#does anyone remember camp rock

[justaregularken]

Babe why are you sitting over there babe? Come over here babe, I promise I’ll be normal babe, no babe I won’t talk to you about hbomberguy babe, no babe come on listen his new video came out, listen

[leth-writes]

yandere Chrollo x reader

My requests are open!

Warnings: graphic discussions of violence and gore. 18+. Also, it does end in a weird place, if anyone wants me to continue, please ask!

summary: You can see ghosts. Chrollo is surrounded by them.

You weren’t quite sure when your powers first developed; but for as long as you could remember, they were there. You never could muster up the courage to tell anyone else. At first, you were sure you’d gone crazy, but as time progressed and the powers grew stronger, you knew it was the truth. That was worse, to you. If anyone, especially your parents, found out you could see the deceased, your freedom would disappear and you’d be forced into the television circuit. It wasn’t easy to hide them, to pretend not to see the screaming, sobbing apparitions that filtered through the haze of your periphery.

With experience, you’d come to sort your ghastly visitors into one of two camps; the angry, and the scared. The angry raged endlessly about their pain, shouting curses no one could hear in voices long-cracked from effort. Even you couldn’t make out what they were saying. They were the ones that often remained in their final forms, distorting their flesh until it made a new mask that melted their old identities away. Currently, one in a bowler hat and vintage suit with long, stringy, scraggly gray hair was stomping around in their slick dress-shoes, face bloated and skin sloughing off from their prolonged exposure to water. Everytime their mouth opened, their thick, purpled tongue lolled out, pushing through the distorted features that made up what used to be a face. Their eyes were glazed, making it hard to tell what they were looking at. You could see, where their shirt rid up during their particularly violent rampage, the blue-toned skin sagging and discolored. When they moved, they left wet footprints behind, which soon dissipated. He took a pause in his tirade to attempt to kick over a nearby trashcan, then tried harder as his soaked shoe passed through without so much as a wobble. Angry apparitions were usually able to interact only with you, which is what made them dangerous; particularly violence specimens were known to attempt to push you downstairs or pull at your hair, which is why you made every effort to ignore them as much as possible. If they realized they could touch you, you’d be the victim of their unending fire.

Even despite the harsh violence of the angry apparitions, you preferred them to the alternative; the scared ones. They still maintained their more humanoid appearance, unlike the angrier variant, and yet, they were all the more haunting. Scared ones tended to be the young, the old, and the tragic, sobbing and rocking and hugging themselves out of fear. They silently begged and pleaded for help, and yet there was nothing you could do for them. It was best to turn away, without giving them false hope.

You’d spent your whole life avoiding the ghosts, and yet you were never successful. Even worse was when you passed someone who had a specter clinging to them; mothers clinging to children who’d never known them, victims attempting to push their murderers, babies crying for their parents to no avail. It was hard, being unable to tell them just what happened to their loved one, being unable to lie about their baby finding peace. You couldn’t even try to help the victims, because no police officer would take “they told me” as evidence in a murder trial.

So, you moved on. You learned to turn away, to act as though you saw nothing. It was easier that way, though you knew others wouldn’t view it that way. So, you quieted down about your ability, moved away from anyone who knew you when you were younger, and picked up a job at a cleaning company that allowed you to avoid any interaction in your daily life. Your work at the cleaning company took you all over YorkNew, allowing you to prevent putting down roots during your longer jobs. It was just easier not to get attached, because you knew you’d eventually slip up when a more personal face joined your eternal entourage. Clara, the receptionist, was nice enough, and you didn’t mind getting preferential treatment in job assignments. 

“Hello, Happy Home Cleaners, how can I help you?” Clara flicked her long honey blond hair over her shoulder, clicking her long pink nails against the aging keyboard. You leant against the chipped blue counter, watching absently as she typed in the information for a new client. Seeing the name pop up, you perked up. Seems like it was an all-hands-on-deck job for the opera house, which was having a giant auction. You knew it would be entertaining, and the tips from rich clients were always better. Clara set the phone down with a ‘clack’, finishing the assignment’s log before looking up and catching you watching. Clara was a middle-aged woman, short and chubby, with pale and pink-flushed skin and hazel eyes. She was sweet and kind, like an older sister or a motherly figure you’d never had, and you weren’t too upset about the lunches she’d taken to picking you when she realized you’d usually forget to eat.

“What’re you thinking?” She asked, leaning on her hand.

“I know the opera house’ll be a big job, but I’m excited for all those tips, and maybe I’ll get to see the items and watch the auction… I always liked watching rich people blow all their money on useless crap.” You drawled. She laughed, looking startled by your candor. “I knew you’d say that, and before you ask, I’ve already added you as priority for the assignment. You’ll get your chance to heckle to uber-wealthy, just wait.” she smiled, then turned away as the phone rang again.

Later on that week, you were on your way to the job at the opera house. You couldn’t wait to get inside, but as you peered out the dusty window of the van, you were in awe at the sheer size of the building. It had large, glimmering windows lining the entire building. Spotlights on the ground floor roved over the exterior of the building, briefly illuminating the windows and sending reflections glimmering all over. There were police all over, which seemed off to you, but you guessed the uber-wealthy were paranoid as is, so you put the concern aside. As you stepped out, you looked around, wide-eyed and gawping. The entryway was grand, with red carpet lining the walkway, armored guards in sleek black suits bracketing the entrance, a large red overhand, and gold railing enclosing the area. The entrance had glass doors lined with swirling silver motifs, sliding open as you walked through with a gust of air conditioning. 

The inside of the building was even more grand, with plush gold carpeting and ceilings so high you couldn’t see the roof. The light was strong and yellowed, casting a warm light over the various staff scurrying around. A tall, slim man in a black suit with a large, hooked nose and pale, grayish skin pulled taut over sharp cheekbones, his narrowed black eyes flashing before widening into a false calm, stepped forward. He towered over you and your colleagues, hands clasped behind his back as he looked down his long nose at you. “You’re the staff?” he questioned. As your supervisor stepped forward to address him, he turned and began speed-walking away. Your supervisor turned, baffled, to look at you before gesturing wildly to keep up with the thin man, who was turning a corner.

The man led your small group through a door and into the bowels of the building. The ceilings were noticeably lower and gold carpets morphed into grey and cracked concrete, lining the walls with various old pipes and service doors. The lights were harsher, putting the slim man into an even paler state as he speed walked down the long hall, footsteps clacking and echoing against the concrete and pipes. Finally, after what felt like hours, he opened another metal door into the staff’s area. It was a more moderate area, brown wooden plank floors with dark walls, red velvet carpets marking the area where the stage began. “This area is where the items will be stored and brought out for auction. It needs to be cleaned, as well as the stage and the seating areas. I expect it to be properly done, or you will not be paid. If you are spotted, act professionally. Any chatting will result in you being immediately fired. You are not here to chat, you are here to work so that people worth more than you can enjoy the spoils of their hard work. It’s enough that you are even allowed to be spotted; normally, that would be grounds for immediate termination and blacklisting. Be grateful I’m being lenient.” and with that, the man whipped around and marched off, leaving your supervisor in the dust. Your supervisor, Jason, faced you, baffled, before he regained his composure. “Alright guys, split up and get to work, I guess…” he mumbled, scratching his head. Wanting to avoid another interaction with the tall man, you moved out from behind the curtains and began working on the thick boards of the stage.

By the end of your shift, you were exhausted, arms feeling like noodles, but satisfied. You’d made great work on the stage, and you’d probably be able to begin working on the main room the next day. Determined, you exited the building, surrounded by coworkers. As you walked out, you spotted movement out of the corner of your eye. A short, chubby man with a bald head and bulging red eyes was talking quietly to the guards, but what caught your eyes were the plethora of ghosts surrounding him. The majority were angry; you focused on a thin man, face unrecognizable with blood and bits of flesh and bone splattered everywhere, exposing the violently red inside of his face where the skin had been peeled away, was gesturing violently, getting in the face of the short man. The apparition didn’t have eyes, but you could imagine they would be boring into the face of the shorter man. Evidently, that short man had wronged him in some way, and if he was the type of man to do something like that, you wanted nothing to do with him. Now frightened, washing away your previous confidence, you scurried along to the van, climbing in without a backwards glance.whoever that was, you hoped you would be able to avoid him.

The next day, the opera house was busier, swarming with staff scrambling to make final preparations. You returned to your work from the day before, prepping the main area with your coworker to prep it for the auction that would be taking place in only a couple of hours. You were excited; it was the only thing you had to look forward to all week, unable to normally see any fun entertainment due to your unusual schedule. You all worked quickly and efficiently, quietly finishing up any last-minute patch jobs before leaving the room to do some busywork backstage. You spotted the thin, tall man with the narrowed eyes, and he quickly waved it over. “You, you’re efficient and quiet. Go downstairs and welcome the guests. Our greeter called in sick. If you mess up and offend anyone, you’ll be more than fired. Go.” he barely glanced at you as he spoke, pushing you forward. “But I'm a cleaner! I can’t-” “don’t care. Go, or you don’t get paid.” you grumbled, finally stopping grabbing your feet and moving forward of your own volition. 

You entered the grand entryway again, observing the swarms of people filtering in. The thin man directed you to the base of the escalators. “Just tell people where they need to go. I don’t care what else you do, just don’t mess it up or it’s your head on the line.” he snapped, before power walking away toward another group of servers. You floundered for a second, staring vacantly into the massive crowd. It was only then you noticed the suffocating haze of the undead, crowded and overlapping as they struggled to stay near the person they were grappling toward and attempting to attack. The entire crowd was full of murderers, and that was only possible if the crowd was full of mobsters. Suddenly, you realized why the police were so present, why the thin man was so short; it was a mobster’s auction, and you were right in the middle of it. You stood ramrod straight, shaking hands gesturing for the approaching men and their corresponding apparitions to make their way up the escalator toward the main hall.

You stood there for the better part of an hour before the crowd thinned enough to make your way back to the main hall. By the time the large doors came into view, the guards were standing outside, arms crossed. “No entry,” the one on the left said shortly, gesturing for you to stay back. “But I'm staff! I’m supposed to be inside with the rest of my team!” you cried, exasperated. “Too bad. It’s too late for entry. You can go hang out in the lobby and wait for the rest of your team if it’s so important to you. Now get going, before I escort you out.” turning around with a huff, you barely avoided stomping away to the main lobby.

