#harold & his many skins

[sipkntl]

bog birth

[soullumii]

this is trouble | joel miller x f!reader

part 2

summary: it's been three weeks since joel last fucked you. tonight he finally has the time.

warnings/tags: 18+ smut mdni, filth. was meant to be plotless but sort of has plot now oops. fem!afab!reader, fwb, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, secret fwb, dirty talk, bratty!reader, grumpy!reader, dom!joel, soft!joel as fucking always (i’m a romantic, what can i say?) little bit of feelings oops, some angst at the end oops, pet names, no use of y/n

word count: 4.6k-ish

a/n: couldn’t find a gif of joel stroking that damn guitar so i made one. lowkey hate this but i needed to upload something so here i hope u enjoy

so when you give that look to me,

i better look back carefully cuz this is trouble, yeah this is trouble

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

It’s been a good few weeks since you last fucked Joel.

Since this whole friends with benefits thing started between you. 

And tonight you’re kind of set on getting his dick back inside you again. Since, y’know, it’s been so long.

You’ve been craving it for a while, but tonight it’s kind of all encompassing. Kind of been the only thing on your mind since Tommy and Maria invited you out tonight. You and Joel, the latter who for the past three weeks has been busy with god knows what. 

You’re kind of pissed at him. Kind of really pissed. And your horny, pent up brain doesn’t help much with keeping your cool. 

At least you’re a few drinks in now, which has cooled your temper down some (though has spiked your libido quite a bit). Maria and Tommy are totally not picking up on your bad mood, though, thank god.

You swirl the last few dregs of wine in your glass, hardly listening to what Maria is practically shouting to you from the other side of the booth, since it’s so fucking loud in here. Your mind is caught on Joel standing at the other end of the Tipsy Bison.

You’ve been eyeing the way his hands curl around his glass of whiskey. The way his flannel stretches over his broad chest. The way his mouth moves as he talks to one of the stable hands named Harry. 

You remember the feeling of that mouth between your thighs.

Fuck, how much longer is he gonna make you wait? Another damn week?

He looks over at your table, eyes catching yours from across the room. You glare at him, trying to convey the frustration and lust and want you feel.  

His lip twitches in a smirk, seemingly having received your message. He pats Harry on the back, and then he’s sauntering back over to you and your little group of friends.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He slides into his seat next to you in the booth. His scent of pine and sandalwood envelops you, a silent torture in and of itself. “Harold doesn’t know when to stop talkin’.”

Tommy laughs boisterously. When he’s had one too many drinks, he’s impossibly loud. “Man, I remember when he kept me at the greenhouse for an hour talkin’ about some bullshit.”

“He's a good guy. Just likes to talk." Maria glances at the radio perched in the corner, a new song playing through the speakers sprinkled throughout the bar. “Oh I love this song! Let’s go dance!”

Joel looks over at you, and you’re still kind of out of it, eyes fixated on the way the sleeves of his flannel are rolled up above his forearms, showing off the veins that snake across his skin, the muscles that shift with each drum of his fingers on the table top.

You’re not in any condition to dance at the moment, and Joel is certainly aware of it.

“I think we’ll stay here,” he says. “Y’all go enjoy yourselves.”

“Suit yourself.” Maria drags Tommy out to the dance floor, leaving you and Joel at this little booth tucked in the corner all by yourselves. 

Alone. 

In the dark. 

And you’re drunk. Joel, probably on his way there.

This is not going to end well. Or maybe it will. For you, at least. Just…not for any poor suckers who might stumble across whatever is about to take place. 

Joel lazes in his seat, casually stretching an arm over the back of the booth, pressing in close to you.

“Howdy,” he says.

“Hi,” you say.

“…You doin’ alright?” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice rather than any real concern, and you know he knows exactly what’s wrong with you.

“I’m fine,” you respond coolly.

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“I’m havin’ some trouble believin’ that, since you’re poutin’ like crazy right now, sweetheart.”

“I am not pouting-“

He laughs, full on fucking laughs at you. “Uh yeah, ya are. You’re actin’ like a lil brat. Givin’ me those goddamn eyes from across the room.” 

“Eyes? What eyes?”

His voice dips into something dangerously low, only for you to hear. “The ones practically beggin’ me to eat your pussy. Those ones.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel!” you hiss, turning your head to hide your embarrassment. You drain the rest of your drink and immediately wish you had more. Or some water, at least, to cool down the warmth settling high in your cheeks. 

“That’s what you want, ain’t it?” 

“I don’t fucking know. Are you actually going to do it? Or are you just gonna leave me high and dry again?”

He sighs heavily, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose and why is he the frustrated one here?

You’ve gone three fucking weeks without his dick in you! After he and you made a deal! You should be mad. Not him!

But maybe…maybe that’s just it. Maybe he isn’t fucking you because he just doesn’t want to anymore. And that, scarily enough, makes your chest ache and your eyes get all teary and wow you are so drunk right now. 

“Listen—“ he starts.

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Joel,” you snap, folding your napkin into little squares to distract yourself from how upset you are. 

He pulls back, and you think he might just get up and leave you to stew angrily again. You could afford to throw yourself another pity party. There’s a bunch more napkins on this table that need folding.

He doesn’t leave, though. Instead, his hand settles warm on your thigh. Your fingers stall around the napkin. 

“I know I’ve been busy, but I intend to keep my promise this time,” he says softly, his hand squeezing your bare flesh, your sundress already having ridden up your thigh. “Don’t think you’ve been the only one cravin’ this.” 

His hand caresses down your inner thigh until his palm is cupping you through your panties, his knuckles brushing over your clothed entrance, and you’re grateful that the booth is angled the way it is, that you’re tucked on the inside, because it makes it a lot harder for anyone to see what he’s doing.

And it makes it a lot easier for you to give into it.

Your legs fall open, providing him more access to where you’re slick and ready for him, your knee pressing into his jean-clad thigh.

