#dumber than a box of hair

[skepticle]

Watching House of Hammer and imma just say it. Men like Armie are as boring as they are common in the bdsm scene. There's nothing new or interesting here, just the same old diagnosis.

But it does reveal how these women got taken but someone so basic. Ugh, I feel so bad for them. That has got to be some percentage of the shame, roped in by such a milquetoast beige nothing dude. Nothing worse than being made to feel like an idiot by an idiot.

[thingsofimportanceanddelight]

Hey, awkward, but that anon hate wasnt meant for you. You were next to a blog that was meant to get it. You can keep that as your first anon hate message if you want or i could try to tailor one to your needs? Sorry bc it really didnt make any sense bc i sent it to the wrong blog. Would you like me to tailor craft a “hate” message or would you like to keep that one as your milestone? Just lmk thanks! Have a good one :)

This sad attempt at an excuse is actually even funnier. "No, no, I, um, I *accidentally* sent you anon hate! Ha, now *you're* the fool!" Imagine being this ridiculous but still thinking you did something clever. TERFS, man, I swear. If I woke up this pathetic tomorrow, I would just, like, tie myself to the train tracks or something rather than willingly live like y'all.

[ratatatastic]

i woke up to lu attending wwe raw last night and now ive been hit over the head with all the clips of him and cm punk like im a little kid again

[sanguineterrain]

redamancy | steve harrington

Summary: redamancy (n.) - the act of loving someone who loves you back; a love returned in full // or, four times you kissed Steve Harrington, and one time he finally kissed you back.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings/tags: friends to lovers, 5+1 fic format, no use of y/n, FLUFF, PINING PINING, injured s4 steve, hospital setting, general vecna angst (eddie's alive bc i will never kill eddie in my fics), bed sharing, happy ending, and kissing. if that wasn't clear. :)

A/N: fun fact: this is the first time i've written a 5+1 fic! technically it's 4+1 but whatevs. if you enjoy this fic, please give it a reblog and support your local steve harrington tumblrina.

divider by firefly-graphics

i. the promise 

"Would you ever get married?" 

You open your eyes. The setting sun nearly blinds you through the windshield. Immediately, you stick out a hand to block it. 

You're still reclined all the way back in the passenger seat, because Steve's fancy schmancy BMW can do that. He frequently lectures you about doing it while he's driving. Have I taught you nothing? Road safety! 

"I mean, I guess so," you say. "If someone ever wants to put a ring on me."

You sit up and pull down the sun visor. Steve turns. His hair lightens in the summer, shades of reddish blond peeking through. He insists his hair has never been anything but brown, fiercely pledging his allegiance to brunettes. You coo at his highlights all the same. 

"I want to," he says after a minute. "I wanna get married." 

You're parked down the block from your house. You should've gotten out ten minutes ago, but there's never any rush when you're with Steve.

"The line to wed you will be out the door, champ," you say around a grin. 

"Hm. I dunno." He stretches in his seat. "Maybe if I was the same guy I was a few years ago." 

You wrinkle your nose. "I doubt that."

"But what can I really offer?" he continues. "I'm just some guy who can't get into college."

"That doesn't mean no one will marry you. Some people who go to college are dumber than dirt. They get married. College has nothing to do with it. You can go, if you really want to. One rejection doesn't say anything about you, Steve." 

"I guess."

You pull the lever on the side. The seat shoots up with a brrrap! It clicks as you straighten. 

"Where did all this come from, anyway?" you ask. 

Steve shrugs. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous."

He smiles. "I like to live on the edge."

"Contemplating marriage like the world's biggest sap. Definitely edgy."

Steve hums. His hands are in his lap. He picks at a cuticle, a habit he’s recently developed. You wonder why he’s so anxious. 

"Two people from our graduating class got married last week."

Your eyes widen. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Lisa Schell and Gary Brewer." 

"Wait, didn't she cheat on him?"

"Yeah, but he slept with her sister, so I guess they called it even."

You shake your head. "That's insane. They're literally babies, Steve. That's like Dustin getting married."

Steve scowls. "He's not allowed to get married before me." 

"Not even to his possibly fictional Suzie?" 

"Not even to her."

You stare at the freckles on Steve's face and how his frizz kind of looks like a halo in the light. You imagine the feel of his hair in your hands, the warmth of his scalp.

"I'd marry you," you say. 

Steve's eyebrows shoot up. 

"What?"

"Like, if you were in a pinch."

He looks at you sideways. You flatten, then scrunch your hands over your knees. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth. 

"I'm talking about spending the rest of my life with someone, you know. Not borrowing fifty bucks."

"Fifty bucks is a lot of money for some of us, Harrington."

"That’s probably how much Lisa's wedding dress cost."

"I hope she kept the receipt."

Silence descends. A soft breeze blows through your cracked window. You want to search Steve's glove box for gum, but you've just told him you'd marry him, so you can't do anything except think about the fact that those words came out of your mouth. 

"Are you…" Steve begins, then pauses. "Why did you say that?"

"Because you're worried, for some incomprehensible reason, that no one will marry you."

"I scoop ice cream for a living."

You level him with a look. 

"Steve. We're kids. Cut yourself some slack."

His eyes turn hollow. They've been doing that lately. You wish you knew why. 

"I don't really feel like a kid these days," he says. 

Something about the way Steve sounds makes you want to climb over the console and curl into him, cradle his head to your neck. Which is crazy. You guys don't do that. Steve isn't yours to do that with. 

"Let's make a pact," you say softly. 

He meets your eye. "A pact?"

"Mmhm. Let's say if both of us aren't married by… thirty, then we'll get married."

"Well, I don't want a pity marriage." 

You roll your eyes. "It's not a pity marriage, Steve."

"Thirty is so late! You really think I won't be married by then?" he asks. 

"No, I don't think that. I already said folks will be lined up to marry you," you say. 

"I can't wait till I'm thirty." 

"Or you'll turn into an old maid?" 

"Meh meh meh," he mocks without any heat. 

You purse your lips so you don't smile. "Fine. We'll split the difference. Twenty-four?"

Steve considers that. Really considers it. It suddenly occurs to you what you're promising and who you're promising it to. You wonder if you'll both forget about it. Or brush it off. Oh, what did we know? We were kids!

Except Steve doesn't feel like a kid. And maybe you don't either, as much as you wish you do. 

"Do you mean it?" he asks. 

"Of course I do."

"No, seriously." He's serious. "I mean it, so if you don't…"

"Steve, I said I mean it. I do."

"You'll marry me?"

"I will."

"Swear on it."

You hold out your right pinkie out, waiting. Steve hooks his finger over yours. Impulsively, you kiss your linked pinkies. To show that you really, truly mean it.

You try to picture it. What walking down the aisle to meet Steve at the altar would feel like. You wonder if he'd keep his hair long, like it is now. You like it long. Would he keep it long for you?

"Will you buy me a ring?" you ask. "If we get married, I mean."

"Of course I'd buy you a ring," Steve says. "I'd get you anything you wanted."

"Okay." Your heart hammers in your chest. "I'm gonna go home."

"Alright. Want me to pull up to the door?"

"No, it's fine. Walking is good for digestion. Those milkshakes were no joke."

Steve smiles. He has such a lovely smile. His Cupid's bow is shaped exactly like a heart. 

"Same time tomorrow? It's movie night." 

Right. Your movie night. A semi-regular occasion that includes you, Steve, Robin, and the kids, sometimes. You've watched at least a dozen movies this summer together. Only this time, you're watching a movie after promising to marry Steve. 

"Sounds good," you say. "Will you pick me up?"

"Always."

Another promise. You hadn't realized how many Steve makes to you. 

"'Kay. See you."

You get out. Steve waves as he pulls away from the curb. 

Your ring finger feels bare. You rub it, hoping the feeling will go away. 

ii. the wound 

The plastic chair has turned your legs numb. Your butt is about to follow. 

Can butts go numb? You're not sure. You'll find out soon, though. 

You rub your eyes. God, you need sleep. 

Across the room, you catch Joyce Byers' gaze. She smiles at you, though it's brittle. You try to smile back, feeling distinctly like you might break if you stretch your mouth too far. 

She looks away, and your not-smile falls. 

"They'll let us in soon," she says, like she knows. She does know. Better than you, certainly. 

The hospital smells cold. It smells like a place people go to die. 

Your heartbeat ratchets. You shouldn't think like that. 

"You don't understand," comes Dustin's voice. He's at the receptionist's desk, flanked by Mike and Lucas. Dustin's face is red and blotchy, near tears. 

"I need to see him. You won't let me see Eddie, so—" 

The receptionist rears back, like she can't believe three children are daring to speak to her. 

"Neither patient is cleared for visitors," she says icily. "Now, for the last time: have a seat."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Joyce begin to stand, ready to herd the kids away. You beat her to it. Out of everyone in this room, you're probably the only person who has the strength to stand. 

"Guys, c'mon. It won't be long." 

They don't look at you. You don't take it personally. An hour earlier, you'd cornered Dustin and forced him to tell you what happened. What's been happening. 

So he did. And now you're here. 

You don't blame them for glaring at the prickly receptionist. But you know that won't do anything. It won't heal Steve quicker. And it won't make anybody feel better. 

"Hey, Dustin." You lay a hand on his shoulder. He looks at you like you're not Steve. You wish it was you in surgery instead. 

"Come sit," you say. 

"I need to see him," he tells you. 

"I know." Your throat tightens, threatening to trap your words altogether. You rush to get the rest out. "I do too. But this isn't going to make that happen faster. Come sit with me. Okay?"

"He'll be fine," Mike says quietly. "They don't wanna get sued by his asshole dad."

You nod, because yeah, good point. Quite possibly the first time Richard Harrington has brought anybody comfort. He's in Cancun, last you'd heard. You hope he chokes on a margarita. 

Dustin follows you. Mike and Lucas sit next to Joyce. The five of you wait. 

At some point, you fall asleep. When you wake up, it's to the contentious receptionist peering over you all. 

"Mr. Harrington is awake," she says primly. "You may see him now, young man."

Dustin flies out of the chair, Lucas and Mike at his heels. 

A part of you wants to go home, and you feel terrible for it. You feel terrible that Steve almost died, but you're the frightened one. You don't know if you can bear to see him tied to tubes and a heart monitor.

"Go on."

Joyce tracks you sleepily. Her hair is more knotted than before you fell asleep. She nods to the hallway. 

"Go see him."

You can’t voice every thought, every fear. I don’t know if I can see him like this.

“It’s good he won’t wake up alone,” she says.

“He’s got a family.” You wave your hand weakly. 

Joyce watches you for a moment. Then she gets up.

"Yes, he does." 

She holds out her hand. 

You don’t know Joyce Byers very well. This is probably the longest conversation you’ve had with her. You realize, then, that you're wrong—you’re not the one who’s strong enough to stand.

“Let’s go see him,” she says. "All of his loved ones should be there." 

God, are you really that obvious? 

You take her hand, and the two of you go down the hall.

Steve is nearly unrecognizable in the hospital bed. The kids are speaking to him, unusually quiet. They look up when you enter. 