You’d been loitering in the lobby for close to an hour when you first heard the screams. Your head whipped up in time to catch the armed guards rushing through and thundering up the escalator. Worried, you chased after them, taking the stairs two at a time in an effort to keep up. “What’s happening?” you cried, frantically trying to see into the main auction hall. “They’re… gone?” a guard said, puzzled. “What do you mean, gone?!” his supervisor said, lowering his visor. “How does a room of people just disappear?” you hopped up, attempting to catch a glimpse of the inside, before whipping around and vomiting. What had once been a beautiful, if empty, room, had now been entirely swarmed by apparitions, wandering about confused. They were riddled with bullets, some so much that you couldn’t tell what part was which, crawling along and moaning silently in agony. Ghastly blood was streaked everywhere and limbs were strewn about, torn off front the force of the bullets. None of that was too bad, you’d even seen worse earlier that night, but what truly made you sick was the sight of Jason, frantically attempting to reattach his severed leg. His other limbs were completely misshapen and bent out of place, bone shifting under thin, blood soaked skin and poking out underneath shredded bits of pink muscle. The bone was shock-white, shattered and bent, and coated in viscera and sinew, and his arm was bent completely backward, causing him to drag along, attempting to reach out to you- and it was too much. You couldn’t handle it. Uncaring of the guards questioning your sudden shock, you raced out of the hall, dashing down the escalators and tearing toward the van. You hopped in, banging your palms against the steering wheel and breaking down crying. You’d never hated your curse more than when it let you catch one last glimpse of someone you’d lost.

You called the main office. No one picked up. Seemed they’d already been informed. Deciding to head home, you dropped the van off. Entering your dingy apartment, you dropped your coat off on the floor and slid off your shoes. You stumbled toward your room, flinging the door open and quickly changing into your comfiest sweater and a pair of ratty shorts. You plugged your phone in, wandering out toward your kitchen and grabbed a bowl. Pouring your favorite off brand cereal into the bowl and grabbing a spoon, you plopped down on your old grey couch, flicking on the news. 

“In other news, a massive police response has been mounted after hundreds of people went missing at the YorkNew opera house, and with no new leads any witnesses are asked to come forward and contact YorkNew police with any leads or information.” A tall, thin news anchor began, her short clipped brown hair perfectly coiffed and styled away from her face. Studio lights glared down, illuminating her orangey makeup as she gestured to her co-anchor. Her co-anchor picked up, gesturing to a photo of the opera house.

“While there is footage of the crowd entering the room, security feeds cut soon after. The artifacts present for today’s auction have also been reported stolen, leading police to believe it was a botched robbery. There are no suspects at this time, though rumors abound that the mysterious Phantom Troupe may have been involved.” He finished, looking at his co-anchor.

“The Phantom Troupe, well-known urban legend, are a group of mysterious thieves known to leave no witnesses in their wake. Theorists believe that the troupe, known for their spider tattoos, may simply erase any footage of themselves. Others argue they may have a supernatural ability allowing them to prevent being seen. And yet, this case is similar to other rumored Phantom Troupe cases, each with similar characteristics; a famous artifact missing and entire rooms of witnesses vanished. Police have not released any information about this potential tie.”

The Phantom Troupe? You’d never heard of them. You almost scoffed at the idea, before quickly reminding yourself that you too had a seemingly unexplainable ability. Was it so hard to believe that some with similar abilities decided to use them for more nefarious purposes? COmpletely unsettled, you changed the channel to a mindless comedy, letting yourself relax as you snacked.

You were called back in the next day. You found yourself surrounded by fresh employees, the only remaining cleaner left from the vanishing, as it had been labeled. The new employees, older women with a penchant for gossip, had immediately swarmed, asking countless questions about your role and what you’d seen. You’d shut it down quick, snapping that you didn’t want to hear about your dead colleagues, and they’d gone sheet-white and wandered away. You found yourself up in the bar, drinking copious amounts of vodka to get the thought of the bodies out of your head. Predictably, you’d not lasted a minute in the main auction hall before you had to run out. The new supervisor suggested you take the edge off, so you were ordering another drink. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a young girl with bright blue spiked ponytails, bouncing along in her bright white silky dress and sandals. You turned around, unwilling to be reminded of the young colleagues you’d lost. 

You hopped down from your stool, sighing and setting a generous tip down for the bartender. You made your way to the elevator, avoiding glancing back at the loud laughter of the blue-haired girl. You wondered how she could be so happy in a building where hundreds had died violently, but you guessed she didn’t know the full truth. Well, you didn’t need to be worried about her. She’d be fine, especially if she could afford to be at the auction.

Your shift dragged along, ignoring the gossiping ladies took more effort than you expected, but you didn’t have much mental bandwidth to worry. You finally finished cleaning the stage area, but the auction was set to start and the formerly-stolen, now found, artifacts were being brought in, contained in bulky wooden crates. Yet, shouting suddenly broke out, and you raced out into the hall outside of the auction room. The young blue-haired girl was slumped over, but what caught your attention was…

You’d never seen so much damage. Countless apparitions flooded the hall, all angry, all screaming and writhing in pain. Your eyes zeroed in on a young boy in traditional white robes, eye sockets leaking bright red tears against his ghastly white face; his eyes were gone, scratch marks dug into the soft skin surrounding his sockets, and the gaping holes locked onto his mother, whose eyes, unlike her son’s, were leaking out of her sockets. They looked almost like scrambled eggs, popped and flat, and her face had turned purple from her anger as she screamed. Another man, one in a ratty, hole-filled suit, had a bright purple face and his tongue hanging out, his neck bent at an unnatural angle and the bone popping through the skin as though his head had been forced downward. Crowds of people, dozens with their eyes missing or popped, and hundreds with bent necks or half their face caved in or missing limbs, all surrounding one man. The man, it took you a second to identify him through the crowd, was holding onto the blue-haired girl and shouting at a guard, who looked shocked. It was too much for you. A feeling like an icy bucket of water being dumped on you hit, then a hot flash, and your hearing went as your ears rang. Then, you were on the ground, blinking your eyes open and rubbing your head. The blue-haired girl was gone, and the man, you could see his choppy black hair, complemented by his stark white skin and a plush white cloth covering his forehead, was staring at you. He didn’t seem scared, or confused, just… amused. Another bolt of fear ran through your body. 

A guard was fast approaching. Your head snapped up, breaking the eye contact with the man and his field of bodies. “I-I’m okay. I’m fine. I just- I just need to go, I’m gonna go.” You forced out, jumping to your feet and backing away. “Are you-” the guard began. “No, I’m okay. It’s fine.” You whirled around and speed walked away. “Ma’am.” A smooth voice broke through your panic, and you felt a hand grasp your upper arm. You tried to shake it off, but the grip was concrete. You snapped back around, glaring at the man. His face was partially obscured by an apparition phasing through, burned skin peeling and exposing dark, cracked muscle. You gasped lowly, and the man’s eyebrows ticked up. “Are you alright? You look like you’re going to be sick… Do you need to take a seat?” He began to pull, gently guiding you toward a room. “No. No, I don’t need to… please let go!” Your voice cracked as it raised half an octave. Once again, the man’s eyebrows ticked up, and he let go of your arm.

[acheronist]

so i'm on the royal museum greenwich's online collection of polar artifacts looking at the items recovered from the gladman point skeleton site again. as one does.

and like... well perhaps i am crazy but does the brown scratchy part on the right side not seem as though that would be exactly the spot where your thumb would rest, if you were holding the comb (folded up) in your closed hand....... like .... ok can you just go on this walk with me for a second. lets all imagine that

you know that you are going to leave camp and die out on the shale and not come back and you're choosing that option on purpose because the expedition has so badly fallen apart there's nothing else to do

and you decide you are going to die while carrying your semi-recently deceased husband's wallet (containing his notes and diary and poetry and ID papers) above your heart, tucked between your shirt and your waistcoat

but you are not literate and don't even have the means to write something down anyways, so you can't add any notes into henry's wallet for safekeeping

and you knew that he died terrified of being forgotten and would upset with you if you died without letting anyone know who you were, too

and you remember that eventually someone somewhere will search for the expedition, and would check the hms terror muster and see names and occupations

so you get dressed in your steward's uniform and start shoving a steward's tools into your coat pockets. just to really make it clear that you were a steward.

and you leave camp and get separated and eventually become lost

but it takes a fucking while to walk and walk and walk until you drop dead and so you have a while to think about things

and the whole time you're walking out and getting lost and feeling miserable and doomed and heartbroken and antsy, you've got your hands shoved in your pocket to protect against the cold

and you've got one hand wrapped around this stupid folded haircomb and you're scratching your thumbnail into the lacquer case of it over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and ov--

until you fell down and facedown died as you walked along

and the comb stayed like that in your pocket until 125 years later, when someone finally found you and managed to pull it out from between your disarticulated, frozen, sun-bleached bones

that would be soooo fucked up right............. anyways it was probably just rocks and shale scratching it i guess..... maybe an animal gnawed on it a bit........ or like. yknow. the terrain + arctic tundra environment took its toll after the protective layer of Body And Clothes were degraded and destroyed over time etc.....

[thediaryofaurora]

General HCs

✩Brian Thomas/Hoodie✩

- Twenty seven!

- About 6’2. Mainly upper body strength, but this guy can RUN.

- White with Irish and Scottish heritage, not very in touch with it.

- He doesn’t remember pretty much anything that happened during Marble Hornets, since almost the whole time Hoodie was fronted. He feels awful about everything that happened/ happens when Hoodie takes over, especially when it comes to Tim and how he fucked him over with the whole stealing important medicine thing.

- Whenever Hoodie wasn’t fronted, he was purely trying to help Tim and Jay, but it’s not like they knew that. Hoodie didn’t necessarily want to hurt them either, he just needed them to be vulnerable to The Operator so he could recruit them.

- He didn’t die after the fall, but he was completely knocked out. Slender immediately took him away so he could make sure one of his best proxies didn’t die just like that.

- Wasn’t too good of friends with Alex, but he was desperate for actors. He was actually stoked when Alex wanted him to play in his movie, then he realized how bad it was. He and Tim made fun of it CONSTANTLY when they were off set, they still do.

- Played hockey in high school!! Definitely dyed his hair blonde and didn’t tone it whatsoever, but he pulled it off. Almost.

- He is SO SWEET. He gets along with absolutely everyone and is super charming. Remembers every little detail anyone mentions.

- Uses old spice, specifically the Krankengard.

- He and Tim have known each other since they were like eighteen, so they’re super close. They have a designated spot around the side of the mansion where they smoke together and tell each other whatever’s on their mind. He gives really good advice and is really easy to talk to, so no matter what the situation is he’s the guy to ask.

