#get it. on the fence about making this. on the fence

[hoshifighting]

𖧷 crybaby

— synopsis: seungcheol can’t help but be a crybaby every time you break his heart, yet he always comes running back to you, desperate for your attention. even when you leave him cold for days or push him away, he can’t seem to stay away. his friends and family don’t get it—they hate how you treat him.

— WC: 4.6k — WARNINGS: agnst, smut, emotionallly detached!reader, emotionally attached!seungcheol, crying, he kind of pisses his friends and family out because of his whiny ass, explicit language, blowjob, cock riding, clit stimulation, face slapping, choking. — inspired by: cry baby by megan thee stallion — ''his friends and his dad hate me, I broke his lil' heart, he's a crybaby"

seungcheol was such a fucking crybaby. like, how does a man that big, that beefy, built like he could crush a watermelon between his thighs, have the emotional resilience of a damp tissue? 5′10 of pure gym dedication and somehow, here he was, sulking like a kicked puppy in the corner of his own damn birthday party. honestly, you broke his heart so many times you’d lost count, but the man was like a boomerang—always came back. didn’t matter how hard you threw him.

his friends absolutely hated you. well, maybe hate was strong—more like they hated how he acted because of you. jeonghan said you lived rent-free in his head, which you knew was true. but the real kicker was his family. they couldn’t stand hearing your name. apparently, he cried into his whiskey glass over you at his last family dinner. like, straight-up sniffles and shaky voice in front of his dad. the boys’ nights weren’t any better; they’d barely crack open a soju bottle before seungcheol was teary-eyed, rambling about you like you were the love of his life and not the emotional hurricane you were.

but that’s the thing, though. seungcheol was built for family. the whole package—white picket fence, Sunday brunches, PTA meetings. meanwhile, you were emotionally unavailable as fuck. couldn’t even commit to a favorite boba flavor, let alone a relationship. and now, you’d ghosted him for a week. a whole-ass week. no texts, no calls, not even the stupid memes you usually sent him at 3 a.m.

today was his birthday. his fucking birthday.

the party at his place was in full swing—laughter, good food, good drinks, jeonghan and mingyu lowkey roasting him about his “girlfriend�� (air quotes and all). his parents were there too, of course. his brother had even flown in. but cheol barely moved from the couch all night. just sat there, one arm slung over the backrest, looking at his phone like a guy waiting for a miracle.

because in his head, if you were his girlfriend—like, properly his—you’d be here. with him. celebrating, holding his hand, maybe sitting in his lap. but instead, he got radio silence.

“bro, seriously, what the fuck is your problem?” jeonghan hissed, leaning over the couch to snatch the beer from cheol’s hand. “your mom’s asking why you look like you’re about to cry into the birthday cake.”

“i’m fine,” cheol muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

“no, you’re not. you’ve checked your phone like a hundred times, and it’s giving ‘sad loser.’ cut it out before mingyu makes a meme out of you.”

but cheol didn’t cut it out. he just stared at the screen, lips pulled into a pout so tragic it could’ve been a fucking Greek play. the hours dragged. one by one, people started leaving, and eventually, it wasn’t even his birthday anymore.

august 9th. 9:54 p.m.

cheol sighed, running a hand through his hair, looking like he was about to combust.

and then, his phone buzzed.

one message.

from: future girlfriend ❤️ - “come over.”

that’s it. two words, no explanation. cheol shot up from the couch so fast he nearly knocked over the coffee table.

jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “where the hell are you going?”

cheol didn’t answer. he was already grabbing his keys, muttering something about how he’d “she texted me.”

he hard his friend groan out in defeat, disappointment, some even surprised that seungcheol would leave his own party like that.

while you were still just chilling at your place, sitting there like nothing had happened, waiting to see if this man who you’d left on read for a week would actually show up.

spoiler alert—he would.

the door wasn’t even locked—like you’d left it wide open for him, knowing he’d come running the second you told him to. seungcheol stepped inside your apartment, and it was so you in a way that made his chest tighten. that familiar scent? god, it was everywhere. in the air, clinging to the couch, the walls, probably gonna soak into his clothes and stay there for days, torturing him. like you’d marked your territory without even trying.

he moved on autopilot, his feet carrying him down the hallway to your bedroom like he didn’t even need directions. the door was cracked open, and he froze for a second when he saw you.

you were standing there, slipping a sheer robe over your shoulders—transparent. and it wasn’t doing a damn thing to hide you. the way the fabric barely skimmed over your hips, nipples peeking through, leading his eyes all the way down to the hem that just teased your thighs… it was insane.

you turned your head slightly, catching him in the doorway like some kind of lost puppy. your expression was unreadable, but he looked at you like you were magic or something—eyes wide, lips slightly parted. pathetic.

you stepped toward him, and before he could even process it, his hands moved to your waist like they belonged there. your arms looped lazily around his neck, and the warmth of your skin had his breath hitching. you glanced over his shoulder at the clock on the wall—10:01 p.m.—then met his gaze, your lips curling.

“happy birthday… birthday boy,” you said, your voice smooth as velvet.

he exhaled shakily, his eyes fluttering shut like the sound of your voice was too much. his brows knit together in that pitiful little frown you’d missed more than you cared to admit.

“why’d you leave me like that?” he muttered, voice cracking slightly. “did… did i do something? i’m sorry, i—”

you didn’t answer, didn’t even flinch, because honestly? you didn’t have a reason. there was no deep, dark explanation, no hidden agenda. you just did.

instead, you pushed him backward toward the bed, your hands firm on his chest. he stumbled slightly but kept talking, his voice climbing higher in pitch.

“please, just—just tell me. what did i do? i can fix it, i swear, just—”

you pushed him harder this time, and he landed on the bed with a bounce. he stared up at you, eyes glassy, lips trembling. “answer me,” he whined, his voice soft and desperate.

“shhh,” you hushed, pressing a finger to his lips.

he whimpered at the touch, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “why—why won’t you just—”

your hand came down on his cheek in a sharp slap. not too hard, but enough to make him moan, his mouth falling open in a perfect little “o.”

“quiet,” you said firmly, watching as his expression shifted. the sting seemed to zap the fight out of him, his mouth closing into a pout as his tears spilled over.

“aww,” you cooed, leaning down to brush your thumb under his eye. “don’t cry, birthday boy. let me give you a gift.”

his gaze flickered immesiately. a gift? he nodded eagerly.

“you gonna be good for me?” you asked, tilting your head.

“y-yeah,” he stammered, his voice so small it made you smile.

your hands moving to his belt. the way he watched you, like you were about to destroy his dignity, was almost comical.

you tugged his pants and underwear down in with a graceful sweep, leaving him bare and exposed. his cock was already rock hard, flushed red and leaking precum that smeared against his stomach.

“look at you,” you teased, wrapping a hand around the base. his breath hitched at the contact, his hips jerking slightly. “crying all over yourself, huh?”

he let out a choked whimper, his hands fisting the sheets beside him. “i—i can’t help it,” he whispered.

“poor baby,” you mocked, your thumb swiping over the tip to collect the sticky wetness. his whole body twitched at the motion, his eyes squeezing shut as more tears slipped down his cheeks.

you leaned down, letting your lips hover just above him. “you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? never let you have it before, but tonight… you’re special.”

he nodded frantically, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “please,” he begged, his voice breaking.

you smiled, finally taking him into your mouth. the heat and wetness made him sob outright, his hands flying to your hair but stopping short—like he was scared to touch you without permission.

“oh—fuck, fuck, fuck,” he babbled, his thighs trembling as you worked him over. your tongue dragged along the veins as your hand played with his balls, and he keened, his head falling back against the pillows.

“so good,” he choked out, tears streaming down his face. “m-missed you.”

you hummed around him, and the vibrations nearly sent him over the edge. his whole body tensed, his hips bucking slightly as he moaned your name.

“gonna be good for me?” you asked, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.

“y-yes,” he stammered, his eyes glassy and desperate. “so good, i’ll be so good, please—”

“then take it,” you said, and he did.

your tongue swirled around the swollen tip of his cock, drawing a shuddering breath out of him that turned into a whimper when you pulled back slightly, letting a string of spit connect your lips to his flushed skin. his chest heaved, his abs clenching under the weight of your stare.

you fold your tongue up and slid along the underside of his length, like you had all the time in the world. his thighs trembled as you worked your way down, your nails scratching lightly along the sides of his hips, keeping him still. by the time you reached his base, his whole body was taut, his hands fisted so tightly into the sheets you thought he might rip them.

“you’re so sensitive,” you murmured, letting your breath ghost over his skin.

“i can’t—” he choked, cutting himself off with a high-pitched moan when your tongue flicked over the soft skin of his balls.

you smiled against him, pressing a kiss to one of the heavy globes before taking it into your mouth, sucking gently. his hips jerked off the bed, but your hand pressed firmly against his stomach, pinning him down.

“stay still,” you ordered.

“i’m trying—fuck, i’m trying,” he babbled, his voice cracking. his head lolled to the side, his lips parted in a silent cry as you continued to suck and lick at him, your tongue tracing slow, wet circles.

your free hand moved back to his cock, wrapping around the shaft and stroking it slowly, your thumb smearing the precum that was steadily leaking from the tip.

“look at me,” you said, your voice softer this time.

his eyes fluttered open, glassy and red-rimmed, his gaze locking onto yours. the sight of you, lips wrapped around him, your hand working him in tandem, had him letting out a desperate, broken sound that went straight to your core.

“you like this?” you asked, pulling back slightly, your hand still stroking him as you kissed along his inner thigh.

“yes,” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “fuck, yes. feels so good.”

“yeah?” you teased, your lips quirking into a smirk as you nipped at his skin. “you’ve been waiting for this? waiting for me to touch you like this?”

he nodded frantically, “always,” he admitted. “always wanted you like this. please don’t stop.”

you purred, letting your tongue glide back up to his base before taking him into your mouth again, this time deeper, letting him feel the heat of your throat. “fuck—oh my god,” he sobbed, his hands twitching at his sides, like he wanted to touch you but didn’t dare.

“go on,” you encouraged, pulling off just enough to speak. “touch me. you’re being good, aren’t you?”

his hands immediately flew to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he let out another choked moan. “yes,” he breathed, “yes, so good, i’ll be so good for you.”

you hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head slowly, your hand working in time with your movements. his thighs shook beneath you, his breath hitching every time your tongue pressed against the sensitive vein running along the underside of his cock.

