be woken up by the car hitting an odd amount of bumps in the road. You don’t remember there being many potholes on the way home from previous drives around town. You slowly raise your head to look out the window & take in your surroundings noticing you’re nowhere near home with the amount of trees you see & the dirt road you’re currently cruising down. “Uh Gareth where the hell are we going?.. what happened you finally got sick of me now you’re gonna murder me or something ahaha” trying to make light of what’s happening because you’re extremely confused “No Jame I’m not gonna murder you ya nut hahahaha it’s a surprise though & I’m not allowed to say but I will tell you that you’re gonna love it & that’s all I’m saying & nothing more” you start to get excited but still have that nervous feeling twisting around in gut like a swarm of butterflies claimed shelter inside of you. Gareth makes a sharp right down a small dirt trail & you start to realize you’re near you & eddies special spot it’s in the woods near the school but also close enough to the lake & then you see it. The twinkling of fairy lights & the burning of several candles & there he stands next to the table your love dressed so handsomely. Hair done to perfection a maroon button up black slacks new black converse & two bouquets of flowers with a million dollar smile. Gareth turns his head to you & takes your hand for a moment “Jame we’ve been friends since we were literally in diapers & me & Eddie are best friends blood buddies hellfire for life, you’ve both had a hell of a ride so far in life & there’s no two other people I root for then you & Ed. You both deserve to be happy & I’m glad you both found that in each other now that being said go get your man & thanks for being the best sister figure I could ever ask for” your eyes fill with tears you peck him on the cheek “thank you for always being so sweet & supportive Gareth you have no idea how much me & Eddie appreciate you truly” one more peck & you hop out of the car & run into Eddie’s arms. You take in his cologne the smell invading your senses like a drug you just can’t get enough of “hey princess” Eddie whispers as he rubs small circle on your back “hello handsome” he leans back to take you in & hands you flowers “I know you love lily’s I just wasn’t sure what kind & I want this to be perfect & I wa-“ you cut him off in a kiss feeling him smile against your lips “Eddie they’re beautiful & I love all Lily’s this is perfect” you sway side to side holding them & smelling each of them & look up through your lashes at him as he gestures for you to sit at you & his special table all decorated & a picnic basket filled with foods that look like he made himself “Wayne helped with the food a bit I didn’t wanna burn the trailer down” he said chuckling putting everything on the table “Ed’s is all perfect thank you pretty boy” his cheeks a shade of red you’ve never seen before he takes out a bottle of wine “it’s a special occasion & I know you love your moscato” he pours you both a glass & you both sit & enjoy the chicken cacciatore that Wayne & Eddie made which is absolutely delicious not to mention Wayne made your favorite dessert peanut butter cake with chocolate buttercream after you made it for him once you gave him the recipe with promises not to share with a soul because it came from your mom’s cookbook she handmade you when you were 12. She was very family oriented & wanted me to have every family recipe for when she was no longer here. You still wonder what the special occasion is but don’t wanna push it you here funny noises coming through the trees it scares you at first until you notice Jeff Gareth & Freak come from the shadows with some of their band gear & then see Dustin Mike & Lucas. “Hey guys oh my I haven’t seen you boys in awhile you run up hugging the younger ones before heading back to Eddie. “love what’s going on?..” he smiles at you “you’ll see beautiful just you take a seat we got the rest”

The younger bunch came with wood pallets in hand making a mini makeshift stage for the boys to set up on Eddie sneaking glances at you shooting winks or blowing you kisses when you catch him. You sit patiently kicking your feet as you sit on the bench dustin comes & plops down next to you. “Uh yah know.. I know you haven’t been a part of our party very long but regardless you’ve been one of the best parts of it & we’re all so glad to have you, you’re like the sister we all so desperately wished for im an only child so all you’ve done for me.. for all of us I just wanted to say thanks & that we all love ya” you hug him tightly “what’s with today is this make Jamie cry day haha I love you guys too” he goes to leave but you grab his wrist & pull him towards you to whisper “just so you know you’re my favorite don’t tell anyone” you wink at him & he gives you that Henderson megawatt smile & heads off toward the guys. The guys are all set & Eddie grabs the wireless mic “Tonight is gonna be one for the books not just for corroded coffin but for me & this beautiful vixen right here I love you sweetheart & hope to spend the rest of my life showing just how much I truly do so this is for you” Eddie’s fingers start to glide across the strings as they begin playing “Heaven” by Warrant your heart clenches eyes filling with tears he doesn’t take his eyes off of you until he feels the lyrics closing his eyes pouring his soul into it like the most perfect work of Art 🎼”I don’t need to be the king of the world as long as I’m a hero of this little girl… Heaven isn’t too far away… Closer to it everyday…No matter what your friends might say… How I love the way you move.. & the sparkle in your eyes… There’s a color deep inside them like blue suburban sky.. When I come home late at night And you're in bed asleep I wrap my arms around you So I can feel you breathe… I don’t need to be a Superman.. As long as you will always be my biggest fan… Heaven isn’t too far away… Closer to it everyday!!.. No matter what your friends might say… We’ll find our way!!��🎼 totally captivated by him as he by you the song starts to dwindle down & Eddie clears his throat before stepping closer to where you’re sitting “Sweetheart I just want you to know that everyday with you is like heaven, you have no idea how much light you’ve shined on my dark & twisted life. Before you I never believed in love or soulmates or any of that shit but the moment I laid eyes on you it was electrifying I just can’t explain it it’s like the voice in my head was just telling me to look over where you were & I felt this pull a magnetic energy drawing me towards you & then the first time I got to kiss you I knew for sure my soul found so desperately what it was looking for I’ve been with girls before you & none of them have made me feel the way you do. I feel like we’re destined for each other like we had one another in another life or time or space. Being with you feels like home to me you are home & if I didn’t have you I just know I wouldn’t be able to survive it my heart is yours eternally & what I wanted to ask is if you’ll have me for the rest of our lives” you’re hysterical shaking & sobbing Eddie steps off the pallets & kneels down on one knee in front of you “Ed’s?” He takes your hand all the boys are standing behind Eddie dustin & Lucas are crying & you hear a sniffle from behind you only to see Steve,Robin, Nancy & Jonathan smiling at the both of you “You’re it for me there’s no where else I’d rather be then wrapped up in you grow old with you our souls finally intertwined in the way the universe intended… Jamie Antoinette Baker.. would you do me the honor of being my wife?” Your breath hitches & you nod like a mad woman “YES!!” He quickly slides the ring onto your finger & engulfs you into a hug spinning you around to the point you start feeling dizzy. Everyone around you yelling & whistling. Dustin is full on sobbing along with Robin being surrounded by all your favorite faces the people you now call family life is starting to become something you’ve never thought it’d be

[wreckmetoji]

Zero to Sixty

 A fic in which the persistent man frequenting your diner takes you on a drive

↳ Nicholas D. Wolfwood/Transmasc!Reader 

content warning. transmasc!reader, streetracerAU!Wolfwood, profanity, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, soft wolfwood, i want him to put his fingers in my mouth

i saw a tiktok of a guy drift racing and his user was nicholas. literally what do you want from me

minors DNI

9.9k words

Late night shifts sucked.

It was a mutual understanding that in any backwash shithole town, anything opened past eight at night was only ever populated by the occasional insomniac or rebellious group of high–schoolers that think they're cool for drinking lukewarm black coffee. Not exactly favorable when your wage completely depended on tips, but you had to make the best of it. You were new at the diner, fresh meat, so of course they'd give you the shifts no one wanted. A few more weeks of this and you should be in the clear, but the struggle was even making it that far on pennies and pocket change.

A less than favorable position to be in, not knowing that your pockets would have run dry halfway through your venture to the coast, but this was merely a bump in the road that was your grand adventure to broaden your horizons. Or at least that's what you tried to tell yourself.

So here you were. Staring in the face of a middle aged burnout diner "chef" telling you he didn't want to actually cook anything past a certain time despite the fact you were both scheduled to close. Useless fucker.

With a shake of your head, an obvious roll of your eyes, you reached down to the rows of coffee stained mugs resting ugly and chipped against the back counter. Taking the rag over your shoulder, you decided you'd at least try to look busy just in case anyone actually came in on a Tuesday at ten pm. Unlikely, but you weren't about to get an earful from a gaggle of particularly mean old women again.

The end of your shift was just around the corner– your useless chef counterpart having already left for the evening. He wasn't interested in staying if there weren't any tips to pool. Nut up and be a man, he said, you're capable of handling yourself, kid. If you were in his position you might leave all the same, but it didn't irritate you any less that he even had that option, or that you just weren't confrontational enough to tear into him for leaving you alone in the middle of fucking nowhere to close a diner you've been working at for less than two weeks.

Deft fingers worked at the cash register, clicking the archaic buttons with animated ticks and chimes, before a set of blinding headlights pulled into the parking lot. You narrowed your eyes, inquisitive as the car pulled up close to the front door, obscured by the partially closed blinds. The headlights shut off, and the sound of a car door opening and closing made your mind jog back into action.

Shit. You forgot to lock the front door.

Worn out sneakers slid against the cracked tile below, scurrying over to the door in an attempt to reach it before this enigmatic stranger could beat you to the punch, even if it meant tripping over yourself in the process. It seemed that whatever deity was in charge of your fate was feeling cruel this evening, as the moment your fingertips ghosted over the cool steel lock, the door was being pushed open with a chime.

What an awkward situation you've managed to wedge yourself in, you think, swallowing thick as you stare up at the tall man that was stepped halfway through the door, brow arched in a silent inquiry. He was broad shouldered, leather jacket half unzipped revealing an unprecedented amount of enticing pectoral cleavage with how low cut his white v-neck shirt was.

"Uh... you open?" He asked, voice gruff around the edges like it was strained. You weren't sure if it was the trance you'd found yourself in watching the slight sway of his rosary when he shifted, or because you once again realized you wouldn't ever be able to stand up for yourself even if you tried, but you simply found yourself gaping for a beat or two.

"Yeah, we're... I mean– I was just closing up, but–"

"Great," The man interrupted, pushing through the threshold of the door completely and making his way over to one of the split leather barstools. Your eyes narrowed at his air of arrogance and had half a mind to tell him to scram. Or at least you'd like to.

Huffing out a sigh, you rolled your eyes for the nth time that evening, rounding your way around the stretched out bar countertop to stand face to face. Now that you got a better look at him, he was...moderately handsome. The scruff on his chin added some kind of rugged allure to the entire bad boy ensemble he seemed to have going on. Though maybe that was just the small-town fever talking. The lack of eye-candy in this place was a cardinal sin.

"A menu?" He asked, and you had to repress another eye roll as you steeled yourself for the headache of a conversation you were about to have.

"If you haven't noticed, the cook has left for the evening," You explain with much more patience than you felt brewing inside, but it was quickly whittled away by the aggravating arch of the stranger's brow and the curl at the corners of his lips. "So you can choose between pre-frozen pies, two hour old coffee, or milk that expires tomorrow. Other than that, you're shit outta luck."

Sure, part of you should probably be putting a little more care into the first conversation you've had with a person outside of your coworkers today, and probably the only chance you were going to get at receiving a tip, but you'd trade freedom for a couple of dollars in your pocket.

Lucky you, this enigmatic stranger seemed to have some sense of humor, the smug smirk on his face growing marginally as he leans back in the creaky barstool. 

"'Yer really sellin' me on the two hour old coffee," He mused, hand patting against the countertop twice before leaning back in. "I'll take one of those."

With a tight lipped smile, you gave a quick nod, turning on your heel and reached for the pot of coffee you had yet to dump out for the evening, noting that the machine wasn't even on by this point. You couldn't remember exactly when you had shut it off, but surely the coffee itself was less than lukewarm by this point. Part of you wondered if you should turn on the warm function for even just a minute or two, but that meant you had to be here a minute or two longer than completely necessary. He was the one that decided to come in two minutes from closing, after all, so he can deal with ice cold coffee. 

Grabbing a mug, you set it on the counter with a frustrated and ungraceful clink, filling it up nearly to the rim with what was left in the coffee pot. Turning back to the man at the bar, you were in absolute shock and awe to see him cupping his hands in front of his face, in the middle of sparking up a cigarette. It took you a beat or two to wonder if he really had the audacity, and wonder what fucking era this idiot was from. 