- Divorced dad rock enthusiast. Pink Floyd, Foo Fighters, The Smashing Pumpkins, etc.

- Pays for like every streaming service. He somehow has a bunch of bank accounts under different names and they’re all stacked, so he does whatever he wants.

- Usually works with Kate, Tim, or Toby, sometimes all together.

- Really likes being out in nature. Almost everyday he makes a goal to go on a walk/ hike or takes a few days to go camping. He usually tries to get Tim to go with him, but he gets burnt out easily.

- Very good at fishing. 1000% has a hat that says gone fishin’.

- Had a really good upbringing. His parents were both well mannered and overall good people, which really rubbed off on him.

- This guy loves apple juice, like to a concerning degree. He and Tim have a two bedroom apartment a few miles away from the Mansion so they have their own place, but they’re not completely alone in case something happened to one of them, especially with Tim’s seizures. Their fridge is PACKED with jugs of apple juice. He goes through at least two of them weekly.

- I could talk about him for hours, but I don’t want this to be too long.

★✩★✩★✩★✩★✩★✩★✩★✩★✩★✩★✩★

[forbiddenforestofdesire]

Summer of Stancest: Love is Blind

“You think we’re going to need to set out camp soon?” Stan asked.

Ford looked up at the sky, the stars unfamiliar and distant. He licked his thumb and lifted it up to determine the direction of the wind.

“Well, we’re still heading East.”

“That didn't answer my question.”

Ford turned to him. Stan had been using a walking stick to guide him, but he had been surprisingly adept given his current circumstances. 

“We’ll need to go a few more meters. We’re going to go to the top of the hill, and then I can get ready to make my observations. 

“It's a pity I won't be able to help you.” Stan grumbled.

“Nonsense.” Ford declared, as he reached over, grabbing Stan’s hand tightly in his. “If there's anyone I could be with right now, at this moment, it's here with you.”

Stan sniffed, letting go and wiping his face with his arm. “My allergies are actin’ up. When did you say we’d be there?”

“The total eclipse will be visible from this point, and we’ll be away from the onlookers.” Ford replied. He gave a soft chuckle. “You know Stanley, you'd love it. They have a rock a few kilometers from us that's shaped like Winston Churchill, someone installed a pipe on it to make it look more ‘convincing,’ it's a veritable tourist trap.”

“Does it look like him?” Stan asked.

“Not really.”

Stan shrugged. “Eh, I think I'll be fine. Though I think it wouldn't be able to compete with the Sascrotch.” 

Ford sighed. “No, Stanley, I doubt anything could.”

They made their way up to the designated point and stood in silence. The sky was beginning to darken as there was a chill in their air. Ford grabbed his brothers hand as they felt an eerie peace descend upon them.

“So these doodads, they only show up at eclipses?”

“Total eclipses, and they aren't called doodads, but you know what? That's ok. I don't think it's necessary to explain…”

“No, tell me about them, Sixer.”

“I talked enough about them on the boat.” Ford replied. 

The darkness crept in as Ford reached for his bag and searched for the special UV goggles McGucket designed for him. Yes! He pulled them out, placing them over his glasses. Sure enough, there it was. The elusive Eclipse Moth, Ectopatria Luna. It was a curious species that only resurfaced from their cocoons on special conditions. Their iridescent, milky white wings almost made them impossible to see with the human eye, without the use of modern technology, or in the past, magic. As he turned the goggles on, he watched as swarms of blue violet wings floated through the sky in ribbons in a dark black expanse. 

“Their flight patterns were once considered omens, you know.” Ford said, mostly as an anecdote.

“Hmph.” Stan replied, holding onto his hand with a rough grip. “Could you interpret them?”

Ford shook his head, then remembered. “Doubtful.” He replied. “And I'm not going to make something up like Mom did.”

“That's a shame. Would have been nice to be able to look ahead for once.” Stan joked. 

“Stanley, do you trust me?” Ford asked. He wanted to take notes in his journal, but didn't want to let go just yet. Maybe he could remember for later. 

“Always.”

“You will get better, we will find a way to bring back your eyesight. And when we do, you will be able to see all of our adventures and more.” Ford reassured him.

“I don't care about any of that, Sixer.” Stan replied. “I just miss that I can't see your face anymore.”

Ford let go of Stan’s hand, and Ford could sense his brother tense up in uncertainty. Ford placed the goggles back in his bag, then turned to face Stan, both his hands on Stan’s face. 

“Stan, can you feel me?” Ford asked.

“Of course.” He replied, miffed. “Where are you going with this?

Ford leaned over, his face touching Stan, their noses pressed against each other. “You might not be able to see me right now, but I'm going to make up the difference where I can.” He leaned over to kiss him, and in those last few seconds of the eclipse, they were both in darkness together. 

@5summersofstancest

[adrift-in-thyme]

I saw your post about requesting things for your Fairy Time AU and have a question. Does this AU include any of the weaknesses the Fae have in real wild folklore (ex. Iron)?

Oh, maybe you could write a little snippet with Time/Hyrule debunking common fairy myths with the rest of the group?

First off I’m SO SO SORRY for the long wait!! My writing motivation flew out the window and didn’t return until today. Tysm for being patient <333

ALSO, this got unexpectedly angsty (though was it really unexpected? This is me we’re talking about XD). So sorry about that

CW for mentions of injury, specifically burn wounds, and mind control

—————————————-

Time expects questions. After all, it is only natural that in the face of the information they have managed to uncover, the heroes would wonder. A fairy is a mystical thing, mysterious even to those as closely acquainted as they. And to learn that blessed blood runs through two of their companions is no small thing.

But the queries that come, pelting like raindrops, are different than he anticipated.

“Magic,” Legend says when the sun is high and the heroes prepare for battle, “can it harm you in ways it doesn’t others? Mortals, I mean.”

“What about salt?” It is Wild who asks, when they have set up camp for the night. He peers at the rock salt in his hand as though it is liable to attack. “I’ve heard fairies don’t like it.”

“Can fairies die?” Wind asks with eyes so large, Time imagines he can see the Great Sea roiling within them. “In ways humans can’t?”

Iron, curses, traps to ensnare — they have heard of them all. And now, they wonder about them all.

It’s touching, Time decides as he and Hyrule respond to their queries. Or attempt to. It is difficult to reply to things that spear their deepest worries, their most intimate wounds. That dredge up memories long thought buried and fling them into the light of day.

But yes, this protective instinct, this reckless kindness is touching. Knowledge is power, especially where Hyrule’s saviors are concerned. Obtaining it can be the difference between success and defeat.

From anyone else, such queries would be little more than flaming arrows, flying towards the heart. And truthfully, Time must shove aside that soul-deep instinct to hold up his shield to stave them off. The words that usher from his lips, the answers he gives, could very well doom him.

They have — unspoken though they were — many times before.

“Iron is the fae’s greatest weakness,” he whispers, a secret that burns like the material he references. “However, spells, when properly cast, are just as dangerous.”

“Salt doesn’t harm us though,” Hyrule clarifies, his voice a summer’s day breeze. “And neither does your cooking, champion.”

Wild laughs at that, a sound like water singing over river stones.

Wind’s question is the hardest to answer, though. In a way, the reply is cloaked within the others, enveloped in the unveiling of their deepest frailties.

Iron will sear a fae’s skin clean off their bones, mangle their wings into masses of excruciating matter.

Spells will enslave them, transform them into monsters that devour their own kin. Or simply wipe their minds clean, enslave them to a purpose they can no longer remember to resist.

Yes, many things can kill a fairy. But the thing that truly does them in (the thing Time sometimes wonders about whether it will do him in) is not unique to fae-kind.

Fairies, like mortals, care deeply.

(Though, perhaps that care they hold inside goes further than even mortal capabilities. Perhaps, the protective instinct, the need to guard and heal and care for is unnatural. Perhaps, it always has been and Time has only failed to notice it.)

(Perhaps, the love he sees in Malon’s eyes when he wraps his arms around her waist and holds her close, the teasing affection in Warriors’ when he claps a hand on Time’s shoulder, the vulnerability in Twilight’s when Time admits his pride…perhaps, those are not quite the same stuff as the emotion in his own heart.)

(He will never know. He is content with that.)

Regardless, this love is the greatest danger fairies face. For when their loved ones are in danger, when evil threatens the people whose caring hands embrace their very souls, a fairy is helpless to stand back and do nothing.

The weaknesses that plague them — their small size and precious, fragile wings, these make a fairy vulnerable. But their willingness to lunge into the fire, that is what causes them to burn.

[hannahssimblr]

“Granny?” Ivy cries. “I hate granny.”

“You’re not supposed to hate your grandmother,” I point out as I unwind the vacuum cord. “Even if she is… the way that she is.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“Alright, well maybe don’t tell the truth in front of mom and dad.”

“Ugh! For how long?”

“I don’t know, a few hours. Five, maybe.”

“Five hours?” 

“Bring a book.” I find a socket behind a potted plant and fumble with the plug. “Or you can have my iPod. Actually, you can have and keep it.”

“Okay, but whenever we put on music at her house, she complains and says it’s the devil’s.”

“Not all music, just the Rolling Stones.” I point out. “Actually, Mick Jagger. She said he was the devil personified, remember?” I think she came up with that line in the sixties, thought it was poignant, and hasn't stopped saying it for the rest of her life. I don’t even listen to the Rolling Stones. She just assumes all my music must be theirs, because she hates it with the same vigour as she did Beggar’s Banquet. 

“‘Oh, what are you reading, Ivy? Something by some old cowboy?’” Ivy says in this plummy, pretty spot-on impression of Granny Hyland, who also likes to call everyone she doesn’t like a cowboy, for reasons I could never grasp. That includes me, of course, that time I shaved my head.

“‘I’d prefer that children didn’t speak at the dinner table, and that they ate all of their disgusting, soggy peas and carrots that I’ve put no salt on. And don't scrape your cutlery on my ugly plates!’” Ivy goes on. A direct quote, probably. 

I swear I can see Granny now, sitting there, all thin and powdery in her musty, Glasnevin Victorian that one of us is one day cursed to inherit. She’s always seemed so old, even though she’s still only in the first half of her sixties. How she would sit there at the table, gripping her knife and fork over Christmas dinner with those weird, rheumatic hands and jawing on about manners, she was like a turn of the century relic. 

My decision to throw a party tonight has condemned my sister to an evening of that, and for that, I’m guilty. 

Ivy throws herself onto the settee, her hair spilling over the floor. 

“Move your rat tails or I’ll suck them up in the hoover,” I mutter.

“Why are you hoovering? Irene does that for us.”