“you’re so fucking pretty like this,” you said, pulling back just enough to let your spit-coated hand continue stroking him. “all flushed and crying for me. does it feel that good?”

“so good!” he gasped, tears spilling over again as he bucked his hips involuntarily.

you hummed in approval, your tongue flicking over the tip before dipping lower again, taking one of his balls into your mouth once more. the way his entire body shook beneath you, his voice breaking into desperate little cries—it was everything.

“you’re mine,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin. “aren’t you?”

“yours!” he sobbed, his voice cracking. “all yours...”

you pulled back, your lips slick with spit and precum, watching as seungcheol’s chest heaved like he’d just run a marathon. his head was tilted back against the pillows, mouth slightly open, a trail of drool glistening at the corner of his lips. his cock twitched in your hand, still throbbing and leaking like it couldn’t survive a second without you.

“cheol,” you said, your voice sharp enough to cut through the haze.

he didn’t answer. his eyes were half-lidded, rolling back as another pathetic whimper slipped past his lips.

“yah,” you hissed, your free hand moving down to cup his balls, squeezing them just enough to snap him out of it.

he jerked, his hips twitching as a choked cry tore from his throat. his wide, glassy eyes met yours, full of confusion, like he wasn’t sure whether to apologize or beg for more.

“you listening now?” you asked, your tone playful but firm.

“y-yeah,” he stammered.

you smirked, leaning forward just enough to let your breath fan over his cock. “good. now, tell me—do you want me to make you cum like this?” your hand gave his length a slow, deliberate stroke, watching as his eyes fluttered shut again. “or do you want me to ride you?”

his eyes snapped open at the second option, but he still didn’t answer. his mouth opened and closed like he was trying to speak but couldn’t get the words out, and you swore he looked like a little kid trying to pick between candy flavors.

“cheol,” you said again, your grip on his balls tightening just enough to make him yelp. “i’m not giving you both, so choose. now.”

he whimpered, his lower lip trembling as he looked at you like you were some kind of goddess and he didn’t want to disappoint.

“i—i want…” he trailed off, his voice cracking as his cock twitched in your hand again.

“come on,” you urged. “use your words, birthday boy.”

his cheeks flushed deeper, and he swallowed hard before finally stammering out, “i want you to ride me.”

“do you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as your hand gave him one last teasing stroke.

“mhmm,” he breathed, his voice shaky but certain. “please. want to feel you. need to—need to be close to you.”

you smiled, your chest swelling. “good boy,” you murmured, releasing him completely and watching as he whimpered at the cut-off.

you climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips as his hands immediately flew to your thighs, gripping them like he was scared you’d disappear—again. the way his eyes roamed over your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin through the transparency of the robe, and the big slit that have been created as the robe opened up, made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

you reached between your legs, guiding his cock to your entrance, letting the tip tease your folds just enough to have him squirming beneath you.

“mm..fuck” he groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. “you’re so wet. is that—fuck, is that for me?”

“all for you,” you lied, he knew you were mocking him as you slowly sank down onto him.

the stretch was so good, never fails to make you arch your back, his cock filled you so perfectly had your breath hitching. but the sound he made was way down pathetic. it was half moan, half sob, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“oh my god,” he choked, his hands flying to your waist as his hips jerked involuntarily. “you’re so—so tight. best birthday gift ever.”

you rolled your hips slowly, letting him feel every inch of your gummy walls, and his grip tightened, you can feel his strong fingers marking your meat.

“you like being used like this?”

“yes!” he gasped, his voice high and broken. “love it. love you.”

you froze for half a second, the words catching you off guard, but you quickly recovered, your lips curling into a smirk. “that so?”

“yeah,” he breathed, his eyes squeezing shut as you started to move again. “fuck, i love you. love everything about you.”

every roll of your hips, pulled more sounds from him than you thought possible—moans, gasps, sobs, all spilling from his lips like a declaration.

your hips moved in a steady rhythm, dragging his cock in and out of you in a way that made your thighs burn, but the way seungcheol looked at you—like you were the fucking universe—made it impossible to stop. you clenched around him, squeezing tightly, and his mouth fell open, a strained whimper spilling out as his fingers dug into your hips as you rocked your pussy back and forth.

you pushed his shirt up higher, your eyes falling on his chest, where his nipples were flushed a deep red against his tan skin. his brows furrowed in confusion when he noticed your gaze.

“what?” he asked, his voice hoarse and breathless.

“you don’t even know, do you?” you teased, your nails trailing up his chest. “how red they get when you’re about to cum?”

“what?” he repeated, his tone higher this time, all embarassed.

“oh, baby,” you cooed, leaning down to brush your lips against his. “you’re so fucking cute.”

his face flushed even deeper, and you felt his cock twitch inside you as your hands wrapped around his neck. his eyes widened immediately, his breath hitching as he stared up at you, his lips parted in surprise.

“you like this?” you asked, your grip tightening just enough to make his pulse race beneath your fingers.

he let out a strangled moan, his hands flying up to your thighs like he didn’t know whether to stop you or hold on tighter. “y-yeah,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “fuck, yeah.”

“then be good for me, cum for me, cheol. now.”

his entire body tensed, his hips jerking up. you clenched around him again, your grip on his neck firm as you ground down harder as the first waves of your orgasm hit you.

you raised your hips just in time, letting his cock slip out of you as he spilled all over his stomach, ropes of cum painting his skin. his head fell back against the pillows, his chest heaving as he let out a broken sob, his hands trembling against your thighs.

you collapsed onto his chest, your hand moving between your legs to circle your clit frantically, your moans muffled against his ear as you chased the last remnants of your own orgasm.

“oh my fucking god...” you panted, your fingers working faster as your hips ground against his thigh.

he turned his head slightly, his eyes hazy as he watched you, his lips parted in awe. “you’re…so beautiful...”

you moaned loudly as your orgasm hit you, your body shaking against his as you buried your face in his neck, your hand slowing to a stop.

as the high ebbed away, your body melted into his, your limbs heavy and your breath evening out. you let your full weight settle on him, and he groaned softly, the sound less of discomfort and more of deep, satisfied contentment. his arms came around you instinctively, holding you close, his hands splayed wide against your back like he never wanted to let go.

you lay there, your cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. you tried to ignore how your own heart raced, guilt creeping in as you replayed the last week in your head.

sometimes, you really felt like shit about the way you treated him. seungcheol was too good for you, with that big heart of his—always giving, always forgiving. the problem wasn’t him. it was you.

you hoped he couldn’t feel the way your heart thudded against his chest, the weight of your remorse making it beat faster.

you lifted your head slightly, pressing soft kisses to his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair as you gently scratched at his scalp. he sighed, leaning into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

“cheol,” you murmured, your voice softer than you planned. “can i give you one more gift tonight?”

he didn’t answer right away. his eyes drifted to the ceiling, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“only one?” he asked after a moment.

you hummed, matching his teasing tone. “yeah. just one. better make it count, birthday boy.”

he chuckled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. instead, his gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your back.

“i don’t think you can give me what i really want...” he said finally.

you tilted your head, your brows furrowing. “what do you mean?”

he hesitated before he turned his head to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

“i want to be here with you... but knowing that you… that you actually like me back.”

he held your gaze, his eyes raw and vulnerable, waiting for a response that you didn’t know how to give.

“cheol, you know that right now i—” you started, your voice cracking.

but he shook his head, his lips curving into a small, sad smile. “it’s okay,” he said quickly, though the way his arms tightened around you betrayed his words. “i didn’t mean to ruin the moment. i just… i had to say it.”

you didn’t know what to say. guilt churned in your stomach, your heart pounding against his chest as his words echoed in your head.

he deserved so much more than you could give, and yet here he was, holding you like you were his whole world.

seungcheol let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against the curve of your spine. “but since that won’t happen…” he trailed off, his voice wistful.

your chest tightened, the words striking a nerve you weren’t ready to deal with. you stayed silent, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, hoping he couldn’t see the way your brows knitted together.

“can you…” he hesitated, his fingers twitching against your skin. “can you come to my birthday party tonight? i know it’s late, but it’s probably still going. i’d love to see you there.”

you froze. you knew what he was asking—he wanted you to show up for him, to step into his world, even if it made you uncomfortable.

“cheol,” you said slowly, lifting your head to look at him. his expression was expectant.

“please,” he added, whispering in an almost pityful way. “just for a little while. it’s my birthday.”

you bit your lip, glancing away. the idea of walking into a room full of people who probably hated you wasn’t exactly appealing, but the way he looked at you, made it hard to say no.

“fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“really?” he asked, his face lighting up instantly.

“yeah, really,” you said, rolling your eyes.

he sat up, pulling you with him.

you groaned, pushing against his chest. “ugh, fine. let me get ready, then.”

he followed you into the bathroom like a puppy, leaning against the doorway as you washed your face and fixed your hair. his gaze was soft, trailing over you like he was memorizing every detail.

“stop staring,” you said, your tone sharp but lacking any real bite.

“can’t help it,” he replied, his voice warm. “you’re gorgeous.”

you rolled your eyes again, but your cheeks flushed anyway, and you hated how easily he got to you.

“you should get ready too,” you said, pointing at him with a toothbrush in hand.

“i’m fine like this,” he said with a shrug, gesturing to his wrinkled shirt and jeans.

“you’re not showing up to your own party looking like you just got laid,” you shot back, smirking when his ears turned red.

“fine,” he grumbled, shuffling off.

by the time you were both dressed and ready, the nerves in your stomach were in full swing. seungcheol, however, looked ridiculously pleased with himself, his hand finding yours as he led you toward the door.

seungcheol practically vibrated with happiness as he led you up to the front door of his house. he tried so damn hard to play it cool, to keep his steps measured and his grin from stretching too wide. but his chest felt like it might burst at any moment, the thought of walking in with you by his side enough to make him wanna jump like some kind of elf in a fairytale.

this was it. you were here. about to meet his family, his friends. his whole world.

he took a deep breath and opened the door, immediately met with a chorus of voices.

“finally!” jeonghan shouted, throwing his arms up like he’d been waiting for years.