"You do know it's not the eighties anymore, right?" You spoke incredulously, fingers still wrapped around the handle of the mug. The look he gave you was inquisitive, like he didn't quite understand what you were referring to, before he was tucking the zippo back into his leather jacket pocket. With a scoff, you decided to pick your battles for the evening, setting the mug down in front of him, some of the contents splashing over the rim and splattering the otherwise clean countertop. You weren't getting paid enough to argue with some smug asshole about smoking indoors when you were already supposed to be locked up for the night and on your way home.

"So," He began, words muffled around the cigarette between his lips, "Haven't seen you 'round here before. New to town?" Lithe fingers reached up, trapping the cigarette between his index and middle finger, inhaling deep before pulling it from his mouth. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't a little attractive, but again, that was probably the small-town fever getting to you again. 

"More like passing through," You explained, eyes locked onto the motion of the man's free hand reaching for his coffee, lifting the rim of the mug up to his lips. Glancing away, you decided to busy yourself with reorganizing mugs on the counter that were already in perfect order. He seemed to catch this too, the subtle smirk not quite obscured by the ceramic.

"Mm, passin' through, huh?" He inquired, surely a rhetorical question, before taking a slow sip. Lowering the mug, he delicately placed it on the counter, fixing you with a look you couldn't quite decipher. "Ain't exactly a pleasant place for someone like you to be making a pit-stop in, let alone stop to make a few bucks."

You could feel your brows crease at his words, eyeing him with a guarded expression. Taking a moment or two to gather your wandering thoughts and racing heart, you decided to deflect the statement, try to let it roll off your back, but something told you this guy was a lot more perceptive than he let on. 

"Yeah... The city is more my style," You said, voice sounding more tense than you wanted it to. Not that it mattered, considering the look he was giving you from under his brow told you that you were both aware of the real reason.

"You seem like a city boy," He played along, something you were moderately thankful for, even if his comment did seem somewhat backhanded at first. "Too pretty for a place like this."

His elaboration made you reel for a moment, a befuddled expression on your face as you blinked dumbly at him. His face was neutral, eyes trained on you as he brought his cigarette up to his lips again, as if he was expecting you to say something in return. When you didn't, he gave a shrug of his shoulders, exhaling deep, plume of smoke curling and twisting in the space between you. With a small wave of your hand, you cleared the smoke from your face, shooting him a less than amused expression before rolling your eyes and busying yourself with your closing procedures again. A tense silence fell over you as you worked at the register- though the ambiguous man seemed unbothered by your outwardly guarded demeanor, shoulders slack, forearms leaning on the countertop as he indulged in his coffee and cigarette. When you noticed it burning dangerously low, you found yourself sliding an empty mug in his direction, wanting to avoid him potentially putting it out on the counter. Not that it really would have mattered, considering it was already riddled with cracks and holes, but you had some sort of integrity with keeping the place as clean as you could. He gave you a nod in thanks, stubbing it out at the bottom of the cup.

Just as you had finished counting the bills in the register, you saw him stand out of the corner of your eye. Upon glancing over, you could see him fishing his wallet out of his back pocket, flipping through some bills. 

"Oh-" You called out, earning a quick glance in your direction. "Uh... Don't worry about it, I've already counted the register so... It'd just complicate things. It's only a buck 'n a half anyways." With a wave of your hand to emphasize your intentions, he stood in place for a beat longer. 

"If you say so," He shrugged, tucking his wallet back into his pocket. "I'll never say no to free coffee."

"I'm sure it was awful anyways," You joked, the barest of smiles curling at your lips for the first time since he walked through those doors. He snorted in response, tipping his head and shrugging. 

"Wasn't horrible, as far as two-hour old coffee goes."

Shaking your head in response, you found yourself huffing a small amused laugh, removing the half-apron tied around your waist and tossing it beside the register. You watched him shift in the corner of your vision, though he didn't move to leave right away, instead standing in place and glancing out the half-obscured windows towards the parking lot. 

"Didn't see another car in the lot," He mentions, and you could already tell where this was going. "Need a ride home?"

You huffed a laugh again, though this time more sardonic, shooting him a disbelieving expression. He seemed nice enough, but you'd rather be overly cautious than dead in a ditch somewhere.

"No, I'm good. I don't take rides from strangers that barge in two minutes to closing," You stated, leaving no room for discussion on the matter just in case he decided to be pushy. He only smirked. 

"Damn, should've come in a minute earlier," He teased stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets as he gave you a quick once-over. When you didn't concede, he took a slow breath in, then nodded, taking a step and a half back towards the door. "Alright then, city-boy. If you insist." Taking another step back, he gave a wave of his hand, pulling the door open with a chime and retreating towards the parking lot. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, an unexpectedly amused smile on your features. Perhaps it was because everyone seemed so standoffish to you thus far, so having someone engage in a conversation with you was a nice change, even if he was a bit odd in a way you couldn't quite place. 

With a heavy sigh, you went to clean up the little mess that was made. You were shocked to see a twenty dollar bill sitting on the counter, no doubt left behind by your local enigmatic stranger, making you hum out a small noise of intrigue. you stuffed it into your pocket before tossing out the stubbed out cigarette and washing both mugs by hand. You took your time, considering you were already forced to stay nearly a half hour past your shift, it really didn't matter. You wiped the counters, swept up the floors, didn't bother mopping for a second time, though tried your best to make it at least look presentable. Well... as presentable as this diner *could* be. Shutting off all the lights, you padded your way over to the door with a resigned sigh, pulling it open with a chime. You were immediately met with a car in the lot just a few spaces away from the front door, driver's side window rolled down to reveal the same man patiently waiting, eyes closed and arms lounged back behind his head. You immediately considered heading back inside and exiting through the back, but you supposed if he was going to murder you, he probably would've been a little more alert. And, admittedly, you were intrigued as to why he'd decided to nap for a half hour in the diner parking lot. 

Keeping him in your peripherals, you locked up the door, the resounding click seeming to stir him from relaxation. You glanced up just in time to see him stretch an arm out, resting one wrist on the wheel, the other half hanging out the window. He shot you a knowing expression, lips curled in a smug smirk, obviously finding some amusement in your puzzled and cautious disposition. Brows furrowed, keys clenched tightly in your hand, you stepped away from the door and headed across the parking lot- opposite to where the man was parked. What you didn't catch was his surprised expression, the fumble of his keys being pulled out of the ignition, and his haste to open the car door and approach you.

"Hey, y'know you don't have to be so stubborn," He called out, not even shutting the driver's door behind him as he took long strides to meet your pace.

"I already told you I'm not taking a ride from a stranger," You say pointedly, glancing up at him in the corner of your eye. Though you couldn't deduce exactly why, you stilled to a halt, taking in how his pace met yours exactly, staying a few steps away so as to not seem intimidating. "Listen, I appreciate it, really, but... Stranger danger, 'n all that."

You were expecting him to have some kind of negative reaction, at least in your previous experiences, and gripped your keys a little tighter inside your jacket pocket. Instead, he seemed to huff an amused breath, stuffing a hand in his jacket pocket, that unfortunately familiar smirk curling at the corners of his lips once again as he holds out his other hand.

"Name's Wolfwood," He says, catching you off guard for a moment, "Nicholas D. Wolfwood." 

Even though you were aware of exactly what he was doing, and the fact he was even being cheeky about it, you couldn't help but find it somewhat charming. Endearing, even, if you were to use the term loosely. That much was obvious in your immediate reaction, consisting of a sigh and a small smile, disbelieving but bemused nonetheless. Your eyes glance up, catching his umber gaze in a more personal connection. His smirk spread, widening slightly, seeming to think that he had won you over. 

"It was nice meeting you, Nicholas," You say softly, leaving him stupefied in place as you spun on your heel and walked. You felt a little better about the encounter, now knowing now he was just an idiot with no negative intentions. 

"What's your name?" He called out, not seeming to follow after you as he'd already done, and instead letting you go your separate ways for the time being. You scoffed, unbeknownst to him, unbelieving and amused by the audacious personality of this enigmatic man.

"Guess you'll have to find out," You say over your shoulder, never once stopping your confident strides down the sidewalk, leaving him standing in place.

Sure, it may have been uncommon for the townsfolk here to even approach you, let alone leave exuberant tips and offer friendly rides home after your shift, but you had a feeling men like Wolfwood just liked testing the waters, dipping their toe in, see what they can get away with. He didn't necessarily seem bad, but more bad news. You've had your fair share of run-ins with people that held themselves the same way Wolfwood did, knowing that leaving them in the dust would shake them off. Guys like Wolfwood didn't take kindly to rejection.

Or, at least you thought.

It turns out Nicholas D. Wolfwood was more tenacious than you had originally anticipated. It had been a few days, granted, but you didn't expect his familiar sun-kissed face pushing through the creaky door of the diner in broad daylight halfway through your shift so many days later. Your conversation was brief, something along the lines of guess you can't get enough of me. He didn't agree nor disagree, only smirked and asked if he could actually see a menu this time. You obliged with a tight smile, mostly leaving himself to his devices after you had taken his order and promptly delivered his food. For once, you actually had other customers to attend to. 

Perhaps tenacious wasn't the correct word, you thought to yourself upon seeing the stack of bills just a little too great to simply pay for a meal in the place he had been sitting, now occupied by empty space and even emptier silence. Presumptuous, you think with a huff of amusement, arching your brows at the torn piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it resting at the bottom of the stack of bills. Your eyes dart up to the door, briefly scanning over the parking lot- for what, you aren't quite willing to admit- before shaking your head. Flipping the paper over in your fingers, you roll your eyes, crumpling it up and tossing it in the receipts bin beneath the register.

This seemed to be your routine, one you became quite familiar with much to your chagrin. At some point you began to take it with a spoonful of sugar, because hey, at least Wolfwood was a half decent conversationalist, and he left you more than decent tips. At some point he had become comfortable enough to reach over the counter and tuck the folded bills into the pocket of your half-apron, shooting you a much too casual wink. His excuse was he didn't want any of it to go to the unenthusiastic chef, but you pondered the credibility of that statement considering his behavior thus far. 

In his time frequenting the diner, you found out Wolfwood enjoyed cars. You could have assumed that much, considering you had gotten a couple glimpses at the one he drove a few times now, and although it was old it was in undeniably good condition. Sleek, black, shiny enough you could probably see your reflection in it if you got close enough. You'd never had much of an interest, favoring other hobbies that didn't revolve around toxic masculinity quite to that extent, but on a particularly slow day you humored him. 

"So. Cars," You sigh, leaning over the counter with your arms crossed, eyes drooping from the double shift of constantly being on your feet. Anything that paid the bills, even if you were mentally and physically exhausted.

Wolfwood hummed behind his mug of warm coffee, umber eyes peering at you over the rim of his tinted sunglasses. Resting the ceramic down, there was an amused smile tugging at his lips. "Mhm. Cars," He says in return, being smart about the fact he knew you had no idea what to even begin talking about on the subject. You scoffed, knowing he wasn't going to simply talk about something unless provoked, and even then it was a tossup. Touché.

"So... is it just, like, a hobby?" You inquire, holding your hand out, palm to the sky, as if emphasizing your question, hoping he would elaborate further past your question. Luck seemed to be in your cards, earning a shift in his expression as he glanced off, pondering his answer. 

"More like a job."

"So you're a mechanic or something?" You sound unconvinced, taking in his appearance. You had never seen him dirtied up, covered in oil, and you don't want to stop and think about why your jaw tightened and your gut clenched at the visual in your head. 

"Not really," Is all he settles on, lifting the mug back up to his lips, maintaining eye contact as he takes an awfully smug sip of his drink.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as your hand falls back to the countertop. After his first few times coming in, you felt much more comfortable giving him glimpses outside of your attempt at a customer service, well-mannered mien. He seemed to enjoy your attitude, or at the very least be amused by it.

"Well then what do you do, exactly?" You crack, pushing yourself from leaning, palms curled around the edge of the countertop. The hum of florescent overhead lights occupied the empty space, the tick of the wall clock reminding you how close you were to nightly freedom once again. 

"I keep tryin' to show you," Wolfwood muses with a shrug, "You're the one bein' stubborn."

He doesn't have to elaborate for you to understand what he's talking about, considering you couldn't count on both hands how many times he had offered to drive you home from work. By this point, you thought of it more a battle of wits than anything. A game, or maybe an ongoing joke that was going on just a little too long, toeing the line between a joke and being a serious proposition. You breathed in deep, heaving out a heavy sigh as you locked eyes, neither willing to be the one that cracked and looked away first. Rolling your tongue over the back of your teeth, you raise a brow, forcing the knowing smirk down the longer you stared. 