“Mm, there we go,” he smirks, stroking you through the fabric, and a tiny whimper escapes you. He leans in, his warm breath ghosting over your ear when he murmurs, “You’re such a drama queen when you’re horny.” 

Motherfucker…

Okay, yes. You can be a bit dramatic. But it’s not only your body that’s horny for him…your heart is kind of horny too. Joel is your best friend and to not see or talk to your best friend for three weeks is practically torture, especially when they’ve been giving you the good dicking down that you deserve. You have a right to be dramatic. 

You send him a scathing glare but it melts the moment his fingers pull your panties to the side and slip beneath the fabric.

You’re wet as hell. You know it. He knows it. But you’re still mad at him, and kind of drunk, so…

“Don’t you say fucking shit.”

“I wasn’t goin’ to.”

It’s a damn lie. He loves commenting on how wet you get for him. While it’s a bit humiliating for you, it only boosts his ego. Like hell he needs an ego boost, though.

His finger lightly swipes up your folds, and he bites down on his lip to try and hide the arrogant grin on his face at the way you thrust your hips forward needily with a breathy pant, but he’s failing. It’s practically impossible for The Joel Miller not to make things about himself.

“How often did you touch yourself thinkin’ about me while I was gone?”

Case in point. 

“Hmm…I don’t think I ever did.”

He circles the pad of his finger around your entrance, and stares you down with dark eyes, looking straight through your core, his voice dipping into something sultry and ragged and downright criminal. “You’re such a damn liar.” 

You feel like you might melt into the faux leather booth. Your thighs are already sticking to it, why not just become part of it at this point?

He slowly sinks his finger inside you, his thumb stroking your outer lips as he does so, and you’re boneless against the cushioned back of the booth.

“I’ll be honest for the both of us. Practically came to the thought of you every night,” he mumbles against your ear and lightly bites your earlobe. “Was thinkin’ ‘bout how much I missed you… ‘bout your body… ‘bout this perfect pussy.” He emphasizes each word with a pulse of his thick finger inside you. 

You shudder, your body lighting up at the thought of him lying in his bed, his hand closed around his cock as he came with a moan of your name on his lips. 

“Why didn’t you just come see me?” You huff, choking on a breath when he crooks his finger inside you, stroking your walls.

“Too much was goin’ on. Maria had me on patrol every morning, then I had guard duty to watch the folks that just left town. I wanted to see you, but I didn’t have enough time. You know I like takin’ my time with you, sweetheart.”

His excuse is valid enough, and he really does like taking his time with you. Content to just plant himself between your legs for hours to coax you through orgasm after orgasm. Or fuck you slow and deep, pulling back just when you’re on the crest to watch you squirm before he builds you up again, over and over until you’re practically screaming at him to let you cum. 

Still…he couldn’t have stopped by once to explain his situation? 

He slides in another finger, and you vaguely register that the song Maria and Tommy sauntered out to the dance floor to is coming to an end and another is starting in its place. They’ll be back soon.

“We can’t do this here,” you hiss, attempting to pull his hand out from under your panties, but it’s half hearted. You don’t want him to stop.

But he pulls back anyway, “If that’s what you want.”

It’s sweet, it’s considerate.. But he’s a damn jerk, because he knows how long you’ve been waiting for this. He knows you want him to keep going. Especially judging by the way he’s looking at you, eyes dark and hooded, the corner of wicked his lips twisting up…

He just wants you to fucking say it.

“Joel…” you grumble.

“What? You change your mind?”

Your fingers curl around his hand, tugging it down again, pressing it up against your throbbing core. That’s gotta be answer enough.

He’s not having it. “C’mon baby. Use your words…”

You scowl at him, muttering, “Don’t stop.”

“Speak up, sweetheart. Can’t hear ya. It’s loud in here.” 

Ughhhh! “Please touch me, Joel. Please don’t stop.”

He smirks. “As you wish.” 

Princess Bride reference. Cute. Makes your heart flop a little in your chest.

Joel eases his fingers back inside you agonizingly slow. He strokes the pads of his fingers inside you. A tingle unfurls in your chest, starts in your toes and spreads up your calves, and a low moan tumbles from your lips.

Thankfully, from anyone passing by, it would look like you two are just deep in a private conversation. Joel, pressed against you, leaning in close, and you, shielded from view by his broad shoulders, listening intently to whatever he’s saying.

They just don’t know that he’s breaking you down, brick by brick. That he’s making you leak all over this fucking booth. That it’s pure filth he’s muttering in your ear and not a juicy secret.

“God, you look so pretty takin’ my fingers, like you were made for 'em. Such a good girl."

“Joel, oh my god…”

Your breaths are coming out hotter, heavier, especially when Joel’s fingers slip out only to glide up through your folds to run delicious patterns over your clit.

“Fuck…” You whimper, the heat in your lap pooling thick and abundant. Your hips chase after his fingers, grinding against his hand.

You’re dangerously close.

“That feel good, baby…?” He eggs you on, his voice a rough rumble of thunder against your ear. 

It’s embarrassing how quickly, how enthusiastically you’re nodding, and Joel slips his fingers back inside you, his thumb coming down to rub circles on your clit as he fucks his digits up and into you.

The music is loud, but beneath it, you can hear the wet sounds of your pussy as Joel takes you apart, stroke by stroke, a steady metronome. 

You grasp onto his forearm desperately, your nails digging into the muscles there with a gasp of his name. “Joel-“

Shit. You’re seriously going to cum in this shitty little moth-eaten booth in the only bar in this entire town. You won’t be able to live it down. But you can’t bring yourself to care–you’re close, on the precipice, and you meet Joel’s dark, dangerous eyes, urging you to cum on his hand with a C’mon baby, you can do it, give it to me and you might, it’s right there it’s—

“…-ere did you learn to do that?”