“where the hell have you been?” his brother added exasperatedly.

seungcheol pressed his lips together, holding back a smile as he glanced over his shoulder at you. “i, uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down for a second before looking back up, his voice soft but proud. “i needed to bring someone special before the ‘happy birthday.’”

the room fell silent as you stepped out from behind him, your hands clutching the straps of your bag like a lifeline. your small, tentative smile was enough to stop everyone in their tracks.

you shifted awkwardly under the weight of their stares, the sound of the music thumping softly in the background the only thing filling the silence.

and that’s when it hit them.

oh.

this was the reason seungcheol had been acting so out of character, the reason he’d been spiraling for months. you weren’t just some girl he was into. no, you were a fucking vision. gorgeous in a way that made the room seem brighter. mesmerizing without even trying.

now they understood. now it all made sense.

of course he was crazy over you. of course he’d been spiraling. who wouldn’t be?

but the realization also came with a quieter, more awkward truth: this was the girl they’d all cursed out in private. the girl they’d ranted about after every drunken night where seungcheol had cried into his beer or disappeared to avoid them.

they exchanged quick glances. yeah, they got it now, but it didn’t erase the fact that they’d judged you before even meeting you.

a nagging question none of them dared to voice but couldn’t shake.

were you really worth it?

jeonghan, the one who never held his tongue, raised a brow and smirked. “well, shit. now i get it.”

seungcheol’s face flushed a deep red, his hand instinctively finding the small of your back as if to shield you from the inevitable onslaught of teasing.

but instead of cracking a joke, jeonghan just smiled and nodded, his eyes softening. “welcome,” he said, his voice genuine.

the others slowly followed suit, their smiles tentative but warm as they tried to mask their lingering curiosity.

and as seungcheol led you further into the house, his hand never leaving your back, he felt like he’d just won the lottery. because for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t walking into this house feeling defeated or embarrassed.

this time, he was walking in with you.

© 2024 Hoshi Fighting | All Rights Reserved

[onbearfeet]

So this is my wildly unscientific two cents, but ... some wolfdogs really are this specific combo of smart/spooky, and it is as amazing as it is terrifying.

I used to spend time at what amounted to a wolf/wolfdog rescue, a place where hand-raised wolves and wolfdogs ended up if their humans couldn't handle them. The most common reason they ended up there was that the sheer That's Not A Dog-ness finally got to someone. They were refugees from a canine uncanny valley. Very good puppers, most of them, but you had to look past the deep spookiness. English isn't set up for this, so the best I can say is it makes you think about the first humans to domesticate wolves, and how their neighbors were probably scared of them because what the FUCK is that THING walking beside you, Thog??? I suspect the process of selectively breeding wolves into dogs was at least 50% selecting out the creepy factor.

These animals are smarter than you think an animal should be. They are highly social and AMAZING at picking up human cues, especially if they've been raised around a bunch of humans who interact with one another a lot. They can and will problem-solve and play-act in elaborate ways to fuck with you for their own amusement. If they don't open every door in your house every single day, it's a courtesy. If they stay inside your fence, it's because this is their territory, and maybe they like your snacks. I heard them described often as having "cat personalities", but the cat in question was probably a mountain lion.

Most of them had been bred as either sled dogs or masculinity symbols, primarily the latter. And they KNEW how weird humans are about wolves, and were willing to exploit it. One of them, a high-content wolfdog with striking golden fur, would greet visitors who smelled like food not by jumping or begging but by either sitting and staring or calmly falling into step beside them like she was a familiar in a bad fantasy movie. Neither behavior is normal for wolves meeting new humans, but she'd somehow figured out how to spot humans who believed they had a mystical connection with wolves, and she milked it for extra treats. People who came to "commune with the wild" loved her solemn dignity. I thought it was hilarious that an absolute gremlin had people so thoroughly fooled.

So yes, I believe Jed could act. He probably didn't understand exactly what a movie was or what space aliens were, but he figured out that spookiness got him what he wanted, and he went full spooky.

Wolves and wolfdogs are amazing. Do not get one.

There's a lot of debate if Jed (actor dog from The Thing and a few other movies) was a wolfdog or not. He was said to be half wolf half malamute, but to me he looks too much like a dog to be half wolf. Sorry if you've been asked this question about him before, but what's your opinion on it?

He was a wolfdog! He’s was a low-content malamute mix, and a very talented boy! He does look like he’s got quite a bit of dog in him, so I wouldn’t say he’s mid content, but if he was he’d be on the lower side.

[scar-lie]

DNA Pt. 2 {Scarlett}

Summary : Scarlett finally found out you're her daughter

Pairing : Mom! Scarlett Johansson x Daughter!Reader

Warning : curse word, bad memory, anxiety, cutting, blood

Word count : 2,029

NO one has permission to repost my work anywhere, if you see it please let me know.

DNA Pt. 1

Cherrylemontober

"Oh, that feels good,” Scarlett sighs in relief, relaxing every muscle when one of the employees decides to give her a massage after a long hour of working doing stunts, running, and just a never-ending shoot.

“Tired huh? "Scarlett chuckled when Alice—one of the workers on the project—commented, moving her hands from shoulder up to massage her head.

“Yeah, oh god, that's the spot... That's been aching for days now,” Scarlett whispered, closing her eyes, and Alice chuckled at her behavior and kept massaging her shoulders and head.

“Ok, what exactly are we doing? "RDJ asked, still confused while driving after he picked up Lizzie, and Hugh is on the way to look for you

“It's Y/N, and it's a long story; she just ran away in bad condition.” Lizzie bites her lower lips, worried about you, and RDJ is confused and worried too.

“Why? "He stops at the red light and faces Lizzie, who's been busy contacting you.

“It's... She found out who her biological mother is, and... and I don't know what's going on in her head; she just bolted out, and I’m worried.” Lizzie's hand keeps shaking, and her breathing is getting labored, so RDJ quickly took her phone and held her hand.

"Breath, Lizzie, breath; Y/N’s fine; she wouldn't so such thing.” Robert squeezed her hand, and the light turned green, and he proceeded to drive.

You took a deep breath, still gripping the steering wheel tight. You've been sitting in your car for about 20 minutes now, after your 4-hour drive from the city to the outskirts of another city.

You look at your left side, seeing a simple but big house, enough for 20 to 40 people to fit in, then you look back forward to see a path going forward for another house of your neighbor.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, going out of the car and proceeding to walk to the door of your old house, then stopping at the door to knock three times.

“Mom? "You called out, but after a few minutes, no one is answering, so you assume that your mom went out to get some groceries or something.

So you lower down to get the spare key at the bottom of the third flowerpot, then open the door and come inside to see the place as clean as you expected.

The house was well maintained, no dust, no dirt, no trash, or anything unpleasant. The pictures scattered around the house, some hanging on the wall, some on top of the drawers.

It's all pictures of you, your mom and dad, and your lovely sister, whom you adore and love so much. This house brings so much memory that you can't help but shed a tear just by looking around and touching things.

From the picture of the four of you standing in the side drawer, past the entrance to the trophies, couches, and decorations laying around the house, that brings you to the kitchen when you four are usually having fun making dinner for Sunday night that is full of laughter before everyone goes to do what has to be done the next day.

It eventually leads you to the backyard, where you can see the city up there. Your father built a wooden fence around when your sister was 5 years old, and then he also built a big swing where your mom put comforters and pillows there after 3 months when you were adopted.

You love looking over the city from the backyard, and you always sneak out at night just so you can sit at the ground in awe and watch the city light shine with the stars.

“Here you are, Miss Troublemaker,” your father sat besides you after another night of you sneaking out of your room when they told you to sleep and bit you goodnight.

“You know, you should really sleep now; it's getting late; you still have school tomorrow,” your mom, sat on the other side of you, then pulled you to lean on her and kiss your forehead.

“Sorry again,” they chuckle, knowing you will be doing this again eventually.

“We know, sweetie,” you whisper, then stand up.

“I guess you both plan on staying here for a little while longer. Just go inside before you two get cold, ok? "After your father answers her, ‘Yes, dear, no need to worry. Mom gives us a warning look, then goes back inside.

That night you and your dad stay late at night, you listening to the stories of your dad on how he courts your mom. Your mom eventually goes out again to fetch you both back inside before you two catch a cold, and that being said, you two got a good scolding from her first thung at the morning.

"Idiots,” you chuckle at the memories, not knowing your tears, cunning down your tears.

You sigh, taking off your shoes, putting your bag, key, and phone down to the pavement of your backyard before you set foot on the soft grass and go to the swing to sit and lay back your back at the headboard of the swing and begin to hum the song your family loves.

“I miss you, Dad..I wish you were here,” you whisper, looking down, and you can't take the pain anymore. You sob there, curling to the ball and crying on your knees until you run out. Tears still keep dropping one tear after another, while quiet sobs keep coming out of your mouth.

Not knowing your mom is already home, standing right before your things on the pavement, happy and also sad seeing your shoulder shaking, without any doubt, your mom also took her shoes off and walked towards you.

"Sweetie,” your mom called. You quickly turn to the other way and wipe your tears, making yourself presentable as much as possible.

“What’s the problem? Honey? "Your mom sat down beside you, opening her arms for you to get in and lean on her.

“It's nothing; I just missed Dad, that's all.” Your mom didn't push you but offer a comfort that you know you can trust and lean on to her no matter what.

“Ok...just don't forget me and your sister is here, ok?”She kissed your forehead, cupping your cheeks, and made you look at her.

"Yes, Mom,” you quickly move to embrace the comfort your mom is giving you.

You’ve been out the whole day, not answering the phone calls or texting to anyone. Lizzie and the other were worried sick looking out for you.

It's 9 p.m. when you decide to head back home to your house in the city, and when you open the door, Scarlett is there, walking back and forth.

She's been worried for hours now. When the news reaches her, Lizzie doesn't have a choice but to contact Scar and ask her about the places where you could go, and that's when Scar knows that you run away.

“Y/N gosh, we were worried sick for you; where have you been?"Scarlett quickly enveloped you in her arms, but you quickly but gently got out of her

“I wanted to be alone. Please leave.” You open your front door, but Scarlett didn't move an inch.

“Y/N? "Scarlett whisper, she can read your expression and body language well, and she knows that you want space but not wanting to leave you all alone.

“What's the problem? "She tried to reach out, but you moved and opened the door more for her to get out.

“Leave me alone,” you said with so much hatred.

The more you look at her, the more your patience gets thin, and the more angry you are, you can't accept the fact that she's the person who gave birth to you and who threw you in that stupid orphanage.

And the more you hear her voice, the more your memory comes rushing back bit by bit, where you try to leave it to the back of your mind and you hate her for it.