You wouldn't admit it, but you'd come to... somewhat enjoy his presence around your otherwise dull work. Enjoy him.

He was quick to catch the crack in your façade, a dent in the armor you had built around yourself so well that had kept him out until this point. So, Wolfwood smiles, leaning back in his barstool, and straightens his back. He looks just as confident as he did every time, and maybe it was because your feet were sore and your calves ached from standing all day, but you had already made your mind up before the question even came out of his mouth. 

"So. Want a ride home?" 

The exhaustion from the day must have caught up to you with the way you smiled, the way you breathed out an airy little laugh as you hung your head, shaking it more so at your inability to stick to your guns rather than his continuous insistence. 

"God," You sigh out, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His expression was unchanging, cocky and confident as it was every time, but you both knew he had you this time. "Fine. Yeah, fine. You can drive me home."

You had been half expecting a celebratory cheer, or at the very least some snide comment along the lines of took you long enough. Instead, he simply gave a nod, reaching into his back pocket to procure his wallet, flipping through some bills. He knew the drill by now- knew that the coffee was free so close to closing, knew that you wouldn't want to mess up counting the register, but he always felt the need to toss a twenty on the counter as he stood. Today was no different, and you couldn't help but be a little perplexed by it. He got what he wanted, why was he still trying?

"See you in a bit, pretty boy," Wolfwood mused, reaching over the counter to grip your jaw between his thumb and forefinger. It was a fleeting touch, calloused fingertips sliding away just as quickly as they had landed there, and you could only watch him leave with red-faced bewilderment before losing sight of him once he exited through the front door. You gaped, lips parting momentarily, before clamping your jaw shut and shaking your head, taking the half-drank coffee over to the small sink and washing it by hand. 

The entire fifteen minutes of your closing procedures felt like tooo long and not long enough, anticipation and anxieties clawing at your throat as you swept and mopped the cracked tile floor. God, why did you agree to this? What if he was some murderous psycho killer? What if he was some creep stalker that just wanted to know where you lived? Thoughts rolled over you in waves, drowning out rational thinking and leaving wake for a dry throat and heart palpitations. Your hands shook as you tugged the front door open with a ding, eyes quick to land on the all too familiar black car parked a few spaces down from the front door. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, you turned in place and locked up, steeling yourself with a deep breath as you shoved your hands into your pockets.

By the time you had turned around again, Wolfwood was leaning over the passenger seat, cigarette hung loosely between his lips as he gives a light shove, pushing the door open enough for you to let yourself in once you look the car. Perhaps it was you postponing the inevitable, dragging it out as long as you could, but you found your gaze roving over the sleek black paint. With the neon shine of the diner sign, you could indeed see your reflection in the paint. A white stripe ran down the expanse of the car just above the chrome trim, the letters G.T 350 scrawled in bold between the small gap. A chrome snake was stamped on the side, and your steps slowed to read the bold chrome COBRA underneath before finally circling the front and getting to the passenger door. 

It was low, low enough that even you had to duck a bit to climb in, settling into your seat awkwardly as you carefully pulled the door shut behind you. Knowing nothing about cars, there wasn't much you could comment on, although a quick glance around could tell you this was far from stock. Metal arches encased the two front seats, the back seats completely removed to make way for a welded metal box, obscuring your view of what lay behind it. Hanging from the mirror was a rosary, mahogany wooden beads dangling low, cross still swaying back and forth from the motion of you entering the car.

Wolfwood was patient, an amused smirk slightly shielded by the fingers clasped around his cigarette. He watched you, watched you take in your surroundings, the confusion evident on your face as you peered at the metal bars running through both the front and the back of the car. You were at a lack of words, both from the nerves and the lack of knowledge, so all you did was vaguely gesture to a couple of the bars running overhead. 

"Roll cage," He said smoothly. As if you knew what that was.

"Address?" A simple question, but something about the nonchalant way he said it had you questioning why he was so eager to drive you home in the first place. When you blurt out the street name and number, he seems to pause in thought, humming a low sound. "Alright."

He motioned to your seatbelt, and with an unamused arched brow, you were quick to note that he most certainly wasn't wearing his own. You give him a once over, eyes raking over his relaxed posture and casual demeanor. That at least put some of your anxieties at ease. Reaching up over your shoulder, you grip the seatbelt, pulling it over your body and pushing it into place with an exaggerated force, locking eyes with him as it clicked. All he did was snicker, turning the key in the ignition as the car rumbled to life.

It was a muscle car, an old one, and despite not knowing anything about them, you could tell from the purr and rumble it was tinkered with, yet in immaculate condition. It didn't sound standard, but what did you know?

"How good are you with speed?" Was the question that broke the silence, urging you to glance up at him with a perplexed expression.

"Thought you'd wanna take your sweet time now that you finally got me in here," You sass back.

He smirks, hand on the stick shift– next to which sat some kind of lever– putting the car in reverse as he slung his arm around your seat, peering back over his shoulder, backing out of the space. It was for show, you know it was, considering there wasn't a single other car in the lot for him to look out for. "Oh, I'm gonna. But that doesn't answer my question."

A statement as bold as it was confusing. You were certain you must have looked stupid as your gaze trails from his face, down to the hand he'd placed back on the gear shift, then out the windshield. The car rolled forwards, slow and steady, only fueling the disconcerting feeling that began to settle in the pit of your stomach. Seeming to sense your unease, his hand moved, clapping against your knee twice as he fixed you with probably the most genuine expression you've received in the entire time knowing him. It was softer around the edges, kind in a way you couldn't quite describe, and in that moment you knew you could trust him with... whatever it was he was trying to get at.

"I... guess I'm fine with it?"

"You don't sound too sure 'bout that."

"I'm fine with it," You corrected, settling back into the seat as his hand moves to clasp at the glasses sat on the bridge of his hooked nose. Removing them, he folded one side in, tucking them in the low cut of his v-neck shirt, before adjusting himself in his seat.

"Alright," He chuckles, sounding a bit too smug for your liking. "If you need to hold on, there's a bar."

With a brief motion of his hand, your eyes follow, looking at the piss poor excuse for a handle hanging flimsy just above the door. Simply due to nerves you were tempted to preemptively grab on, unsure of what exactly he had in store for this simple drive. The other, more rational, part of your brain won through for once, telling you the chances of him putting you in immediate peril were slim to none, considering his car would also be victim to any catastrophe that may occur.

The car pulled out from the lot, cruising down the street– the opposite direction of your house, you might add– at a disappointingly average speed. With the way he had been talking, half of you had expected him to floor it right from the get-go. Brows furrowed, eyes on the road, your hand that had subconsciously reached up and gripped the seatbelt loosened, falling into your lap. It took a minute or two to get off the side streets, the car rolling up to the last red light in town before they began to wind through the mountain loop roads. Motion in your peripherals catches your attention, and you were familiar enough with Wolfwood to recognize it as him reaching for the pack of cigarettes he kept in the inner pocket of his jacket. The spark of a lighter made your ears perk up, cherry burning red, blending with the traffic light bathing the two of you. 

Tension eased from your shoulders, the scent familiar. You found yourself inhaling deep, heaving a soft sigh, gaze flickering out the passenger side window to see the last sparse buildings on the edge of town. Wolfwood spoke, though in your moment of serenity you hadn't heard exactly what he said. Before you could turn your head, or hum the inquisitive noise rising up in your chest, the red surrounded you turned green, and your back was slamming into the seat behind you. 

Squealing tires and the smell of burning rubber overloaded your senses as Wolfwood accelerated, car flying past what little there was of town and headed off towards the mountains. Voice caught in your throat, one hand shot up to grasp at the seatbelt, the other grabbing at the flimsy handle above the door. The closer you came to the bend, the further your heart crept into your throat, and the speed in which you were going, you knew he most certainly wouldn't make a successful turn. You closed your eyes, braced for impact, but the squeal of tires gripping the road was the only thing you heard, and your shoulder colliding with the side of the door was the only thing you felt. 

Momentarily winded- from the shock more than the impact- your eyes shot open, desperately clinging to reason and safety. You watched the car skid around the corner, eyes shooting down to the movement of Wolfwood's hand push the e-brake back down and reach towards the gear shift again. The increasing speed was slightly more gradual this time- slightly- giving you a mere second to catch your breath and gasp for air, unknowing to your exclaimed Jesus fuck! Wolfwood barked a laugh, finding amusement in your adrenaline fueled terror. Capable hand swerved the wheel, steadying out the tires on the road as you approached the next curve. 

It was a constant state of fight or flight, though freeze seemed to be your body's most preferred reaction, save the white knuckle grip tightening on both the hand bar and your seatbelt. Every slide around every corner, every acceleration that sent your body back in your seat, had your stomach and heart doing flips. At some point, though you couldn't pinpoint when, sheer terror had turned into something a little more fuzzy, a little more addicting. There was still a spark of fear in your eyes, but more overwhelmingly there was intrigue, excitement. 

"There it is!" Wolfwood exclaimed over the rev of the engine, the screaming tires, and before you could think better of it, you braved a look at him. Umber eyes were glancing at you in his peripherals, brows pinched in cocky triumph. What he was so pleased about, you couldn't say, but the look in his eye alone had you trembling in your seat.

Both of his hands were steadied on the wheel, one for control and one for stability, before his hand shot down to the brake again, pulling up and sliding the car around another tight corner. More than a couple times as the car slid, you thought your door was going to collide with the rocky mountainside or slide into a ditch, but he always managed to keep it steady, keep it smooth, and suddenly you understood how cars weren't exactly a hobby for him. 

Reaching the peak of the mountain, Wolfwood flicked at the stick shift, slowing the car to a reasonable speed before pulling onto the shoulder, the purr and rumble of the engine filling the space  your labored breaths didn't occupy. You were shaking, trembling like a leaf, adrenaline coursing through your veins as your hands slowly and hesitantly released their respective grounding purchase. Perhaps it was the last vestiges of fear that had you unbuckling your seatbelt, pushing your door open, swinging your shaky legs out as you struggled to rise to your feet. You didn't close the door behind you, instead taking a few steps over to the metal meridian at the mountainside, hands clamping around the cool metal to help hold you up. 

Your ears were filled with the chirp of crickets, the idle rumble of the car behind you, and a sharp, pitchy ring. Taking deep breaths, you willed your heart to calm, though your body was slow to follow behind. Your mind trailed back, the way your stomach flipped over every hill, around every corner, Wolfwood's capable hands keeping the both of you on the precipice of something much more dangerous. Oh God, the way his fingers curled around the wheel, the way they engulfed the shift stick, that look in his eye when you let yourself freefall and embraced the feeling.

Crunching gravel grabbed your attention, wide eyes trailing up from toe to head, locking eyes with Wolfwood as he stood beside you. One of his hands was in his pocket, the other pinching his half-finished cigarette between his middle and forefinger, chest rising as he inhaled deep. You found yourself mimicking the motion, breathing in deep with him, holding it for a moment. His brow raised, barely perceptible, tipping his head as he inched a step closer. He reached out, cigarette burning low between his fingers as he offered it to you. 

You didn't smoke, not past a social puff or two when drinking, but you found your hand reaching up to accept anyways. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the idea of having your lips around something that had previously been between his. 

Only when your fingers were a mere scant inch away from accepting, he pulled it back, gaze unwavering as he stared at you, into you, eyes roving over your face, then your body. You could only watch with rapt attention as he placed it back between his lips, inhaling deep again. This time it seemed deliberate, seemed focused, anticipation rising up your throat as he took another step into you. The free hand tucked into his pocket slid from its place, bridging the small gap between you by cupping your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks and coaxing you to open up. 

"C'mere," He murmured, trails of smoke spilling from the corners of his lips as he leaned down. Your eyes fluttered, lips parted, and in that moment with your heart still racing and your body still vibrating, he could ask you to do anything and you would without question. 

Smoke filled your senses as he pursed his lips, blowing into you, filling your lungs and your nose and your mind with everything that was Nicholas D. Wolfwood. You breathed in, the second-hand smoke burning your lungs before he closed the distance, chapped lips locking with your own. 

He tasted like coffee and cigarettes, something that would normally make you recoil, but you found yourself melting into it, legs wobbling for a completely different reason now. A noise bubbled up in your throat, soft and airy and light, as you exhaled through your nose. Smoke curled around the two of you in an intimate dance, wisps dancing and dissolving into thin air before your gaze fluttered shut completely, letting yourself freefall for the second time that night.