The unexpected sound of Tommy’s voice has you frantically ripping Joel’s hand out from beneath your dress and scrabbling for a napkin to wipe up the mess on your thighs, on the fucking booth, your orgasm rearing back angrily and setting into a dull buzz in your limbs.

The wicked man beside you scoots himself further under the booth, likely to hide the hard-on he’s sporting. He wipes his hand on his thigh. You think you can hear him grumbling angrily under his breath at the interruption, but you’re not sure, ears instead trained on the sound of your friends getting closer. 

You reach for the drink menu, pretending to read it.

“I took dance classes in my free time before the outbreak,” Maria says as the couple closes back in on the booth you and Joel were totally not defiling. She shimmies at the both of you. “You guys really missed out on some of my great moves while you were moping.”

“We weren’t moping,” Joel defends.

“Sure…” Maria drawls.

If she only knew.

“I’m just not really feeling well,” you say. 

Maria’s playful grin falls into a look of concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired. Need to go lay down, I think. It’s been a long day.”

“Let me walk you home,” Joel says, grabbing his coat he had slung over the booth and strategically positioning it over his pants when he stands.

“Thanks.”

“Feel better!” Tommy says, and you give him a grateful nod as Joel’s hand settles on the small of your back and he steers you out of the stuffy bar and into the cool summer night.

Katydids sing in the dark as you and Joel stroll down the street to your house tucked at the end of the cul-de-sac. Fireflies light the asphalt. An owl hoots overhead. 

“You really feelin' bad?” He asks quietly, once you’ve reached your front porch. 

"No. I just wanted to get out of there."

He hums. "Are you still mad at me?"

“I dunno.” Not really. You’re just pissed you were interrupted. Still, he needs to feel some remorse for his radio silence, so you don’t elaborate.

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely as you unlock your door. “Really I am. There’s no excuse. I should’a made the time to at least tell you what was goin’ on. I’m sorry.” 

You open your door and pause in the warm light from the foyer. “You can make it up to me by fucking me.” 

“As good as that sounds, I wanna make sure you’re okay. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You sigh. Ugh. Usually Joel’s fine with pushing things to the side. Bottling things up. He does it a lot. You sort of wish he would just drop it right now. You don't want to deal with the weird feeling in your chest that's been here all night. But he’s looking at you, waiting.

"I just thought...Maybe you were done with this. With me."

He frowns. “Hell no. I like what we have. I don’t want it to stop anytime soon." He steps forward, wraps his arms around your waist to pull you in.

"Me too..." You murmur, hands drifting up his back, pressing him in close for a hug. "I'm glad you're safe."

He chuckles. “Course I'm safe. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno," you say into his shoulder. "I just worry about you.”

"Yeah? You worry 'bout me a lot?"

You pinch his stomach playfully. "You're my best friend. Of course I do."

He pulls away a bit, huffs a tiny laugh. But it's not like his usual laughs. It's forced. Quiet. "Right."

You're a little too drunk to ask about it, and still horny enough to want to get things back on track, so you look into his dark eyes, smiling coyly, lip tucked between your teeth as you roll your hips into him. "Now that I forgive you…think you can fuck me now? Cuz it’s been way too fucking long.”

He groans softly, yes ma'am, and presses his lips against yours.

Okay, yes, he’s your friend but you also kind of kiss sometimes.

You tug him inside the house and shut the door, your mouth still latched to his. The moment the door snicks into the frame, he’s got you pressed against it, his hand rucking up your dress to bunch it around your hips while his tongue dips into your mouth.

You swiftly unbutton his flannel, sliding it down his arms. Your hands find his chest, fingernails scraping over his pecs, through his dark chest hair that thins out the further south it goes, but thickens again into a happy trail that disappears below his waistband.

Fuck, he’s so…

His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, a repeat of earlier, and you break the kiss to drop your head against the door with a thump when his fingers find your clit again.

“Jesus, you’re so wet.”

…And there he goes.

“Three fucking weeks, Joel,” you bite, though the end of his name melts into a moan when his fingers sink inside you again. 

“Didn’t know you were keepin’ count.” 

“Fuck—“ He quirks a finger. “S-shut up.”

He huffs out an amused chuckle into your cheek, trailing kisses from your jaw down your throat. His teeth sink in, and his mouth suctions over your skin, delivering a beautiful little mark on your flesh that he kisses gently after. It drives you fucking crazy.

“I’ll shut up if you let me taste you,” he mumbles against your skin, his voice vibrating pleasantly through you.

Your pussy pulses around his fingers, your clit honest to god throbbing against his palm, and now he knows you really want him to eat you out, especially when you follow up with an enthusiastic nod.

Joel slips his hand out from beneath your panties to lift you up around his hips and carry you to your bedroom. He plops you on the edge of your mattress and immediately sinks to his knees on the floor, eye level with your cunt.

“God, been thinkin’ about you for weeks. Missed this pussy so goddamn much,” he says, leaning in to kiss your inner thigh.

His lips trail down your leg as he pulls your panties off and stuffs them into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Let’s see how good I did,” he says, pulling your legs apart to get a good look at what a mess he’s made of you. He hums appreciatively at the sight of your glistening folds, licking his lips. That enough has you clenching around nothing, fingers tightening in the bed covers. 

“You seein’ what I do to you? No one else can make you this wet, ain’t that right?”

“You’re such an arrogant ass,” you growl.

He just smirks as he lowers himself again between your legs. He puffs a breath of cool air along your slit before listing over to kiss your other inner thigh, grinning when you groan in frustration.

“Joel, please.”

“So impatient.”

“I’ve waited thr—“

“Three weeks, yeah I know.”

He presses forward to lick a hot stripe up your folds with the flat of his tongue, and your hand flies to his hair, anchoring him closer to your pussy.

“S-shit,” you whimper. 

He lightly drags a finger along your slit, the slight pressure fucking agonizing. 

“Joel.” You sort of want to scream at him. He’s been teasing you all fucking night. 