“LEAVE NOW, DAMMIT! "You scream, not wanting to be near her anymore.

"Y/N, I'm here; you can tell me everything." Your blood boils, and you explode right there and then.

"You wanna know, huh? Ok...you wanna know how fucking bad of a mother you are, leaving your child to a shitty orphanage who makes them work and gives them a good beating when they didn't do things right or they didn't have money to give to the orphan keeper...and I fucking hate you for that." Scarlett's eyes were wide open, because her secret is out but also confused.

"How...how do you know about my daughter?" You quickly cut her off and pushed her a little.

"Cause that child you abandoned is me. You fucking left me with that monster. I have to survive in order to llive, and you... you're in your fucking mansion, drinking wine, having delicious meals,s, and living your best life while I try to survi." You push the DNA paper on her chest and clench your jaw..

So fucking leave before I drag you out of here." You drip the door handle to control yourself and not just grab her and get her out of here.

"I-I……ok,” Scarlett is speechless, and she has tears in her eyes. She wanted to explain, but she chose to leave with a heavy heart, not knowing what to do or how to approach you.

Once she's out, you quickly lock every door and window and head up to your room and lock yourself in the bathroom.

Your heart is beating loudly; you can hear it on your head; every beat brings back memories of how the paddle sounds when it hits your skin.

Every little noise coming outside sounds like how many times you and the other run away when you all hear the madam coming home.

Every scream, every cry, every shout, every pleading—you can hear it all like it's happening, and your chest starting to hurt—that makes you sit down and lean your back on the wall, clutching your chest.

You look around in hopes of distraction, but your eyes land on the razor blades you use this morning to shave.

Your mind says no, but your body has a different approach; it quickly grabs it, taking your shirt off and starting to cut your hips.

The blade kissing your tender skin, puncturing the flesh and drawing blood, and you sigh in relief, one cut after another; some are deep, some were superficial wounds. The only thing that makes you stop is when you look up at the mirror, seeing yourself.

“What have I done? ”You drop the blade;your eyes lock on the blood on your hips and hands.

“Oh god,” you shed tears over what you've done. You've been 6 years clean, and you promise your dad that you will stay clean before he dies.

And you curse yourself for doing this to yourself without thinking it, but it also makes you feel safe and alive at the same time.

You got interrupted when your phone rang and Lizzie's name flashed on your screen, so you cleared your throat and answered her call, knowing she's worried too.

*LIZZIE*

Hey-

Where have you been, huh? We’ve been going around thecity to look after you

Sorry that I worry you all. I go to Mom to clear my head

It's fine; just don't do it again, ok? Yeah

How are you? Are you okay?

Yeah, just shocked and sad and hurt. I'm fine, Liz.

I’m not convinced; I’m going there

You don't have to; I swear I’m fine, and I want to be alone.

Are you sure?

Yeah, I’m sure, just tell everyone, I’m fine and I’m sorry for making them worry.

They'll understand. Just call me when you need someone ok? I’ll be right there.

Yeah, thanks, Liz.

After saying your goodbye, you hung up and winced when you started to move to go to the

How to wash yourself, and it stings more when the water runs down to your wounds.

“I’ll be fine.” You keep chanting it until you're ready to sleep.

[rottenpumpkin13]

Hi every once in a while I remember that this is a real technique from a medieval fencing manuscript and fall over laughing (Lecküchner my beloved. You are so unserious)

So who gets bored when assigned to teach the cadets one day and runs this lesson? Lmaoooo

(The words written with it bc they’re so funny istg:)

Then, if you want to throw him into a bag, so secretly appoint two men with your bag, who stay behind the people. Then, grab him as it is announced before and tell the two to raise the bag and press him firmly and make him crawl to it. If he does not want to crawl into, grab with your right hand on the outside at his right knee-bending and throw him into it in the name of God

Fencing? Genesis, no question about it. The lesson happens when Angeal accuses him of not supporting the lower ranks enough. In response, Genesis offers to give a fencing lesson to "enrich" the ranks. Zack is excited to be used as a volunteer.

Genesis: Now, everyone, observe closely as Zack and I demonstrate a technique that requires precision and grace. Do not fear failure. We are, after all, an organization that values patience and teamwork.

Zack: Exactly! No judgment here!

Genesis: Angeal! Sephiroth! Ready the bag.

Zack, immediate panic: WHAT'S WITH THE BAG?

Genesis, ignoring him: This is a foundational maneuver in fencing. The goal is to incapacitate your opponent—

Zack: THE BAG?

Sephiroth: Is the bag large enough to fit Zack?"

Genesis: It should be.

Zack: THIS ISN'T FENCING, THIS IS A KIDNAPPING!

Genesis: Do you agree to willingly enter the bag?

Zack: NO?

Angeal: He refuses to willingly enter the bag.

Genesis: That's alright.

Zack: Phew, thanks. You were really starting to—

Genesis: Throw him in the bag in the name of the Goddess.

Zack: WAIT—

[eye-in-hand]

If you're on the fence between Russia and Ukraine you are a part of the problem. Indecision is a decision. I 100% think the majority of the world doesn't care about Ukraine, because most people just see Ukrainians as Russians. They "were Russian in the past", who cares if they become Russian again? Who cares if their language dies out, who cares if their traditions and history are rewritten by Russia again.

So many people claim to be against imperialism but the second a major world power decides it's still not big enough people have excuses on why they can't get involved. Ya'll didn't care about any of the tribes in Siberia, the Caucasus, The Kola Peninsula, or Eastern Europe the plethora of times Russia has taken over because it doesn't affect you. And that makes you a part of the problem.

The State of Russia is a problem, and this paralysis over making decisions that go against Putin only gives him more power. If a small af country like Ukraine can go to war with Russia there is no excuse why places like the States or Western Europe can't. But nah we'll just sit there and let Ukraine die because Ukraine is just Russia, it's just Russian imperialism who cares, Russia isn't to be taken seriously because they're a joke.

Unfortunately Russia is a joke that's committing genocide. Again.

Today, Ukraine became the first. The first country in the world against which an intercontinental ballistic missile was used.

let's goooo незламни�� народе first in everything amirite -----------------------------------

no one cares

I don't care what you say. This is the harsh truth. No one gives a fuck if our nation lives or dies.

To use intercontinental missile to strike Dnipro. That's gotta be the most ridiculously expensive temper tantrum ever.

[bullet-prooflove]

Ask Me Again: Brock Reynolds x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fandom-oneshots-etc @sealteambravo @icyybecca @xmoonknightlyx

Companion piece to:

Buried Socks: Ceberus has a unique way of showing how much he misses you.

Brock realises he wants to marry you during a firefight in Afghanistan. His team is pinned down on one of the roads leading up to the compound where they’re situated. It’s an ambush, one they didn’t expect because they’re practically on home turf, they can see the fucking fence in the distance but as ordered no one is coming out to help.

I swear to Jesus, he prays as the firestorm rages on around him. If you get us the fuck out of here I will put a ring on that woman’s finger.

It’s then that a sniper’s bullet takes down the operator of the machine gun mounted on the back of one of the insurgent’s Jeeps. It’s followed by another and then another until the tide turns and they’re able to take out the assault team and haul ass to the encampment.

It’s an hour later that you show up. Your rifle is slung over your shoulder and there’s a checkered head scarf covering your hair. The front of your clothing is covered in dust from lying in the dirt, your gun trained on the junction where they were attacked.

“You’re in a lot of trouble Nightingale, Commander Harrington is looking to tear you a new one.” One of the guys on the gate tells you and you shrug your shoulders because you don’t really give a fuck, not when you’ve just saved the life of the man you love and his team.

They call you The Nightingale because you’re beautiful, deadly and your first name is Florance. Your commanding officer calls you a complete pain in the ass and worse when he reams you out for insubordination. They can hear it vibrating through the command post as he bellows so loud at one point his voice breaks. His problem is, he can’t get rid of you. You’re on loan to the Navy from the Army because there’s a shortage of snipers with your skill set. So he has to put up with your shit otherwise the Army takes their shiny toy away and leaves them in the hands of someone far less capable.

It's that night that Brock sneaks into your quarters, the same way he’s been doing every night since you took up residence on base. He fucks you into the mattress, his palm clasped over your mouth because his girl gets a little loud when she’s coming on his cock and these walls are paper thin.

It’s in the aftermath when he’s laying tangled up in that single cot with you that he proposes to you. You’re draped across his chest,  half asleep, when he tips your chin up to meet his gaze.

“Marry me.” He whispers, his thumb chasing over the apple of your cheek.

“Ask me when we get home.” You say and it feels like a knife plunging into his chest. “You had a close call today…”

“That’s not what this is.” He responds and you give him that look, the one he fucking hates because it makes him feel like he’s being overemotional. “It isn’t!”

“Would you have asked me if this hadn’t happened?” You say, shifting so you’re in a sitting position against the wall.

The truth is no, probably not and it pisses him off because it shouldn’t take a fucking fire fight to remind him just how fleeting life can be, how precious you are to him.

“Think about it.” You say softly as he takes up residence against the wall alongside you. Your fingers entwine with his and he tilts his head towards you so he can look into your eyes. “And if you still feel the same way when we get home, get a ring and ask me again.”

Love Brock? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[kendrysaneela]

I think this pregnancy storyline could defo make them all rethink the whole white picket fence heteronormative monogamous idea they all seem to have in their futures. Because they all seem to view their futures with this white picket fence fantasy more conceptually? Where they all think someday they’ll leave the ship and it’ll all fall into place. But this will defo make them rethink how they view their future I think. Like they all talk about getting married to one person and having children and living this life very conceptually? Like “One day when I leave the ship this will fall into place and I’ll be happy because this is how people become happy by settling down into this heteronormative monogamous fantasy” like it’s never “This is how I’ll do it and this is the type of person I’m looking for” it’s just “Once I leave the ship it’ll just happen” that makes me think they all view it more as something they think they’re supposed to do to be happy rather than something they’re all stating they actually WANT. So I think the question they’ll have to ask themselves is “Do I actually want the white picket fence or is that what I’ve been conditioned to want and I’m on this ship running away from that? Could there be another road to happiness they haven’t explored? Could that path be with each other?