Steve’s eyes lock with yours. 

“Hey,” is all you say.

“Hi,” he says, voice rough with disuse and getting choked by what Dustin had described as demon bats. 

“Boys, come on,” Joyce calls. “Let’s make a cafeteria stop.”

You see Dustin about to protest, but Lucas tugs his arm like he knows, and goddamn, you really are that obvious, aren’t you? 

You wait for the door to close behind you. Then you walk to Steve’s side. 

The gnarled ring of flesh around his neck makes you queasy. The rest of him isn’t much better, red and purple smeared across any skin that’s not covered by the chalky hospital gown.

You sit in the chair. It’s the same plastic kind as the ones in the waiting room, but this one doesn’t feel so hard.

“Robin called me,” you say.

Steve closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’d better be.” Your voice cracks. “Can’t believe you went dimension-surfing without me.”

“You’re mad at me.”

Your breath is punched out of you. 

“No,” you say softly. “My God, Steve. I’m not mad at you.”

His hand creeps to the edge of the bed. His fingers are scraped.

You take his hand and lace your fingers together. He slow-blinks. He’ll probably fall asleep in the next half hour. 

“It’s okay if you are,” he whispers. “Mad, I mean. I’d be mad too.”

You know he wouldn’t be, though. You know Steve would forgive you in a heartbeat.

“I’m not mad,” you say, equally as quiet. “I just… I was scared." 

He nods. "I'm sorry for scaring you." 

You bow your head and close your eyes. When Robin had called, you'd run to the bathroom and coughed up stomach acid.

They say he’ll make it, she'd told you, and you'd realized with violent clarity that you love him. 

But Steve doesn't need that right now. So you bury it.

You lean in and bring Steve's knuckles to your lips, taking care not to jostle him.

His eyes widen. Part of you hopes he won’t remember this conversation.

"Don't do that again," you say. “Not without me.”

"Okay,” he whispers. “I won't." 

You wait until he falls asleep, hand in his. 

iii. the brand

“There’s no way I’m getting in your death van, Munson!” Robin whines.

“Death van is an exaggeration, Buckley. If anything, it’s a life van. I’m still here, aren’t I?” Eddie asks.

“Definitely not because of that heap of metal,” Steve murmurs to you. You snicker.

It’s nearly dark, but a summer dark, where it doesn’t actually turn to night until well after nine PM. The top two buttons of Steve’s dress shirt are undone, and you can’t stop staring. It’s embarrassing, really. You’d nearly missed Eddie’s walk across the stage because of that damned triangle of tanned skin and dark chest hair.

“Why can’t we take the station wagon?” Robin asks. 

“I think Nancy already left,” you say. “Sorry, Rob.” 

“And I’ve put my car jacking days behind me,” Eddie announces, flinging his arms out. “So my van it shall be!”

Robin whips her head around to glare at Steve. 

“This is your fault,” she accuses scathingly.

“Me?!”

“You just had to go and get a flat tire yesterday.”

“Yeah, Steve,” you add cheekily. “Why couldn’t you have foreseen the dreaded timeline where Eddie drives?”

“Et tu?” Eddie asks. “I’m hurt. I’m a great driver, y’know. Better than Steve, some have told me.”

“Dustin only told you that ‘cause you were high on morphine and about to burst into tears,” Robin says.

As they bicker, Steve draws closer, so your arms brush. You close the distance, crowding him.

“Y’okay?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” you say, startled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just checking.”

“Are you okay?”

He turns to you. He looks like he’s searching for something. You don’t know what.

“Yeah,” Steve says after a minute. “I am. Better than, actually.”

“‘Cause I’m here, right?” you ask with a gooey grin.

“Yeah. ‘Cause you’re here.”

He sounds honest, so you turn away, because you can’t handle that and his chest hair. 

"I should get to choose where we go," Robin says as you arrive at Eddie's van. "Since it may be our last trip and all."

"Funny you were in Band and not president of the drama club, Buckley," Eddie says dryly. 

"Pot, kettle."

"How 'bout Rita's?" you suggest. "Unlimited refills and no one will hassle Eddie."

"Aw, you care about little ol' me?" Eddie asks. 

"If you get us there in one piece, yes."

Eddie huffs. "No wonder you and the Hair are like this." He crosses his fingers. 

"Damn right," Steve says. "We even finish each other's—"

"Terribly cliche sayings!" you say. 

Robin looks at you for a moment, unusually smirky. Then she looks at Steve. 

"You match. Blue dress, blue tie."

"That's so if she gets lost, they know who to return her to," Steve says. 

You scoff. "More like the other way around." 

He pouts. "Hey."

"Hay is for horses," you sing, skipping ahead to Eddie's van. 

"I'm sorry, are you excited to ride in the Hell Van?" Robin asks. 

You shrug. "We could use some excitement around here, couldn't we?"

"No!" all three say.

"I've had enough excitement for ten lifetimes," Robin mutters. 

Eddie pulls the door open. Your smile quickly drops. 

"Uh, Eddie? Where the fuck are the seats?"

"Right, so, usually I only have Gareth and Jeff ride with me. Gareth always calls shotgun—"

"Shotgun!" Robin hollers, and races to the front seat. 

You stare at the single backseat chair. There's no way it's big enough for you and Steve. 

"Holy shit," Steve says, taking stock of the "backseat."

Eddie rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah… listen, if I'd known we'd be taking her, I would've put the other seat in, swear! Usually we take it out for the equipment." 

"Well, what are we supposed to do? Lay down and pray? This is how people get head injuries, Eddie," you say, arms folded. 

"Maybe we can call a cab," Steve suggests. 

"At this hour?" You shake your head. "No way. This isn't Indianapolis."

"Oh my God." Robin groans. "The solution is so obvious. Sit on Steve's lap. Boom. Now come on, I'm starving."

You tense. Steve is tactile, sure, and you've become acclimated to that over the years. 

But this? This is way, way beyond that. 

"Uh…" Steve glances at you. "Do you… I mean, if you don't mind?"

You glance at Eddie, who's got the tiniest smirk. You glower and he clears his throat, hiding his mouth behind a lock of hair. 

"I don't mind," you say, more confident than you feel. "It's a short drive."

Eddie nods. "Definitely. I'll step on it."

"Please don't step on it," Robin calls. "We're already chancing fate by letting you drive in the first place."

Eddie huffs, walking to the driver's side. "Y'know, Buckley, you are just…"

You look at Steve. He smiles at you, sweet as always. 

"This isn't gonna aggravate any injuries, right?" you ask. "Me… sitting on you?"

You wince at the wording. 

"No, should be fine. My PT gave me the all clear a month ago."

You nod tightly. "Right. Okay. You go first."

Steve climbs in, planting his feet on the floor. You go next, stooping in front of him. You catch each other's gaze for a moment. Then you laugh, suddenly trying to look anywhere but at Steve. 

"Right, so I'll just…"

You slide onto Steve's lap, trying to hold some of your weight so you won't crush him. He splays an easy hand over your belly and leans over to pull the van door shut. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

"You can sit back, y'know," he says, breath tickling your ear. "’M not made of glass."

"Didn't want your legs to go numb," you joke weakly. 

Steve makes an unhappy noise and tugs you back so you're fully seated on him. You angle yourself so you can look at him. Steve looks up at you, lightly tracing a pattern on your hip. Like you do this all the time. 

"Hi," you say, too jittery to crack another joke. 

Steve smiles gently. "Hey."

His tone is fond. You feel sick. 

"Everybody good?" Eddie asks. 

He adjusts the rear view mirror and you watch his eyebrows shoot up in the reflection. 

"You two look cozy."

"Shut the fuck up, Munson," you mumble. "Just drive, already." 

Eddie giggles like a gremlin in reply and turns the ignition.

It’s not bad, at first. Eddie takes it easy driving through Hawkins. Part of it is because he doesn’t want to attract attention. The other part is that Hopper promised Eddie a night in jail if he caught him running the stop signs again. 

You personally think it’s a bluff. Robin does not; she’s enthusiastically annoying about road safety, and points out every single sign and red light. This causes Eddie to start slamming the breaks in retaliation. 

“Holy fuck!” you yelp when Eddie hits the breaks particularly hard. “Eddie!”

Steve is quick to tug you backwards, considering you’re not belted. You scramble to grab his shoulders and twist to look at him.

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly.

He smiles, then leans away, glaring at the front.

“Really, Munson?”

“She started it!” Eddie insists. “Blame your BFF!”

“Can you drive like someone who doesn’t have a death wish?” Robin shoots back.

Steve’s hands are now on the small of your back and on your hip, respectively. Your legs hang over the side of the carseat, butt nestled quite firmly on his thighs. 

God, you’re never living this down. 

“Y’okay?” 

Steve’s breath in your ear makes you squirm. You turn to look at him.

“Fine,” you murmur. “I’m not crushing you, am I?”

“No,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

Eddie breaks again, harder than before. You slip. 

Steve reacts instantly, his hand grabbing the meat of your thigh. Your dress rides up, so it’s skin on skin. 

The momentum is worse, however, because you jerk back. Right into Steve’s face.

Your nose mashes into his, which isn’t great. But then, your lips smush against his cheek. When you pull back, there’s a smeared lipstick print.

Maybe you’re the one with a death wish.

Robin is screeching incoherently but you can't focus on anything but the smudge of pink on Steve's cheek. Your chest feels tight. 

He looks like he's yours.

"Yeah, we're fine, " Steve says, voice close enough to startle you back into the conversation. 

He looks up at you. Your hand lands on the lipstick, like if you cover it, it'll go away. Steve tilts his head, mouth open in a question. 

"Sorry," you rush out before he can speak. "I got some of my, uh, lipstick on you." 

He relaxes. 

"Oh. Thought I was bleeding or something," he says with a slight laugh. "'S okay, I can wipe it off when we get there."

"Uh-huh." 

You drop your hand. You can't stop staring. Stop staring.

The print isn't exactly in the shape of your lips, but it's close. You can see the divots and where your lips parted. If someone were to see you two, they'd assume a lot of things you're not. 

Steve's collar is wrinkled from the van ride from Hell. His neck is flushed. You wonder how your lipstick would look there. 

Eddie presses the brake, softer this time. Steve's fingers dig into the meat of your thigh anyway. More marks. 

"Alright, relax, gang," Eddie says. "We're almost there."

You touch Steve's cheek again and hope he'll forget to wash you off of his face. 

iv. the secret

It's raining. You're in Steve's bed. 

Thunder shakes the sky. You curl further into your—Steve’s—pillow. It smells like his soap and detergent. 

You used to like the rain. Not so much these days. Rain makes you think of blood on asphalt and being alone at twenty-four. Rain silences you. 

"Do you think he'll come back?" 

You've never dared to ask anyone. Not even Joyce. She'd know. She wouldn't tell you the truth, though. 

Nancy Wheeler probably could. She'd face you with that steel brow of hers and give it to you straight. 

Yes. The monster's back. You're not getting married. 