“Alright,” he laughs and allows you to guide his head back down until the bridge of his scarred nose is pressed into your folds and his tongue is prodding at your entrance. 

He takes his sweet time unraveling you, alternating between licking into you and sucking your sensitive clit into his mouth. You can’t say much, reduced to wordless cries with each movement of his mouth. 

It’s messy, sloppy, but you like it. You like seeing the wetness on his face when he pulls back for air. You like the way his hair is pulled in all different directions, all because of your greedy hands. You like the way he has to push one of his hands down to palm himself in his jeans, just to relieve some of that pressure.

He clearly loves eating you out. And you very much love that he loves it.

But you’re getting kind of desperate. Kind of really want to cum. So…

Your hips begin to grind against his face as he sucks on your clit, and he seems to receive the message because he slides two thick fingers into you and starts to eat you out in earnest, delighting with a low moan when your legs clench around his head, the scruffy hairs of his beard tickling your inner thighs. 

“Holy shit, Joel.”

“Mm—“ He moans.

Your foot keeps slipping off the bed, so Joel’s large, warm hand curls around your calves to situate your legs over his shoulders. This new position grants you more leverage to chase after your orgasm with steady rolls of your hips into his hungry mouth.

He sucks your clit as he thrusts his fingers into you at a brutal pace, hitting your g-spot that has you jerking against him with each stroke. His hand plants on your abdomen to hold you down, stilling your desperate movements.

You’re getting close, the pressure building and magnifying as Joel moans against your pussy, the vibrations driving you insane.

“Fuck, Joel—hah-“

“Mm.”

“Jesus, Joel—fuck—oh my—hnhh—”

“Mhm.” He encourages.

It shatters in you, white hot and falling over you, a waterfall of warmth. Your body straightens stiff as a board, back arching off the bed, quivering as you cum against Joel’s mouth, your slick running down his chin and catching in his beard.

You try to push him away, your orgasm overwhelming on its own, but Joel hates it when you do that, wants to make sure you really feel it, so he presses himself back in to lick and guide you through it. Drawing it out.

It has your head falling back, eyes rolling into your skull, mouth dropping open on a satisfied moan. 

He only gives you a short amount of time to recover while he pulls his jeans and briefs off. You tug your sundress over your head. And then he’s rising up to meet you again, scooting you back until your head almost brushes the headboard. He sinks his thick cock into you as he presses his lips against yours, muffling your surprised and needy moan.

And then he reaches up, his large hand gripping the headboard as your legs wrap around his waist, and then he’s fucking you in earnest, each snap of his hips sheathing his cock fully inside you in a desperate rhythm.

And all you can do is lay there and take it and fall apart.

“S-shit, baby,” he grunts. “That’s it.”

“Oh God…” You whine. 

Your hands scrabble for purchase on his back, your blunt nails scratching up his sun-freckled skin, feeling the muscles bunch and shift as he holds the thumping headboard steady, his knuckles turning white as he grips it. His other hand finds its spot next to your head, holding himself up as he obliterates your pussy. 

He prepared you well for him, but you’re still stretched so full, the breaths knocked from your lungs with each thrust of his cock into you. His pelvic bone brushes your clit with the roll of his hips, the uneven pressure dragging you closer and closer to that metaphoric cliff.

And his moans certainly help, too. He’s not quiet, between strings of praises are ragged moans and tiny whimpers. It only turns you on more.

“Fuck, Joel, can’t leave me without this again.”

“Trust me baby,” he groans. “Another damn week and I wouldn’t’ve survived.”

His hand releases the headboard, slides down to tangle in your hair. He tugs your head back, and molds your lips to his. Teeth nipping your bottom lip before his tongue dives into your mouth. You moan appreciatively.

You can hardly breathe, but god it’s perfect. This moment is so fucking perfect. You want to take a picture of it. Frame it on your damn wall. 

You’re sure it looks like he’s fucking eating you right now, but you like it. You want him to consume you. Want him to be yours… Want to be his.

Stop. He’s your best friend.

He pulls back to lick a stripe from the corner of your lips along your jaw before sucking marks and kisses down your throat, his hips still thrusting into you steadily. His hand squeezes your breast, rolls your nipple between his index and thumb.

“Oh…oh—“ God… 

“You close baby girl?”

“Fuck, ye-yes… Yes need you…”

“N-need me to help you cum?”

He’s losing it. You’re losing it. Fuck please!

“Please, Joel—“

He pulls back enough to watch you, lips pink and puffy and kissed the fuck out. His eyes drift to where he’s thrusting inside you, dick slick with your arousal, sheathing itself inside you with wet, fucking nasty sounds.

“God, you're perfect. So fuckin' perfect...” 

His hand drifts down and you tremble, brows screwing together as his thumb fiddles with your clit.

White hot arousal pools in your core, unrelenting. Unstoppable. You feel like a damn metamorphic rock. Becoming something new under all this heat and pressure. 

It crests, crashing, filling your insides with hot magma as your mouth drops open on a silent scream, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy clamps down on Joel’s cock repeatedly.

He follows right behind you, painting your insides with thick, hot cum, leaking out of your entrance over his cock and down your ass cheeks.

You hiss when he pulls out, feeling empty. He gathers the cum that leaked out with his thumb and pushes it back into your quivering hole. 

“So goddamn pretty…” he murmurs. “Look so pretty with my cum inside you…”

Friends. You’re friends. 

So why the hell does this feel like so much more? Why is it that you’re so turned on by him practically claiming you?

You’re still trying to catch your breath when he lays down beside you, brushing your hair out of your sweaty face. “Feel better now? Not so mad anymore?”

“Mhm,” you hum happily.

He leans in, presses his lips against yours softer, slower…meaningfully. You kiss him back, tugging him close. His arm snakes around your waist, tugging you into him. You're pretty sure normal friends with benefits don't do this. But you and Joel have never been normal.