[magniloquent-raven]

life's what you make it

@tommykinardweek Day 1: Coming Out

CW: descriptions of animal abuse & pet death

(also on ao3)

When Tommy was nine his father bought a lanky Rottweiler with paws too big for his skinny legs. “He’ll be useful when he fills out a bit,” was all his dad said about it, with a chuckle and a backhanded slap against Tommy’s chest. Rotties are loyal, obedient working dogs. Guard dogs.

His dad named the dog Budweiser after one too many. In retrospect, he picked the first thing he saw to get Tommy to shut up about what they were going to call him, but at the time Tommy thought it was a great idea. After all, the dog was his Bud. (His Budweiler. It took three days for his dad to get sick of that joke.)

A week after he came into their home Tommy’s father nailed down a stake in the front yard. Bought a chain to clip to Bud’s collar. And he scoffed at Tommy’s whining about how sad Bud looked out there, all alone. “It’s a fucking dog, Tom, it’s not sad.”

But Tommy smushed his face against the window to watch him rest his blocky head on his too-big paws, and he saw him sigh. A big gusty sigh that moved his whole body.

Arguing with his dad about it didn’t change anything. The stake stayed. The dog stayed outside, where animals belong.

“Wouldn’t have bought the damn thing if I knew you were gonna be such a girl about it,” his dad muttered into his beer.

And that was that.

But Bud was always digging up his stake. Tugging at his collar. Running in circles around the yard, getting tangled up in his restraints. The first time they came home to dirt patches and overturned sod Tommy’s dad chucked his shoe at the dog, irate about how much it was going to cost to clean up. Tommy spent the rest of the afternoon outside, quietly raking up the chunks of grass and taking breaks to sit with Bud, petting his short, bristly fur.

Locked in the bathroom, he would tear up magazines. Left in the backyard he’d paw endlessly at the patio door. Then he started running away. The first time it happened Tommy was in hysterics. He cried his eyes out, and shut himself in his room where his father wouldn’t see.

It didn’t matter how many afternoons he’d spent outside feeding Bud bits of leftover lunch meat from his sandwiches, trying to tell him he was supposed to stay in the front yard, if he was a good dog he’d stay in the front yard. Explaining to him over and over again that he was here to protect them—his job was to scare away Mormons and the tax man, whoever he was—didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

After two years he started to believe his father. Bud was just a bad dog. A stupid dog. Defective. They kept him chained up in the front yard, and Tommy stopped spending time with him beyond giving him a pat or two on his way inside. He was too old to keep pretending that the dog understood what he was saying anyways. And he had better things to do.

When Tommy was thirteen, Bud slipped out of his collar again. It was old news, and Tommy was past freaking out. He’d always find Bud running off down the street, chasing squirrels or trying to wriggle under the neighbours’ fence to play with their fat little Bulldog. Sometime he’d be at the house four doors, laying very very still while the five-year-old who lived there played his back like a drum.

It should’ve been just another day. “Your dumbass dog got loose again,” his dad yelled from the couch the second Tommy walked in. Standard. Usually a twenty minute detour, and he figured he’d still have time to get his homework done before dinner.

He didn’t.

Bud was two streets over, breathing shallow, bleeding into the gutter.

And Tommy watched him die.

He didn’t sit with him, didn’t touch him, didn’t have words. He just stood there, pale and shaken, full of something too cold to be panic and tasting bile on his tongue.

It was his fault. He went to bed before sunset, staring at nothing, knowing that he was to blame. Feeling it.

His father told Tommy the city would take care of the body. He was roadkill, they had people for that. Good riddance to a financial burden. All Tommy could do was nod along dumbly.

Five years later he enlisted. It was the adult thing to do, his only option when he was told to grow up and make something of himself.

It would take him years to realize he didn’t like what he’d made. The person he saw in the mirror looked more like his father every day, and the man who raised him looked less like himself than he ever had. After two divorces, forty years of chain-smoking, three bypass surgeries, and just plain old time, he was hollowed out and had nothing to replace the emptiness with.

They see each other once a year, on Thanksgiving, and the visits get shorter and shorter. There’s only so much of the same tired speeches Tommy can take. He knows his father’s Reasons Why Marriage Is A Sham by heart, so well he could act it out if pressed, cadence and all.

Maybe some of it stuck deeper than he thought. A tired old man’s legacy, the voice in the back of Tommy’s head telling him it’s not worth it, none of it’s worth it.

His father’s influence might explain why he got cold feet and ran out on his fiancee. It’s as good an explanation as any, seeing as he’s still trying to figure out what the fuck even happened.

One minute he’s picking out napkins and listening to her plan their future, the next…

He’s got a decent little place to himself, at least. He got lucky there. No roommates, no rowdy army guys packed into a barrack that smells like the world’s evilest gym sock. Just him. Alone.

He thinks about getting a dog.

It’s fine, coming home to an empty bungalow. Living off of ready-made TV dinner meals like some kind of sad cliche. Work is great, the guys—and Hen—are great. He works as many shifts as his body can take, goes out for drinks with Howie and blames the beer when he sits a little too close in the booth, throwing an arm over the back and letting the booze push them into an almost-embrace.

The warmth doesn’t linger long enough to keep him from curling in on himself at night, hugging his pillow.

He doesn’t tell anyone besides his neighbour, Arthur, that he’s considering checking out animal shelters. The guy isn’t his friend, exactly, but there isn’t anyone else he can ask to pet-sit while he’s at work.

They chat sometimes. He’s a little older than Tommy, and somehow broader in the shoulders. He used to work construction, apparently. Now he’s living off workers’ comp. Tommy doesn’t know what happened, just that he’s in a wheelchair sometimes, and since he lost his job he’s started growing his hair. It’s shoulder-length now, dark and wavy.

“My sister didn’t put you up to this did she? I’ve got hobbies and shit, I swear. I’m fine,” he says when Tommy mentions he might need help feeding a dog in the near future. He’s not entirely sure how serious the accusation is. Tommy errs on the side of glib.

“No, I’m just too cheap to hire a professional.”

Arthur grins, the tan lines around his eyes disappearing into crow’s feet. “I can respect that.”

Months go by, and he’s still thinking about it. Weighing the pros and cons. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, it’s not like he can’t afford it, and he can just drop the dog back off at a shelter if it doesn’t work out. It would be nice to have a reason to go on walks, or run, if the dog is high-energy. Plus, less chance of someone breaking in and making off with his stuff.

Bud never quite lived up to his potential as a guard dog—an impersonal way to put it, but it's the way he's forced himself to look at it over the years—but his dad wasn’t wrong about dogs having their uses.

There’s no particular reason for it when he takes a different route home after work one day. It was a normal day, normal calls. They pulled a kid out of a collapsed playground structure. Checked out an apartment after someone burned their popcorn. He chimed in with a joke or two when Hen and Chim started ribbing each other over lunch. No one died, nothing exploded.

Then he thought about going home to an empty house again and…

He’s pulling into the parking lot of the closest shelter thirty minutes later.

The girl behind the desk is sweet. She’s maybe twenty, and barely eye-level with Tommy’s collarbone, dressed in a purple hoodie and sneakers with a name tag pinned to her shirt that says Katie. There’s a peeling dolphin sticker next to the K.

“Did you have anything specific in mind?” she asks him, a big smile on her face that he’s sure is part of her job but looks genuine anyways.

When he pictured getting a dog the image in his head was always just… Bud. Black and brown, the tiny spots above his eyes, short bristly fur and somehow always drooling a little bit. He didn’t have his heart set on a Rottie, exactly, it was just all he could see himself getting.

He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. “No.” Then he pauses, eyes scanning the white tile walls behind her. There are so many brightly coloured posters tacked up on it they all sort of blend together. “I work a lot, if that’s a problem.”

She shakes her head, her expression softening to something sympathetic. “No, not a problem, we just need to find the right match for your lifestyle. Certain pets need more attention, of course, but I’m sure we’ll find someone for you.”

“Right.”

There are so many options. When she leads him into the back room a few of the little dogs start yapping. One that looks like a bathmat with beady little eyes runs in circles making more noise than a creature that small should. Another one with curly fur and white fluff around its ears barks so hard its whole body bounces with the effort.

“They’re just excited,” Katie says with a sheepish laugh.

The whole long room is lined with plexiglass alcoves, and smells overwhelmingly of dog. A black lab paws at its window as they walk past. A lot of the animals are furry lumps with their backs turned, hidden in the corner of their enclosure.

“Did you want a minute alone with them?”

Tommy blinks at her, feeling a little out of his depth.

“I think it’s easier to find out if it’s a good match if it’s just you and the critters, you know? Just come get me if you take a liking to any of them, and we can see how you do with face-to-face time.”

“Oh…kay.”

She pats his elbow and gives him another sunny smile before heading back up front.

He wanders up and down the length of the room for a while, stopping in front of every dog that demands his attention. They’ve all got cards in the upper corner of their windows. Name, age, sex, and breed. Some of them have little notes about special needs. There’s a diabetic Poodle mix that huffs at him when he walks past. A Yorkie with a limp and a mean growl.

Around halfway through his second loop around he notices a fluffy white dog snoozing on her back. She’s a medium size, no listed breed. And she’s running in her sleep. Paws waving in the air, tongue lolling out of her mouth.

He chuckles.

According to her card, her name is Periwinkle—which Tommy wrinkles his nose at, what even is that—she’s two years old, and…oh. She’s deaf and blind. Probably not the best pick for him then. He already had doubts about how much time and attention he’d be able to give a dog, he doesn’t want to bite off more than he can chew here.

She snuffles, nose twitching. It’s stupidly adorable.

“She’s a sweet girl.”

“Jesus Christ—” Tommy startles, hands flying up to his chest where he presses a palm to his racing heart as he whirls around.

“Sorry!” Katie laughs, clearly more amused than apologetic. She clears her throat and schools her expression. “Sorry, it’s just you’ve been in here a while, I thought I’d check in.”

“It’s fine.” He smooths some wrinkles out of his shirt, trying to act like it was his intention all along.

“So, Periwinkle?”

Tommy can’t help but purse his lips. “What kind of name is that, anyway?”

“Oh, she was part of a whole litter that we took in, they were all named after flowers. Periwinkles are pretty little blue ones.”

“Ah…”

“She’s the last one we have left, all her brothers and sisters were adopted as puppies.”

Okay, well. She didn’t need to make him feel bad, that’s just uncalled for.