You slip your hand into Steve’s. He squeezes your fingers. Outside, the rain roars. 

"I don't know," Steve says into the darkness. 

You can't see him like this. It makes you mildly claustrophobic. Maybe you should turn on the hall light. 

"Hopper said he was dead. So did that other guy—uh, Murray. And like, Eddie's okay. And Max. El would tell us if she sensed something. It's not like he could come back without making a sound. I mean, from what she told me, she basically, like, unraveled him from the inside out. Which is pretty gross, but also a good way to keep someone dead."

He's rambling. He's rambling to distract you. 

God, what the fuck are you going to do when you're twenty-four and unmarried and Steve's forgotten all about you? 

"I don't want anyone to die," you whisper. 

Steve squeezes your hand harder. 

"No one's gonna die."

You shift closer. You can barely make out Steve's silhouette. The ends of his hair tickle your knuckles. 

"Hey," he says, and you try to find his eyes, but you can't. "Nothing's gonna happen, okay?" 

"Yeah," you say, even though something did happen, something that almost took him away from you, and you don't know if you can handle that again. 

"You can stay here as long as you want," he says. 

"I can go back to my room."

Steve threads his fingers with yours. You can't see his eyes but it's okay.

"Don't," he says. 

"Okay."

You scoot forward, closing another few inches between you two. Now, you feel Steve's breath on your face. He smells like minty toothpaste. He is alive. 

The rain batters against the windows. You could kiss him. You could kiss him right now, and no one would know except for you and him. 

His breath has begun to even out. You lean in blindly. Your lips land on his hair. 

It's hardly a kiss. It’ll be your secret anyway.

+ and, finally, the first.

"Dustin wanted chocolate milk," you say, not looking up from the tub of yogurt you're searching the date for. 

"Yeah," Steve says, parking the cart to the side. "Kid's addicted."

He opens the giant fridge door and a burst of cold air nips at your arm. You shy away. 

"Six dollars? Jesus, does it come from gold cows?"

You snort, finally putting the yogurt in the cart. You stay at Steve’s house more often than not these days, so there’s no point in getting a separate cart.

"What?" Steve asks, looking at you. 

"You're funny, that's what."

"I am?"

"You sound like somebody's grandpa."

"I do not!"

"Do too," you say sweetly. 

"Do not."

"Do too infinity."

Steve rolls his eyes. 

"Yeah, whatever. I'm a grandpa 'cause I don't wanna spend a leg and an arm on chocolate milk for the little shit? So be it."

"Steve," you begin, eyebrows drawing together. "It's his birthday. Have a heart, old man." 

"Oh, good grief," he mumbles, but he takes the carton and puts it into the cart. 

You smile. Steve shakes his head. 

"This is why I don't go shopping with you. You're an enabler."

"I am," you say happily, walking alongside him as he pushes the cart. 

"And you don't push the cart."

You tut. "Pretty girls don't push shopping carts, Steven." 

"Oh, they just find some poor sap to push it for them, huh?" 

"I'm so glad you're on board," you say, skipping ahead to the chip aisle. 

You look through the shelves and land on two types of Doritos. Cool Ranch and Original. It’s a tough decision.

“Steve, what do you think?” You hold up the bags. “Which do they like better?”

“Ranch. According to Mike, liking the original flavors of snacks is lame.”

You snicker and take three bags of the Cool Ranch. Steve pushes the cart to you. 

“I feel like we’re shopping for our kid,” you say. “We’re the awesome house everybody wants to visit because we have the best snacks and the biggest pool.”

You look up when Steve doesn’t reply. He stares at you, expression unreadable. Your smile dims.

“What?” you ask.

Steve shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says quietly. “It’s nothing.”

“Steve, seriously. What is it?”

He shakes his head again. 

“Nothing, really. Just zoned out for a second.”

He continues to push the cart down the aisle. You watch him for a moment, then follow. The two of you quickly check off the remaining items on Steve’s list (yes, his actual, physical grocery list), and then you check out.

The cashier smiles at you both in line. She’s an older woman, with the typical poofy blowout nearly every woman over fifty gets at Brenda’s Salon in downtown Hawkins. You busily put the items on the conveyor belt while Steve takes out his wallet and makes conversation with the cashier. It’s a good routine you two have established. 

When the cashier’s done, you squeeze past the cart and grab half of the bags. Steve takes the receipt and the rest of the bags.

“You two are very sweet together,” the cashier says, her round cheeks blush-red like apples. “Have a wonderful day.”

“You too, ma’am,” Steve replies, and heads to the exit.

You’re frozen for a moment, startled until Steve calls your name. You heft the bags in your arms and hurry after him. 

Steve stops and takes two of your bags before crossing the parking lot. 

“Steve,” you say, and huff. “I can carry them.”

“Pretty girls don’t push carts or carry bags. It’s the rule, remember?”

You watch, unimpressed, as Steve then proceeds to try and get his car keys with an armful of grocery bags. When he almost drops a bag for the third time, you sigh and take pity. 

“Which pocket?” you ask, snaking your arm around.

“Back left,” he says, smiling sheepishly.

You roll your eyes, feeling disgustingly fond. You shove your hand down Steve’s back jean pocket. He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“Take me out to dinner at least,” he says.

“Pretty boys don’t get taken to dinner until the pretty girl has been asked out properly,” you shoot back. 

Steve smiles, but the joke doesn’t land like it usually does. You step away as soon as you get the keys, clearing your throat. 

“Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson about carrying all the bags, Popeye.”

You open the trunk for him, then go to open the passenger side door.

“If I don’t carry all the bags, how else am I meant to show off to the ladies?”

You pull the handle on the driver’s side for Steve and he gets in, beaming cheekily at you.

“The only person who’s watching you make a fool of yourself is me, big guy,” you say. “So, mission failed.”

You open the glove compartment and start fishing through for gum. You find a Juicy Fruit packet but it’s empty. 

“Damn, that’s what we forgot,” you say, defeatedly crumpling the cardboard. “Gum.”

You start to turn to Steve. “Do you think we—”

You’ve wondered, probably more than you should, about how Steve Harrington kisses. 

Now you know: tenderly. 

He cups both sides of your face, and you have to brace yourself on the center console for balance. Your other hand tangles in his hair. It’s as soft as you imagined, free of product, and you scrunch the baby hairs at the base of his scalp. Steve makes a quiet noise. 

You kiss until you need air. Even then, Steve doesn’t let you go far. You part with only an inch or two between you. 

“There’s gum in the middle compartment,” is the first thing he says.

“Huh?”

“In here.” He pats the compartment between the seats. “Hubba Bubba. I got it last week.”

You giggle and grab Steve’s face with both hands. His hands slip to your arms and he squeezes, smiling gently.

“What?” he asks.

“Fuck, I’m glad I know you,” you say. 

Steve kisses you again. Two. Steve Harrington has officially kissed you two times. 

You hope you’ll lose track at some point.

[riaki]

sick days ! gojo x reader ‧˚ - take a soda break…!

the rain outside your window is incessant.

it slides down the foggy glass panes in small rivulets that merge together and break apart, like the people outside on different paths of life. a sea of umbrellas moves like liquid in the streets below; a school of fish in a rainy city, under those fluorescent neons that shine like vibrant coral in the puddles of rain on the concrete.

there’s beauty even in the humid showers of tokyo, reflected in the broken lights and flickering signs; those food stalls full of warm life and fancy clothing stores that you always go in just to not buy anything, and best of all— the vending machines that dot the map.

watching raindrops race was one of your favorite hobbies as a kid. even now, you find yourself absentmindedly tracking the movements; the erratic nature of the blurry droplets as they slide down the glass makes you wonder if there’s hidden ridges on the panels that guide those watery paths.

your train of thought is rudely interrupted by another bout of coughing; that dry, itching feeling in your throat that you just can’t get rid of. drinking water to quell the cough has the same effect as telling your study buddy to stay focused for longer than five minutes. gojo is playing something on his phone again; a rhythm game, by the way he curses under his breath every time his fingers stutter and miss a beat.

you cover your mouth with your elbow, trying to expel the ghost dust that makes your breath hitch every time you try to speak, and he glances up at you, shifting in his seat. his lanky legs are cramped beneath the desktop; his frame doesn’t fit in your room. he has to duck when he enters, lest he hit his head like the first time he came over. like you, he has his head resting in his elbows. unlike you, he isn't ill with a fever so hot it burns cold and the stuffiness in your voice, and he also isn't studying.

"you sure you still wanna be reviewing? this exam doesn't really matter, y'know." gojo remarks, peering up at you from his arm pillow. "you should probably take a break, ’cus you look like shit."

he grins cheekily, pushing a pile of his papers and notes to the edge of the desk, where eraser shavings and broken bits of lead from when he couldn't solve a math problem are crammed. there's scratches and ink stains on the desk, a reminder of how you'd accidentally scribbled past the page’s edge in a sickness induced delirium. it’ll leave permanent marks; at this point you’re convinced you’re writing yourself a secret letter to the future. have you confessed to gojo yet? that’s what it’ll say. right now, it just says something unintelligible.

hopefully you’re still literate in the future, but you’re half-convinced you’re getting dumber every moment you spend caged in with this dunce of a genius.

you lean back in your chair, pulling your knee up to your chest. your pencil falls to the desk with a faint clack, soft yellow lamplight washing your faces warm as gojo scoots closer and peers over your shoulder at your progress. he has a pandora’s box of knowledge in that blue-tinted brain of his; he just refuses to apply it. it’s cocky, spoiled ego in the finest. you should hate him for it.

he snickers. "you're dumb."

"you missed forty-three notes." you countered, shooting him a glare as you point at the disappointed looking character next to a review of the stats from the song he was playing on his phone. gojo grimaces, pulling back like a sad little dog, floppy white hair covering his eyes.

"i was playing with my thumbs."

you ignore him, leaning against the wooden desk before hiding your face in your elbows again and letting out a long sigh. your hot breath curls up in the confines of your body, making you recoil slightly; uncomfortably. heat is the last thing you need with the fever you’re pretty sure you’re running.

"i hate being sick. and i hate studying. can we please give up?" you complained, glancing up at him out of the corner of your eye. your hair obscures your vision, so you can only see a faint glint of amusement in his azure irises as he studies you for a moment before scooting his chair back and standing up. without another word, he leaves the room.

wow. okay.

a moment of silence passes as you sit there, lamenting over your runny nose and the way you sound like you're about to cough a lung up every time you breathe, until you hear the soft sounds of his feet padding on the floorboards coupled with what you presume is ice clinking against glass, signaling his return. you lift your head, blinking blearily. each time you breathe in through your nose, your nostrils burn like dry ice pressed against your skin, only adding to your misery. the dreary weather outside isn't helping much, either.

the cold glass leaves a dark stain on the table, an uneven circle of condensation that soothes the aching in your fingers when your sick skin makes contact. gojo pops the can open, and you watch as he picks the glass up, tilting it to the side to pour the soda in.