I sigh. “I guess I’m the cleaner today.”

“Why?”

“Because mom and dad said so.”

She frowns. “Why would they say that? If they want the house cleaned, they would just phone her to come and do it.”

“Yeah, I know, but they’re teaching me a lesson.”

“A lesson about what?”

“I don’t know, hoovering, I suppose. Move.” I scoop her hair out of the way, then hit the wrong button on the hoover. The cord retracts and tightens. 

Ivy sits up. “Who’s coming to your party? Anyone cool?”

“Define ‘cool’.”

She shrugs. She doesn’t really know what cool is in an Irish way, only in that glossy, American tween show way she knows from watching TV at her friend Ella’s house. I’ve wanted to tell her nicely that if those smiley kids wearing belts on top of their t-shirts from her beloved Camp Rock went to school here, they’d have the contents of the canteen bins chucked over them while inside the bathroom stalls, but they’re cool to her, so I just let her enjoy it before she realises. 

“It’s just gonna be some people from school, that’s all.”

“What about your friends from summer?”

I laugh awkwardly. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask them. They probably won’t come.”

“Why?”

“Because they live far away, and it’s short notice.”

“You should ask. You’re going away tomorrow. Maybe they’d come because it’s the last chance to see you.”

“It won’t be the last chance. I’ll be back.”

“Yeah, at Christmas,” she says, as though Christmas is the year 2036. 

“Uh, yeah. Christmas. It’s not that long.”

“It is! It’s ages away! And also-”

“Ivy! I’m hoovering now. It’ll drown you out even if you keep talking.” With my foot, I whack the button, the correct one this time, and the machine roars to life. Ivy yaps on, but I just move my hand like a sock puppet. “I can’t hear you!”

She sticks out her tongue, and I stick out mine, but when she’s turned away and become interested in a bird out hopping around on the patio furniture, I pull my phone from my pocket and tap out a hasty message. 

Having a goodbye thing at my house. Will you come? 

It’s several minutes before Evie replies, and by then, I already assume that she won’t, in that kind of sad, desperate way, familiar to me only from my pubescent MSN days. By the time my phone vibrates, I jump. 

Okay, what time? 

I type back:

Seven. Look, I know you’re in Offaly, obviously, so you’re welcome to stay if you need to. There’s a few people crashing here. 

She won’t come. She definitely won’t come. Especially not if she has to sleep in my house. Who am I kidding? There’s all that stuff about her strict mother, and being around boys, and-

Ping.

Yeah, sounds cool. I’ll be there. 

Oh. 

Cool. See you later.

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[fllagellant]

It’ s so weird that Wyll has so … little to say when you’ re actually in Baldur’ s Gate . Why isn’ t he trying to check old places he remembers being at . Why isn’ t he wondering where a shop has gone or why they changed the gates at a park . Why isn’ t he trying to talk to old people he knew . Why isn’ t he trying to sneak around Wyrm’ s Rock . He would know the out of the way doors and the best hiding spots . Why doesn’ t he demand to visit his family estate and see if anyone there has managed to avoid a tadpoles fate .

+ the fact the game ( if you break the pact at least ) REALLY doubles down on Wyll only doing it for his own power play but what if you had quest to help his father ( or himself ) secure power again in Baldur’ s Gate . Why is there no “ steal these documents from Gortash to learn where Duke Ravengard is “ why is there no “ Expose lies to the Baldur’ s Gazette “ quest to help make the citizens start to look down upon Gortash . No infiltrate coronation ball quest at all ????? Why is there NOTHING ..

Also sorry . Mizora does not need to fucking be at the camp . “ Zariel’ s protection “ means nothing . I don’ t even get a persuasion check to try and make her go ? Not even one intimation check ?? You can go to the house of hope but you cannot find anything that might force Mizora to Go Away ? The fact she starts to fuck with people like Florrick to try and ruin Wyll and she’ s always back at camp ??? Would have made more sense if she wasn’ t there at all .

Mfw I get to Baldur’ s Gate the name of the Game and it feels like a two sentence foot note

[thezombieprostitute]

okay, but that nekid man in the boat is totally Ari vibes

The photo in question.

Part 2

I definitely get what you mean. Ari does like to wear as few clothes as possible, at least in hotter climates.

But I'm gonna go a different route: Werewolf Steve.

He's isolated himself in the Northwoods boreal forest, specifically the Minnesota/Ontario region. He can't always control himself when he shifts and doesn't want to hurt anyone. He's learned to survive on his own pretty well and only goes around people when he absolutely has to.

Or when a nature photographer visits his neck of the woods.

You'd heard about wolves in the region but no one had gotten actual proof. In the interest of conservation you headed out to try to get some solid evidence that would allow for more protections in the forest. It wasn't your first time spending a couple weeks in the woods. You were a pro at making camp and weathering storms. But you couldn't have been prepared for Steve's reaction to your scent on the wind.

The first hint he picked up had him on alert. A stranger in his forest wasn't necessarily bad, but it wasn't always good. His wolf form had better stealth so he shifted and headed out to track you down and evaluate from there. As your scent became stronger he found his control loosening. You smelled so damn delectable and he was getting hungry for something other than food.

He spotted you putting cameras on some of the trees (he'd have to figure out how to get rid of those later) and kept back to watch you work. He couldn't exactly shift back to human form. He'd be naked and he doubted your first impression of a naked man in the woods would be positive. But as he snuck closer your scent nearly overwhelmed him and he started growling.

Startled at the sound you turn around quickly and see a giant wolf staring at you. You quickly duck your eyes down. Don't look predators in the eye, you remember. You slowly start to back away but misstep and fall on your back, head hitting a rock and knocking you out.

Steve can't just leave you here. A blow to the head indicates a need for medical treatment. But he can't carry you as a wolf. Hell, he probably shouldn't carry you at all since he probably needs to keep your neck and back as still as possible. He makes a choice and races back to his home to grab his little rowboat and convert it to a makeshift stretcher. He's in such a rush to get back to you he forgets to put on clothes.

The river is faster to get you back to his home so he gently lays you on the stretcher, taking care not to move your neck much. Having you in his arms feels nicer than anything he's touched before. If he didn't have to worry about your health he'd let himself enjoy your body heat for a bit.

As he's rowing you slowly wake up and are greeted to the sight of a well muscled, hairy, naked man.

Part 2

[lady-ashfade]

Never come back.

Day 5 Of Fictober.

Human!Bakusquad x Naga!Reader. Quick drabble.

A lot to happen in a short amount of time. Idk with this but I thought about it.

Warnings: threatening from reader, readers dark pasted mentioned, cussing, horrible writing on this one, fish death.

In every story there is always a girl falling in love with the monster she finds in a cave. But in this story you are the girl in the cave, alone with your treasure. Far from any human connection and where no one should ever find, with millions of gold trinkets and gold safe within your protection. You lived many years from hatching alone with empty eggs of your siblings and a mother with no heartbeat. Only for your father to be the only one was left and who raised you while he could, teaches you to speak and how to hunt. He taught you how to survive one your own, knowing one day he’d be gone.

Being alone meant you got to pick a new home for yourself where not even the deadest of predators could find you. A cave with a lake within it, much space to climb and slither around and keep your treasure in. Your heart aches for someone to love and to keep you company but to afraid to look for them. After all you lost so much already and being alone was all you knew. You spent years clearing and moving things around in case anyone found you. But no one would be as stupid to enter your home…

“Dude, look how cool this shit looks.”

The group watch denki shine his flashlight around the dark and wet cave walls. Everyone watches their step and looked around themselves. “Does anyone feel like we shouldn’t be here?” Kirishima asked as he tugged at his backpack straps. Mine nodded at the redhead, “It was so warm outside but this place is so cold.” She shivered. The group were in summer clothes that weren’t made for this type of situation.

“Shut up, fuckin pussies.” Bakugo rilled his eyes and walked in front of the two, his phone shining his own light. “Came here to find some shit remember? It was your fuckin’ idea.” He sent a back glare at kiri as the man just shrugged. Mina held onto kirishimas arm and rolled her eyes at the blonde. “Actually, it was my idea.” She smirked as he turned his head and gave her a snarl with flared nostrils.

“Great, then you probably lead us to almost getting kill- Again! I had to save all our asses last time.” He shouted and his voice was so loud throughout the cave. Mina giggled and rushed to him and jumped onto his back almost making him fall, “But this time I have a good feeling.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and he blushed light pink for a moment before turning his head. His arms hooked under her legs as she wrapped her legs around his waist and neck.

“I wish I could smoke down here,” sero sighed and kicked a rock. “Left my shit at camp.”

Denki smirked as he saw a archway like opening in the cave and saw something shining through it. He stopped in his tracks and held his hands up to stop them all, “Get the camera!” He shouted excitedly. Kiri pulled out the camera immediately and was beaming with happiness, “Rolling.” He pointed the camera at the other blonde.

Mina jumped off bakugou as denki talked to the camera like some YouTuber. Everyone sneakered at him but followed him forward wondering what he saw or what he’s up to. Bakugo yelled at the other blonde and told him to hurry up so denki did so. Soon denki was walking into the room and they all froze at the sight in front of them.

“Holy shit.”

“What the fuck?”

“About time.”

“…I’m going to buy so much clothes.”

Mine ran passed the boys and went to the gold she she saw, many jewels and jewelry, small gold cups and coins. She picked a few up and threw them in the air, “We’re so rich!” She proclaimed. Sero came at her side and looked at some of the stuff that was in the almost infinite pile of treasure. He picked up a goblet and looked at the designs engraved in the gold. Snakes running up the bottom and around the cup.

“Treasure hunters! That’s what we are.”

Kirishima turned off the camera and ran to denki and pulled him into a jumping hug, Bakugo just looked around. He was in slight shock at finding so much shit. His eyes trail to the floor and found something strange, so he walk towards it and bent down. A small fish with only its head on it’s bones not looking a day old..Nothing rooting, hell the blood was still wet.

“I don’t like this guys.” He stood up and crossed his arms. “Somethings not right, pack all you can and lets go.” He took the bag off his shoulder and threw it over to them. Staring at the group he saw them looking at him but not saying a word and barely moving, he rolled his eyes. “Can’t take orders? I swear,” he huffed.

He was about to move to do it himself until something wet dripped onto his shoulder and made him shiver. Body freezing and eyes going wide as he looked closer and realizing they weren’t staring at him…

Something wrapped around his legs and lifted him into the air before he could react, a small yell leaving his lips. “What the hell?” He ask as he was flipped upside down from whatever was hanging him. The others watch in fear as the big snake like creature got ahold of their boyfriend and held him in the air.