She’s not what he was looking for. Not the kind of dog that scares away intruders, or anyone, really, she looks like a marshmallow with floppy ears. And he’s not sure he feels qualified to care for a dog with disabilities, she needs someone loving and attentive and patient.

He opens his mouth to say as much, to say she probably wouldn’t be a good fit, and list off all the things he told himself were the reasons he’s here in the first place. No words come out.

“Would you like to meet her properly?”

“…Sure.”

She has him wait in a little side room down the hall. There’s a rickety folding chair in the corner that he eyes but doesn’t sit in, instead choosing to stand in against the wall with his arms folded tight across his chest. The knot of anxiety in his gut is ridiculous, and stupid, and he doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, but he can’t stop shaking his leg and digging his nails into the meat of his forearm.

There’s very little in the room to distract him. Apart from the chair, there’s an empty steel bowl, a grey mat, and a basket with a couple knots of rope, a tennis ball that’s seen better days and a rubber ring that looks oddly untouched compared to everything else.

He’s probably only waiting for a few minutes, but it feels like it’s been an eternity when the door finally clicks open and Katie sticks her head in.

“Okay, here we are!” She sidles into the room, guiding Periwinkle by a short leash. Her posture is alert, tail up, sniffing the air. “I’ve got some treats in my pocket if you want to give her some. Dogs are not above taking bribes.”

Tommy lets out a little breath of a laugh.

She approaches him slowly, squinting milky blue eyes. Now that he can see her properly, he notices the yellowing bits around her ears and under her chin. Part Golden Retriever, maybe. She’s got the face shape for it.

She pokes his shin with her nose. He’s not sure if she bumped into him or if it was on purpose until she does it again, eagerly sniffing at the leg of his jeans.

He came here right from work, he can’t imagine he smells very good. Then again, she is a dog.

“I, uh…” He glances from her to Katie. His arms are still folded across his chest, and he’s not sure what to do with his hands.

Katie pulls a little bone-shaped cookie from her pocket and offers it to him, eyebrows raised and her smile encouraging. “Just make sure you don’t make any sudden moves, okay? Be gentle with her.”

He nods, and very carefully squats down to her level. He gets the treat about four inches from Periwinkle’s face and she starts wriggling up a storm, tail wagging, loose fur flying, snuffling reaching a fever pitch as she noses around trying to locate the food.

It’s impossible not to grin at her excitement. Affection blooms between his ribs when she bumps into his thumb and gives it a test lick. It doesn’t take her long to devour her treat once she finds it, and she cleans the crumbs from his fingers when it’s gone.

Seemingly satisfied with his tribute, she lays down on his feet. Then rolls against his shins in a warm fuzzy heap of loose limbs, clumsily pawing at him until he reaches out a tentative hand and runs his fingers through the fluff on her chest.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say she likes you!” Katie beams.

“Yeah.” Tommy’s voice cracks, embarrassingly, suddenly emotional. He swallows past a lump in his throat.

He stays crouched awkwardly, unable to shift into a more comfortable position even when his knees start to ache. Periwinkle breathes evenly, seemingly content to rest on his boots while he rubs her belly and makes stilted small talk with Katie.

She’s more than happy to pick up the conversational slack, giving him all sorts of tips about what’s good to feed pets and how to train a dog that can’t see or hear you. There’s so much information, he’s sure he won’t retain it all.

By now Katie has migrated to the folding chair, she’s seated with her legs crossed at the knee and talking with her hands. “Now, I recall you saying you work a lot, but is your schedule consistent? It’s important for a dog like Periwinkle to have predictable routines.”

“Yeah, pretty consistent.” Monotonous is the word that comes to mind, and he cringes away from it. He likes his job. His job isn’t the problem. “I work long hours though. Sometimes days at a time.”

Katie’s forehead pinches at that. “Okay. Do you have anyone to look after her while you’re gone? A family member? Girlfriend?”

His stomach lurches. “No.” He digs his fingertips deeper into thick fur, feeling her heartbeat under his hand. She’s calm. Relaxed. He should fucking relax. He doesn’t. “I had a fiancee,” comes spilling out of his mouth, “things ended…weird. I just don’t think I’m ready to date again so soon, y’know?” He forces an airy laugh. There’s no good reason for him to have explained all that, or for it to have felt like a lie.

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Tommy lets out a slow breath. “I asked my neighbour if he’d help out. With the dog.”

“Oh, great!”

She moves on easily, but he doesn’t. The moment sticks under his skin, like a splinter he can’t scratch out. It aches, dull but present, for the rest of the conversation, and beyond that. While he signs adoption papers, when he walks out the door, Periwinkle’s leash in hand, all through the quiet drive home. She sits in the passenger seat, and he cracks the window just enough for her to stick her nose out while he pretends to listen to the radio.

He has a dog now.

The next week or so is a bit of a mess. He buys everything he thinks he’ll need, and probably goes overboard. Dog-proofing his house is trial-and-error, Periwinkle keeps finding new things to chew on, and he never realize he had so much clutter until there was a blind dog bumping into things all the time.

It’s beautiful chaos and he loves it. She falls asleep on his lap when he watches TV, and he gets stuck there for hours. It turns out she hates peanut butter, and when he tries to fill a chew toy with it for her to play with she only picks it up long enough to jerk her head and toss it across the room.

Katie told him touch was important when bonding with a blind and deaf dog, and he figured it would be a slow process, easing Periwinkle into her new surroundings, showing her that he can be trusted. They have hit a few bumps (no pun intended) getting her used to navigating his house, but amazingly she seems to have no reservations about him specifically. She’s glued to his hip nearly every moment he’s home, pressed up against his leg when he’s standing at the kitchen counter, head on his thigh when he’s on the couch, always nearby.

Thankfully she likes Arthur nearly as much as she likes Tommy. Possibly because he always has a piece of jerky for her when he comes over. Which is understandable on her part.

Three weeks after he brought her home, he finds Arthur sitting on his porch with Wink in his lap and looking mildly sheepish.

“She wouldn’t let me go home.”

Tommy grins. “Want a beer?”

“Please.”

He thinks they might be friends after that. He wants them to be friends after that.

It didn’t bother him so much before, that they were just casual acquaintances. Tommy’s got plenty of acquaintances, and it suits him fine. But one evening with the dog between them leaves Tommy with a strange ache he can’t place. The next day all he thought about was the dying glow from the sun catching on deep-set brown eyes, sparkling with mirth. That adolescent desperation he tried to stomp down whenever he made Arthur laugh, that voice that babbled do it again, like me, like me, please—

It's not until Sal catches him grinning down at his own hands and punches his arm, crowing “Well hot damn, look who finally moved on. What’s her name?” that things start to fall into place.

A lot of things.

He just barely manages to excuse himself without throwing up, and makes it to the bathroom just in time to burst into tears.

Once the dam cracks, he’s helpless against the tide. His lungs burn from the effort it takes to keep from sobbing audibly. Chest heaving slow, painfully, methodically slow, he buries his face in his hands and cries, cries, lets snot dribble down his wrist and doesn’t care, squeezes his eyes shut so hard he sees stars and still the tears drip down his nose. It hurts, and all he can do is hang on, hoping the bells don’t go off, hoping no one walks in or wonders where he’s gone.

He’s so stupid for not seeing it. There’s a whole well of secrets he’s been keeping from himself and he feels like he’s been pushed into it to drown.

Does anyone else know? Has anyone figured it out before him? It’s not like he’s never had anyone make dumb jokes, all of Sal’s favourite jokes seem to boil down to hey, you’re gay. Kids in school would make fun of him for getting weepy about shit, or talking with his hands too much, or being too picky about girls, but…

Christ, he’s so stupid.

Maybe everyone knows, and always has. Fear grips him tight, sharp fingers grabbing a fistful of his guts. Has everyone been laughing at him behind his back. Every time he makes a dumb comment about not getting what the big deal is about a pretty girl, or makes excuses about another breakup.

Oh God, does his father know?

His father can never know.

His stomach heaves again, and he tastes bile.

It’s unclear how long he’s in that bathroom, hazy, knees buckling under the weight of his whole life turning on its head and hitting him at once. He splashes water on his face to rinse off the snot and tears, but it does nothing for the blotchy pink around his nose and eyes.

He spends the rest of his shift jumpy and distracted.

For the first time in weeks he’s hesitant to go home, but he doesn’t want to impose on Arthur any more than he already has.

Arthur’s on his porch again, reading a book and petting Wink. She perks up when Tommy’s truck pulls into the driveway. He’s not entirely sure how she always knows it’s him. Could be a scent thing. Or maybe she can feel the vibrations coming off his engine. Whatever it is, it’s comforting to know someone’s always gonna be happy to see him.

The steering wheel creaks in his grip, and an itch builds behind his eyes. He takes a moment to blink it away and compose himself, but Arthur still shoots him an odd look as he approaches the house.

Great.

“Bad day?”

Tommy shrugs. “It was fine.”

Wink trots down the ramp he replaced the porch steps with last week, meeting him halfway to bump her forehead against his knee.

The ache in his chest twists around his heart.

“Mhm,” Arthur hums. He’s in his chair today, and Tommy absently watches the muscles in his forearm flex as he turns. It takes his brain a second to catch up to what he’s doing, and he jolts, tearing his gaze away. “That’s what I always tell people too.”

Tommy bites his tongue. There’s a barb on the end of it, and the taste of iron in the back of his throat. He’s too tired to start an argument over nothing. And he knows he’d regret it later.

He bends down to pet the top of Wink’s head and lets Arthur leave without another word.

He smells like burnt sugar and cinnamon soap, and Tommy holds his breath just to stop trying to inhale every trace he left in his wake.

It really is like that, huh. He really does…

Three fingers of whiskey later he still feels like crawling out of his own skin.

He’s got the news running in the background. All his comfort things feel dangerous tonight. He can’t be sure he won’t put on his favourite movie and discover he only liked it because he was wildly attracted to the leading man and had no idea this whole time. He’s terrified of finding out anything else about himself, but it’s left him twitchy and bored and mostly alone with his own thoughts.

Wink had taken up residence in her usual place, head resting on his knee, but as the evening went on she got up and re-positioned. Now she’s sitting in his lap, leaning against his chest and snuffling into his shirt.

It’s the closest thing to a hug he’s gotten in a while, and it breaks him a little bit.

He wraps his arms around her, burying his face in the fluff around her neck.

“I think I’m gay,” he mumbles into her fur.

Nothing happens. The world doesn’t end.