“why are you holding it like that?” you asked curiously, a small yawn escaping your lips as you lean against the table. he glances down at you, a cheeky, tiny smile gracing his lips. the sound of bubbles fizzling and popping fills the cozy, cramped room; that cool, sweet liquid seems like the only thing that’ll cure your nasty cough.

“pouring it like this prevents the bubbles from escaping. you like it fizzy, don’t you?” he grins.

condensation clings to his fingers like morning dew upon flower petals as he sets the glass down. you watch the ice cubes bobble about in the soda, clinking against the cup like a mini wind chime. you’re sore from sitting in the same place with terrible posture for three hours, and there’s an ache between your fingers from gripping your pencil tight while you write.

you take a sip from the glass, letting out a contented sigh as the refreshing liquid drains down your scratchy throat. it’s not lemon honey tea for a cold, but it certainly helps. next to you, gojo takes his seat again, grabbing the throw blanket on your bed and tossing it over his legs before he grabs his pencil again. he’s using one of those short pencils, shaved down to a stub from months of use. you always offer him a mechanical pencil, but he refuses.

you sit there, waiting for him to get back to work before you realize he’s staring at you, legs crossed beneath the fuzzy blanket.

you frowned, shifting to face him as you lean against the desk. “what?”

“you’ll take care of me if i get sick too, right?” he tilts his head, like a curious bird.

“why would you get sick?”

you’re too relate to react when he makes a mad grab for your glass of soda, holding it out of your reach. a few droplets spill out and spatter onto your notebook, forcing a sigh from your lips.

“gojo…” you groaned, rubbing your temple with your fingers and praying for strength.

he just smirks, taking a lengthy sip. you watch his adam’s apple bob as a bit of condensation builds on his chin and trickles down his throat.

“you know what? i dont feel like studying either.” he announces, setting the glass back down on the wooden table with a loud thunk.

“so? what do you wanna do?” you huffed petulantly.

“download project sekai, and we can do a co-op live.”

“…you’re kidding.”

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

"God, I love when your hair is like that..."

You jumped, soil still sprinkling off your gloves as you turned around and fixed a stare on Negan. "Jesus. You scared the shit out of me. You're lucky I don't have a weapon," you said dryly.

He laughed and seemed to simply be enjoying taking in the view.

"Wait—What the hell are you doing wandering around? Where's your guard?" you asked, realizing suddenly that he was alone.

"Who, Grady?" he laughed, slipping his hands into his pockets. "He's back there somewhere... probably still trying to tie his boot. Guy is dumber than a box of rocks. I could still outwit him after a lobotomy," he quipped, flashing you a smile he clearly hoped was charming.

"That could be arranged," you said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

His grin only widened and he leaned on the fence beside you. "When are you going to get over this hard to get thing and just admit that you'd love a little—"

"—alright! I'm gonna stop you there before you say something that's going to require me to punch you in the face," you interrupted. "I suggest you get back to Grady before I serve up that lobotomy, Negan."

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip for a moment before he smiled at you again. "Do me just one favor, doll?"

You crossed your arms, on guard. "What?"

"Say my name just one more time... I'd like to remember how it sounds for when I'm in my cell all alone later."

"Go!" you scolded him, mustering the most severe look you could.

He held his hands up in surrender and disappeared after a final glance back at you, still with that shit-eating grin on his face.

Prompt: "I'm gonna stop you there before you say something that's going to require me to punch you in the face." A/N: Happy Wicked Wednesday!

[nuclear-w1nter]

Hancock discovered he liked to make Nick laugh. Who wouldn't? Not like it was too hard, at least for him. Most of the commonwealth just assumed that Nick had no sense of humor, or that he never laughed at anything because he worked all the time. While the second was woefully true (Hancock and Nora had been trying for ages to make the synth relax for even a moment, with varying degrees of success and heaping mounts of failure) the first was just an outright lie. Nick had plenty of humour. He just wasn't the greatest at actually telling jokes.

Now, some did land pretty well, particularly the raider—bomb "beep-beep-beep" story, where Nick grinned like a fool every time he retold it, or the snappy comebacks he'd quip at the more bigoted of the Boston area. Other than that it was mostly bad puns, and afterwards Nick would act embarrassed he'd even bothered to tell them. That fact made them much funnier than what they were.

But when Hancock talked to Nick, he was always a little bit surprised at what made the gumshoe laugh. Hancock could tell some good ones, and that usually did a decent job, as it did on almost anybody. But what really got Nick was… for lack of a better word, way dumber than what the commonwealth might've assumed.

"This is the guy I've been looking for," Nick had said to Hancock on the doorstep of Goodneighbour, holding a little Polaroid photo in his metal hand, "You recognize him?"

In the photo, a man with a flannel shirt on, torn and grey, with a pair of jeans that looked utterly destroyed by the threads. His hair was thinning, and he had no shoes on, somehow managing to be entirely barefoot despite the fact that the possibility of stepping on a dirty nail and getting an infection was just as dangerous as a super mutant. Hancock shook his head. "Nah, man, I haven't seen that one around here, think I would recognize a guy who's got his sha-boing-boing's out like that."

Nick had shut his eyes, clasping the fingers of his good hand around the bridge of his nose. At first, he'd just assumed Nick was irritated, or mad, and braced himself for some sort of scolding. This is serious, Hancock, he ran off with stolen goods. Instead what he was met with was the opposite.

A grin cracked on Nick's face, small at first, but the more seconds passed the more it grew, until the hand on his nose went to his lips to try and cover it up. His mechanical shoulders shook just a little, and for the life of him, Hancock thought he heard the detective's fans whirring and sputtering. He was about to ask if Nick was hurt, before he heard the laughing.

It was an odd noise, higher pitched than one might expect and somewhat… garbled at parts? Like the man's voice box couldn't keep up with the pitch, and so to compensate it became warbly and static-like in places. To those who hated synths it might've sounded scary, but to Hancock it just made the man somehow more endearing. As if that were even possible.

"Hancock—" Nick tried to say, almost unable to in the midst of his wheezing and laughter. "I-I've never in my life— heard anyone say some shit like sha—" and then he dissolved into more compulsive fits of laughter, and Hancock was sure he'd seen the detective's cheeks turn as grey as a bruise, apparently his version of a flushed face.

Hancock smiled, lopsided and cocky. "Nicky? Are you serious?" Hancock began to laugh with him. "Of all things I say, sha-boing-boing's is the thing that does it to you?" Nick burst into another fit of giggles as Hancock spoke. Jesus Christ, the man sounded like he was fucking dying, and Hancock started to wheeze with laughter alongside him.

[purpleprincessonfyre]

Marvel AU - Monster (or coward?)

Timeline: During The Battle of New York, but what if Sylvie and Loki invaded New York together?

Characters: Liane Felton, Loki Laufeyson, Sylvie Laufeydottir

Features: Ethan Lensherr, Rochelle Romanoff-Felton and some characters from Liane's past

IB: Monster by Imagine Dragons, Avengers (2012)

'Ever since I could remember

Everything inside of me

Just wanted to fit in,'

"We need to get out of here, this building isn't stable!"

"Funny, I was about to say that about your mental state!" Ethan joked, holding back debris as Liane ran for safety. The battle of New York was raging as heroes ran left and right trying to get STARK staff members away from the tower in a hurry.

"You're cute. Come on, I don't wanna drag you out from underneath rubble."

"Go, I'll hold it off until everyone's safe."

Liane nodded and ran towards the exit but as she ran through what she thought was the door to outside she found herself inside a box that seemed to be made of pure gold. When she turned around the door was gone and she was entirely surrounded by walls of gold, from floor to ceiling. Liane growled, her fists balled as her anger rose.

'If I told you what I was

Would you turn your back on me?

And if I seem dangerous

Would you be scared?'

"Dammit Loki or whatever, let me out!"

A dry chuckle echoed through the hollow space, clearly enjoying this.

"My my, Miss Felton. You forget yourself. That's hardly the way a polite young lady would address her father..."

"What?"

Liane turned to follow the sound and saw her father before her, standing in her family home with her, her surroundings now resembling her family's dining hall. She knew it was magic but she could hear the ticking grandfather clock on the floor, she could feel the heat from the roaring fire, she could smell the sharp scent of the lillies on the dining table and the hairs on her neck stood straight up as she heard the unmistakable voice.

"Come on little lady, say you're sorry and give me a smile."

"I won't fall for your tricks! That's not my father!"

"How dare you, you insolent girl!" Her father snarled, leaning in to hit her, booze on his breath.

"I'm not scared of you, your stupid magic can't hurt me, you're gonna have to try harder than that if you want to hurt me, Dumb and Dumber."

'I get the feeling just because

Everything I touch isn't dark enough

That this problem lies in me.'

The image of her father melted away and suddenly she was in her childhood bedroom and the scent of nail polish hung in the air as someone approached her, someone looming over her by miles. Then she saw his eyes and his wicked grin and felt her heart race. It was Quentin. She felt so much younger in his gaze, so much smaller and so naive. It stung her eyes seeing him like that before her, as if she'd never even left.

"Little Sister...myself and the boys want to play a little game and we need a damsel in distress."

"You're a liar, you always were!"

"What? We simply want to rescue the pretty princess but you will have to get in the boat and let us tie you up. But don't worry! We'll rescue you. Eventually."

"Rot in hell, Quentin!"

"Have it your way..."

Liane's eyes stung with tears as her eyes changed colour.

"Stop it, stop it Quent!"

"Awwww baby's crying! Look at the baby crying!"

"YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH QUENTIN OR I WILL BURN YOUR STUPID HEAD!"

'Can I clear my conscience

If I'm different from the rest

Do I have to run and hide?'

The illusions faded as she was transported back into the box.

"Now there's the Felton I was told about..."

"You could do so much if you weren't so pathetic and predictable all the time..."

"Who ever heard of a hero that can burn you alive?"

"You can both shut up! I changed! But you...you never will."

"Shame. We were really getting somewhere for a minute there. Shall we?"

"Go on then."

The room melted away all over again and now Liane saw a place she'd tried to forget. A room she wished she'd never entered. Seeing a face she never wanted to see again. And hearing that voice that haunted her days and nights ever since she put him away.

'I never said that I want this

This burden came to me

And it's made it's home inside,'

"Guten tag, frauline...."

"Edmund..."

"Awww no pet name this time? Aw you are shaking like a leaf. Would you like my coat?"

"You stay away from me!"

"But why? You knew this was happening, und you never said no to it before. You befriended those girls, you bought them the drinks, you made them your friends all happy, and you let me take them away..."

"I was drunk! You always made sure of that, you filthy monster!"

"Nein! Nein, I am not the only monster here. You were, how you say, complicit in the crimes? You could have said no. You could have said you wanted no part in my plans. But you were just so desperate to be loved and adored that you turned a blind eye! All those innocent, naive girls! The blood of those girls is ON YOUR HANDS ALONE! You, are the true monster, Frauline."

'A monster, a monster

I've turned into a monster

A monster, a monster

And it keeps getting stronger.'

Every wall started to reflect just Liane's reflection back at her but each one was different. Her childhood, her teens, her eyes bright purple in all of them, each reflection whispering the same word over and over again as the word started to ring in her head like a death toll.