In those long three weeks you had started to worry maybe he'd never come back. It fucking scared you. Now, you're unsure you ever want to let go.

When he pulls back his eyebrows are furrowed, lips drawn in a frown. He looks concerned. "What's wrong?"

"What?"

"You're cryin'..." He wipes your teary eyes with his thumb.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You scramble to wipe your eyes, sniff. Smile at him. Reassure. Act normal. "Oh, no-I'm fine. Just... think I'm still drunk."

"Somethin' going on? You looked like you were gonna cry back at the Bison, too. Did I do somethin'?"

You shake your head, squeeze his arm. "No, of course not. I'm just being weird. Tired, I think.”

"You sure?"

"Mhm.”

"You can tell me anythin’, y'know?"

What? Like I think I'm in love with you? Fat chance.

"I know. Everything's fine."

You’re such a damn liar.

He can see right through you, but he lets it go. "Okay. If you're sure." He leans in to press a kiss to your jaw. Friend. Friend friend friend. "I'd love to stay but I gotta go. Ellie's probably wonderin' where I'm at."

Joel sits up, swings his legs over the edge and stands. Grabs his jeans, pulls them up. His belt buckle jangles as he slides it through the loops.

“I really did miss you, by the way,” he says, looking down at you. “You. Not just the sex.”

His words warm your cool, exposed body. Fuel the burning the realization, I love you. “I missed you, too.”

He turns to leave, and you see the fabric poking out of his back pocket.

"You still have my panties."

He smirks. "Guess you'll hav'ta come over to get them back."

You smile back, blushing. “Looking forward to it.”

He leans down to kiss your head, "Night, angel."

"Night," you say faintly.

Only when your front door slams shut do you allow yourself to give into the fantasies. To imagine what it’d be like to call him yours. To not keep things a secret. To tell people you're together. To be his.

Damnit, you’re in trouble.

[smutlord-supreme]

SFW König Backstory Headcannons

-He has a German father and Austrian mother.

-His father was a sniper in the German military and died when he was between 6 and 10.

-His mother traveled for work alot so he was raised by his grandmother (mothers mother).

-He was fairly popular up until puberty which hit him like a truck. Then he was bullied mercilessly for his looks.

-He had horrible acne in his teens and still boasts the scar to this day (he was really bad about picking at his skin)

-His growth spurt was rough so he was in alot of pain most of his younger teen years.

-He was a disproportionate teen with big hand and feet and long thin arms.

-He was really into the pokemon trading cards as a kid, but now he collects postcards from the places he visits.

-His grandmother struggled to feed him, something she tried to hide but failed. So he still has pretty bad food anxiety to this day, often eating large portions, escpecially when the food is free.

-Due to his eating habits from childhood he has a bit of a tummy over his abs.

-After he enlisted his grandmother cried for days.

-He goes back for as many holidays as possible, her favorite is Christmas so he makes an effort to go back.

-His Father's family is Catholic but his mother's is Prodestant, so he makes an effort to go to both Christmas services.

-He is not religious himself, but he enjoys the Prodestant service better since he has trouble sitting still.

-During basic training he was so nervous that he didn't speak a word other than, Ja, Neil, Herr, and the various military ranks.

-Everyone thought he was a suck up, so he didn't make any freinds until he joined his first regiment.

-Although he wanted to be a sniper like his father he also understood why he couldn't be one and tried not to let it get him down.

-His hood belonged to his father.

-After joining his first regiment he became a nervous chatter. Often talking about nothing at all.

-Surprisingly everyone liked the chatter. It kept things lively and he became popular again.

-After his first assignment he became more depressed. He wasn't used to people being afraid of him, being bullied and all.

-He broke out of the slump when one of his teammates snuck a little black kitten onto base. It got loose and hid in Königs room, unbeknownst to him. When he woke up the next morning a kitten was asleep on the chair next to his bed, on top of his discarded hood. It wasn't afraid when he picked it up. König decided then and there that if this tiny kitten wasn't afraid of him, he wasn't that bad after all.

-The kitten was named Harold and loved with the team until they were caught a week later. König took the kitten home to his grandmother for Christmas the next day and he still lives there.

-Edit: Fanart of Harold submitted by my roomate

-He goes to counceling every week. His therapists name is Andrea.

-He has a dirty mouth, and is always swearing and cracking jokes under his breath. But his demeanor completely changes is his grandmother is around.

-He has a strained relationship with his mother in adulthood, she doesn't even have his phone number.

-He loves music, things with loud base and emotional lyrics.

-Maybe old school emo?

-He can cook, but only basic German fair. Think fleischsalat, kartoffelsalat (with vinegar and oil, duh), boiled wurst, pfankuchen (and of course Flädlesuppe with the leftovers, his father was Swabian) and the like, nothing fancy.

-His favorite breakfast is fitness-brötchen cold butter, teo hardboiled eggs with salt and teewurst. With water and black coffee to drink.

-He likes to indulge in quarkäallchen if he's out and about early, but he can eat an ungodly ammount of them so he makes sure to buy a roll or something to help fill him up.

-He actually really enjoys window shopping, but clothes in stores rarely fit him. If he has a partner he would most definitely know their size and bring them back clothes.

-He wears all black most of the time, but with the occasional pair of blue jeans or tan cargo pants. Really whatever pants could fit him.

-shoes are even worse, he's probably a size 17-18 in men's shoes (US, I think its like a 16 UK and iver 50 in Europe) He's probably got black new balances for day to day use and then custom workboots.

-He knows how to darn and hem. Making him very popular with his coworkers.

-He hums while he does chores.

Ok I actually do have more but I'm tuckered. Let me know if you want more I guess. I do have plenty of spicier ones so I may post those anyways. Goodnight little people in my phone

[rjalker]

[ID: a long 6-panel MS Paint comic, titled, "I read Charles Howard Hinton's An Episode of Flatland (dot dot dot) so you don't have to! (It's bad!)".