He breathes. He’s going to be okay.

[nemesyaaa]

kwisifiisidz OMG Reading this through the sickness of my body is insane !! you left me breathless Nini with this one ?? i'm always such a fan of your writings but this ??? it was so much beautiful in a way i can't describe. i love this type of angst so much and i'm just so sad about it ! i read this like i'm listening to a sad song :(( wow wow wow 💖💖💖

you were in no means ready to see him, let alone work with your ex-fiancée again. you knew he’d been stealing glances at you while you all trek your way through the sandy dunes of the coast of morocco, but you were strong enough to keep yourself from looking back and meeting his gaze. —already at the beginning and i know it's gonna ate

"are you serious?" were the first words you'd tell him in a year. he pulled out a wad of cash and his passport from his belt bag. "that's like, hundreds of dollars, rafe! you could've fed your sister!" he turns to look at you, piercing blue eyes burning holes through your soul. "listen, my only job was to get you pogues to morocco. no more, no less. if you don't wanna get lost, you gotta follow me, I'm your best bet," "as if," you roll your eyes, "we're in the same boat—no pun intended—but, you are also in a different country," he pulls you into his chest with one arm, whispering in your ear, "yeah? but guess who has the money? guess who actually has defense skills. not you, huh?" — this whole scene because it was incredible. this is so accurate to me please 😭😭

this day felt like years. after an extensive search for groff, you'd finally found him. you rode on the back of the motorcycle rafe stole, holding onto his waist. you couldn't help but have your mind flashback to your last motorcycle ride with him, still on kildare, on the way to courthouse to get marriage documents. his cologne hadn’t changed either. you remembered how his cologne lingered on every article of your clothing. you knew he’d been about it too from the way his body tensed up. — the bittersweet feelings of the old relationship 💘

gentle hands hold your face, "rafe, you can't save me, I'm sorry," you feel a warmness fill your body. "no, no, I can, we can get you to a hospital! stay with me-" you cough again, louder this time, "no, its impossible," he curses under his breath, before shouting to the sky. he embraces you, your voice getting weaker by the second, "hey rafe? can you tell me about our best memories? like...during our relationship?" your voice was barely a whisper now. — YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME NINI ??? IT'S WILD.

he nods, voice barely steady as he begins to talk, "we had a lot of good memories, but my favorite was our last summer, where we were gonna get married in the fall. I shouldn't have cheated, I'm so sorry," he sobs onto your shoulder, "remember when all we did was go surfing? and I taught you how to ride those big swells 'cus you were too scared...and...how we were gonna move out of kildare after we got married? we were gonna move to colorado, live that white picket fence type of life," he bitterly chuckles, "I screwed up, I screwed us, and I'm so, so, sorry. If I could rewind time, just to feel your lips on mine again, just to hear you laugh, just to have you look at me with so much love, I would. I'd make sure you were never under this situation." your mind replayed all of those memories, and with shaky hands, you pull him in for one last kiss, pulling back to say your last words, “I never stopped loving you, rafe,” before letting your body finally succumb to your injury. — i'm just falling in love (again) with your writings at this point. it was like an amazing poem. tysm for this one, for sharing with us. i'm feeling unwell but so glad to be able to read this one ✨

okay season 4 rafe where they broke up and shes a kook turned pouge, and its just a bunch of angst and basically all of s4 with her?

our last summer - rafe cameron x reader

synopsis - he wishes he could've had one last summer with you

warnings - angst, kook turned pogue!reader, mentions of cheating, (slight) sofia slander (I love her tho!!), stabbing, character death

you were in no means ready to see him, let alone work with your ex-fiancée again. you knew he’d been stealing glances at you while you all trek your way through the sandy dunes of the coast of morocco, but you were strong enough to keep yourself from looking back and meeting his gaze.

your main priority was sarah, who you could tell was getting queasy from the amount of activity she’d been doing these past couple of days. once you saw the skyline of a city, your ounce of optimism returned.

around a year ago, you’d been happily engaged to who you thought was the love of your life, rafe cameron. after you’d found a tank top that wasn’t yours in your shared bedroom, you’d knew he was seeing someone else, but you didn’t expect that someone to be your own best friend, sofia.

you had followed the pogues to morocco after what groff had done to jj. you were willing to follow them to the ends of the earth, never leave a pogue behind, john b's words echo in your head.

you were sitting with sarah, rubbing her back while the rest of the group went to go get some food for her. rafe was mumbling incoherent sentences, something he always did while pissed off or annoyed, and you tried your best to ignore his complaints. "you okay?" you softly spoke up, sarah meekly nodded her head in response.

you hear the shout of multiple voices, turning around to see the rest of the group running towards you. you stood up, dumbfounded as the moroccan authorities chase your friends. already? one of them apprehends you, and you writhe at their grip. you plead to them, but its no use. you turn around, seeing rafe also getting held up. the rest of the pogues were nowhere to be found. as long as they got each other, they're safe.

after a quick interrogation, the authorities let you both go. you let out a huff, not only because you were falsely accused, but because you're now stuck with your ex-lover, in a foreign country.

"are you serious?" were the first words you'd tell him in a year. he pulled out a wad of cash and his passport from his belt bag. "that's like, hundreds of dollars, rafe! you could've fed your sister!" he turns to look at you, piercing blue eyes burning holes through your soul. "listen, my only job was to get you pogues to morocco. no more, no less. if you don't wanna get lost, you gotta follow me, I'm your best bet," "as if," you roll your eyes, "we're in the same boat—no pun intended—but, you are also in a different country," he pulls you into his chest with one arm, whispering in your ear, "yeah? but guess who has the money? guess who actually has defense skills. not you, huh?" he shoves you out of his arms, making you stumble backward. you scoff, following him through the crowded streets.

"you look nice," a slight smile dawned on his face as one of the store clerks helped you wrap your scarf around your hair. you both had changed into more neutral colored outfits to help blend in. "hold on" you see rafe turn to a stand that's selling phones. you impatiently tap your foot as he dials a couple of numbers in. you follow closely, wanting to find out who needed his attention so badly.

your heart clenched as you heard another female voice, quickly realizing that it was sofia. of course, why wouldn't he call his girlfriend? now, you distanced yourself from him, looking at the floor as you drag your feet along the dirt, getting your shoes dusty.

this day felt like years. after an extensive search for groff, you'd finally found him. you rode on the back of the motorcycle rafe stole, holding onto his waist. you couldn't help but have your mind flashback to your last motorcycle ride with him, still on kildare, on the way to courthouse to get marriage documents. his cologne hadn’t changed either. you remembered how his cologne lingered on every article of your clothing. you knew he’d been about it too from the way his body tensed up.

you shake your head, he probably does that with sofia now. you sniffle, hoping the sound of the engine would muffle it. rafe pulls off to the side of the road, stopping at a well. you use this time to regain your distance from him, stretching from the long ride. "is that it?" you point to the city down the cliff, squinting your eyes. groff looks at the map, nodding his head. you see the two men bent over the well, and you shuffle to see what they were looking at. "...good thing hollis and I paid off that girl...what was her name? sonya? oh, sofia!" you see rafe's face twist. you kneel down in front of the well, next to groff, "what are you talking about?" "its really none of your business," he retorted.

what happens next is a blur, groff pulls out a knife, attempting to stab rafe. rafe's reflexes work in record-time, but it was a horrible decision to try to help him at this moment. as groff attempts to defend himself, you feel the blade go into your stomach. you let out a sharp gasp, after seeing groff get shoved down the well, you collapse, rafe gracing your fall. "hey, hey, y/n, stay with me, please," his voice cracks as be sits you down on the side. he holds your wound, and you let out a painful groan. his eyes widen. he still calls out for help, desperation lacing his voice. "no one can hear you," you cough.

gentle hands hold your face, "rafe, you can't save me, I'm sorry," you feel a warmness fill your body. "no, no, I can, we can get you to a hospital! stay with me-" you cough again, louder this time, "no, its impossible," he curses under his breath, before shouting to the sky. he embraces you, your voice getting weaker by the second, "hey rafe? can you tell me about our best memories? like...during our relationship?" your voice was barely a whisper now.

he nods, voice barely steady as he begins to talk, "we had a lot of good memories, but my favorite was our last summer, where we were gonna get married in the fall. I shouldn't have cheated, I'm so sorry," he sobs onto your shoulder, "remember when all we did was go surfing? and I taught you how to ride those big swells 'cus you were too scared...and...how we were gonna move out of kildare after we got married? we were gonna move to colorado, live that white picket fence type of life," he bitterly chuckles, "I screwed up, I screwed us, and I'm so, so, sorry. If I could rewind time, just to feel your lips on mine again, just to hear you laugh, just to have you look at me with so much love, I would. I'd make sure you were never under this situation." your mind replayed all of those memories, and with shaky hands, you pull him in for one last kiss, pulling back to say your last words, “I never stopped loving you, rafe,” before letting your body finally succumb to your injury.

taglist - @nemesyaaa @julie123456897 @mfdoomdickrider @grxnde-dwt @littlelamy @rafeeekam @xcinnamonmalfoyx

[lizzy019]

can you make a johnny x innocent!reader fic were shes meeting the gang pls 🙈🙈

Istg I thought i had something like this written! Sure, it'll be really short tho lol :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🌿~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The nervousness that tickled your spine was heightening the closer you got to wherever Johnny was taking you.

Sure, you'd heard many great things about his friend group despite them all being crooks and druggies. And even if you didn't like them, you had to be respectful and kind because they were Johnny's friends.

"I think you'll like Pony the most. More your kind, yeah? He doesn't like talkin' too much either." Johnny explained sweetly as he let you link arms with him. It wasn't uncommon in these neighbourhoods for ladies to be used like toys.

You just nodded your head and followed close to him, smiling a little as he fumbles with his lighter. A cigarette in the speeding wind gusts, what a genius your boyfriend could be at times.

"You can light your silly cigarette when we get there. Do you really need it now?" You chuckled, your hand gently squeezing his soft bicep to show that you were just teasing.

Johnny just gave you a playful stink eye, shaking his head but reluctantly putting the cigarette and lighter back into his pockets. It was funny how each pocket of his had a dedicated spot. One pocket for his lighter, one for his cigarettes, one for his pocket knife... more too.

Instantly, you could tell which home was his friends' home. It was rowdy, a whole group of maybe 6 guys just smoking and talking. Was that normal? Some every Saturday activity?