Hands reached out, both yours and his, yours clasping in the thick leather of his jacket lapels and clenching tight, willing him to step closer, press into you, consume you whole. He was already a step ahead of you, flicking his cigarette into the gravel before an arm came to curl around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. The calloused fingers digging into your jaw and cheeks pried a little harder, keeping you open and pliant as he pushed his tongue into your mouth, flicking against your own with a kind of expertise that made your stomach flip. A soft, airy noise passed your lips at the intrusion, one of your hands shifting up, desperate for purchase, something to ground you. It settled on cupping the back of his neck, fingertips carding through the short dark tresses there.

You felt your legs shake, felt your knees threaten to give out from under you when his arm encasing your waist shifted down, strong hand taking a fistful of the meat on your hip and tugging you into the line of his body. The small, surprised little noise you emitted must have amused him, feeling his lips curl at the corners before he pulled away a scant inch, tongue slow to return back between his lips. 

"Fuck you taste good," He purrs, thumb sliding down from your cheek to press into the plush of your bottom lip, pushing so the tip of his nail tapped against your teeth. You had half a mind to part your lips for him, let him probe, encourage him. And you did, kind of, parted your lips imperceptibly, jaw hanging open enough for him to fit the tip of his thumb between your teeth, only for you to gently clamp down. It was cheeky, teasing, half-mast gaze staring up at him through your lashes. The hum he emitted was pleased, yet intrigued. Using the leverage of the thumb between your teeth, he hooked his index finger under your chin and tipped your head back, leaning again.  

It was a strange sensation, the possessive nature of his grip mixed with the soft of his lips against the corner of your mouth trailing down, the scratch of his stubble sending a shiver from head to toe. Your eyelids flutter, unfocused as you stare up at the clear starry sky above, fingers winding tighter in the back of Wolfwood's hair. He returned the action with a nip at your jaw, canines sinking into your skin enough to make it sting, eliciting a gasp from you. Ever the opportunist, his thumb probed further, pressing the pad into the center of your tongue. His mouth worked back up, warm words falling on deaf ears as he breathes against you, into you, sealing his lips over yours again in a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than lips. 

He must have felt your legs shake, the weight of you leaning into him for support, because the hand squeezing at your hip moved down, passing the swell of your ass and cupping your upper thigh, coaxing you to wrap your leg around him. You oblige this time, though end up gasping into his greedy mouth when he displays effortless strength in hiking you up, winding your legs around his hips, and resting you down against the metal meridian overlooking the cliffside. 

The press of him against you, the solid plane of his chest bumping against yours, the half-hard tent in his pants you nearly mistook for a belt buckle pressing into your lower stomach, a rumbled out groan coming from between his lips when your legs wound around him tighter, pulling him more firmly against you.

"Shit," He murmured against your lips between heated kisses, "Y'er eager, huh?"

Normally your first instinct would be to knock him down a peg or two if he sounded so cocky, but the aftershocks of adrenaline were coursing hot through your body, leaving wake for burning desire you'd been pushing down for far too long just to seem like you had the upper hand. You nodded, humming a noise of affirmation, tapering off into something a little filthier when you felt the roll of his hips, angling his hips down. When you moaned low, that seemed to be enough to kick him into action. 

Both hands slung under your thighs, tugging you close and pulling you up, carrying you back towards his car. Your heart thudded in your chest, anxiety rising like bile in your throat at what was to come, unsure how exactly you could bring up something so detrimental this far in. That, coupled with the tender squeeze of your heart when his hand cupped the back of your head, protecting it from potentially getting bumped against the arch of the door while he climbed in with you in his lap, had you second guessing your own hubris of flying so close to the sun.

"Relax," Wolfwood said low, seeming to catch your sudden unease. Feeling brave, you glanced up to meet his gaze. 

His eyes were dark, umber brown blown wide, nearly black, and despite him looking like he was ready to eat you alive, there was a kindness swimming behind it all. So, when he spoke low, an intimate husky timbre, you believed him. "Don't gotta do anything you don't wanna do. Jus' tell me." 

Only managing a nod, he mirrored the action, fingers trailing from their position at the top of your head and gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He was slow to pull you in again, as if he was waiting for protest. When he wasn't met with any, he indulged, though a little less messy and a little less hungry. This time, he worked you open, eased you into it, placed both of his hands on either of your knees straddling his lap and palmed upwards. The touch had you sinking, tension easing from your body as you lowered yourself more firmly into his lap. You were met with the hardness straining against his dark jeans, the zipper pressing up between the apex of your thighs. You moaned, small and hesitant, and he nipped your lip, a silent command to not hold yourself back. 

One of his hands shifted up, ghosting higher between your legs, and suddenly your nerves came to a tipping point. Eyes clenched shut, brows furrowed, you feel the heat of his hand pressing up against your pelvis.

"Nick-" You gape, sucking a sharp breath between clenched teeth, preparing for the worst. There was a pause in the pressure of his touch when he clearly didn't find what he was looking for, a falter, and you were ready to stumble out and run before his touch glided down, two fingers pressing firm against the crease in your jeans. Your hips kicked, a gasp ripped from your throat when his fingers probed a little harder, cunt leaking from months of neglect. His movements were smooth, languid, urging your thighs apart just a fraction wider as his touch grew more bold.

He hummed an appreciative noise, tongue passing over your jaw, then biting down, his touch working in small circles. "Keepin' secrets from me, pretty boy?" 

His lack of negative reaction had your heart soaring, nerves dissipating in an instant. You must have looked surprised, stunned in the moment, because he huffed an amused breath against your warmed skin while his hands worked at the button of your pants. Feeling the need to clear the air, ask your questions, your lips parted, question hanging on the tip of your tongue, only to have the hand delving into the front of your pants punching the air from your lungs, winding you. 

A deep, gravelly groan- something more akin to a growl- came from the depths of his chest when he felt the patch of wet in the crotch of your underwear. "So fuckin' eager," He mouthed against your cheek, swiping a stripe down, then up, hand coming up high enough to slip beneath the band and work his way back down. You could barely breathe, skillful hands working your stiffened clit between his index and middle finger. It was too much, yet too little at the same time, hips bucking into the touch desperately seeking more friction, more fullness.

Hazy eyes cracked open just in time to catch the shift of his free hand running over his own pants while he worked you so expertly, the heel of his palm dragging hard against the defined line straining against dark washed denim. Despite the confidence in his demeanor, he looked messy, hair tousled and lips parted, eyes trained on you with a sense of reverence that made you whimper. You watched his jaw tighten, watched the tendons in his neck flex when his fingers trailed low, catching on your weeping entrance. He was met with eager compliance, sliding your hips forwards on his lap, sending you leaning back against the steering wheel, inadvertently causing his fingers to dip deeper. 

You were wet, impossibly so, head tipping back and eyes sliding shut as Wolfwood worked deeper, caressing the spongy spot inside you with effortless ease, like he knew exactly where to touch you and how. The pitchy noises falling from your lips had him humming low, adjusting in his seat to push his hips forward, fingers stroking faster, curling. 

"Shit. Fuck. Up," You heard him mutter, though gave you no time to process the request before his fingers slipped out of you. You jolt, whining petulantly, only to have both of his hands grabbing at your ass and hiking you up. You complied, thighs burning at the angle you were kneeled at, hips arched, sun-kissed fingers curling into the band of your pants and underwear, sliding down. 

It was clumsy, clumsier than you'd like to admit, sliding them down to your knees just far enough to reveal the slick sticking to your thighs. You kept your ass up, hips arched, as Wolfwood fumbled with his own belt. You found it endearing in some way, how his fingers slipped a couple times taking out the prong, pulling with a hurried impatience. He didn't even bother undoing it all the way, working his button and zipper quickly after. 

You nearly sputtered when he hiked his pants down to sit at his mid-thigh, cock standing proud between you with a silent intimidation with the size and girth. It wasn't completely insane, but considering you'd had nothing but a humble vibrator and your own fingers for a good hot minute, it had your cheeks warming with anxious anticipation. This made him chuckle, cocky and gravelly and deep, but you couldn't find it in yourself to snap something back at him. 

A hand on your hip urged you to settle back into his lap, shuffling a bit to find a better angle. You tucked your knees up, back hunched as he pressed you more firmly back against the steering wheel, suddenly thankful for the lack of surface area providing a horn. He seemed to read your mind, one hand under your thigh and keeping you bent, the other gripping the base of his cock and sliding against the sopping wet crease of your cunt. "Thank fuck for six-bolt," Wolfwood mused, but you were far too occupied watching the slide of his leaking tip caressing your swollen clit to process or care about what he was talking about. 

His palm was hot under your leg, hiking it up a little higher, your muscles screaming from the angle of your knee pressing into your chest. He continued to tease, tapping the weight of him against you, enjoying the wet smack against your clit. You startled, yelped, bucked your hips with a depraved whine, hoping that he would get the idea and just fuck you already.

The hand holding the base of his cock angled it down, thumb pressing at the center as he pulled his hips back, pressed the tip into you, slowly sliding forward. Your breath caught in your lungs, trying desperately to arch into him, push him deeper, faster, but the hand steadfast against the meat of your leg kept you locked in place. 

"Fuck," He groaned out long and low, fingers digging into your skin and pulling you into the upwards thrust of his hips. He was teasing you with it, you know he was, your eyes glassy from both frustration and overwhelming pleasure. His other hand locked onto your hip, pulling you down closer, just a little faster, until he was fully seated inside of you. You were already trembling, clenching around him, and you could feel his cock kick inside of you, a punched out sound coming from between his clenched teeth. 

From the way Wolfwood had been handling you, you expected him to start out slow, ease into it, torture you a little bit longer than necessary just for a little payback. That certainly wasn't the case, not with the way he pushed your thighs up, pinned you against the wheel, and fucked his hips up into you with reckless abandon. You cried out, eyes slid shut, hands scrambling for purchase on anything they could. One hand curled around the smooth edge of the dashboard, short nails digging into the thick leather finish, the other coming up and grabbing at the handle above the driver's side door. 

Wolfwood was ruthless, weeks of obvious interest and yearning poured into each roll of his hips, each pull to meet every thrust, the frantic grip and release and caress of his hands against your bare skin. You could barely keep your eyes open, struggling to keep them parted as you panted, gasped, moaned for him, the smell of sex filling the car, fogging the windows. Umber eyes locked onto the part of your lips, glossy and kiss-plush, spit slicked, his jaw hanging slack as he fucked into you.

"Fuck, baby," Wolfwood growled, the term of endearment making your pussy clench around him a little tighter. He huffed a noise, his hand trembling imperceptibly as it left your leg, coming between your legs, swiping quick lines back and forth over your clit in an attempt to push you closer to the edge. With the falter of his hips, the stutter in his thrusts, you could tell he was close. "C'mon, pretty boy- give it to me."

His commanding tone had your head swimming, lightheaded and floating. The coil in your gut wound tighter, needing more, anything more to push you over the edge. 

Your hand left the dashboard, reaching out and curling nimble fingers in the collar of Wolfwood's low cut shirt. Twisting the fabric in your grip, you tugged him into you, earning a surprise noise quickly muffled by your greedy open mouth. He returned the fervor, letting out a long groan as he pulled you down, keeping you bouncing on his cock as your climax hit you. 

Brows arched, tongue eager, you mewled and whined into his mouth as your body trembled, cunt clenched, your slick and his pre-cum coating your inner thighs and dripping down. He pulled back just a fraction of an inch, a shuddered breath leaving his throat, a low moan, hips snapping up once, twice, continuing to fuck you even as he filled you to the brim. Everything slowed, your legs shaking in his grip, cheeks ruddy and face hot, sticky and high and satisfied beyond relief. 

He panted against your lips, exchanging heavy breaths for a moment or two longer before he leaned in again, stealing you one last time with an open tenderness you didn't expect from someone like Wolfwood. You parted, heart still racing, slowing in the silence that stretched between you as you caught your breaths. The only noise between you was a grunt from Wolfwood as he pulled you up and off his softening cock, his gaze trailing down to the slow drip of your shared fluids making a mess out of his jeans and car seat. He exhaled, smirk curling at the corners of his lips as he helped you pull up your underwear and pants. 