Panel 1 is labeled, "not even pretending to be to scale", and shows a circle in the center labeled "Astria", with the edge covered in stick figures who have both arms on one side of their body, either facing the west for females, or east for males, with a mars or venus symbol over each head to show who is what. The west side of Astria has a darker rim labeled, "Black Sea", and the east has one labeled "White Sea".

On the side of the panel is a cirlce mostly offscreen labeled, "Ardaea, another planet in their star system".

In the lower corner a larger circle labeled, "sun that either doesn't have a name or I forgot it. I have a headache I'm not putting in any more effort to find out if the sun has a name".

Panel 2 shows two sets of people represented by right triangles, with males facing east and females facing west again, with their back to eachother. First we have Unæans, who are light skinned. They are represented by white triangles. Then there are Scythians, who are dark skinned, represented by triangles filled in with black with a crayon texture. Smaller text reads for them, "used to oppress the Unæans because the author's racist".

Text reads, "Astrians are not literally triangles but are represented by them to show how they face only one direction. Despite only having one single eye each, the original illustrator drew them with two, one on each side. Because he didn't read the book I guess. I don't blame him. Unless it was the author, in which case…Man, seriously?".

Panel 3 shows a 2D stick figure looking to the west and saying, "Blank space!". A yellow splat in the middle of the screen reads in all caps, "Wrong!", then shows the stick figure being viewed from another angle so they, and their dialogue box, appear as nothing but a straight line against a light blue background, with a section of white on their Left labeled, "the alongside being - aka their name for any dimension beyond the perception of a lower-dimensional being".

Panel 4 reads in all caps large text at the top, "but what is the plot?!?!", then reads:

"The plot is that every 15 years winters get really cold and bad. But this time it's gonna be the end of the world. Because Ardaea is apparently gonna crash into Astria entirely. And is gonna plunge their planet into Death Winter. A rich guy named Cartwright starts building underground shelters packed with supplies to try and help people survive.

His brother is a guy named High Farmer and he believes in the 3rd Dimension and claims to be able to use it somehow to make himself float and all this crap which he literally never demonstrates.

Hugh teams up with a soldier named Harold Wall to try and convince people that the Third Dimension will somehow magically save them all. And you might be thinking, 'Oh! Because they're gonna ask for help from 3D beings, right?' Wrong.

No the plan is to literally create a dictatorship and force everyoen to pray that Ardaea doesn't crash into them.

And then this works. For some reason.

Despite none of Hugh Farmer's claims about being able to use T 3 D to fly ever being demonstrated. And then they're all talking about being able to use T 3 D to grow…extra eyes? And all this crap??? It's not reasonable.

And while all this is very much not going on, there's a crappy romance between Laura Cartwright, the daughter of the rich guy who was building shelters, and Harold Wall, the now-Dictator. She's the one who introduced him to Hugh Farmer, her uncle.

It's implied many times that they're soulmates. They miscommunicate a lot and also Harold is an asshole anyways.

Also early in the book there was a lady named Mrs. Castle who was implied to be a 3D being or at least friends with one. We were told we'd get this explained soon. Then she was never mentioned again.

But then the author was going on about 2D beings having 3D souls so that's. Apparently what he meant. He was a really bad writer."

Panel 5 is black with white text, reading:

"It was so boring and convoluted it was literally making me fall asleep.

So the moral of the story is set up a dictatorship to make people pray the world doesn't end and it simply won't. Because your soul is a tiny 4D thing piloting the mecha of your giant 3D body. also if you think about it really hard you can probably grow yourself an extra eye or something. Somehow. For some reason.

It's bad. 0/10 do not recommend."

Panel 6 is white with black text again, reading, "also literally every scene in the book after the Introduction is just physically impossible for these people to be doing with the rules he told us into the introduction. it's atrocious."

End ID.]

fortunately, it's public domain, so it's free to read, and you can rewrite it to not be absolutely terrible and mind-numbing and sell your version. the version we deserve.

[its-in-the-woods]

The Woman Who Couldn’t Die Part 7

master list

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6,

Pairing: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x Original Character 

Alternative Universe where I make things up cause I can only research so much

Synopsis: A walk in delusions, memories and sadness. Will Jade survive her ordeal? Will the Ghoul make it out of the forest?

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning: This is based on fallout expect typical: Drug use, blo0d/g0re, major body horror, Horror for everyone,flashbacks, harm to children (brief) alien critters, angst, hurt/comfort kinda, Canon divergence, hints of SH/SA/NONCON, Slow Burn,

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

It's a bumpy ride folks

The walk was horrendous, despite the girl’s small size her weight dug into his shoulders. The Ghoul refused to leave her, even if she was more than likely dead. Every time he stopped for a puff of chem, or a drink of water he’d check to make sure she was still breathing. He checked her eyes and they would roll and dilate, but that was all. He’d grab the ropes and kept moving, he hadn’t heard the creature; continuing to tell himself that no noise was a good sign. The tinge of fear was still stirring in his guts, he had run across many things in the Wastes. A creature that could regenerate itself like that was new. 

As the Ghoul walked he'd cursed her names more times than he could count.  Cussing at the fact that she had crawled into his life, had lowered his barriers. There was no reason he shouldn’t have left her, kill or be killed right? She had said it, that was the law of the land. The longer he walked the darker it started to get, images of all the people he had met came into mind. The forest, and total exhaustion, playing tricks on him. 

Melanie was a tall tanned woman with gray-streaked hair, a bright smile, and blue eyes. At first, the image was of her smiling, handing him food from the back of a military truck. One of the friendliest people he had met since the bombs dropped. He watched as she went to grab the can of food, as her face turned up to him, half her head was gone. One eye and twisted smile staring back at him.

“Why didn’t you save me, Cooper,” Her voice echoed through his head, as he gritted his teeth. A memory of finding her dead less than three hours after seeing her, twisting in his guts. 