Monster.

Monster.

Monster!

"ENOUGH!" Liane screamed as the room was consumed by flames, the reflections all melting and the illusions shifting in a jarring fashion from Edmund Zola, to Quentin, to Milton and then back to Loki, who was grinning from ear to ear.

"We finally broke her...told you it was easy."

"You were right, turns out if one's heart is so blackened and bruised, then it won't be tricky to turn it darker."

"I'm not a monster!"

"Oh really? Monsters are born from anger, pain and hatred. Monsters act without thought. Monsters are ruthless. And what does that make you? A monster? Or a coward?"

"I'll take coward over monster any day, and for the record I was tricked!"

The two Lokis laughed, holding their stomachs as tears rolled down their cheeks as if Liane had just told the funniest joke.

"Were you now? So you lashing out at your father, was because of a trick?"

"You hurting your brothers, that was the fault of a trick?"

"You turning on Edmund and testifying against him, all because you were tricked? No my dear sweet monster, you knew exactly what you were doing. That rage, your fire, you deliberately took that rage and damaged them.

"Scarring your father's face, burning your brother's hair, and don't forget that scar running down Eddie's chest, right over his heart. That was all you. That was the monster. And it's getting stronger. But the longer you hide it with this...hero act? It'll get murderous. It will hurt people you care about. That boy you like? Your precious cousin? Your new friends who just started to trust you? They'll all be ashes on the ground. And you'll be painted as a villain. Just like us."

Loki and Sylvie approached, as Liane looked up at them, tears in her eyes as Loki grabbed her chin harshly.

"Shhhh it's alright little Mutant, it's very simple. Either wait until your actions destroy everyone you love, or give in to us and follow the future rulers of Asgard."

"We could make your our little princess. Put a pretty crown on your golden curls. Keep you in a lovely little box where you won't hurt anyone back on Asgard. And all you'll have to do is just prance about and play dress up, ride on your very own pegasus, we'll make you your own boyfriend or girlfriend to play with, all day long. Or....you and your precious little team die. Either by your hands, or ours. Your choice, Princess."

Liane looked around her and saw her team through the confines of the box she was trapped in. All of them fighting tooth and nail to take out aliens and get the people to safety. All things she would have scoffed at a year ago. She saw Ethan, doing everything he can to help the citizens get away. Rochelle, fighting aliens left and right even as she's injured. Her team doing whatever it takes to save the world. They were better off without her.

'I'm only a man with a candle to guide me

I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me,'

Liane hung her head and looked up at the Lokis, resigned to her fate.

"Do what you like. But don't hurt my friends. Lock me up, tease me, play with me, whatever. But you don't touch them. Please." There was shame in her eyes but Liane had decided she was better off a coward than a monster. Loki nodded his approval.

"Glad you came to your senses, Little Princess. They didn't need you anyway. Sylvie?"

Sylvie wrapped chains around Liane's neck and wrists, leading her to a portal as a voice rang out, beyond the box, from the outside. Liane was barely paying attention when it hit her ears. And a smile spread on her face as it repeated. And she could see outside the box his big green eyes, his dark hair and the concern and worry in his face as he shouted across the battlefield. Ethan was calling to her.

"LIANE!"

"Silly boy, come on pet, we've built a cage just for you."

"Shame."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, shame. Cause your pet just remembered what freedom tastes like!"

The entire box was set ablaze as Lianes eyes glowed, her chains sizzling to dust as she approached the two Mischief deities.

"Turns out I can be both. I can be the daughter of a sleazy businessman and a hero. The sister of a disgusting politician and an Avenger. The ex fiancée of the leader of HYDRA, and the girl about to kick. Your sorry. Asses!"

The box crumbled away to nothing as Liane approached the two co-conspirators with fury in her eyes, her fists aflame.

"You'd better keep fighting cause I'm gonna make damn sure you go back where you came from AND YOU NEVER COME BACK!" Liane roared as airborne fire seemed to burst from her lungs and out of her mouth, sitting the pair ablaze as they disappeared in a poof of magic.

As she managed to find her bearings a hand reached and squeezed hers tightly. It was Rochelle's, and her bright blue cousin was smiling.

"Let's end this fight."

"Together."

And the two fighting Feltons rushed back into the fray, a new sense of courage now fostered in Liane's bruised and blackened heart, slowly starting to rise to reflect on her face. Maybe the past wouldn't define her forever. And just maybe, she would get through this and move on. But not today. That battle was for another time, in another place. Probably in a doctors office somewhere. Monster, coward, hero was starting to sound pretty good from where Liane was standing.

Hope you enjoyed!

Tagging: @gcthvile @jackiequick @blueboirick @meiramel @cherrysft @askstevella @ask-missparker @ask-starrk @therealdaydreamstark @thechoooooosenone @wizzzardofoz @finlayholmes @ethan-lensherr @marvelsfavoriteuncle @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @missstrawbs2001

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Question: How many unused prompts were left after the Showdown?

Answer: 170! And here they are! (Under the cut, b/c long.)

You’re not like me. 

Trust isn’t everything. 

Liberties. 

Teeth.

The light’s gone out. 

Sweet or savory. 

Worst patient. 

Flower of fate. 

Workplace romance. 

Cinderella AU. 

Wake the prince. 

Runaway bride. 

Little Gideon, shop, Weaver. 

Leather and steel. 

Magical exhaustion. 

Near-death. 

Fluffy clouds, shapes, sunlight. 

Dark, darker, darkest. 

The Book of Kells. 

The Long Room. 

Irish pub with music. 

Historical AU – Victorian. 

Sharing a dreamscape. 

Milestones. 

First kisses. 

Last time. 

Tea shop. 

Hedge maze. 

Heist gone wrong. 

Last of the teabags. 

Phone battery low. 

Is the ghost friendly? 

A bad book. 

Uglier than you are.

Talking in your sleep. 

Modern pop culture references

Soulmate au -seeing colors

Overhears talking to self

Plus size belle

Chatroom/catfishing

Matchmaker henry

Appearance glamor

Blind/deaf main character 

Talking tea pots

Dreaming of maidens and monsters. 

Whispers of desire. 

Belle kicks Zelena’s ass. 

TikTok trends. 

Twister game night. 

This isn’t your Uber. 

Adopting a new pet. 

Deck of cards. 

Aquarium, coffee, washing machine. 

Preparing for something big. 

Words on your skin. 

Enchanted Forest. 

High School Musical. 

Station 19. 

Hyperion Heights. 

Little girl named Rose. 

Storm, poison, tears, light. 

Sacrifice, True Love, healing. 

Weaver doesn’t make it. 

Nurse Belle. 

Please help my Papa. 

Please, wake up. 

Sacrifice, pain, light, laugh. 

Don’t leave me alone. 

Whiskey in a teacup. 

Night talk. 

Butler!Gold. 

The Light One!Belle. 

Let’s just pretend. 

Blood went cold.

Greenhouse, museum. 

Twirling in his arms. 

Crushed wedding. 

Flirting at a ball. 

“I forgot to shave?” 

“There is only me.” 

Forget-me-nots. 

Candyshop, Baelfire, awkward. 

Creature of darkness. 

Bird in a cage. 

Yearning for adventures.

Turn no into maybe.

I have school tomorrow. 

Some bathing suits shouldn’t…

Let’s keep this one. 

Younger and younger. 

My bag of tricks. 

Slowly yet surely. 

weaver. 

Warm and cozy. 

Library, lingerie, desk, defile. 

Ravenous, coverage, squirting. 

Moving out. 

Moving in. 

Cat sitting. 

“Well, this is awkward.” 

Red wine. 

Storybrooke’s incumbent mayor. 

Hiring Mr. Cassidy. 

Dagger, snow, fire. 

Arrows, magic, curse. 

Curse, awakening, assassin. 

Heroes.

The witching hour. 

Salt. 

Touch. 

Honeymoon. 

Cloud gazing. 

Spontaneous presents. 

Handcuffs. 

Stroking the hair. 

Soothing caress. 

Selfie. 

One last taste 

“Please don’t go.” 

Blood and tears. 

Wedding on the run. 

Werewolves, bake bread, family. 

Detective, curious, strange. 

Amnesia, photographs, scent, blankets. 

Bird in a cage. 

Secret garden. 

Fairy, mischief, music-box, mist.

Empty, street lamp, snow. 

Ball dancing, imp, tease. 

The girl is drunk. 

Golden hour. 

Lantern, fright, cloak. 

Crooked teeth. 

Magic ritual. 

Magical flower. 

White sheets, bright light. 

Lonely night. 

Stuck in my brain. 

Ski/Skateboard. 

Surfing. 

Dreadful weather. 

Strange love, trouble, ghost. 

Heaven in hiding, garden. 

Gardener. 

3 am, drive, hurricane. 

Dress made of gold. 

Dizzy, truth or dare. 

Suffocating, night, walk, breath. 

Running away. 

Ocean waves. 

Haunted house. 

Witch!Belle, magical library, Salem. 

Insane. 

Gloom. 

Goose, attack, hug. 

Strawberry shortcake, tongue, blood. 

Horrid sight, “How dear.” 

Liminal space. 

Hatred, “You saved me.” 

Poetry, smoking, naked, paintings. 

“It’s our secret, then.” 

Forest spirit. 

Jeweler!Gold. 

Misty town, secrets. 

Something to uncover. 

Mermaid/merman. 

Fall through the ice. 

Forest is my home. 

Dumb and dumber. 

You don’t know everything. 

-

[j-elaine-hyde]

Hawaiian Print Hero

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Stuff n. Things (whaaat? JUST fluff)

Rooster stared as Hangman’s girlfriend sat perched on his lap. Laughing and smiling with her arms draped around his neck. They looked so happy. He wished he could find a girl that would love him like Lauren loved Jake.

Out of frustration he placed his head in his hands and mashed his forehead.

“You okay man?” Hangman asked, a little concerned.

He sat up still rubbing his head before smoothing and fixing his hair. “Yeah man. I’ll be alright.”

Hangman could see there was something going on with him. “Lauren honey…” he began.

“Yes baby?” She cooed.

“Do you have any smokin’ hot friends we could set ol’ Rooster here up with? I think he needs some lovin’… don’t you?” He squeezed her around the waist as she looked at Rooster.

“I sure do baby…” her saccharine sweet voice gave him little to no hope.

“What are you in the market for Rooster? You want a blonde? A brunette? Stay away from those redheads man…” He laughed as he jostled Lauren, who was obviously a redhead.

“Heyyy…” she feigned offense. “Rooster bubba, what are you into? What do you like?” She was genuinely going to take down an itemized list.

“Rooster likes em smart…” Hangman said as he held out his hands in front of his chest. “And tall… like Amazon queen amazing. She’s gotta be breathtaking honey… best lookin friend you’ve got.”

“Watch it mister… you start namin’ names and I’m liable to get jealous.”

Rooster rolled his eyes.

———

They had just finished up a day in training and were standing in the showers talking.