Urging you over the console, a flat palm collided playfully with your ass, making you jump and nearly hit your head on the bars stretching overhead. You glance back to glare, but he was too occupied tucking himself into his pants to catch your ire. Lucky him. 

You settle into your seat, thighs still weak and trembling, fingertips red and sore from how tightly you had been gripping the hand bar. Weakly, you grasp at the seatbelt, struggling with shaky hands to clip it in. Wolfwood was quick to reach over, hand engulfing your own to steady it, helping you get the clasp in with a quiet click. His hand came up, gently caressing your chin much as he had at the diner earlier that night, before grabbing his carton of cigarettes and shaking one loose. Your eyes slide shut, head back against the headrest as you hear him roll down the window and spark up, smell the familiar brand you've come to call comforting, then the rumble of the car engine as Wolfwood starts it up and pulls away from the cliffside shoulder. 

The drive towards your house was muss less action-packed, surprised to see Wolfwood actually doing the speed limit compared to how much he seemed to be doing earlier. It was quiet, favoring the low hum of the radio. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, you found, both of you simply satiated, satisfied, relaxing in the presence of each other. 

When Wolfwood pulled up in front of your house, he left the engine running, leaving you to think that maybe this was it. Maybe he got what he'd been wanting from you, and maybe this would make things easier when you eventually got to leave this shitty town. You unbuckled your seatbelt, though once again he was reaching out, grabbing your hand. He leaned over, taking the buckle from you and tucking it back in its place. An off gesture, you think, but when he comes back he's holding your chin in the palm of his hand, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your lips. It was chaste, long, but when he pulled back you could see an unfiltered kindness in his eyes. 

"See you tomorrow?" He asked, and your heart swelled, chest rose as you inhaled deep. 

With a smile, a soft amused breath, you nodded. 

"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

[anachronistic-falsehood]

oh my godddd dude holy shit fuck okay taking a break from worm reading to send u an ask about william wight because goddamn i need 2 talk abt him. hello!!!!!!! feeling SO unwell about the clarences cape but red thing. awesome.

OKAY U HAVE LIKE. THE MOST PERFECT TIMING IN THE WORLDDD because literally on . tuesday this week my freak week art got a random note out of nowhere and made me start thinking about the villains again and thinking about william wight specifically because i love him a lot. ok. so its always ALWAYS been my assumption that. this is the version of william who mal got his greasy little claws in.

william fell off the cliff and died. the wisps chose him, and he came back. mal, who has been obsessively watching the wisps since clarence's death, sensed them choosing the next whisperer and swooped in before william could even stand back up. hes disoriented, hes scared, everything hurts, hes at a bottom of a cliff and he honestly doesnt even know if hes alive or not anymore, and this stranger walks out of the forest and offers a chance to explain everything. wiwi mystery brain! he knows this is weird but he also knows like.... i dont know whats happening maybe i AM dead and this is just... waht the afterlife is like. so he goes with mal. william wisp the 16 yr old from deadwood is. well. dead. he went missing, nobody ever found his body, his family mourned him.

meanwhile the whole time mallard conway was taking william wight under his wing and training him to be a replacement. mal calls him whisperer, william is in his rebellious teen phase and wants to be called something cooler which is why he named himself Wight (a type of vengeful spirit. specifically one who was once alive and then was brought back from the dead. lol) william is still! technically half alive. so being in the spirit world for extended amounts of time (which is NOT something mortals are supposed to do, planeswalker or not,) kind of broke his brain a little bit? which is why Wight is LIke That.

williams whole thing when he was alive was solving mysteries and chasing down monsters, so that became (and forgive my use of dp fanon here, i have to) his Obsession. (obsession with a capital O because its.. ghost logic. whatever a ghost died doing becomes their core motivation in the afterlife etc etc dp fanon not sorryyyyy) so he has this. uncanny obsession for tracking down monsters when hes out of the spirit world. being separated from the spirit world for any amount of time kind of drives him nuts, hes so used to being around the dead that being around the living for extended periods of time is unsettling. hes super paranoid. he inherits mal's need for total control over a situation, which is why hes so lax about possessing people with the wisps to get them to do what he wants.

perfect that his best friend turns out to be the absolutely diehard loyal guard dog. (side note here i think he also has williams super high pain tolerance from dead nerves so he lets kota gnaw on his arms and shit) . virion is a mystery to him and he LOVES it, he cant figure this guy out, hes like an endlessly fascinating puzzle to crack open. studying him like a lab rat on a dissection table.

i think about him a normal amount. as you can tell.

Mac i am TOO FUCKING DRUNK to peroperly respond to this but oh my god. oh my godddd yehah. the obsession thing???????? Hello??????? putting that in my pocket!!!!!! ohhgh he’s paranoid being around living people he’s a control freak he’s sooo fucjed up <33333333 he absolutely lets kota chew on him like a chew toy <3 and he can’t get a proper read on virion so he’s obsessed w trying to peel back his layers and learn as much as he can!!! throwing ashe into the mix is like. doubly fascinating for him. bc i think villain ashe would b secretive enough about his civilian identity to intrigue william(<<wants to disguise that he could possibly have any connection to wavelength the hero) and wiwi is INVESTED in trying to figure out him and virion!! what r their secrets!!! he NEDSS TO KNOW!!!!!!! to me his vibes r kinda like the weylin twins. u feel me

[canmom]

booksbooksbooks{2} - a convoluted excuse to drive the choo-choo train

I have the good fortune to live very near a library that reopened a few months ago, which means: more books!

The Black Locomotive by Rian Hughes was one such book that I saw on the shelves and decided to read like old times - no recs, no familiar authors, just rolling the dice on a book that looked kinda interesting. Paging through it, it looks kind of wildly ambitious, each chapter alternating with tables of materials that make up the built environment and architectural plans and varied, experimental typography. As a work of Design(tm), I certainly can't fault this book.

And indeed, as I got going reading this book, introduced to a beleagured Crossrail engineer who stumbles across what is blatantly a big old alien artefact and a buildingfucker artist whoo is constantly going on huge long meandering meditations on the nature of architecture infrastructure in his POV chapters, I was pretty intrigued. It seemed like it would be going somewhere really quite interesting.

However.

The actual story that all this is in service to is an elaborately contrived scenario in which a group of train-obsessed men who joined a train club as kids must coordinate a nation-wide conspiracy of message board users to drive an old steam train cross-country from the 'strategic steam reserve' of decommissioned steam trains under Box Hill into London... in order to open a locked door. Because the aliens created a field which disables all modern electronics you see, so they can't just blow it up or something.

You see: the artist, Rutherford, went into the alien spaceship that lies underneath London and formed the sort of psychic seed that the city grew around. And closed the door behind him. And they only found one key. And they need to get in and stop Rutherford before he does any unwise alien shit. Hence the whole train thing.

So crossrail engineer Austin teams up with his old schoolmates and users of the 'Smokebox Club' forums to crack the nut with a steam train, coordinated using a phone app, which tells everyone exactly where to go and how to move the points to direct the train to the right destination.

So far this is all a bit silly but like. It's a fun idea, and an interesting way to play with railway-fan conspiracy theories and so on. What really soured me on this book, if I'm honest, was the ending.

Once this is accomplished - of course it's accomplished, you don't set up a premise like that and have them fail - our co-protagonist Austin finally gets to confront Rutherford. And doesn't do anything. He just kind of backs down and goes along with it as Rutherford flies central London into space to get involved in a space war or something. Literally this whole entire plot, which gives the novel its title, which takes up the entire second half of the novel, goes absolutely nowhere.

At that point the house of cards kind of came down for me. Rather than fun and provocative, all the interstitial panels and schematics felt rather superfluous. For all its grounded descriptions of Crossrail engineering and typographic inventiveness in the presentation, the actual scifi premise was all pretty standard space opera stuff.

You might notice a lot of parallels in this description to Seth Dickinson's novel Exordia, which I loved. Both novels transition from their characters encountering the manifestation of a terrifying alien artefact to a mad dash supported by the efforts of people across the country/world to get the protagonists where they need to go in a last-ditch effort and, not to get too deep into the Exordia spoilers, both subvert that direction. Both books invoke a subject that can be quite dry and academic - moral philosophy, architecture - and make it the heart of a dramatic scifi story.

And while there are many differences that led to me liking Exordia more than The Black Locomotive (Exordia is a lot darker and richer in its imagery, it's a lot more international in its outlook, women actually do shit in it, etc.), the biggest one for me is that Exordia had actual structural and thematic payoff. What Anna does at the end of the Exordia, while it betrays the triumphant arc that seemed to be in motion, is still interesting - horribly so, it's the crux of it all. What Austin does at the end, by contrast, is nothing! He might as well not have done any of it.

The whole book drives (literally) towards a confrontation, yet Austin and Rutherford barely have enough time to set up any sort of adversarial dynamic (they both find the idea at worst mildly annoying). There are some parallels between them - both are deeply lonely men, we are reminded often, men who subsume their inability to participate in heterosexuality into their work and just kind of numb themselves to it. So Rutherford is sort of vaguely interested in people in the abstract, but mostly in terms of how they form part of the city, which is his real love. Austin is your classic engineer guy.

The other thing that left me cold with The Black Locomotive is the concept of the Smokebox Club. It felt something like a plot tumour - a cute idea that somehow grew to subsume the whole book. Hughes is clearly very proud of this: he's come up with a logo for it, a theme tune with multiple remixes, fake magazine covers, and a whole bunch of lore about its secretive workings. And like, listen, I've been in the Infrastructure Club slack, I've been on forums, I know how train nerds be.

Where this truly broke down for me is the series of brief POV chapters in which people get messages from a phone app they vaguely remember which tell them to go to a nearby rail and move the points, and somehow this all goes off without a hitch. Each POV character gets their own font - for example, an old man escapes from his nursing home, and one guy is a thief/gang leader called 'Ice Prophet' ('real name Yousef Evans') whose section is delivered in a handwritten font, but he finds a sudden spark of prosociality when he hears the Smokebox ringtone and recalls his dad (yes this chapter is kind of painfully written). i.e. people from all walks of life come out to help the train on its way, isn't that wonderful? Hurrah for steam trains, every boy wants to drive a train don'tchaknow.

I can definitely enjoy a 'people from across the land come out to support the big project' plotline. Sure, all of Japan's electricity must go into the rifle to blow up the angel! It's incredibly silly, and often softly nationalistic, yet it can be very emotionally compelling.

But.

The narration is pretty explicit here: the app shows detailed pictures and the MCs have a UI indicating which points on the line have been checked. And normally, in fiction, you might overlook questions like 'so who coded this app' and 'why does it have this functionality'. But this book is literally all about infrastructure. How and why things are built, the way architecture shapes our lives and grows like an organism, this is all stuff we've spent chapters and chapters meditating on. So it's a lot harder to ignore!

Over the course of the latter half of the book, the Smokebox Club grows from a train forum to an elaborate secret society which commands supranational loyalty from its members. Surprise: Austin's boss Georgia Ash is the Chief Engineer! One of her predecessors was probably Winston Churchill.

And like, OK, it's all a bit of fun. But it really undercuts the setup of the rest of the book, all the grounded effort to tie it to real places and engineering projects and British history and politics, to fold everything back up around an oddly culty train enthusiast forum.

Overall, then, The Black Locomotive disappointed. I looked up Rian Hughes after reading - it turns out he's a prolific typography designer, graphic designer and illustrator, as well as working frequently in comics, who's recently turned his hand to writing novels (his previous being XX). Which probably goes a long way to explaining this: all the stuff he's got decades of experience in is what's strong in this book. But the actual scifi novel aspect is fairly underbaked.

Science fiction and fantasy authors do, for some reason, really love London. There are so many books directly or indirectly about the nature of this city (and often its secret spiritual underworld) from authors like China Mieville or Neil Gaiman, as if London is the paradigmatic city, which all other cities somehow echo. I do feel like it's a bit played out at this point. Like in this book, if London's unique complexity is because it was seeded by a reality-warping alien spaceship that was cultivating the complex society it needs to replace its pilot and get back into space... what of like, literally every other big city, just as steeped in history?

I guess if I mostly read novels in French, I'd probably end up saying the same things about Paris...