The next memory was an older man, with a big black cowboy hat, opening a door into a desolate house.  Ghoul could remember it so clearly, the man hunched over from age, leading him to the back of the house. Sounds of clawing and screaming coming from inside a back room. Heavy locks covered the doors, that the man painstakingly opened one at a time. The old man's name was Harold, and behind the door was what was left of his wife Wendy. 

“I don’t know what to do. She looks like you, but she doesn’t act like she used to,” Harold had said, eyes big and wide as if he were a child. “Maybe you could help’er? Show her that she doesn’t need to be like this?”

As the man pushed the door open, Cooper's stomach lurched. Behind the door wasn’t a woman anymore. No, what was left was merely a body, a body melted from the atomic blast, what was left of her hair streaked with blood. Mouth lipless and yellow stained teeth chomping at him. Black holes where her eyes should have been, were now long empty. He remembers crouching down in front of her, really trying to see if there was anything left of who she was. The many layers of binding around her had ripped into what was left of her paper-thin skin, digging into the bone, holding her in place. As she desperately tried to get at him. 

The Ghoul remembers the look on the man’s face when he said there was nothing he could do, the tears that stained Harold’s face as he told Cooper. “If you can’t help, get out. I don’t need you.”

Cooper walking away and the sounds of two gunshots echoing across the barren land. 

Endless scenes of too many lifetimes dance through his mind like macabre theatre as he walks while dragging the girl. A girl that had the same fate as any of the other tortured souls he had encountered. Some of the stories were more palatable but all ended the same. Dead, gone, and yet he kept putting one foot in front of the other. 

“They always end up dead don’t they, Daddy,” It was Janey’s voice this time. 

It stopped him in his tracks, his dead heart pounding against his ribs, threatening to break free of the cage that held it there. 

“Why are you still carrying her? Isn’t she going to end up dead too?” Little Janey stood beside him, looking up from under her cowboy hat. Her face was lined with concern, eyes big and wide as she looked into his. 

The Ghoul felt for his inhaler, but it wasn’t in his pocket. Looking down he was dressed in the cowboy outfit, but it wasn’t worn and dirty. It looked new like it had on the days he filmed. He blinked a few times, trying to understand what he was seeing.  The Ghoul could feel his heart breaking all over again as he looked at his small daughter. She looked exactly the same as the last day he saw her. 

Dropping to his knees in front of his little girl, reaching out to touch her warm face, “Sweet Janey, it’s going to be okay.”

Janey moved back away from his touch, a sudden look of horror crossing her face. As if she was seeing him for who now was, for seeing the monster her Daddy had become.  “You aren’t my Daddy.”

Her face twisting and morphing, her nose falling off as her hair fell out of her head. A scream echoing over the trees as she kept moving backward, piece by piece of her falling until there was nothing left but her hat on the ground. The Ghoul scrambling trying to reach her, trying to grab her. To save his little girl from the fate that had befallen him. 

It suddenly dawned on the Ghoul, that he was the one who was screaming. He covered his mouth, the taste of leather snapping him out of the nightmare. He found his inhaler taking a long puff as he tipped over onto the ground. He lay there for a moment, his eyes screwed shut, fearing if he opened them he would see her again. See his daughter's melted disfigured face. Taking the inhaler he took another breath, feeling his world righting again. Giving himself another ten seconds before he pushed himself back onto his knees. 

The Ghoul's cheeks wet with tears, he turned back to the girl  he had been dragging for god knows how long. Pushing himself up he grabbed the ropes and dragged Jade to the edge of the forest. Leaning down he managed to lift her, covered in his jacket, and carry her a little deeper into the bush. He found a mostly covered spot for them to hide out in until the sun came up. Walking back he tucked the makeshift sled into the trees, grabbing a stimpak and water. His legs shaky as he made his way back to their hiding spot. 

Jade hadn’t moved, he knelt checking to make sure she was still breathing. Satisfied that she was still alive he injected her with another stimpak and took a sip of water. The Ghoul slides over to a tree leaning against it, taking off his cowboy hat. It was dark in here, dark enough that he couldn’t make out much. He knew he should be worried, but he was too exhausted to care. Instead, he tipped his head back and let sleep take him. Whatever came would come. 

***

The Ghoul awoke to a small white bird sending out a shrill chirp on a branch in front of him and then disappearing into the morning sun. Groaning as he got up, he stretches hearing pops and snaps as his muscles yelled at him. Jade had rolled sometime in the night, still covered in his jacket, still alive. Somehow. He swallowed, wondering if it was a good sign or not that she had moved. Turning her over, he saw her face scrunch in discomfort before relaxing again. 

He takes off his gloves feeling her skin again. No signs of fever, he rolls her back onto  his jacket, cringing as he lifts her shirt. Surprised to see that most of the bruising had faded. Uncovering her legs he also finds only yellowish bruises. The stimpaks must have been doing their jobs, maybe she would be okay. 

“If I believed in miracles. I'd have to say this was one, Jade.” The Ghoul lets out a breath he didn't know he had held. 

Carefully covering her before he makes his way back to the roadway. Walking as quietly as possible, listening intently for anything that might be hiding out around them.  The Ghoul was surprised when he heard noise, birds chirping, insects buzzing, something that looked kind of like a squirrel running across the path. The darkness having faded to more of a distant hum then an outright threat. It was still eerie, the feeling of something lurking just on the edges of his perception. With the clear feeling that they needed to get out of here before nightfall, The Ghoul would rather avoid a trip down memory lane again. 

A shot of chem clears his mind and numbs the endless stream of thoughts, ending the neverending horror of images bombarding him. Senses pinpointing to what was around him. Rolling his shoulders he grabs the sled laying it out onto the road. Walking into the forest he finds Jade, carefully lifting her. She groans, shifting a little in his arms, brow scrunching together before she relaxes. 