“Hey man, Lauren found a friend for you. She’s pretty hot. Dumber than a box of air but she’s nice to look at.”

“Pass.” Rooster said flatly.

“C’mon man… you’ve gotta find somebody. You can’t just third wheel with us all the time. I love ya, brother, but you bum me out when you get all moody and sad. You should meet her, I think her name is Britney or Brinley… I don’t know. Big tits though.”

“Hard pass. I can’t date those chicks anymore man. I want to be able to talk to them. I want to joke and have fun and connect. Have actual conversations…I don’t need help getting laid man… I need help finding my girl.”

“Ok…so no Britney. Brinley. Britney? Whatever. Cancel that. Roger. Let me see who else she can come up with. She gets a little jealous when I tell her, her friends are hot…”

“What a surprise…”

“We’ll see you tonight at the deck though, right?”

“Yeah… I’ll be there. Don’t go fixing me up with nobody either.”

“Ok man. Whatever you say.” He winked at Rooster.

“Damnit Hangman, I’m serious.”

“Of course you are. I hear ya buddy… No big breasted bimbos… 10-4.”

———

That night when Rooster walked into the Hard Deck there were two entire tables of giggly swooning women. They were being circled like prey by all the sharks in uniform. He didn’t know how exactly, but he knew Hangman had something to do with it.

Sure enough as soon as Hangman saw him he got that ridiculous grin on his face, tipped his beer at him and motioned to the chatty tables full of women. Rooster rolled his eyes and went to the bar. Ordering his drink and avoiding his best friend he was soon joined by none other than Hangman himself.

“Did you see what I did there for ya? I got all of ‘em here.”

“You really shouldn’t have.”

“No man it’s great. They’re all having fun, but you get to pick whichever one you want. And whatever ones you don’t, we’ll throw to the wolves. It’s fine.”

“How did you get Lauren to agree to this?”

“I played up the sympathy card. Told her I wanted you to have what we have and that you were shy and I figured the best way was to have a party of sorts… then I told her we’d get her drunk and let her sing along with you on the piano.”

“Great… Thanks man…” Rooster rolled his eyes and tapped his beer to Hangman’s. I’ll be back. I’m gonna get some air.

Rooster snuck out the patio door and went to hide on the back steps. He didn’t want anything to do with any of those girls. He knew their type. Giggly sorority girls that liked his uniform more than him.

He was enjoying the quiet when suddenly it was interrupted.

“Ugh! Gross! The fucking nerve!” You shook your arms as you marched out the back door to the railing. You were unaware of Rooster’s presence. He sat quietly and watched you, slightly amused. Soon after you calmed down the door violently swung open and a semi-drunk sailor sauntered out.

“There you are… I wondered where you went…” You ignored him. “Heyyy sexy…” he slid his hand across your back and down to your butt.

“Don’t touch me! Get away from me!” You shrugged him off and moved further away.

“Don’t be like that, sexy… I know you want it… Come here…I’ll give it to you right here.” He cornered you, and grabbed your arms pinning you to the wall.

“No! Let go of me! Don’t touch me!” You yelled as you tried to break free.

“Let her go. Now.” Rooster calmly spoke, but his deep voice commanded respect the sailor turned around unsure of who had spoke.

“Babe… get over here.” Rooster motioned to you.

Rooster rushed him and pinned him up against the wall his forearm across the guys neck. “Babe, are you ok?” He softly asked you as you stood frozen against the railing, eyes wide.

You couldn’t speak.

“Babe? Man… Rooster…I had no idea she was yours. I’m so sorry.”

“Well now you do. And you need to tell her sorry, not me.” Rooster punched the guy in the face and knocked him out. He dropped him to the ground.

Turning to you he slowly approached, reaching out placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Hey… are you sure you’re okay?” He ducked down to search your face, locking eyes with you.

You lunged forward and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Thank you” you cried against his neck as tears started to stream down your face. He could feel you shaking.

Holding you tight against him he whispered in your ear, “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay. Hey, I need to get my buddy out here.” You clung tighter to his neck and as a desperate ‘no’ escaped your lips. “Okay…It’ll be like we’re dancing. Just follow my lead, okay? I’m not letting go.”

You held tight to him and nodded your head. He basically waltzed you to the door where he sent the closest guy to fetch Hangman.

As soon as he walked out onto the patio and saw you around Rooster’s neck he thought something completely different.

“Well well well…” Hangman started.

Rooster shook his head no, and pointed to the unconscious asshole on the deck. “Deal with that, I’m gonna get her outta here.”

“What the hell…?” Hangman looked confused.

“Stomp him.”

“Roger that.”

———

Rooster pulled the bronco into your driveway and killed the engine.

“I’m Y/n by the way…” you sat unmoved in the passenger seat, staring down into your lap as your wrung your hands.

“Well, Y/n, I’m Rooster. Um Bradley. Nice to meet you.” He smiled, you could hear it in his voice.

“Thank you… again…I…” you weren’t sure what to say. But then your sarcastic nature took over, “So do you always just hide in the shadows and serve up vigilante justice?” You covered your mouth to hid your smirk.

“Nah…” he laughed, “Although it might become a hobby. Felt pretty good to rescue a gorgeous damsel in distress.”

Blushing you responded, “You’re my knight in floral Hawaiian print.” You couldn’t stifle your laughter.

Enjoying your remark he laughed, “Hey don’t knock it. I think I look pretty good… if I do say so, myself.”

You almost snorted, “Can you imagine if Batman wore Hawaiian print?”

“How do you know he doesn’t? Have you ever seen Batman and I in the same room at the same time though? …no you have not.” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Are you trying to tell me you’re Batman?” You were trying to hold in your laughter but you lost it.

Whether it was a trauma response or a coping mechanism, whatever, you suddenly had the giggles and it was the most glorious sound Rooster had ever heard.

“Why are you laughing at Batman?” He said in his best impression of the raspy Batman voice.

It only made you laugh harder as you curled up into a ball in your seat laughing uncontrollably.

“Have you seen my Hawaiian shirt?” He gruffed. He lost it at this point and the two of you sat laughing in your driveway.

Finally you tried calming down, your abs hurting from laughing so hard. “Oh it hurts… ahhh… oh god that was good.”

“That’s what she said.” Said Rooster in his batman voice.

Your giggles continued.

He watched as you laughed so hard tears fell down your cheeks. He couldn’t help but laugh with you. But all he knew was he loved the sound and the smile on your face, the way you looked at him with your eyebrows high, beaming.

Holding your stomach you took a deep breath calming down as you wiped the tears from your face. You looked out the window at your door and got sad. You didn’t want him to leave. You didn’t want to be alone.

He noticed you staring at the door and your body language change. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah… I- I think I’m just scared…” you admitted as you nervously shook your foot.

“What are you afraid of?” He asked with sincerity.

“Rooster before you showed up I was so terrified… I was …so…helpless. He was so much

stronger than me, I couldn’t get him off of me. I… I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there. I..” You felt a tightness in your chest.

“Hey no… don’t do that…” he reached out and hugged you. Holding you tightly, “Hey you’re safe. I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re home. You’re alright. He can’t hurt you… I’ve got you.”

Embarrassed that you started shaking and crying again you pulled away, shaking your head ‘no’. You grabbed your purse and made a mad dash for your door. Fumbling to get the key in the lock you dropped your key. Out of sheer defeat and embarrassment you thunked your head against the door, sighing heavily, you just stood there wishing you could just dissolve into the porch.

Rooster quickly got out of the bronco and jogged up to help you. He picked up the key and unlocked the door. Pulling you into his chest as he opened the door.

“I’m sorry… that’s so embarrassing.” You mumbled into his chest as he held you tightly.

Pulling back he slid his hands on either side of your face, wiping away tears with his thumbs, holding you in place so he could see your eyes. Your heart was pounding in your ears. “You have nothing to be sorry for and nothing to be embarrassed about.” His eyes burned into yours.

The stare was such an intense flurry of emotions you had to look at has lips just so you could remember to breathe. You held your breath anyway as you stood there in silence, Rooster holding your face intently.

“Lets get you inside.”

———

“Can I get you something to drink?” You asked looking nervous.

Rooster smiled warmly, “Sure… whatcha got?” He leaned on the archway between the living room and kitchen with his arms folded against his chest as he watched you bend over to survey the fridge. Not that it completely escaped his radar, but it wasn’t until this very moment he realized just how gorgeous you are.

“I’ve got a case of summer shandies, a gatorade, a half drank carton of orange juice, water of course, aaaaand protein shakes .” You chewed on your bottom lip as you looked at him. Unsure of what to do with your hands you punched them on your hips, and wiggled the tip of your toes back and forth on the linoleum.

“A shandy would be great. I feel like my attire lends itself to that choice quite nicely.” He slyly smiled, making you blush as you reached in and grabbed him one. He stayed put making you cross the kitchen to bring it to him as he held out his hand. “Thank you Miss…”

Something inside him wanted to say ‘good girl’, but he didn’t dare. You momentarily stood smiling at each other silently without knowing why. You were content looking up at him, admiring his handsome face.

“Are you not having one with me? I think it’d be pretty rude to make me drink by myself. Don’t you?” He studied your features.

You swallowed hard staring at his mouth before locking eyes with him, “Oh… sure. Sorry.” He followed your eyes as they made their way back down to his lips.

You had to force yourself to look away and then walked to the fridge, grabbing another beer. He shook his head as he watched you bend at the waist to get in the fridge. He was immediately in his head about you. You were gorgeous. Your chosen outfit of cutoff jean shorts and a body suit tank top made it easy for him to imagine what you looked like without them.

“Come sit with me.” He gave you a crooked smile, contemplating how far he could push the commands. Something inside of him was begging to praise you to get your reaction.

He followed you to the sofa and sat down. He noticed that within a minute of sitting down your leg was going again.

He slid closer and put his hand on your knee. “Are you okay?” He asked turning his head to look at you sideways.

“Yeah, Rooster… I’m okay.” You awkwardly sipped your shandy.

He furrowed his brow and turned to face you, getting even closer than before. “You can call me Bradley… if you want.” For some reason he didn’t like the sound of his callsign on your lips. He wanted something more intimate.

You sensed he was the slightest bit nervous, which sent your confidence through the roof.

“Bradley…” you said softly, slowly, seductively.

You watched as he stared straight ahead, his eye brows jumped and his Adams apple jumped as he swallowed. He sucked in a ragged breath.

“Bradley…” you bit your lip and watched his reaction as you reached out and teased your nails up and down the back of his neck.

He jumped and wiggled, “ohhhh no…” he exhaled. “You can’t do that…”

You raised your eyebrows giving him your most innocent eyes, “Do what?”

He wagged his finger at you, “You can’t say say my name like that and touch me like that…or you’re not getting rid of me.”

You leaned in closer, resting your face on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his bicep. “You mean I can keep you?”

He turned his face to yours, crashing his lips against yours. Shifting his weight he was on top of you without breaking the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer. Begging to feel his body weight, you hooked your leg around his hip, his hand instinctively sliding up your outer thigh.