[decepti-thots]

Im so intrigued by a world where brainstorm goes through with his original time travel plan ... do you have any specific headcanons about quark and brainstorm's relationship? or how he might react to being saved?

i spoke about this briefly about a year ago here!

since then my personal headcanon has firmed up a bit. i don't think they were close; i don't think they were even friends or anything. personally, i think the version that works best with the story Elegant Chaos tells is that quark and brainstorm were coworkers and nothing more, and brainstorm was horribly in love with quark from afar and it was not only unrequited but like. quark didn't have a clue. and brainstorm was fully aware of all this and that quark if anything didn't much like him, and was fully prepared to upend his entire life just to ensure the guy was alive anyway, with no expectation whatsoever that this would lead to quark loving him or anything of the sort. because that's two things: one, it's a phenomenally selfless thing to do. and two, it also speaks to a kind of casual disregard for himself as a person, not an intellect or a "genius" or a tool but a person with feelings and a life outside his ability to create weapons, that i think is very in line with brainstorm's combo of arrogance and disregard for his own wellbeing we get hints of in canon.

which like. okay. imagine you are about to die in the worst circumstances imaginable and suddenly you get saved out of nowhere by the little weirdo nobody who you used to work with. you didn't like him. frankly, you're a bit of a snob and that guy's an MTO; you possibly hold some casual, unexamined sense of superiority towards him, even. and you just found out that not only did he just save your life, he did it by inventing time travel. he doesn't save anyone else. just you. he came for you. he invented time travel for you. he spent however many thousands of years doing nothing but inventing time travel for you, and he is the only person who knows you are alive, and if anyone finds out he did this you are both So Fucked, and he's in love with you apparently, and you had to ask him his name because you didn't even remember if it was Brainstorm or Highbrow. you two are now stuck together. it is the most awkward circumstance imaginable. what do you DO. it drives me NUTS like what! was brainstorm gonna DO!!! lies down. who do i have to blackmail to write this 50k fic for me tbh i want it

[worldsokayestdragon]

GreedxLing Week Day 3: Possession

Read on AO3

Greed didn’t know how much time had passed since his so-called family had banished him from the mortal plane, but however long it had been he hoped they’d been counting their fucking days. He was coming after every last one of them once he got back, starting with that piece of shit Wrath. 

And he would get back. Eventually. Somehow.

The problem was the fuckers hadn’t even sent Greed to a good dimension. It was barely a dimension at all; just a little pocket of a backwater nowhere, an empty void that was either deafeningly loud or dead silent. Greed couldn’t tell which it was anymore. He guessed it didn’t really matter. 

There were no cracks in the walls to slip through to another level of reality. There weren’t even any walls. There were no hidden doorways, no twisting paths that may lead somewhere new if walked just right, none of the normal little tricks a demon could use to eventually find their way back to the human world

(There was no stuff for Greed to have, or want, or reach for. There were no people to follow his instructions or agree to his brilliant plans. There was nothing, and all that nothing was driving him nuts.)

But this place couldn’t hold him forever. Greed was not a demon to be trifled with, and he would get out of here eventually. If he didn’t know quite how–didn’t even know what step one of his escape plan should be–no one needed to know. There was no one around to know, anyway, so that worked out.

He could just focus on plotting his inevitable bloody revenge, and keep an eye out for the opportunity to escape, in whatever form it might take.

Turns out, the opportunity came in the form of a summoning spell.

Whatever human was casting it must have been powerful and known what they were doing to reach him all the way in his little corner of nowhere. Even Greed, who was a powerful demon–one of the deadly sins–would be hard pressed to resist the pull of this spell.

Not that he was trying to resist. Normally being conjured into some witch or cultist’s dingy basement would be beneath him, but right now he’d do just about anything to get out of the time out corner from hell (an insult to hell frankly) and back to a real world.

So fine, he’d pop in all spooky like for the human, do whatever petty little task they wanted his help with–because he could already tell breaking whatever bindings were built into this magic would be more trouble than it was worth–and then he’d finally be free to get on with his life.

Greed followed the tug of magic as his cell unraveled around him, destabilized by the disturbance, and found a clear and shining path back up into the mortal plane, and then down into a mortal body.

Of course, a magic user this powerful would know better to let Greed into their home in his true form. Being bound to a human body during the duration of whatever deal this was wasn’t unexpected, but it was definitely going to be a pain. Especially if whoever the poor hapless schmuck was who got tricked or forced into playing host spent the whole time complaining in Greed’s head.

It was less comfortable than Greed had imagined being compressed down into human shape, and it took a few seconds for him to adjust to seeing in only three dimensions and the room to come into focus.

Greed had expected his first sight of anything in who knows how long to be a dark, dirty dungeon with whatever magic user had called him here grinning smugly and winding up to gloat.

Instead he found a clean, well-lit work room with absolutely no one in it.

That couldn’t be right. Summoning spells didn’t just activate on their own.

But Greed looked around again, searching the corners and even crouching a little to peek under the desk across the room, and there was definitely no one here.

What the hell?

“Where’s the fucking wizard?” Greed asked into the empty room. It was good to hear something again, even if human ears weren’t the greatest.

Um, that would be me.

Greed whipped around, but there was still no one in the room. And, unless he was mistaken, the voice was coming from–

Although I prefer the term mage, the voice added. Wizards are too obsessed with research and theory, not really my speed.

“Are you in my head?” Greed asked.

Well, technically you’re in my head, the voice said. But I guess we could think of it the other way, if you prefer. After all, it’s rude to argue with a guest.

Greed looked down at the summoning circle around his feet. Normally, a magic user would draw two separate circles, one to stand in and channel their magic, and another for the demon to be brought into the world inside of. The sacrificial human vessel would be placed in the second circle.

Instead, for some reason, this mage had arranged the circles concentrically, and was standing in the middle of both. 

And now Greed was standing in the mage’s body.

“Why–” Greed couldn’t even finish the question. He’d never heard of someone fucking up this badly.

Of course, you must be wondering why I’ve brought you here. The mage misinterpreted Greed’s confusion about his idiocy. My name is Ling, and I need you to help me kill my father and take his place as head of our coven.

“Oh, so it’s a power grab.”

This made a little more sense. Normally coven mages didn’t go so far as actually invoking a deadly sin for their power struggles, but it was frequently a cut throat competition. Maybe this Ling guy just didn’t want to risk someone else moving in on the throne in the time it would take him to find another body to put Greed in.

Still pretty stupid.

“Yeah, I could help with that. I’m very down with patricide these days.” There was one potential problem. “Although, I don’t like your chances of hanging on to power if you weren’t even able to convince someone to send an annoying relative they want to get rid of to play demon host. Must not have many people backing your play if you had to do it yourself.”

I didn’t have to do it myself, Ling snapped. I chose to become the host for your power while you assisted me with this task.

Greed was starting to pick up more details from Ling than just the disembodied voice, emotions bubbling up from somewhere inside Greed’s new head. Right now he was mostly getting outrage.

This isn’t just a power grab. It is vital that I take over the coven. My father has become obsessed with gaining immortality. In his single minded focus, he’s been neglecting his other duties. And yet he rules with such an iron fist, there are still few who would dare to oppose him. Even I was going to let it slide until he eventually failed and died. 

But then I found out he’d been using members of our own coven as subjects in his experiments. 

Ling’s righteous anger at that burned in his voice and in Greed’s head. Greed could admit that that was pretty fucked up. He hated people who didn’t take care of their things.

He’s sacrificing our people for his obsession! Only low ranking members, or those who are normally out doing remote research on their own. People who it would be believed to have died in a accident or succumbed to an illness, or maybe just ran away and abandoned the coven.

I knew I needed more power than I can muster on my own to stop him–that I would need your power–but if I forced someone else to take on that burden I’d be no better than my father. A leader who sacrifices his people is no leader at all!

Somehow while being nothing but a voice in Greed’s head, Ling gave the impression standing tall and looking Greed square in the eyes as he continued.

I need your power to protect my people, and I will hold that power in my own body. I won’t put anyone else at risk for my plan. I accept any risk that puts me in.

Greed couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that. 

This Ling guy was amazing

You think I’m joking? Ling bristled.

“No,” Greed managed to force out past his laughter. “No, I know you’re serious. That’s what makes this so perfect! You really are the ideal host for me. I’ve never met someone so greedy.”

How is that greedy? I just said I was trying to save everyone else!

“Eh, you humans think of everything in such a black and white kinda way. Greed isn’t all bad, you know. And I don’t know what else you’d call trying to get what you want without giving up anything in the process. You’re taking care of what’s yours, and that’s something I can understand.”

I guess that’s one way of looking at it. 

Ling didn’t sound convinced. Not surprising, humans did tend to think of Greed’s whole deal as nothing but grabbing for money and power.

Ling was a smart guy though. He’d come around.

“You’re alright, kid. I think we’re gonna get along just fine,” Greed said. “Tell you what: I’ll help you take out your shitty dad, and in return you and any of your coven members who volunteer of their own free will can help me get rid of my shitty family. I’m actually starting with a bastard who used to call himself my brother, but dear old dad is very much on the hit list.”

You want to kill your family? Like, other demons? 

Ling’s creeping apprehension was a little off putting, but Greed had no doubt they could handle those assholes together.

He was already thinking of keeping this guy even after their deal came to a close. They would make a good team; he could just tell.

“Don’t got any human relatives. They majorly screwed me over, they killed my henchman, and now they’re going to get what’s coming to them.”

Greed tested whether he could access his signature power while possessing a human, and the ultimate shield spread easily over his hands and up his arms. He may need a bit longer to get used to this body, but he could definitely make it work.

“They’re also planning to–” Greed had an unpleasant realization. “Hey, what’s the date?”

March 5th?

“Of what year?” 

It’s 2025.

Aw fuck. Greed had been locked away longer than he’d thought.

“Okay, slight change of plans. Unless you think you can kill your dad today, we need to do my thing first if we want to stop the world from ending, like, next week.”

What?!

Ling’s alarm spiked, and together with Greed’s own misgivings it was a struggle not to give in to a panic attack. 

They really didn’t have time for that.

“Yeah, it’s–eclipse, mass soul sacrifice, killing God. It’s a whole thing. So unless you want to be the shortest reigning coven head in history, we should probably put a stop to that sooner rather than later.”

Alright, Ling said. He was rolling with the news of an impending apocalypse surprisingly well. He’d pushed the fear aside already, and let determination grow in its place. We need someone to come break the binding circle from the outside before we can leave. Get my phone out of my pocket.

A smart precaution. Greed wasn’t sure how a phone was supposed to fit in a pocket, though, and the thing he pulled out was more of a…weird rectangle.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

Here, let me just…

Ling nudged his way towards the front of the head, and Greed became perhaps the first demon in history to let his host reclaim control of the body without a fight.

Temporarily.

“I’m just going to text my friend Lan Fan,” Ling said, doing something that made the rectangle light up and tapping his fingers on little letter tiles on its surface. “She’s going to be pissed, though. She insisted that she should be the one to get possessed and I… maybe told her she was right, and that we’d do the ritual tomorrow, and that she should get some rest tonight, and then did it while she was sleeping so she couldn't stop me. Probably going to have to convince her not to exorcize you on sight.”

If she even could exorcize me, Greed scoffed. 

Lying was a nasty habit. He’d have to work on making Ling stop it if they were going to be working together for as long as Greed hoped.

“Oh, she could exorcize you,” Ling said, without a shadow of doubt. He finished whatever he was doing with the phone and stuffed it back in his pocket.

“We’re still taking care of my father after we deal with yours, by the way. Saving the world is great, but it’s not going to get you out of doing what I called you here for.”

Didn't think it would, Greed said.

Really, he didn’t mind sticking around to help Ling out once he’d killed every last traitorous member of his own family. 

He’d probably end up staying even after they got Ling what he wanted. 

Ling was good company, a man after Greed’s own heart, and Greed figured they’d only get along better as they got to know each other. Who knew, if he played his cards right Greed might end up ruling over what must be a large and powerful coven with the guy, and that sounded like just the thing to satisfy the endless wanting in Greed’s core.

This was shaping up to be better than even Greed’s wildest revenge fantasies during the long years trapped in that horrible pocket dimension, and Greed owed all to Ling.