“Humanss~ Should have known, nothing else yells like you.” Your tongue made more sounds as it rattled out of your mouth. “A full pack here no less? Greedy little things,” you shook your tail and made the human in your clutch swing a bit as you looked down at him. “Going after my treasure.” You listened at the one you hold onto as he yells at you but you pay it no mind. Looking back at the others you glare harshly.

“How many know you’re here? I bet you wanted to have my scales~ too!” You shout and hiss at them loudly to make them flinch. They group together and hesitant their movements in fear. They looked at the human you held and you looked down at him too, they seemed to care for him…

“Mate?” You asked and juggled him around again. Your hand came up to meet his ears and his hair to look over each detail, “Plain looking human.” It was almost laughable how calm you spoke when you said it.

“Please, we didn’t know this belong to you! I swear if you let us go we’ll never return.” You drop your hands away from the boy and look at the girl talking to you. She had tears in her eyes but determination… “Can’t trust humans.”

Next thing bakugo knew he was thrown from your grip and down on the ground in front of his lovers. He groans in slight pain at the hard ground he landed on. “Humans kill us- Take my family,” you looked around and they watch you grow bigger as you get anger “Take my treasure!” You lash out and swing your tail at them. The group jump out of the way together and shout at your attempts to attack them.

“We’ll do anything,” the girl you talk to earlier fell to her knees and cried out. “Let us live.” She begged as tears rolled down her cheeks as she hit the ground. You tilt you head at the sight of a human acting such a way…you calm down and sink back down.

“Humans don’t cry- You shouldn’t..” you looked around panicked and find a necklace on the floor and toss it to her to make her stop. “Stop crying! Look, shiny.” She looked down in confusion. You just tired to kill them and now..

“You’re strange. They said you carry large weapons to skin us, they say you scream at us…” they inch back as you got closer to get a look at them, “not like others.” A idea comes to your head.

“Must be weak.” Your tail inches closer as you wrap it around each of them as they try to get away. “Protect instead. Mates- Yes, Mates.” You rub your head on theirs. You hear them protesting and the loud one calling you stupid and trying to hit you.

“My little humans.”

[ottosbigtop]

if you have any crumbs to share... about aac raz/lili/bobby dynamic pleeeez ramble to me i want info i'm so into this concept T_T

oh my guy I have so many crumbs for you. These guys have resided in the back of my brain forever but I was usually too embarrassed to say anything about it outside of a couple joke posts. But this is my house so I’m choosing to thrive and frolic.

Also a doodle of the aforementioned three before I enter my tangent :) rambling under the cut

the initial dynamic of these three goes something like

-Lili & Bobby - can’t stand his fake ass. She remembers having to deal with him at whispering rock and clearly is not very good at letting go of grudges from when she was ten. This is, in fact, Bobby’s worst nightmare. He was terrified of working for the psychonauts partially because he didn’t want to run into people he used to know. Surprise! They don’t like each other.

-Raz & Bobby. Raz has the complete opposite problem he literally barely remembers this guy. They interacted for maybe a collective hour one day when he was 10 years old, he only recalls him because Lili clocks him and reminds Raz. Bobby mostly hadn’t thought about him since camp, but did build a little (lot) bit of a resentment after seeing that weird little freak from camp pop up on different True Psychic Tales covers. That on top of Bobby now having to intern under this guy makes their relationship kind of spotty to start, for sure.

-Raz & Lili. Theyre having fun :) After having fun “dating” as real young kids they fall out of touch during their teen years when Raz goes to travel with then circus again to try and reconnect with his family (whole other can of worms for him.) They meet back up during the late teen years and sort of pick up right where they left off, dating off and on for a bit and “officially” dating long term for a little over a year now.

Both their relationships with Bobby evolve over time, naturally. Bobby and Raz have a whooole fucking thing that isn’t fully conceptualized and Is way too long a concept for me to share but their intern/mentor relationship does help them learn to get along with each other. And of course them getting along means Lili having to deal with being around Bobby more often and so it begins.

The whole ~ feelings ~ aspect mostly starts with her and Bobby I think, funnily enough. They hate each other, they want each other dead so bad, but eventually they have to learn to get along for Raz’s sake if nothing else. So they learn! Try to, at least. They’re both really bad at it.

but the “i hate you i want you dead” manages to evolve into that more friendly insulting banter some people have. “I hate you i want you dead” (complimentary.) It gives Raz a headache because it takes him a while to process that they’re usually joking when they’re arguing with each other now.

Lili doesn’t like when she starts to have Feelings about that shitty little freak (tm.) I think she’s somewhere on the Aro spectrum and when Raz wasn’t around she really never. Felt any sort of desire for romance with anyone else. Girl just kind of forgot about it for a bit until he showed up again. Which caused a lot of emotions. And then got used to that until Bobby is introduced into the equation and slowly she starts to feel things toward him that aren’t Rage and Disgust. Which causes a lot of emotions.

Raz I think is entirely oblivious of having any feelings toward him for the longest time. While Lili is a slow “oh god oh fuck” buildup, he’s just really happy he and Bobby are getting along at all that any sort of progress in affection toward him just feels like another big win for friendship. I think it hits him all at once late at night on a random Tuesday and he just sits up in bed and stares at a wall about it.

The whole Raz and Lili communicating abt the concept of polyamory would make this insane post already twice as long and it’s not a part of it all I’ve thought about anyways so we’re going to shelve it for now. But once they do reach the conclusion that they saw this guy from across the bar and they liked his vibe, they both proceed to trip over their own feet for the next however many weeks.

You see, “woman who does not process her emotions” and “guy who needs a twelve step plan for everything” is a prime combination for two people who are pulling some mad scientist shit to try and talk to this guy rather than just inviting him out to eat sometimes. And Bobby is convinced for a little bit that they’re planning to dissect his brain or something because they keep doing that ^

On Bobby’s side of this whole equation the evolution is just his own little torment nexus for a few months.

he initially discovers he’s got a thing for Lili after they start getting along more and it sucks for him. He enjoys their flirty little threats of violence but he’s also close with Raz at this point so I think it just kind of makes him feel . Gross . Like man am I flirting with my friend’s girlfriend I think I am. Oh he’s probably going to hate me. Help.

and that concern for Raz is also a guy in the back of his brain knocking on a door very loudly trying to tell him he’s bisexual but he’s not quite arrived at that conclusion. Give him a few more missions where Raz grabs him while he’s falling to his death and he’ll get there probably.

there’s so many words. These are so many words. I’ll be honest the wacky schenanigans of the “before relationship” era are so funny to me that I’ve not really had any conceptual ideas for them getting into + Being In a Relationship yet. But I hope that you like this at least! This insanely long ass post goes out to you and the one other guy who’s a fan of these three (hi)

[miserymet]

Posting another piece of writing! This one is the opening chapter for a Bass-centric Modern AU. Much longer than the Drabble I posted, but rereading it made me nostalgic for this old AU. I’d like to do some art for it at some point.

Anyway, without further ado, here’s the fic:

His name was Ballade.

Bass doesn’t know much more than that. All he knows is his name and that he was year above him. He either doesn’t remember the rest or never learned it. See, that was the problem with Ballade. He was completely and entirely irrelevant. A stain on ruined shirt, a blemish against tattered skin. He didn’t matter, not in the grand scheme of things and not to anyone at school. A nobody in every sense of the word. Bass doesn’t remember what was so annoying about him either. All he remembers is that one day he said something, and Bass wasn’t in the mood to hear it.

Ballade was the first to end up on the pavement, blood leaking from his face. He was not the last.

Bass Wily’s history is best described as “colorful.” From a young age it was easy to see that he was different from his peers. Teachers described him as difficult, classmates as terrifying, and parents as concerning. That was only the beginning. His first fight was in elementary, with the aforementioned Ballade, but his real beginning was in middle school. Why, the list of his enemies was so long they could make it into a phone book. The list of people he beat to a pulp wasn’t quite as long, but the amount of fights he lost wouldn’t even take up a footnote. As you can imagine, this was a nightmare for his father.

It’s no wonder the old man got sick of him. He came out of freshman year with bloody knuckles and a bad attitude. Most would have sent him to a boot camp. Most would have the shame to admit that they had failed somewhere along the way. But not Wily, no, he could never call his own blood a lost cause. Not when his rotten son ending up in juvie was sure to make the headlines. No, Wily had a different plan in mind. A plan that got Bass out of the way and wiped his record clean. A plan he never planned on filling Bass in on until it was too late to make a run for it.

A plan he named Zero.

That’s how Bass finds himself in the passenger’s seat of a car he’s never been in before, staring out over a dark and endless highway. The lights are few and far apart, covering the car for only a moment before cutting out again. For as far out as they are, there’s nothing to see. All around them are miles and miles of roads and fields and lifeless desert that threatens to swallow him whole. It’s a wasteland. That’s all that lies between the cities out here. Dirt and dust and rock. It’s miserable. At least now it’s too dark to see anything.

The inside of the car isn’t anymore comfortable. His jacket hangs loosely over him, unzipped and falling off his shoulder. It’s just cold enough to make him uncomfortable, but it’ll be too warm if he zips it up. So he doesn’t. Bass just slouches in his seat and breathes a deep sigh. 

The radio buzzes in his ear, playing something that was probably popular thirty years ago. Now it’s nostalgic. Retro. A pathetic ploy to remember the past as better than it actually was. It’s so easy to remember those years as too much synth and makeup, as bright lights and exposed skin. It’s just music. Music that said nothing and meant even less. Bass hates that. Hates that the same people who call modern music soulless praise this garbage because it’s old. Hates that they’re all listening to the same bubblegum bullshit, but from a different time. 

He doesn’t know why he cares. People have been touting their self importance since the dawn of time. He can imagine their prehistoric ancestors measuring their sticks to see whose was the biggest. Only now people care less for sticks and more for music that takes itself too seriously. That’s the issue, he guesses. Everyone cares too much. Wily cares too much about his image, Bass cares too much about everything, and Zero…

Bass doesn’t know what he cares about. Doesn’t really know the guy. At all. 

He reaches for the radio and switches to another station. Bass is immediately inundated with a different kind of garbage. Modern electronic music. At the sudden change, Zero speaks up for what must be the first time in over an hour. 

“I was listening to that.”

Bass rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t.”

They lapse into silence again as Bass switches through various stations. Some play pop, some rock, some are pure static. None of it is worth listening to. Bass didn’t think any of it would be, but at least playing with the radio gives him something to do. His phone died forever ago, leaving him with whatever he has on hand to entertain himself. His backpack is full of sentimental junk, nothing he can really use to distract himself. Treble is napping in the backseat and Bass doesn’t have the heart to wake him. So this car radio is all he has for company. Zero doesn’t count. He’s not company. 