“Wait.” He pulled back and sat down. “This is going to sound so dumb… and it’s not a line… or a trap…I just… I don’t want just another hookup.”

Your face scrunched and you closed one eye as looked at him like he was a strange bug. “Are you telling me you don’t just want to use me for sex?” He could hear the surprised humor in your voice.

Raising a single eyebrow he looked at you and licked his lips, “Oh I’m gonna use you for sex… and cuddles, and dates, and kisses. So many kisses. And laughs… I’m going to do everything I can to make you laugh - forever, because I’m pretty sure your laugh is the greatest sound I’ve ever heard in my entire life. I want to hold you, and protect you, and do everything with you.”

You weren’t sure how to react. You wanted to climb onto his lap and make out with him until your faces fell off. To ride him and hear what he sounded like when he came. To feel his hands on you…his lips… but your walls and all the men before him and the lessons you learned for trusting them made you say, “But you don’t even know me.”

He didn’t miss a beat, “But I want to. I wanna know everything. I want the time with you to learn all of those things. I feel really comfortable with you. Like I don’t have to put on some act to get you to like me. That for some reason I now care what you think and how you feel. I need to know that you’re ok and safe and not hungry and I want to take care of you. I want to look across a room and our eyes meet and we smile because we know that we’re both thinking dirty things about the other one. I wanna know at the end of the night that you’re coming home with me. That I get to wake up to this beautiful face and see you smile. That I get to point to you and say, ‘that one? She’s mine. I’m hers.’.”

“Bradley…”

“Don’t… not if you don’t mean it… Don’t.”

“Bradley…”

“That’s it you’re mine.” He said in his Batman voice as he lunged on top of you kissing your neck eliciting a mixture of laughter and moans from you.

———

You went to sleep that night wrapped in the arms of your own personal Hawaiian print hero.

[thingsofimportanceanddelight]

Lmao medical misogyny isnt just “getting ignored” in fact most of it isnt that at all. It is that there is literally a sex data gap. 80% of medicines are tested on only male animals. 80% of clinical trials only use men. No women at all. 13% are mixed men and women and 7% are just women. In the 70s, the FDA literally banned all women ages 12-60 from participating in trials. Every piece of medicine is tested on bodies like yours. 20% of medicine is tested on bodies like mine. Women died from being prescribed asprin to help with heart conditions because it has no effect on women compared to men, but the doctors literally didnt have that data and assumed they would react the same until enough women died!

The body you have, the male body, is the only one tested and researched in 4 out of 5 cases.

You have no right to claim youve experienced medical misogyny. Even the hormones you take to simulate a female experience were tested on males before females.

OMG, my first anon hate comment! This is so thrilling! Literally no one has ever cared about this dinky little virtually-zero-engagement blog enough to bother sending *anon hate* before, so it's amazing that apparently I somehow managed to get under your skin enough (with what I can only assume was a throwaway comment on someone else's post, since this blog is mainly reblogs, not original posts) to warrant the effort. Coupla things, though:

A) I don't know what post you're so angry about, so this is hilariously out of context. To the best of my knowledge, I haven't posted anything on this subject for weeks, if not months (lately I've mainly just been letting the queue spit out posts on car culture and city planning, in fact, so that makes this feel even more like it's coming out of the dead middle of nowhere). Have you been lurking for ages before you worked up the courage to actually send this, or do you not know how to enable post dates/times, or are you AI, or what?

B) I extra don't know what you're talking about with this "bodies like yours" and "the hormones you take" stuff. Pretty sure I've never claimed to take hormones of any kind or have anything other than an AFAB body. Did you assume that, because I support trans women, I must be a trans woman myself, because you simply cannot conceive of a world in which your hate-filled gender essentialist views aren't the default, and you fundamentally cannot grasp what it is like to care about groups that you are not personally a part of? Filing under "TERFS yet again misgendering and marginalizing cis women in their fervor to attack trans women out of nowhere and for literally no reason." Truly, a classic. (Stellar work on that "defending women" bit y'all claim to care about so much, too. I obviously feel very defended by this comment of yours. A+ top of the line "feminism".)

C) I absolutely have experienced medical misogyny, actually, and I would still be able to make that claim even if I were trans, because trans women are women, and transmisogyny is still misogyny. It's literally all there in the names. Hope this helps!

D) TERFS are ridiculous, and Nazi-adjacent *at best*, and make the world a fundamentally worse place for everyone, and you can go right ahead and die frothing mad about it.

Cheers, thanks, byyyyyeeeee!!!!

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern Au) - Error 404 Brain Not Found: Bonus Scene - Part 18

"Check this out! I can cast Igni!" Jaskier exclaimed, bursting into Geralt's room.

Geralt looked up just in time to see the tongue of flame Jaskier shot in his general direction.

"Oh calm the h*ll down, it's just a little bit of fire!"

"No, I didn't 'almost burn down your horsie collection!"

"Please! The fire was no where near it! The flame was maybe a foot long at most!"

"That's not even a curtain! It's just an old sheet held up by thumbtacks!"

"F***ing h*ll, Geralt, that stained, crusty thing deserves to be set on fire!"

"Don't 'Hmm' at me like that, I'd be doing the world a favor--!"

Jaskier gibbered, dancing backwards as a Geralt sent a controlled burst of Igni his way.

Geralt: *smug 'hmm'*

Jaskier flicked the lighter and sent another little jet of flame into the room.

Geralt scoffed at the small streak of fire. It was nothing compared to what he could do with Igni.

"Is that hairspray?"

"Yeah," Jaskier replied hesitantly, not sure where the conversation was going.

"Let me try?"

The hairspray and lighter were handed over, and Geralt sent a long burst of flame into the air.

The primitive parts of his and Jaskier's brains 'ooked' excitedly.

Oook! Make fire!

Ook! Fire! Fire!

"Do you have any more?"

"No, that was what I had left from when I went to that costume party."

Geralt made a disappointed sound.

A moment of contemplative silence followed.

"I know where we can get lots of hairspray!" Jaskier said.

Minutes later, both men were standing in the living room, armed with lighters and cans of hairspray. They whooped excitedly, homemade flamethrowers sending streams of fire into the air.

They chased each other through the house, somehow not setting anything on fire. There were a few close calls, where something got a tiny bit scorched, but it was nothing that couldn't be wiped off or hidden. Yennefer would never know.

And then Geralt's fire stream got a little too close to Jaskier.

"Hey, watch it, you daft b**tart!" *sizzle of return fire that almost burns Geralt's sl*t strands off*

"HhHmmM!" *fire*

"That was almost my face!" *more fire*

"You burnt my f***ing arm hair off!"

"It wAs aN AcCiDEnT!"

Jaskier squealed and ran as Geralt came at him, directing little bursts of fire at his a**.

He tried to leap over the back of the couch and landed a** up on the floor. He had a horrible flashback to the time Geralt had shot a nerf dart up his a**.

From the look on Geralt's face, he was remembering it too.

"Don't you f***ing dare!" Jaskier said, flipping over and raising his can of hairspray threateningly, just in case Geralt was Getting Ideas. He sent a burst of flame at him. Geralt stumbled back, and Jaskier twisted to his feet.

They circled each other cautiously, hairspray cans and lighters raised, poised. They sent little bursts of fire at each other, testing the other's defenses.

"What in Melitele's name are you f**kwits doing?" Geralt and Jaskier froze as Yennefer's shocked voice roared through the living room.

"Er, we're making flamethrowers...?" Jaskier ventured.

"Flamethrowers--! Are you stupid? Don't answer! I already know you are!"

"You're like two cavemen just discovering fire! Dumber than a box of rocks! A whelk has more brains than you--!" Yennefer paused, eyes landing on the cans the two imbeciles held in their hands.

"That's my hairspray! My expensive hairspray!"

Geralt took a surreptitious step away as Jaskier started talking. This was not going to end well.

"Calm down, Yen, you're agitating the snakes in your hair. Here, try taming them with some hairspray!" Then he activated his homemade flamethrower.

He also activated Yennefer's Mortal Enemies Mode. The angry witch lunged.

Jaskier saw the physical manifestation of Doom approaching. He threw the lighter and hairspray aside, and turned to run, but was not fast enough.

Yennefer caught him by the back of his shirt and wound up her arm. There was a loud, sharp crack! as she smacked him hard across his a**. There was absolutely nothing kinky about that slap. It was personal; pure righteous retribution.

Jaskier let out a sharp screech and fell to lie twisting in agony on the floor, holding his a**.

He wasn't sure if he had a spanking kink, but he was certain, in that moment, that if he had happened to have an undiscovered one, it had just been b*tch slapped right out of him.

Geralt didn't know what he was thinking, but for some reason, his brain screamed, "RUN!", so he did. Or, he tried to. He didn't get but two steps before he felt the burn of Yennefer's hand whipping across his a**.

Geralt joined Jaskier on the floor, too stunned to even 'Hm'.

Holy f**k, is that what Jaskier had felt?!

Godsd*MN! No wonder he was still laying on the floor!

Yennefer collected her hairspray, gave them both one last angry scowl, then swept upstairs, leaving them groaning softly on the floor.

"Is there a scorch mark on my a**?" Jaskier hissed in a pained whisper once Yennefer was gone. "It feels like there should be a scorch mark."

Geralt actually rolled over and looked, "No. Is there one on mine?"

Jaskier looked.

"No."

"F***ing feels like I have a welt!"

"Same. Tell me if I have one."

Geralt nodded, and Jaskier gingerly shimmied his pants down, whimpering as the rough fabric rubbed over what felt like raw skin.

There was a vaguely hand-shaped welt across both cheeks. Geralt swore it was glowing and that he might have seen a few wisps of smoke.

Judging from how bad his own cheeks were stinging, Geralt knew he had a similar mark.

Jaskier slowly started getting up, wincing and holding his backside. "Where are you going?" Geralt asked, as the bard began limping away.

Jaskier replied, "My a** needs some popsicles."

Geralt grunted back, "Wait for me, I need some too."

[howlingday]

Roman: (Driving) Listen, kid; I got a feeling No Brain Miltiade is gonna dump ya.

Jaune: (Passenger) What?! No way! Mils said I was the only guy for her!

Roman: Yeah, because you're the only guy who doesn't think she's dumber than a box of hair, but that's not the reason. (Drives into the junkyard) It's more about her old man.

Jaune: (Car stops, Gets out) Are you saying her dad doesn't like me?

Roman: (Exits) Actually, it's more he doesn't like me. (Nods, Crane moves giant magnet over car) See, we had a sort of... (Car lifted to crusher) disagreement.

Jaune: Then how do you know I'm getting dumped?!

Roman: (Looks at crusher)

Roman: (Metal cube rolls out, "Oil" drips from it) Call it a hunch.

Jaune: (Looks at cube) ...Her dad was in the trunk, wasn't he?

Roman: (Puffs cigar)

[beroebluejeans]

Obsessed with Honesty calling Nona “dumber than a box of hair.” What an insult. Fantastic. Added to my repertoire.