[sisterdivinium]

In good faith, I don't consider WN ships I don't follow as "spam". I simply open the fics that catch my attention and the ship tags for it, I read a bit and if I don't dig it I move to the next ones. If you do not read fics I don't understand why it seems to bother you considerably. Ok that's the part where I don't agree with your post, however it's a fair assessment of what's going on. I do follow avatrice fics, so what I'm about to say next it's from that perspective. I think avatrice is like 95-96% percent of the works on ao3 for various reasons. The show being cancelled and ava going away at the end of S2, despite it being clearly implied she's back, people feel left out to dry because we didn't get to see them reunite. So there's this almost manic drive towards fixing that thru fics. We didn't get to see them as an open explicit couple, so that's also something people have taken to fix. Another reason is that Ava silva is just such an alluring character, people went and are still nuts for her. She's so genuine, so open in her affections, so loyal and unwavering. Another reason, she happens to have been played by an actress that did an outstanding job portraying her, and I believe that the fact that Alba is so conventionally attractive plays a huge role in the pull avatrice has. And I do not mean to diminish Beatrice or Kristina's talent or acting in any way. I merely want to point out I honestly believe that if avatrice were 2 non white women, we wouldn't be seeing the amount of works that pop up daily for them, nowhere near the numbers we have currently. So in that regard it's kind of a double mortal combo that ava was written as she was and that she was played by such a pretty and charming actress. Well a triple combo, because she's white. I personally think the wlw couples that dominate fandoms have almost invariably at least one white character. Ok that's the trifecta by which I explain the popularity of avatrice (outside of them being a legitimately solid and good pairing). As for the amount of AUs I think it's due to wanting to take these 2 characters and separate them from their original universe as a way to repel/protest/take them the hell away from the universe in which they had no resolution, to cope with the feeling of severe incompleteness that canon left. Ok now that being said I join you in lamenting that we don't have more shanon/Mary and other pairings, because I feel entirely alone in shipping Ava and Camila... listen the heart wants what it wants and in my cursed unlucky case, it seems my heart wants 2 golden retrievers/gremlin energy characters together and in love. But my crack ship exists only in my fantasies 😭

I've read and found some great doctor superion works. but at least here I have found zero posts/content about my wretched crack ship, null, none, naught. At least you guys do have some content. Also I think doctor superion not having more traction is straight up ageism. Which is so sad. Anyways these are my personal opinions about it sorry for the wall of text.

Let me clarify why I called that spam, first of all, so that you understand I wasn't being malicious (or not gratuitously so, anyway, lol): every now and again, even if I don't read fic, I do take a look at the pairing tag for the one ship I write about. And, without fail, there will be at least one story posted under that tag where that very pairing is nowhere to be found. It's a fleeting mention at most. I consider it spam to post what is, say, an avatrice smut fic on the Jillian/Suzanne tag if you won't do anything with the latter ship apart from a side comment like "oh, and the two of them are together now".

A few days ago, I read an interesting post about how people posting fic and adding tags should ask themselves whether people interested in those tags would indeed find what they wanted through your story when you used them.

Let me say, then, that a Jillian/Suzanne shipper is not looking for something that can barely be called crumbs at all when she sits down to read something -- so why lead her on? At the very least tag it properly and say it's minor/implied/mentioned or something of the sort. It's annoying to me in the sense that I also use the tag, I like to know who fellow tag users are and coming across this sort of thing is disruptive. People nowadays "overtag" and I get it depending on what they have written because they want a reader to know what she's getting herself into -- and, precisely, I think it would be fair for a Jillian/Suzanne shipper to be warned of the fact that her ship isn't really featured at all in something instead of seeing that tag tacked on just because they're mentioned as a couple en passant. I'm sure that might apply to other pairings as well, as I do recall @foulbearobservation mention some phenomenon of the sort for Camila/Lilith too a few months ago.

So, to reiterate, it's less "ew, this doctor superion fic has been tainted with another ship" (which, honestly, would never bother me) and more "ugh, this other ship fic said there would be doctor superion but there is nothing and I feel duped!" The fact that I don't read it myself doesn't mean I'm not in contact with other Jillian/Suzanne shippers who do seek out fic and who do experience these feelings which we do talk about amongst ourselves.

With that out of the way, let me first thank you for getting in touch because I was very curious about hearing someone on the avatrice side of things!

It's not surprising to me, per se, that avatrice dominates and I think I mentioned it in my post that there is a reason to it. Or various reasons, really, adding to those I cited the ones you give here, being the "unfinished business" aura that the ship has acquired thanks to that damned cancellation. (I will, however, express my surprise at your passionate manifestation considering Alba as I see Kristina lovers gushing about her much more frequently -- I suppose that goes to show you how we none of us ever have the whole picture in mind, how we are always looking at things at an angle even when we try to consider them more fully! A very good reminder to keep in mind how fragmentary our understanding can be...)

What baffles me is not that avatrice is everywhere, but that there are so very little other ships around it. Historically, people in fandom have always played the "there aren't enough nice/fun/compelling/whatever female characters in canon for me to care about f/f ships" card and what's perfectly clear in WN is that this card simply cannot be played given how many wonderful female characters it has (lucky us!) And I suppose it adds to my surprise (again, this is merely me being a bit confused at the situation rather than "denouncing" it; far be it from me to tell avatrice shippers they're doing anything wrong, no, fandom is for fun after all and, as you say, it IS a solid and good pairing, I would never contest that!) that there are so many stories set in an alternate universe for what is a canon ship. It's a bit of a paradox to me, I suppose, although the idea of a "protest" against an unfinished, incomplete canon such as you mentioned might explain part of it.

On prejudice, I wouldn't want to accuse anyone of anything. There's also a predominance of white characters in a lot of media, so them being featured in a lot of pairings is a bit due to the maths of their presence as well -- going forth, as we begin to see more and more diversity (well, if the goddamn companies stop cancelling every one of our shows!) I figure the trend will begin to diminish as well. Or so I'd like to hope, unless the issue we're discussing persists, being that one ship gets all the attention and all others get zilch when the potential for others is right there staring us all in the face... Then again, it does bother me that older characters are more or less ignored by fandom at large, I won't lie, and I've seen some comments on disturbing depictions of Mary in certain corners of fandom as well. I'd like to make use of good-will towards people and not expect from them only the worse, but sometimes it can be... Challenging, let's say.

Do have my thanks for introducing me to the concept of Ava/Camila! It hadn't crossed my mind, I admit, but now I think it could be something fun to play with. I was interrupted so many times while typing up this answer that I used some of that time to write something for the pairing and I'll post it here soon-ish and maybe that can kickstart some more visibility for it! :)

Alongside my thanks, please also have my sympathies. I've always been on the rarepair side of fandom so I understand, even if your case really is a bit extreme if nobody else has ever done anything for the ship! Then again, that is the whole point of the post, the fact that it's so very hard to see anyone try something out outside of their OTP, if just for fun, just for a day, just for a drabble even!

See, my problem is not that there isn't a lot of doctor superion -- my problem is that there isn't much of anything else! I do my part, I write for my pairing that which I would like to read (and I encourage you, friendly anon, to consider doing something for Ava/Camila as well if you can! Sometimes we need to take the first step, sometimes that's what introduces people to the thing and inspires them to put their own spin on it as well. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't even have thought of maybe trying out your ship, even if it won't be a 890.000 word epic). It just strikes me as odd that the toys are all out there and there are few people who take notice of them apart from the two shiniest ones!

To end this, please don't apologise for walls of text. If ever you've been around my blog, you'll know I'm prone to them myself, as this answer attests to! Thank you for chipping in!

[cyberrat]

77th Batch Of Fics: 7th Fill

Soldier76/Reaper – slasher!76; trans man reaper; noncon to dubcon to consensual (kind of); praise; possessiveness – Slasher76 has found a new obsession in the newest camper in his woods.

---

Gabriel tries to run again but there is nowhere to go with Jack behind him, keeping him crushed against the rough bark of the tree. His hiccuping sobs have died down at least and his cunt keeps clenching around his cock all curious and sweet. Maybe he’s started accepting what is happening to him.

“Why are you doing this?” Gabriel asks suddenly, his voice trembling and wet, though it is obvious he is trying to keep calm in the face of everything.

Jack chuckles, mist seeping from the slits of his mask. “Because you are the prettiest thing I have seen in years,” he croons. He is not moving for the moment other than his cock slowly flexing in the silky embrace of Gabriel’s pussy. “I just had to have you… seeing you move around my woods like you own them… going bathing in that little stream, all those muscles on display…”

He inhales deeply, pulling Gabriel’s natural scent deep into his lungs. “You are just too sexy not to mess with,” he continues in a lower, almost demonic voice.

Jack can feel Gabriel trembling in front of him. He is squeezing his eyes shut, a single tear running down his cheek. Surprisingly enough, it is the first time he’s cried since Jack caught him. He’s a tough nut to crack but that makes his little sweetheart all the more interesting to him. All the more precious. It’s rare that Jack feels like he needs to keep one of his targets for longer than a night but this one… oh, this one…

He starts moving again; rough, grunting thrusts that keep pushing Gabriel up against the rough bark of the tree, scratching up his pretty cheek as Jack goes to town on his hot little peach. It’s been so tight at the start of the night; almost virginal around his cock as it grabbed him in a desperately tight hold but now after a few rounds its gotten the memo of how perfect it feels to be dicked.

It’s gotten nice and soft, hugging him with exhaustion, all the loads he already put into Gabriel’s womb slowly getting fucked back out to drip down onto the forest floor in a hot, frothy mess.

“I love handsome boys like you,” Jack says through gasps, his balls aching with yet another load, hand slightly trembling as he pets it over Gabriel’s shorn head. He even likes the way the stubble rasps against his palm. He loves the sensory feedback Gabriel’s body gives him. Sturdy and soft and rough and jiggly…

“I just. Got. To. Have. You.” His words are accentuated by harsh thrusts that drive his cock so deep he can feel his nose kissing up to the young man’s cervix.

Gabriel cries out hoarse and pained, his insides undoubtedly feeling like they are on fire as Jack rams into him as deep as it will go to deposit yet another sticky, fat load right into the golden mid.

Around his cock he can feel Gabriel’s cunt squeezing him quick and desperate; he’s so close to an orgasm that Jack can taste it on his tongue. It’s just that the boy is fighting tooth and nail against it. Sweat is glistening on his face, more tears squeezing out from beneath his tightly closed eyes.

“Hmmm… maybe one more then,” Jack croons. He leans back, grabs the handle of the machete he has hacked crudely into the tree right next to his sweetheart’s face, and uses its blade to cut one long, shallow groove right next to the other three already on Gabriel’s meaty thigh.

Gabriel gasps. He is scrabbling against the tree, fingertips already bloody and trembling. He takes the pain well, though. He just pushes through it like it is the most natural thing in the world. He barely even flinches when Jack leans in, the sharp blade now against his victim’s neck as he very slowly starts up his thrusts again.

“You’re going to come for me this time, are you not?”

Gabriel bares his teeth. His arms slowly curl around the thick trunk of the tree, just hugging it as his pussy gets reamed in nice, even strokes of Jack’s swollen cock.

“Fuck you,” he grits out yet despite his fighting words, he stays nice and put; even angles out that plump ass of his. Not in a big gesture, of course, but Jack can feel it even so. How the angle of his thrusts has shifted.

Jack exhales strong, orange mist wafting from his mask once more and enveloping Gabriel’s handsome face. He can feel him fighting against the vapors as his body wants to just give up for Jack.

He still has the machete against Gabriel’s neck, making sure he stays nice and put while he pumps his hips faster now. He doesn’t pull back much, just thrusts back in after a couple inches, hips snapping against the young man’s ass in fast ‘pap pap pap’ sounds echoing in the forest.

Gabriel tries so hard to remain quiet. He is hugging the tree close, pressing his cheek against its rough bark; tears of frustration dripping into his beard – but ultimately he has to capitulate. His body is twisting itself into knots wanting to become nice and submissive for Jack’s cock. It had only been a matter of time until he would finally give him what he wants.

When his first moaning gasp finally breaks out of him, Jack is ecstatic. He takes the machete away, once again slashing it carelessly into the tree bark now just above Gabriel’s head.

He shoves at his mask with his hand, pushing it until his scarred, cracked mouth is just visible so he can lean in lick Gabriel’s neck like an animal, cock flexing inside the tight grip of the man’s cunt.

“Yes. Yes, that’s it – You gorgeous… you wonderful…” he can’t find the words. He is pressing sloppy kisses against the point of Gabriel’s jaw, reveling in his whining moans as he fucks him into what feels like the most reluctant orgasm there ever was.

Gabriel is fighting it every step of the way. He is digging his nails into the tree bark, his body both tight in anger and loose with lust as he is forced higher and higher into his peak.