Bass barely even knows the guy. Which is why he’s trying so hard to distract himself. If he thinks too hard he’ll remember that he’s riding with a stranger to a city he’s never seen before. The knob turns in his hand as he thinks, sliding between stations haphazardly. He’ll be in a new place, away from everything he’s ever known, living with someone he doesn’t know. Someone unpredictable. Sure, anyone that isn’t Wily is probably an improvement, but Bass is used to Wily. He knows how the old man thinks. Knows how he works, how to deal with him. Bass doesn’t know Zero, hasn’t for five years. Which makes the man unpredictable. Which makes Bass nervous. He fiddles with the knob just a bit faster, static breaking through the speakers.

“Forte-,”

“Bass. It’s Bass now.” He keeps his eyes trained on the car radio, watching the stations flicker by. “Has been for a while.”

Zero sighs, loudly. “Well Bass, pick something or turn it off.”

He lands on static. Bass is pretty sure he sees Zero’s eye twitch out of the corner of his eyes, but he chooses to ignore it. The satisfaction of annoying Zero lasts for only a minute. After that, he quickly realizes the consequences of his actions. There’s several hours between him and his destination. Several hours he’s going to have to suffer through with the sound of static accompanying all of it. How lovely. It’s times like these where Bass almost wishes he were someone else. Of course, that’s only when his difficult nature affects himself. Any other time and he’s perfectly happy being the most antagonistic person in existence.

People are stupid. People like Wily, like Zero, like his teachers and his peers. People that look at him and see only what they want to see. People that look at him and see Forte. See this teen with a bad attitude and dark clothes and assume that they know everything about him. Bass exists to defy those assumptions. He is not the expected, not the convenient. He’s loud, abrasive, aggressive. He’s everything Wily pretends he isn’t. He’s whatever’s going to infuriate Zero the most. He’s whatever pisses everyone off. A contrarian. A problem. Bass gets to control what everyone thinks of him. He gets to pick what he wants to be. Everyone else just has to deal with it or move on.

Most choose to move on. Even the most patient people in the world get sick of him eventually. The smart ones leave as soon as they can. As you can imagine, it leaves him on his own more often than not. That’s fine. Bass has been on his own for a while. He’s used to it. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Zero. This won’t be any different. A change of scenery won’t fix what’s wrong with him. Bass won’t change, won’t get better, won’t get worse. He’ll just continue on as he always has. Zero will get sick of him eventually. Send him back in a few months, throwing Wily’s mistakes in his face once again.

The thought isn’t as comforting as it should be. As nervous as he is about this move, the idea of returning home isn’t thrilling either. That house, that city hasn’t felt like home for a while. It used to. It used to be familiar and comforting. It used to be his. Now it feels like any other place. Those long halls, those labyrinthine streets, they don’t feel the same. Not since…

Wily certainly chose a convenient time to get sick of him. After everything, it figures the old man would cut him loose after he’s already been hanging from a string. He wonders, briefly, if that was exactly Wily chose to do this now. The old man never cared much for the company he kept, so why would he get rid of him after his old gang had left? Why wait until he had nothing to ship him off? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe it was just convenience. That he was waiting for Zero to come home, that this was always the plan. Of course, that just leaves one unknown variable.

“Why…” Bass falters and hates himself for it. “Why are you doing this?”

Zero grips the steering wheel a little harder. “Doing what?”

“This! The move, the new house, the new school-, why? Why any of it? Why?”

Bass flails his arms in useless gesture. The man next to him huffs in what might be amusement, which makes only one of them. He slouches in his seat and turns away from the man. Pouting, he knows, but he figures he’s earned the right. His life is being upended by the only two people that still hold any power over him. Two people that don’t even know him, for all the years he’s lived with them. Wily and Zero never cared to learn anything about him, and Zero’s missed a third of his life. Bass was ten when Zero left, ten. A lot changes in five fucking years. And Zero doesn’t know the half of it.

“Didn’t he tell you what you’re dealing with? My record? My ‘attitude problem?’”

Zero stiffens a bit at that. Bass wouldn’t have gotten as far as he has if he didn’t know how to exploit a weak spot. He prods further.

“C’mon, how much do you know? I have to know what the old man said about me, which one of my greatest hits he told you.” Bass tugs on Zero’s jacket, jostling him a bit. “Was it that kid whose nose I broke? Or the one who got his older brother involved, who I destroyed by the way. What about the one who showed up with a bat-,”

“Bass.” His grip is harder now, jaw clenched as he stares dead ahead.

“What? I just want to know-,”

“Why are you proud of that? Of what you did to those kids? What-,” Zero takes a deep breath, barely keeping it together.

Bass rolls his eyes. “What’s wrong with me? A lot. I’m sure you can make a few guesses.”

“Do you enjoy hurting people? Is that fun for you?”

“I enjoy winning.” He pulls back his hand, crossing it over his chest. “I enjoy being better than all the idiots who see someone whose barely five feet and thinks that they can take him. I enjoy when everyone else is wrong. I enjoy making them admit it.”

“Well, you weren’t doing much of that when I came home! Your father said you weren’t doing anything. That you hid in your room all day. That you stopped leaving the house. That’s what he told me.”

Bass opens his mouth. Then shuts it. He honestly didn’t think the old man noticed. No, the truth is that he honestly didn’t think the old man cared. So what if he was in his room? It’s his room. It’s his house! He’s allowed to be there! The alternative was being somewhere else, doing something illegal. Most parents would be happy that Bass wasn’t doing any of that. That he was somewhere they could see, that they could keep him out of trouble. Actually, considering how fond Wily was of pretending his own son didn’t exist, this was almost textbook. Figures the old man would only care because he had to suffer his own son’s presence. Still…

“What do you care?”

Zero doesn’t answer him, not right away. Bass spares him a glance. He’s kinda like a monolith, in a way. He sits straight, arms stiff and limbs locked into place. He’s about a foot taller than Bass so he almost towers over him in his slouch. Zero has towered over him for a while. A monument to everything Bass is not. Zero is tall and lean, with smooth features and a pretty face. His skin is tan, his hair blonde and his eyes a vivid blue. He was a straight A student all throughout high school, at the top of his class, and he even got valedictorian. Not to mention the Ivy League school he went to, which he graduated a few months ago. With flying colors, of course. 

Bass is nothing like him. He’s short and awkward, his face round and features mean. Bass is a darker complexion, with black hair and dark eyes. What’s worse is that these features only look bad on him. If Zero had them, he’d look great. But Bass isn’t Zero. His grades are mediocre, his attendance record awful, and he’s never gotten anything more than a participation trophy. And, not to be redundant, but the record. Even if it’s being swept under the rug here, it still exists. Bass did everything he got in trouble for. Beat up every name in that file. He’s every counselor’s nightmare.

“I care because I don’t think you’re a bad kid.”

He blinks at that. “You’re insane.”

“I mean it, Bass.” Zero takes another breath. “Your father isn’t…a good person.”

“He’s a shithead, I know.”

“Yeah, he is. And having a father like that doesn’t make for a good environment to grow up in. It leads to…people like us.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“We’re not normal, Bass. Normal people don’t beat people up for fun, they don’t have rampant anger issues, they don’t pick the farthest school from their family because the thought of living in that house makes them sick.”

That explains why Zero never visited. Bass kinda assumed he was too busy studying or whatever to bother, but it makes sense that avoiding Wily was his main motivation. Bass did the same thing, although he could never get as far away as Zero did. And he eventually had to come home. But every moment he spent away from Wily was one he savored. Even if he was just loitering or hanging out in empty parking lots. Anything to not have to be home. Bass remembers staying out for hours, far after sunset, just so he could be sure Wily was asleep.

Sometimes one of his friends would wait with him. Tengu’s presence was typical, seeing as he didn’t have any good reason to go home either. His parents weren’t ever around and Bass learned not to pry. He wasn’t good company, though. Bass kinda got the feeling he only stuck around because he felt like he had to. Burner sometimes stuck around too. Usually to get the smell out of his clothes, but sometimes he didn’t want to go home either. Bass didn’t like Burner, for a lot of reasons, but he could be nice when he wasn’t on something. 

His friends weren’t normal either. Bass knew that, instinctively, but that was why he hung around them. Because they knew what it was like to not be normal. To be ugly and awful, to be unforgivable to everyone else. They were so not normal that it made Bass feel normal. Like he wasn’t some freak of nature. Like it wasn’t his fault that he came out like this. That it just…happened. Like it did with all of his friends. 

Zero is the opposite. He’s a stark reminder of how messed up Bass is. Because if Zero ended up as perfect as he is, then Bass doesn’t really have an excuse. Bass just isn’t good enough. Someway, somehow, he is insufficient. Flawed. Imperfect. But hearing Zero say that he isn’t normal, that something wrong with him? It’s bittersweet. It doesn’t fix Bass, but it does make him feel better to know that Zero isn’t as high and mighty as he might seem. But again, that only explains part of what’s going on. Bass knows why Wily sent him away, knows why Zero wants to leave, but it still leaves one thing unanswered.

“That explains why you’re moving, but why the hell did you bring me along?

“Because getting away from that-,” Zero falters for a moment. “Getting away from our father was good for me. College was good for me. Getting to be around normal people with normal lives made me realize how fucked up ours was. It made me realize that things didn’t have to be like this. That we don’t have to be like this.”

Bass doesn’t say anything. He got what he wanted. Now he knows that this is some strange attempt to “fix” Bass. He’s not sure how Zero thinks he’s going to accomplish that, but he’s welcome to try. It’ll be entertaining to watch him fail for the first time. Well, second if you count what happened in Zero’s junior year, but Bass doesn’t. Zero did win, after all.

“You deserve a chance to have a normal childhood. With someone who hasn’t given up on you. I…want to give you that. I want to try. God knows someone has to.”

They fall into silence again. Bass doesn’t know what to say to that and Zero seems to have said all he had to. Now it’s just them and the open, empty road. There’s a part of Bass that’s hopeful, despite everything. That thinks maybe this can work. That he and Zero can play pretend. That Bass can survive for a little bit longer. But it’s only a small part. Every other part of him tells him not to hold his breath. Bass sighs and turns his attention to the window. The sky seems to be brightening, which means that morning isn’t too far off. He relaxes in his seat.

When he wakes up, he’ll be in a new city. When he wakes up, he’ll have to figure this out all over again. Bass closes his eyes and dreams of nothing.