Your steps grew slower and more hesitant as you neared the group of young men talking and laughing. They were harmless to Johnny, you were sure of it if he spoke so highly of them. But they just threw you off. Sure, you were used to Johnny having some weed here and there, but it smelled so strong and you weren't even standing in their little huddled circle.

But you just lightly squeezed Johnny's arm, continuing your walk until you passed the worn down fence gates. Johnny was eager, practically smiling like a goof as he looked at you. He secretly hoped you enjoyed their company like how he did, he wanted you to be a part of all the good things in his life.

And so, you smiled back. A genuine smile that managed to put grace on all of your facial features.

Maybe you could do this!

"Dally!" Johnny hollered in the direction of the gang, and one tall, slender man turned his head at the sound of their name.

A young adult with, no doubt some issues from how he handled himself, approached Johnny and playfully punched his shoulder.

"This yer lady? Didn't know y'had it in ya, buddy." Dally spoke, nodding his head in your direction as his greeting toward you.

You smiled and waved, but the tremble in your hands didn't go unnoticed by Johnny. You weren't fond of the type to do drugs, smoke, drink, whatever along the lines of the stereotypical gang was. And Johnny understood that. It could get a bit out of hand at times, so he understood why you were a bit unsettled.

But instead of pointing it out, he just gently stubbed his cigarette out on the grassy ground and led you to the rest of the gang.

Everything else went smoothly after that. You got along well with everyone, but you secretly liked Two-Bit's sense of humour and how Steve just seemed to get kicked around.

And better yet, Johnny was there watching you smile as the group teased you lightheartedly for dating him. He didn't mind, not when you defended him kindly and made sure your point got across.

Yeah, maybe you were nervous for nothing.

[a-treatise-on-velociraptors]

i was on the fence about making this bc the bit was so goddamn stupid but here we are

[yeyinde]

waking up after a night out drinking in a foreign country only to realise that the bed you're in is not your own. no one is beside you. you try to leave but the doors are all locked. the windows won't open. you're trapped. a pretty bird in a cage.

nothing is in the dressers except large, old shirts. the clothes you were wearing when you woke up disappear after you take a shower. no panties. no bra. food shows up on schedule. you never see who leaves it.

they don't answer when you scream. when you bang your fists against the door until they're bloodied. passing out on the floor when the drugs finally kick in. but the mess you make in the daytime is cleaned up. your hands bandaged. disapproval heavy in the air along with the stale scent of tobacco. smoke.

when you're good, you get things. books. magazines. treats. your favourite food. a laptop arrives when you sob yourself to sleep after screaming yourself hoarse about loneliness, and how this isn't right. this isn't okay. it's restricted, of course. you log into Facebook but the moment you try and ask for help, the internet is turned off. you're being watched. monitored closely.

you learn your lesson slowly, giving nothing away to your family and pretending you're enjoying your holiday. being good. quiet.

instead of treats, gifts, recipe books arrive—some pages dogeared. you start making the food. leaving a plate in the fridge. it's gone the next morning. more recipes appear. you make them, too. an expensive chain comes next. a pretty gold necklace for a pretty bird in a golden cage.

(each meal gets you a strange rash on your cheek, jaw the next morning. beard burn, you think, and try not to shudder.)

lingerie comes after. silk, lace. all of it fits perfectly. you try to avoid it. the idea, the implication, is a knife between your ribs, but the next morning, your laptop is missing. the books are gone. food, too. your clothes disappear until all that remains is the lingerie set and a little black box. one you pointedly ignore. throw out with the trash. chew on gum to make the ache in your belly go away until that vanishes too.

your world is narrowed down to hunger. loneliness. isolation—

(in the corner of the rooms, a red light glints in the dark. lonely, but not alone.)

it persists until you relent. give in. another lesson you learn. you wear the set to bed, and try to think nothing of it—

you wake up to something heavy around you. a warm, thick body pressed against your bare spine. coarse chair tickling the skin between your shoulder blades. a burly arm under your neck, elbow bent to wrap a rough hand around your neck. the other slung over your hip, shoved between your thighs. something hard presses into your ass. a bruising pressure. it aches. you stifle a gasp, but with his long, thick fingers wrapped tight around your throat, he feels it.

everything goes still. quiet. just the faint rustle of sheets. the scratch of coarse hair on silk. a breath. you tremble. fight back another gasp when lips press into your crown with a sharp inhale. scenting you. nuzzling into your scalp. warm breath that smalls of malt and honey. woodsy. tobacco.

your eyes adjust slowly to the dark, and fall on a black box left on top of your end table. velvet, you know. you've felt the softness between your fingers when you threw it in the trash with a sob. no escaping it, after all.

the hand between your thighs twitches. when he speaks, it shudders through your spine, makes your hair stand on end. it's a growling purr. the low roar of an old engine. more grit than comfort in the midnight dark.

"jus' close your eyes, love," he rasps, pushing his thick body tighter against you. coiling around you like a big, hungry bear. "an' go back to sleep for me."

and you do.

[kirby-the-gorb]

[umbrastaff]

wowww what kind of manners are they teaching over there on the ninth??? smh my head 🙄

[curlygrant44]

The question shouldn't surprise him, he knows that. Even with the nickname it's hard to not hear as a pet name instead, he shouldn't be surprised by it, and in truth, he isn't.

"...I guess I'll settle down," he admits, frowning down at the plates. "It's what Jim wants. Kids, white picket fence. I guess I could take a teaching position; I've got all the qualifications I'd need, and I'm sure I could find a flight school that would take me."

The thought of being a teacher makes him want to claw his skin off, actually. Being shacked to the same godawful profession as his parents sounds hellish.

But it's not like he's been feeling all that good about his current position, not for a long time...how much worse would it really be?

He forces a chuckle and repeats, "It's what he wants, you know? I don't...really have any reason to refuse..."

Nothing at outweighs his reasons to accept, anyway. There's no telling what could happen if he goes back on his word.

Then again, that's assuming they're going to get out of here, a belief that Sunshine seems to sincerely hold. It's not that he wants to make him lose hope, not when they're having such a nice moment, just a couple feet apart in the little kitchen doing things that could only be described as domestic.

But he can't quite make himself hide it, either. "...do you really think we're ever getting out of here? I'm sure you know about the Eisenhart Anomalous Incident, and the Carmyllie Disaster." It's especially poignant to bring up a ship that got fouled up with itself and was struck by an asteroid, killing everyone on board -- the wreckage was never recovered due to continued spatiotemporal anomalous activity. It was just too risky. There's still debate over whether the crew ever actually died properly when their ship was destroyed or if there's the possibility they're still looping in the vacuum...

And that's to say nothing of other early incidents that were resolved by moving the ships out of the anomaly, only to end up collapsing them and crushing everyone and everything inside.

Ever since then, standard practice has been to wait it out and let the anomaly resolve itself or designate a quarantine zone. In their case, their ability to contact the outside world is a good sign, but...

So few ships ever make it back from something like this. Only three in history, so far. Curly has a hard time believing they'll be the fourth.

Restless as he is, Curly wanders aimlessly and sketches a rough diagram of the halls, pausing now and then to answer messages as he goes -- it's when the tablet's battery gets low that he decides to follow the map to backtrack to his room and take a break from wandering.

Except...when he opens the door, there's no familiar paperback on the desk, and the one person in room -- changing clothes, no less -- is definitely not Jim.

This isn't his quarters, clearly, which means...

He blinks at his double before averting his eyes, suddenly embarrassed. "Shit, sorry, I- I didn't mean to intrude, I got turned around."

Well. He'd meant to find his double to ask about the matter of nicknames and color-coding the crews, anyway. Not to mention discussing the uranium situation. He might as well stay for a moment. "...I did have a couple of things to ask about the next time I saw you, though. Do you mind if we talk? I, uh. I can wait outside for a minute, if you'd rather."

( @curlygrant44 )

At seeing his door suddenly opened by his double while he was getting changed does cause a small deer-in-headlights type effect before he blinks and quickly putting his shirt on properly.

"No worries, it happens with the state of the ship." He says as he moves to tidy up the room slightly as he didn't really expect anyone to ever enter the room besides himself.

"But you are quite welcome to come in. Don't mind the small mess? What do you want to talk about since I'm all ears." He offers a small smile before offering his bed to sit on.

[kendrysaneela]

Wow that went so much better than I thought it was going to? This show is surprisingly good at handling intense subjects. Like I was not expecting her to actually be pregnant so I was surprised by that but then also I was anxious that were gonna kinda throw out the Ody3 concept for a second but this episode made me feel like they’re still keeping that up there in the air and then that’s such an interesting way of bringing them back together and making them all rethink the white picket fence ideas they all have I think if that’s part of what they’re doing. And then having the cliffhanger be is she gonna keep it and who’s is it? Not to mention this will force them all to think about intimacy and think about being together and omg the possibilities here the possibilities. Also omg I love Tristan he did so good. Max I understand the babble even though I was telling him to shut up the whole time because medical school and doctor talk was not what Avery needed right then she needed normal person Max doctor Max so I’m glad Tristan called him out on that but Omg I was actually so not on board for the pregnancy thing when they brought it up in the trailer I and was like positive that it was gonna be a false positive and got anxious when they made the pregnancy real. But they handled that pretty well and actually made me enjoy the concept and understand it’s reasoning. Also it’s interesting how Max was like “What does that say about all of us” in terms of like are they all running from something or is this truly what they want? This show is surprisingly good at dealing with serious issues and being properly respectful and introspective about them. I think this storyline will make them all examine their lives and what they want out of them and truly why they all decided to come work on this cruise ship after all. It’s quite fascinating what they’ve done here. I don’t think I’ve ever actually ever like a surprise pregnancy storyline on a television show but the way they’ve set this storyline up is actually so interesting. And I’m excited for the possibilities it could bring. I don’t think she’s actually gonna have the baby because this is season 1 of a fun throuple boat show so I think miscarriage or abortion but I think this will make for some really interesting introspection among the three of them and if they all actually do want the heteronormative monogamous white picket fence life they’ve all discussed wanting.. Also tbh with everything going on in America right now I really like how they acknowledged that it is Avery’s body and Avery’s choice and Max and Tristan can support and give their thoughts but at the end of the day they don’t get a say. Really great thing to do. (Less serious Sidenote not them mentioning they had sex MULTIPLE TIMES that night? Go ya’ll😂)