Jack bites at the lobe of Gabriel’s ear, pulling on it, tongue thrusting into his ear canal without finesse as he fucks him like the maniac that he is. He can feel Gabriel shuddering bodily. Fighting so hard against his destiny… until finally, finally, finally he succumbs, cunt clenching in a white hot grip around Jack’s cock.

Trying to squeeze the life out of him in lieu of his bloodied hands around his neck, he is absolutely sure.

Gabriel tries to remain as quiet as possible but the long, whining sound that is pulled out of him regardless sounds like it comes right from the pits of hell.

He is perfect. Utterly and completely perfect.

Jack can’t kill this one. He also can’t let him run, though.

So he will just… have to keep him. His delicious little candy.

[randomfoggytiger]

X-Files Collector's Edition: Pranks and Other April Fics

April's Fools rarely make an appearance in fic; but there are excellent prank fics and fics where April-- the month-- makes an appearance.

Loose chronological order below~

Sneaker's (Alt. Gossamer) The Skeptic of Bracken Lake

""Dana shone her flashlight around the lower ground. Determined to prove or disprove the ghost theory, she continued talking. "How can you be so sure it's too light, if you ca-- "

"Just trust me. It's too light."

Dana stood up suddenly, grasping Nancy's arm. "C'mon, lets go down there and find out.."

"Are you *nuts*?" asked Nancy

"You yourself said he wouldn't come out . . . so he won't. I just want to see what it's like down there . . . I mean, if he's gonna spend an eternity down there, he's got to have left some mark of his presence. Bad vibes or something.""

Pre-S1 Scully is a sensible little skeptic, avoiding fights and calmly taking on dares-- be they ghosts or nettles-- while cheekily waiting for an opportunity to prank the opposition back.

aka Jake/aka 'Jake'/aka_Jake's How Do You Know Whaen a Flukewoman is Having Her Period?

""Rather than count mile markers, she reached for the bag of fur trade souvenirs he'd bought at the museum gift shop: a copy of "The Mountain Man Sketchbook" and a reproduction beavertail knife. She withdrew the book and, tilting it toward the dash lights, paged through it without interest.

He kept his eyes on the road. "Some parascientists believe that menstruation, menopause and sexual frustration intensify subconscious psychokinetic energy."

Under ordinary circumstances, she found Mulder's interest in the unusual a positive trait; it served them well in their work and at times could be endearing. But did they have to go through this every... month? She closed the book and tried to rein in her annoyance. "Ah, but which came first, the poltergeist or PMS?""

Mulder recycles (hah) the same period jokes and theories when it's Scully time of the month. She ends up amused in spite herself.

@lotsoforangesoutside/@lotzzoforangezoutside‘s (Ao3)

What to Do with April Showers

""She looks apologetically at him, soft and indulgent. Mulder wonders if she’s learned that look from her mother. He swears that’s how Mrs. Scully looked at him last Autumn.

“Fine, we’ll take an hour off.” He says in his senior-agent-knows-best voice as he stands up to grab his coat, ready to head out and play hooky.

“I don’t plan to go out in the rain.” She pauses, but her eyes are twinkling, “and I don’t want to spend an hour of your driving us nowhere in the pouring rain. April showers, Mulder.""

Post Calusari Mulder ruminates on Scully's near deaths, leading them to an impromptu basement dance sesh.

The King of the Castle and the Dirty Rascal

""The door of their office is opened slightly, but the lights are off. A spaceship-shaped lamp on Mulder’s desk is emitting an eerie green light. Pushing the door wide opened, she turns the light on. “Mulder?” she calls.

No respond.

“Mulder?” She repeats again, concern written all over her face. “Are you alright?”

Scully sees him sitting in his chair, his mouth moving. She wonders if her mind is playing a trick on her, but it looks like he’s mouthing the words help me, over and over again.

The hair on the back of her neck stands and she rushes over to her partner immediately. She recalls her recently weekend getaway where people walked out of a supermarket with bloody eyes, a talking doll that wants to play melting in the microwave, and an angry little girl who just wants to have her way.""

Post Chinga Mulder pranks Scully by faking a severe injury. She repays his April Fool's joke with an excellently executed (but almost regrettable) nosebleed prank.

3X -5

""Scully: Wait, what?

Mulder: Yes, and I'm going.

Scully: You are? What you gonna bring?

Mulder: I'm told to bring a dish called Dana Scully.

Mulder likes reusing his same "Dana Scully" joke.""

@baronessblixen’s (Ao3)

Cruel Jokes

""Accident," he sobs. "Car. Car accident."

"What?" she asks, not understanding a word of what he's saying, of where his mind is. "Were you in an accident?" When he cries harder, her own concern increases. What if he's hurt? Or if he's hurt someone else?

"You. Car accident. They said." It's as if she's talking to a child.

"I'm fine, Mulder. There was no accident. Who said that?" He doesn't answer, continues to hold her, but relaxes. She slips down his front, her feet finding ground.""

Mulder is the victim of a cruel prank-- that Scully had died in a car accident-- leaving Scully incensed and ready for war.

Unnamed (Ao3)

""There have been accidents. Only two months ago a young couple stepped on rotten wood and fell down three stories. Both of them are dead.”

“It’s an old place.”

“When the police came to inspect the scene, they examined the wood. It wasn’t rotten. It was the ghost, Scully.” He whispers the last part into her ear.

“Mulder, do I have to explain to you once again about ghosts?” It wouldn’t be the first time.""

Mulder and Scully are enjoying their dating life by pranking each other with ghosts, wet willies, and glittery revenge. Skinner is not amused.  

Bloody Hll (Ao3)

""I'm truly sorry, Scully." His face is vulnerable and full of regret. Tears pool in his eyes and she watches them fall as she sobs silently. She catches one of his tears and as she wipes it away, she leaves a red stripe across his face. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I thought it was funny. You don't mind fake blood at Halloween."

For a man as smart as he is, Mulder can be incredibly dense.

"I don't mind the fake blood," she says, smearing more of it all over his face, finding herself unable to keep herself from smiling any longer, "I mind the possibility of you being dead. You will pay for this." Her words lose steam when she accentuates them with yet another sob.""

Post Revival Scully finds Mulder covered in blood on the floor of their basement. After pulling his tie and sobbing all over him, Mulder pops up-- unharmed. He has to calm down Scully, who plans for revenge.

@starbuck09256​‘s (Ao3) Just a Nic (Alt. Just a Shave)

""She sighs as he continues carefully with each stroke checking and making sure he hasn’t blemished her porcelain skin. He grabs a towel and dampens it to rinse off the remaining cream on her first leg. Smiles as he moves her leg to each side checking his work. She shakes her head. He starts on her other leg and his smart look of satisfaction gives her an idea. It’s mean, but at the same time fair. She hisses and he looks at her in horror. His clear panic face with his eyes and mouth open as his fingers brush along her calf. She grins that wild grin that he loves with its mischievous hint of dark blue eyes. 

“I had you.” she whispers, her eyes twinkle towards him and he chuckles.""

Post Tithonus Mulder helps Scully shave her legs. She decides to get his goat by momentarily faking a yelp. It leads to a sweet moment.

Girlie_girl7’s Halloween Eve  

""Don't you think she looks like Eve 6?"

Scully whipped her head around to look at the woman who was currently scanning a case of Yoo-hoo. "No, I don't think she does," Scully whispered while she placed the last of her groceries on the belt and began to dig out her coupons.

"Scully! She looks exactly like her." Scully laughed, "She does not."

"Scully look again, she's even chewing her gum in the same manor as Eve did, when she showed us how she bit that poor guards eye ball."

Scully stared at her partner, "Mulder, are you sure the spirit of the holiday isn't getting to you?""

Mulder suspects their checkout clerk is an Eve. He leaves Scully in the car to double back and subtly interrogate her; but the only thing strange about this woman is that she's related to Skinner.

@foreheading's Her Laugh

""Not laughing at his jokes had clearly been a means of keeping him at arms length. But once they became physically intimate, he saw a side of her he’d only caught glimpses of before. She relaxed…completely. So completely. And she would give him these hearty belly laughs that he’d never heard before then.""

Mulder recalls trying and failing to make his mother laugh; and is moved that much more whenever his girlfriend, the enigmatic Scully, lets loose and laughs heartily.

stellar_dust’s (Ao3) Cause and Effect (Ao3)

""She tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. "Now, Mulder, this whole case has been one long misdirection, right? I make you look over *here*" - she snapped the fingers of her right hand beside his face - "which makes you completely ignore what's going on over *there*" - she handed him his badge with her left hand - "Am I right, Mulder?"

His jaw dropped.

"So it seems to me, Mulder, that misdirection, at heart, is all about" - she produced a brand-new bag of sunflower seeds from his jacket pocket and handed it to him - "cause" - she pulled his tie out from behind her back and looped it around his neck - "and" - she held up the car keys that, to the best of Mulder's knowledge, hadn't left his possession since he'd signed the rental agreement - "effect, Mulder." Scully tossed the keys up and caught them again. "Let's go. I'm driving to the airport.""

S7 Mulder ponders on pranks and magic tricks after the events of The Goldberg Variation. Scully listens to his evolving thoughts while keeping one step ahead of him by performing magic, stealing one of the vests in First Person Shooter, needing his help to dismantle the Theef poppet, and reaching a full conclusion by All Things.

@broadcastnews1987/audries/@kennedyandheidi/inkspl0tchess's (WBM 1/2/3)

housekeeping - in spring

""Mid-April. He drives one last stolen car with a hand out the window, and as he moves into Virginia the air stops smelling like the Bay’s primordial preserves.

It takes him three miles past the state lines to realize the new smell is dirt and rain. The dead come alive. In spring, things rise again. Glory, glory, hallelujah.""

Post Revival Jackson finally wanders back from the road, awkwardly readjusting with his family, including Mulder who wasn't told that his son was still alive.

@leiascully's (Ao3) Bless This House

""They turned the spare room into a nursery together, everything in shades of green and yellow. The baby would be born in the spring. Scully wanted something cheerful. Mulder spent hours shopping online as she worked at the hospital, comparing different gliders and bottles and swaddles. He combed through the children's section at the bookstore for the best baby books, and read as extensively on infants as he'd ever studied cryptids.

She was tired and nauseated and uncomfortable, but she was so happy. They were so happy together. It was everything she'd always wanted.""

AU-- IWTB Mulder and Scully christen their new house, which eventually leads them to the birth of their very own "April Fool."  

Christine Leigh's (Alt. Ao3, LiveJournal) The Color of April

""What's going on?"

"I just missed you, and for some reason even more today."

"Well, then bless Tom's stomach and the weather forecast." He turned and led her back outside. They had a clear view of the evening star in the western sky, and for a few seconds they were just Mulder and Scully, having a moment together standing on their front porch. Friends, lovers, parents, those things were all part of their package, but for now they were just them, as they always had been. The sky had turned a brilliant violet and Mulder looked at Scully watching it. She seemed mesmerized.""

AU-- Happy family Scully is alone for a few days while her boys go camping. Rather than enjoying the solitude, she finds herself teary and alone.

Honorable mention to @cock-holliday/biggyyeehaw’s Thirty Five Hundred Miles And A Lifetime To Go - Chapter 2 (Post One Breath Mulder trying to pick up Scully's mood, since she can't be with her family for Christmas. A game of prank gifts begins.)

Enjoy!

[kaleidoscopic-quiddity]

white usamericans defending themselves appropriating other cultures bc they took one of those dna tests and found out they were 3% romani or whatever by saying 'but white americans dont really have any culture, we just want something to connect to' drives me fucking nuts; like its a stance that only comes from extreme ignorance and privledge, white american culture is the defualt, every other group's culture is measured by what it is but rather by what it is not in comparison to white american culture, to not only sit and complain that 'white culture doesnt exist' but then use that braindead take as a defence for picking and chosing whatever ~quirky~ or ~interesting~ elements from another culture you can ostensibly claim heritage to, meanwhile completelty ignoring the actual lived experiences, history, and plights of the people of that culture is so unbelievably, obnoxiously, egocentrically, privledged behaviour it actually confounds me

"my culture is the default in my nation with literally everything from ideas of manners to when school holidays occur to what hair and clothing styles are deemed 'proffessional' structured and built around it, it faces nowhere near the scrutiny, mockery, or fetishization of any other culture in my country but instead of recognising that for the incredible privledge it is, im gonna sit here and whine about how that doesnt make me feel 'special' or 'interesting' instead as i forcibly insert myself and my ignorance into other cultures"