[ms-moonlight-inn]

“Shame-proof” DVD Commentary

Thank you to @shamelessdvdcommentary & to the anon to requested us (whoever you are, we love you!). My bestie @notherenewjersey & I are here to answer all of your burning questions (do you have the syph? why's it burning? it's not supposed to burn.)

Anyway, here's our stuff... hopefully it'll help with that itchy burny.

Which fanfic is your DVD commentary about?

“Shame-proof” is about two childhood actors who lose contact with each other after their series wraps. Quickly, we find out that Ian had been harboring a deep crush on Mickey, who had basically been bullying Ian the whole time. Confessions & apologies ensue.

Also, a friend called it an undercover RPF... and if that’s how you choose to look at it, well we’re not gonna stop you.

NJ–  it COULD be RPF but that’s not how it was written. We weren’t imagining Cam or Noel’s childhoods here, aside from what we stole of Mickey’s back canon that Ian watches as he pines.

Give us some stats - (when you wrote it, word count, how long it took to finish, is it a one-shot/multi-chapter, etc)

The outline started on 4/16/24. 22887 words posted. Posted for the Summer Camp project on 8/3 but we were done before that.  Moonlight was convinced it would be 10k but I knew it was bigger. And this was without us going down every rabbit hole we saw. It’s 8 chapters, most of the chapters start with a flashback to the past and then jump to the “present.”

Moonlight– seriously, NJ dragged me away from some other HC I had kicking around, & we dove into this one instead.

What was the initial inspiration for your story?

I read Jeanette McCurdy’s book, and as with any time I read anything, my brain said “What if this was Gallavich?” I know Moonlight is an L.A. girl, so I knew I wanted her input. I think I had a rough outline already when I looped her in, but she immediately took what I had and expanded and deepened it, as she always does.

Moonlight– God it’s so much fun to talk trash about all the things you grew up with & around. Los Angeles is filled with opportunities for trash talking. LOL 

If the story is written from a character’s POV, why did you choose this character?

This didn’t start out as either of us deciding to stay in Ian’s POV, but in order to keep Mickey’s motivations a little more opaque, we landed there. Until the latter chapters, at least. For the drama.

Moonlight– No further comment.

What was your favourite scene to write?

All of them? I like Sue so much, and I love writing Frank’s bullshit. RuPaul is fun, too. 

Moonlight– I’ve got two favorite scenes. The first is the scene where they’re kids doing the campground episode. I adored the moments of discovery Ian had there –figuring out that trees existed in southern California, figuring out that he had a serious crush on Mickey, and then the boy he meets on set as he’s running away from his problems. (BTW, 10 punk rock points to anyone who knew the song before I remembered to add a link).

The other scene I loved writing was the rimming scene. In the outline NJ said, “they get together in the sexiest and most romantic way.” And I wanted to throw my laptop at her face. SERIOUSLY, what the actual fuck?! So I got them all the way up to the part where Ian’s naked and stalled out for, like, two weeks. I was on a call with @mybrainismelted saying, “I’m stuck on this scene. I’ve managed to get one dick out, but I haven’t quite figured out how the other one’s gonna get naked AND STILL KEEP THIS BULLSHIT SEXY AND ROMANTIC.” Needless to say, I figured it out. 😁

NJ– Yup! That was, I think, the entire outline for that chapter, originally. One line. I knew that’s what happened at that point in the story, why bother with details? LOL

How did you come up with the title?

Oh geez. Trying to come up with both an AU of Shameless AND a reboot name, both of which would sound semi-natural was tough! But Shame-proof is more than just the title of a fake TV show. It also speaks to how Ian and Mickey were able to finally live wholly as themselves. No more hiding, nothing left unsaid. Without shame, shameless in the very best ways.

Are there any little moments or references you hope readers will notice?

I always throw things in. We both do. But hopefully, readers who haven’t read either our individual or joint back canon can still enjoy the story.

Moonlight– See easter egg question.

Was there anything you struggled to write? If so, how did you overcome this?

No.

NJ– if one of us is stuck, the other usually isn’t or can jostle the other into being unstuck. We’re good like that.

Favorite line in the story?

NJ– @gallavichgeek pointed out two of my favorite lines, but I will repeat them here because … yeah. 

“Hey, come back,” Mickey says softly.

“I’m still here,” Ian answers, a little confused.

“Yeah, but all of you. M’ not ready to let any of you go a moment sooner than I hafta.”

***

“I’d say,” he hesitates, then goes on, “that someday you’re gonna get everything you ever wanted. That all the bad shit, the bullshit, and the pain, it’ll all be worth it.” 

***

If I crash, I’m coming back to haunt you, Ian had answered.

If you crash, I’m diving in after you.

***

Moonlight– “What the fuck? How ‘bout double-dutch no with a cherry on top.” Mickey steadily refuses. (Anytime Mickey is being creative with his cursing & curses is a good time. Bad language & mockery are his love languages.)

What are you most proud about in the story? (plot, characterisation, dialogue, twist/cliffhanger, etc) 

All of it? It’s a great story. 

Moonlight– I’m also proud of the structure we used. It was NJ’s choice to do what basically amounted to two mini chapters in one –past & present colliding, if you will. And it worked so well for this storyline. 

Are there any deleted scenes that didn’t make it to the final story?

Not deleted, so much as we had ideas that didn’t make it to fully fleshed for the final draft.

Are there any ‘behind the scenes’ info you’d like to share - e.g. what’s going on in a character’s head in a certain scene or how you came to write a certain line?

NJ– It’s important for people to know that Mickey in the past was protecting Ian so much more than he was protecting himself, with his bullying behavior. 

Moonlight– God, yes. 

Reading back the story now, is there anything you’d change or add?

NJ– I want more of Ray, more of Sue, more of the Random Studio Infant now grown up. More of Sheila and of Kermit. I want the world to be fuller. And maybe it will, eventually.

Moonlight– Def’ more Ray, he’s funny & I’m sure he & Ian had so many stupid adventures. I think I’d like to see a few of the conversations between Ian & Mickey, but I struggle with that ‘cause I love when there is that air of mystery to a storyline. I don’t necessarily want to be told everything. But I think at least one of those late night conversations we reference would be nice to see.

NJ– yeah, we did have a time limit so some of the scope got condensed. I agree, those conversations would be incredible to see/hear. 

Would you ever write a sequel to this story?

Well…. This story has legs. It has scope beyond what you’ve seen. I have believed, since the outline began, that this was the fic that would make the leap to traditional publishing. Moonlight and I are hoping to expand it and bring it to a publisher. “It’s a crossover between Shameless, I’m Glad My Mom Died, and RWRB.” Who wouldn’t wanna read that? LOL The Gallagher family will shrink a little, Terry will still be his monstrous self. So no, there won’t be a traditional fic sequel. But if we’re all very, very lucky, there will be an expanded version that scratches the same itch.

Are there any ‘easter eggs’ in your story - e.g. references to other stories you’ve written, a trope you often use etc?

The Saint Christopher’s medallion that Ian receives from Mickey? Yeah, the person I wrote that for knows it was for them. 🫶 

If you’ve chosen your most popular story, are you surprised by the popularity?

By far NOT our most popular story. Yet.

Were you nervous or excited to post this story?

I HATE waiting to post- posting a fic like this where it’s all done upfront is hard for me, emotionally. So I was beyond excited for people to read it and love it as much as we do!

Moonlight– NJ really hates not posting immediately. Like, really hates it. This fic was written for the @gallavich-fic-club Summer Camp Event & we had to wait our turn. Which she HATED. 🤣 

Did you have a beta or a friend who helped you as you wrote?

Can we count each other? I’m a genuine writing freak- fast, thoughtless, and I rarely edit beyond typos. (many of which elude me and still end up in the final draft.) Moonlight is the opposite- she’s incredibly deliberate and also deeply and passionately devoted to the editing process. When we edit together, it can look a little argumentative, but we trust each other, so a lot of those conversations end up like, “I don’t see the issue, but I trust your judgment.” We both say it all the time.

Moonlight– D’aw, bb. You’re making me blush. You’re right, I am a meticulous asshole, but your brain is fast & witty. Together, we write good shit. 

NJ-- Also, god the verb tenses in this story gave me fits. I am a grammar nerd, so is Moonlight. But skipping between tenses for the past and present when we wrote straight through- she never had an issue but I regularly was in the wrong tense and had to go back and fix, cursing my own self the whole time. Loudly. Often on the phone with Moonlight. 

Moonlight– 🤣🤣🤣 yeah…

If any one has any comments, words of praise, complaints you’d like to register with our headquarters, please let us know. 

NJ - in the greatest detail, if you’d be so kind.

Anything else you’d like the readers to know about the story?

Moonlight– Yes, the cheese sledding story is based on semi-true events. The guys at my high school used to carry large blocks of ice to the top hill of the local golf course & ride them down. Years later, a dorm mate I knew in grad school told us about his Vermont cheese tour where he saw “giant wheels of cheese” that he swore he could use as a mode of transportation. And so, the cheese sledding story was born. 

NJ-- And I made sure it was at Trump’s golf course because a few years back, a man in New Jersey did some fun vandalism like that and I find it deeply satisfying.

🧀🛷 

[pandasmagorica]

Even more pre-ep-8 thoughts (Sun Sept 8)

4 Minutes is taking up way too much of my brain space.

I'm fully expecting the ending to depend on what happens in the 4:00 room.

So much of the tragedy of this series is because of people acting on incomplete info.

Tyme doesn't know that Warit is the one who killed his parents or had them killed. Yes, Great's dad didn't do anything to stop Warit, but Warit is the one who acted.

Tonkla doesn't know - or does he? I know Win knows that Title's fingerprints are on the rock that killed Dome, but I can't remember if Win told him - that Great was an under duress bystander/after the fact accessory, so he shoots Great too. Actually, Tonkla is sufficiently deranged that he might have shot Great anyway.

Update: Tonkla's Timeline in ep 1-7 confirms Win did tell Tonkla that Title killed Dome. (This is a great work of scholarship by the way and I recommend you read it.)

Tonkla makes me think of Light Yagami in Death Note. He starts by supernaturally killing people who are known criminals who have gotten insufficient justice and winds up killing anyone who is in his way. I watched the anime series and it's a great watch. Not QL, although I'd bet there's Light/L (his nemisis) fanfic. (Can't verify. AO3 doesn't seem to provide a search by slash pairings and I'm getting way too many irrelevant results. Some of the results are tagged for noncon, so I guess some of them do have sex in them.)

But I digress.