[sleepykas]

oooo 29. "Do you know how to use a first aid kit?" for Scavenged AU? - @clxckwork-sun-n-moon

Kori / Eclipse / Chica | Word count: 1743 | AO3 Version

CW // violence, injury and blood

Spoilers for Scavenged

///

Puzzles had never really been Kori's strong suit, so going inside a section of the abandoned Pizzaplex that was made specifically for puzzles was one of his dumber choices as of recent.

He should have known better.

He'd spent too long trying to figure out how the switches worked, made too much noise in his frustration with the ever-changing sections of Mazercise and attracted some unwanted attention.

Now, in the dizzying blocks of colors and moving walls, he narrowly avoided the slicing claws of an animatronic that seemed to want nothing more than to tear the flesh from his bones as he crawled backwards into a cramped, rusting vent that was much too small for him and felt as it if would collapse at any moment.

“Chica-! For fuck sake-!” Kicking at the skeletal hand that reached through the vent, but quickly regretting it as the metal wrapped around his ankle, tearing through the fabric of his jeans and into his flesh.

He winced at the stinging pain, hands sliding across the ragged edges of the vent as he was dragged harshly forwards, hitting his head on the gate edge and out into the open.

Plastic plating and metal edges dug into the skin of his shoulder, pinning him to the ground as a static scream cut through the space between them. Red pinpricks flickered in and out as the half-broken endo arm raised above head, moments from slicing his face before a blur of motion collided with Chica's frame, both figures barreling off to the side in a violent crash against the wall.

Before Kori could orient himself, the bleeding sound of tearing metal screamed in his ears, causing him to flinch as he rolled to his side, pushing himself up on his hands and knees to get a better angle at what has just occurred.

Eclipse loomed over Chica, a hand buried deep in her chest for only a moment before it pulled out, wrenching gears and wires from her frame, electricity sparking around the exposed copper.

Chica's arms struggled against Eclipse's frame for a brief moment, claws leaving thin marks along their casing but ultimately falling limp with the rest of her body, sliding to the floor in a mutilated heap of metal.

Without wasting any time to acknowledge their fellow animatronic, the celestial attendant turned and scrambled to Kori's side, hand outstretched and hovering just inches above him. One eye twitched with concern, the half of their mouth that function pulled down at the corner in an odd sort of frustrated frown.

A mess of static and unintelligible words poured from their voice-box, too fast and too garbled to understand.

“Sorry, bud.” He winced, the injury in his ankle flaring to life. “I didn't mean to stay out so long.”

The hand hovering near by came to gently brush the hair from his face, their eyes flickering down to his injury briefly.

“Walk?” The singular word was barely understandable, but Kori had gotten somewhat used to the broken voice-box.

“Um, maybe.” He braced himself against the wall, using it as an anchor to hoist himself into a standing position, but the moment his foot met the ground a shot of pain bolted up his leg, leaving it aching as he could feel his pulse through the muscles.

“Or maybe not.”

Eclipse hovered for a moment, white pupils in a void of black flickering between Kori and some unknown distance beyond, their face-plate clicking from side of side like they were contemplating something.

After a moment of silence the animatronic shifted, reaching out to grasp Kori by the arm and pulling him closer.

He stumbled, wincing at the sudden movement but even more surprised when his companion reached down, catching him by the back of the legs and picking him up, leaning him back so he was balanced between the attendants chest and arm.

From this proximity he could hear the gentle clicks and whirring of Eclipse's inner workings, and the quiet creak of worn metal under too much stress, but before Kori could protest this new arrangement, Eclipse started walking through the maze with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where the exit was.

He knew to protest being carried would be futile, so he took the opportunity to instead look over their shoulder at the remains of the chicken animatronic, a sense of misplaced loss washing over him.

He hadn't realized he'd space out until Eclipse gently tapped his thigh, signaling that he was being set down.

He braced himself for the pain he assumed was coming but couldn't stop the wince from flashing across his face. “Ow.”

Eclipse hovered nervously for a moment, the twitching in his body language a little more evident.

Kori carefully lowered himself to the ground, making a noise of discomfort as he sat, bringing his leg closer and tugging at his jeans to get a look at the injury.

Chica's claws had run a long, bloody line down his ankle – thankfully missing the tendon, but it still hurt like hell and he could feel the blood trickling from the wound.

With a disappointed sigh he let his hands drop to his sides, his shoulders slumping. “Well, shit. I can't feasibly leave that alone until I get home without it getting worse. Especially since I have to drive home.” He groaned dramatically, leaning back against the piece of desk that still somewhat resembled it's original structure.

Eclipse twitched at the cuss word, a look of annoyance crossing the half of their face that remained functional, but they made no attempt at reprimanding Kori, and instead turned on their heel and stalked towards the Daycare doors.

“Whoa, where are you going?” Kori shifted forwards, and Eclipse's head swiveled around to give him a pointed glare which kept him seated.

“Back soon. Stay.” They waved vaguely before turning their head the correct way and vanishing behind the burned doors.

Kori sat staring at the door blankly, his fingers threading through the folds of his bandanna in a nervous habit and trying not to think too much about about his injury.

Was Eclipse upset that he'd wandered off for so long? That made sense if it was the case, they had told him to be quick and instead he'd gotten caught up in a maze and nearly torn to shreds by a chicken.

How had Eclipse gotten there so fast anyway? Kori hadn't told them where he was going, and he was a good ten minute walk from the daycare at that point.

Something to ask about when they returned.

At least now they didn't have to worry about Chica anymore.

He half wondered what the animatronic was like before all this – before the Pizzaplex burned down and her systems went haywire. She had probably been pretty friendly, considering the brand was mostly catered to children.

From what little was left of the merch and posters scattered about the building, it seemed like the chicken enjoyed parties and pizza specifically (How did an animatronic eat, anyway?), so she probably had a somewhat jovial personality – but to be honest, most of the posters painted the Glamrock cast as bubbly characters, and Kori new for a fact that Monty was anything but bubbly, and Chica might have been a similar case.

He almost wished he'd visited the place before it burned down, just so he'd have had an idea about the bots and the building itself before rummaging around in it's remains.

Almost.

The tell-tale creak of the large wooden doors snapped Kori out of his thoughts, and Eclipse slipped through the opening, their arm full of miss-matched items that looked to be teetering on the edge of falling out of their grasp.

They met Kori's gaze for a moment – likely making sure he was still where they'd left him, and closed the door with his heel.

“Feeling?” They crackled, and Kori tilted his head curiously. “Better? Not really. It's still kinda throbbing.” He carefully tilted his leg, trying not to grimace at the bloody mess of his ankle.

Eclipse crouch beside him, letting the items in his grasp tumble to the floor – unable to properly set them down due to his limited appendages.

Taking a moment to glance over the items, Kori realized they were medical supplies – mostly bandages and alcohol wipes.

He blinked, brows furrowing. “Did you just... find a first aid kit for me? Do you know how to use a first aid kit?” he looked up at the animatronic who was staring back, a curious tilt to their face-plate.

They shared a moment of silence, each confused in their own right before Eclipse spoke up. “Of course?”

Of course. Oh god, of course. Because normal people help others when they're injured. Fuck.

Heat swarmed Kori's cheeks and he mentally berated himself for such a stupid slip-up. Of course Eclipse would help him. Because most people are kind and have at least some semblance of empathy unlike the people Kori had a penchant for attracting. Why would he ever think Eclipse of all people wouldn't help him when they'd been so kind every time before?

A hand gently touched the crown of his bowed head and Kori flinched, fingers clenching around the soft blue fabric of his bandanna. “Sorry-” “Friend.”

Eclipse's voice was clearer, softer and more coherent than Kori had ever heard it.

Daring a glance up at the attendants face proved only to confused him further, as the once white pinpricks in a void of black were now replaced with a larger, soft blue pupil that kept a steady, comforting gaze on their panicked companion.

Their hand came to gently brush their knuckles across his cheek, their head tilting as they leaned closer, eye flickering between his. “It's okay.”

A tightness in Kori's throat made it hard to speak and the heat in his cheeks did nothing to quell his embarrassment, so he dropped his gaze, instead choosing to fidget with the tattered ends of his sleeves, his face gently leaning into the comforting touch.

“Okay,” he breathed, “It's okay.” he closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it go and reopening his eyes, a little more confident.

Eclipse's face-plate did a full turn, drawing a quiet giggle from Kori before they returned to their original task.

[fantasticalbiology]

Yellowswap: behind the scenes

So this isn't a follow up to Yellowswap I just thought this would be funny.

Sans: "So I understand the stabbing myself part but I don't have hair"

Me: "Don't worry I have an alternative for your zenith." I pullout the dry erase board with a picture of Nightmare sans from Moro porductions. "This shall be your zenith"

Sans "Okay so I aggressively start beat boxing at the kid after I transform"

Me: "NO"

scene change

Asgore: "So I start yelling at Undyne about a Ben tens"

Me: "Yes"

Undyne: "And I dispute his claims with cowboys"

Me: "Yes and you can even dispute his claims using anime cowboy like Spikes or Vash"

Chujin in the distance: "That's even dumber than Clint Eastwood"

Starlo also in the distance: "Your dumber than Clint Eastwood"

Me: "quiet you two"

scene change

Mettaton: "So what is my motivation again"

Me: "Your a mindless killing machine that's killed before and will again"

Mettaton: "But I get scared in genocide that I have hide behind a trashcan lid"

Me: "Yup"

Mettaton: "Are you sure I can't have the El Bailador's role"

Me: "No Papyrus has it on lock and El Bailador has his role on lock"

Papyrus in the background: "Where the japes in this role"

El Bailador in the background: "Where is the passion in this role"

Papyrus: "In the puzzles"

Me: "We'll talk about it"

Scene change

Me: You don't have flirt with Ceroba or El Bailador if you don't want to but it's kind of expected

Clover leaves sad

Frisk raises their hand

Me: "No, you still can't flirt anyone"

Frisk leaves sad

Me shaking my head: "Kids" looks to my left to see Integrity with chara's scary face. "Good job kid"

Scene change

Kanako: "So I emerge from the flower and scream my name"

Me: "I mean you can, but's it's better that you let the words to your name appear save your lungs when your hyper death"

Kanako: "Okay mister"

scene changed

Starlo desperately tries to lift Dalv: "C'mon, I can do it"

Me: "Do I need to get Ed in here"

Starlo struggling: "Nope I got this, I can toss him into the trash can"

Me: "Ed, please help Starlo"

Ed grabs Dalv and tosses him through the net into the trash can. "There we go"

Me, puts my hand on Starlo's shoulder "You can try again later, I'm still trying to convince Marlet into the jogboys outfit"

Deltarune yellowswap bonus scene

Me: "Cover you don't have to eat the moss, just put yourself in the chains"

Cover: "Okay"

Anako: "Then I say imagine what Noelle doing"

Me: "Pretty much

Spamton: Hey you [Clown about town] if Cover is already a [BIG SHOT] what is ole Spamton G Spamton supposed to do

Me: I already explained it to Alphys but the red and yellow souls purposes are being swapped