I'm starting to accept the argument that episodes 1-5 are a mix of real events and redo events. I'm still in the camp that the nonreality parts of 1-5 are not solely Great's four minute fever dream.

I'm thinking specifically of Great's dad's dinner with Tyme's grandmother, which happens in the redo timeline only. While Great may subconsciously remember that his parents and Tyme's parents knew each other, he probably would not know that Great's parents knew Tyme's grandma. So I don't know how Great would come up with that.

By the way, after searching the interwebs, apparently Great's dad's reference to the "three realms" with regard to granny's homey cooking is a reference to Heaven, Earth, and Hell. I'm not Thai so I don't know whether that would be an odd thing to say in real life.

We still don't know what Manee was doing in that tunnel. Did she jump or was she pushed?

Want to bet Warit has Great's parents and Korn killed because Warit wants 100% control over the gambling operation? or kills Great's parents and forces Korn to marry Fasai and makes it clear Korn's continued life is dependent on Korn's cooperation.

Finally (for the moment), why did Title rope Great into being a witness and accessory for Dome's killing in the first place? Possibilities:

He's an egomaniac and wants to show off

It was too much work getting Dome into the trunk of his car and he's lazy

He wants the option of framing Great if things go wrong

I'm thinking the last one.

And just now remembering, a friend of mine reported having an out of body experience as a child immediately after a car crash that killed their father but which they survived. So this series is even more fascinating for me on a personal level.

[ampresandian]

Finding the "Athena's kids aren't born from a normal gestation/birth process" interesting rn bc like... are the kids of the other goddesses born "normally"?????? Like I always just imagined Aphrodite being pregnant and giving birth to her kids but also it feels kind of insane right? Or is it like when Mr D was under the rocks in tlo and a part of his consciousness (or whatever) was at the party to talk to Percy? So like one version of themselves could go off and be pregnant and give birth and not impact the "rest" of her? I didn't ever imagine them being pregnant for the whole nine months but I guess if that were true it wouldn't even matter? Or maybe they don't do that and actually they just go ahead and create their own kids just like Athena but nobody mentions it???

I feel like this sort of goes with how I guess I always imagined since it sounds like there are very very few kids who stay on camp year-round (basically Annabeth, Luke, and Clarisse? I can't remember anyone else getting mentioned in the original books) that the mortal parents of most demigods probably expected to have the kids (unlike Frederick Chase seems to be depicted)--so like the fathers of Demeter and Aphrodite kids probably knew they'd gotten the goddess pregnant at least? (I am thinking here about Athena being a maiden goddess and the others not being that, so therefore like.. having sex versus Athena's asexual reproduction.) Maybe the pregnant part of the goddess lives with them for nine months, or maybe they just like get told to expect a kid, but I feel like this would be important to their acceptance of said kid? (I do feel like this is where Athena went wrong with Mr Chase in many ways)

Also like how long does it take Athena to mind-create her kids? I feel like it would be reasonable for it to be at least as long as the other goddesses' gestation periods, but I also always imagined it as being basically overnight.

[bhaalbaaby]

kinktober day 6

Title: Say It (1628 words) Pairing: gale/reader Warnings: nsfw, squirting, dirty talk A/N: sorry this is late lol but day six: squirting, quickies, dirty talk

Read on AO3!

Gale's projected image stands guard in front of the wizard's tent. A smile comes to your lips as a shiver runs down your spine, remembering the last time you saw this image and the magical night you two shared. Could this be his way of signaling that he wants more? You cross your arms as you approach, raising your eyebrow as you take in the shimmery projection. 

His hands are clasped behind his back, his head tall as the image looks stoically past you. "Please, do not disturb. Mr. Dekarios is currently studying and meditating and requires no distractions. That means you too Scratch. He will join the others tomorrow at dawn."

You frown at the message, "Does that even mean me?" You ask out loud, making sure your voice is full of lust. It's been a couple of days since you were intimate and it's not like you needed to have him every day, but...

The projected image shorts as if not expecting your voice. "No, not you, (Y/N)." He says as he softens, smiling warmly. "Come in. Please." You suppress your smile as you walk past his guard, who returns to the default stance, waiting for anyone else to approach.

Gale pushes his scrolls to the side, a nervous smile on his lips as he turns slightly to face you. "Hello, my dear. Just give me one moment." He tries his best to tidy up his makeshift desk, rolling up scrolls and putting his quill and ink away.

"What are you studying?" You ask as you lay on his bedroll, your legs in the air as you rest on your elbows. He looks away as he clears his throat. "Researching about Netherese Magic. Still looking for a way to stay on this beautiful plane." His voice is pained.

You're glad he's looking away. You would have made it worse by the worried and grief-stricken expression that rests on your face. "I hope I'm not intruding then." You say, fixing your face to be as neutral as possible.

Gale shakes his head as he finishes up, "No, never. Besides, I needed a quick break."

Quick. "Only a break? It is getting late," You tease as he lies next to you.

"I doubt I'll be getting much sleep tonight. I will stay back in camp tomorrow so I can rest." His hand snakes around his waist, pulling you closer. You peck his lips, watching as he closes his eyes, waiting for you to deepen your kiss. 

You however keep your face mere inches from his as you watch him slowly open his eyes to check on you. "Is everything alright?" He asks concerned. You nod, bringing your hands to his hair, slightly tugging at the wavy strands. His Adam's apple bobs at the action and you smirk.

"Let's make this quick then. Don't want to tire you out from your studying." You continue to pull at his hair, leading his head down your torso as he tries to leave a trail of kisses down your clothes until he's between your thighs.

"Yes saer." He says finally as he tugs your pants and panties down. You bite your lip as you rest on your elbows, watching as he gets comfortable on his stomach, peppering kisses up and down your inner thighs.

"Faster, Mr. Dekarios. We don't want to waste precious studying time." You tease, his eyes cut up to you as he gets closer to your heated entrance. His tongue presses against your entrance, slowly dragging it from bottom to top. Your mouth opens slightly, and your hands start to massage your chest through your top.

"Make me nice and wet, my love. I know you can do it." You purr as he uses his fingers to spread your lips apart, blowing softly on your clit.

You whine feeling his lips suckle your sensitive button, your hips seizing up towards his hungry mouth. "Good boy..." Your legs rest on his shoulders, your foot gently dragging along his back as he moans against you. You think it's cute that he likes hearing little praise while he worships you.

Your hips start rocking against his face, his tongue resting on his lips as he lets you guide him how you please. His hands wrap around your hips finally, stilling your movement as he devours you, his tongue thrusting into your quivering hole. You gasp as his tongue dances up to your clit again, swiping quick strokes.

"Fuck... This tongue is all mine?" You moan, running your fingers down your torso to the back of your legs, holding them up. Gale's hand leaves your hip, coming between your thighs as he continues to press the tip of his tongue against your clit. You feel his index slide down, slowly thrusting inside. He quickly suckles your sensitive button, his finger thrusting so deep. You toss your head back, digging your nails into your thighs. His dark eyes watch as you come undone, his thrusts increasing in speed as does his tongue. Gods help you.

"I want to ride you before I come." You stammer through gritted teeth, feeling your body flush from the familiar heatwave.

Gale finally removes his mouth as he raises his eyebrow. "Already close, my love?" The wet noises that escape from his thrusts drive you insane. He could hear how much your body craves him. You nod, letting go of your thighs as you sit up.

The new angle makes you whimper, the pressure from his fingers causing your body to shiver. "Please fuck me." You beg, reaching for his wrist to slow his finger. He chuckles as he sits up, his cock hard against his pants. You help him pull them off, watching as he springs up. If he had more time, it would have found a home between your lips, but instead, you mount him, slowly lowering your hips against him. 

He groans, his eyes rolling back as his hands rest on your hips. You splay your hands on his soft tunic as you start to rock your hips against him, his cock nestled right against the most sensitive pressure point. You try to ignore the warning signs as you continue. He reaches up for your chest, massaging your breasts, wrinkling up your top with each squeeze. You're tempted to take it off, but as you increase your speed, your thighs tremble, and your stomach tightens. You wouldn't be able to handle much more.

"You're gonna make me cum in record time, Mr. Dekarios." You moan as you mistakenly lean back, rolling from your knees to your feet, holding on to his thighs for more leverage. Your eyes roll back as you let him take over the thrusts. His eyes dance between watching as his cock buries deep inside you to your face painted in the most intense pleasure. You can't say more as your mind blanks, thinking only of him and the orgasm building. The words escaping your lips are incomprehensible, turning into pleas for him to continue, nails digging into his skin. You try to squeeze your thighs together to soften his thrusts, soften the rising heat to no avail.

"Gale!!! I can't!!!" He tweaks and twists your nipples before holding your hips down, feeling as you squeeze hard around his cock. You wince as your cries rip through your body, not caring if your companions can hear. You urgently raise your hips needing to release, wetness escaping and spraying out onto Gale's purple top and bedroll.

You feel bad instantly, but can barely focus, collapsing on his legs. Gale blinks a couple of times, realizing what just happened. He chuckles as he sits up, taking off his ruined shirt. "Nothing that a wash won't be able to get out." He states as he helps readjust your position as you lie on your stomach.

"Gale," You whine, pushing your ass back against him as he sits on your thighs, sliding his cock back in. You let out a drawn-out moan as he reaches around, gently wrapping his hand around your neck to make you look up.

"That's my cock." You mewl as he nods, his cock filling you up again as he pounds into your ass.

"All yours," Gale stammers, sweat beading on his eyebrow. He presses his lips against your forehead before letting go of your neck, his hands on either side of you for more leverage as he picks up his speed. The tent fills with both of your moans as you grip the thin sheet from his bedroll, your head drooping forward. Gale's hands move to the small of your back as he grunts.

"Give it to me, love. I want you to come for me." You say, hearing his moans increase as he rocks his hips as fast as he can against your ass. You wish you could watch his face, hearing his pants, his fingers digging into your waist. He pulls out at the last minute, his groan loud and breathy as splashes of cum cover your back.

You moan with him, relaxing as you stop resting on your elbows. Gale takes a moment, swatting your ass as he moves off your thighs. "Wow. No matter how long we go, I'm still amazed." Gale muses as he reaches for a rag to clean you off.

"I'll never grow tired of you." You reply, closing your eyes. "May I stay in your tent tonight?" You ask, feeling sleep coming for you anyway.

Gale kisses your shoulder, his beard scratching your skin. "Of course. You know you don't have to ask for that." You laugh softly as you take a deep breath. "I love you."

His fingers are gently against your back as he cleans you off. "I love you too."