The Ghoul watchs for a moment, a small spark of hope sitting somewhere in his chest. He carefully brought her out to the sled, placing her and their stuff on it before grabbing the ropes to start moving again. The heavy weight of the rope feeling comfortable against his shoulders as he moved them forward. 

 ***

It was nearly dark by the time the Ghoul made it out of the tree line. He had heard a high-pitched call coming from behind him. He wasn’t sure if it was the thing they had tried to kill or something worse. Moving off the road he tucked them back into a large hollow tree, Jade hadn’t moved since that morning. Her skin still didn’t feel any warmer and she was still breathing. Moving her off the sled he covered her with his coat and using some extra clothes to prop her up. Digging through her bag to find another stim-pak and injecting it. Watching her closely to see if he there was any reaction. 

“Got us in a right mess,” He said settling down against the side of the tree, he dug around in his pocket to pull out his inhaler, taking a shot. “Not gonna lie, was touch and go t’ere last night. I don't know where we’re, but I think I will pass on doin’ that again. As for what you did, that was some grade-A action movie shit you pulled the other day. Jumpin’ down that thing's throat with a machete." 

He laughed at his comment, looking out through the small trees in front of him. The stars are just visible through wispy clouds. He dug around taking a swig of water. His body aching from pulling Jade for miles. Grateful that he hadn't seen any delusions this evening, it was hard enough to deal with the horrors in front of him.

“Shoulda probably left you, had plenty of opportunities,” He mused, tucking his jacket around her. “But I’ve kind of grown to like ya. Plus ya do shit like that. The stories I am gonna have by the time we make it to the West Coast. Maybe sit down and write your story. The woman who couldn’t die.” Raising his hand to the sky like he was showing a title card.

He shifted taking his hat off as he settles against the tree, a fire would be awfully nice. But the way the ground was rumbling it was best to keep a low profile. He took another hit of chem, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight, whatever was out there was still moving way too much for his liking.  No tonight he'd keep an eye on things,  he did his best not to think about what might happen if they needed to move quickly. 

“Gotta say, of all the critters we could run into. T’was a hell of a way to start. The thing was piecin’ itself back together, ya probably won’t believe me.” He sighs, stretching his legs out, every muscle groaning from the exertion of the day. 

“Wonder who made that, maybe some kinda FEV thing. Didn’t think they’d was messing with that anymore. But who knows, maybe the Enclave.” He gestured around the little space. “Or hell maybe it's aliens. Think there was a comic book, they were these colorful drawin’s kind of like books but in art. Anyways.  Maybe that’s what it is. Damn aliens.”

*** 

The light had just started to break through the darkness, the tall grass sparkling with dew. It was almost beautiful. The Ghoul sat perfectly still, the rumbling had started not too long after the sky had started to lighten up. The way the woods went quiet, the feel of heavy footfalls shaking the ground beneath his feet. The gun was heavy in his hands, body aching from sitting and listening. He wondered if it was coming for them if it could smell them holed up in this old dead tree, but the footfalls turned. Headed south, walking into the trees. What caught him so off guard was how no trees snapped as it moved through the woods, it was as if the trees parted to let it through. As it kept moving the birds started singing, frogs croaked, and other critters began to move. 

Sagging a bit, the Ghoul scooted over to his companion. She had moved a little overnight, shifting and fidgeting as if she were dreaming. A few muffled sounds but besides that, not much else. He took off his gloves and felt their forehead, constantly needing to reassure himself that she was still alive.

His arms still hurting from dragging her, the next outpost was at least a day away without dragging a half-dead body. Digging around his bag he found a chem, red inhaler, he shook it against his ear, there was still a pump, maybe two. 

“Damnit, you’re gonna hate me for this.” The Ghoul sighs, leaning down he goes to give it to her but pauses. He remembers her telling him how she’d been drugged. The first few days she’d traveled he had seen how sick she was coming off of them. Was he really going to do the same thing those slavers did? 

Swallowing, he chucked the inhaler into his bag. Cursing, wanting to throw things, Jade was going to kill him, if she didn’t die first. Taking a puff of his own chem, he reached down to grabb the sled, when she groaned. Stopping, he ducked down to take a closer look at her. 

Eyebrows scrunched together she blinked a few times up at him. He uncovered her a bit as she coughed and sputtered, trying to sit up. Helping her up he rubbed at her back gently, the stitches from previous wounds catching against her shirt. 

“Take’re easy there,” The Ghoul said quietly as she sat, coughing up some black goop and blood. He watched the black, half expecting it to move on its own. Instead, it lay motionless beside the droplets of red.  “Get it outta yah. Better out than in.”

Jade's body shudders as she shifts trying to get comfortable, wiping at her mouth, she froze holding up her hand.  Her brown eyes going wide as she looked at it , holding it up in the early morning light. Her first two fingers and thumb, a dirty bandage covering where the other two had been. 

“Where are my fingers?” Jade asks voice raspy, the Ghoul had blanked on when exactly he had stitched and wrapped them. It had been some time in between walking and taking breaths of chem.

“Yah had a good grip on that machete you used to slay the dragon.” He replied, with a small amount of mirth.“I didn’t have much time to find them, had to get us moving.”

Jade wiggled the remaining fingers, looking back up at the Ghoul with a confused expression. “Weird, still feels like they are there.”

“Yeah, we can see what we can find at the next town, maybe sew new ones back on.” The Ghoul sighed trying to look her over. The chances of them finding usable fingers were low, much less attaching them so they were usable. Jade didn’t have the same regenerative qualities he did, and he doubted they’d find a Codsworth bot with the capabilities. 

“Fuck, did that thing land on my head?” Jade groaning, rubbing at her head a little. "Or did you knock me over the head?" Her eyes were a little glazed but she seemed to be on the up, with a crooked smile.  Even having the energy to make jokes.

“Thought you were dead,” Ghoul said, his chest tightening seeing her grinning again. “Wasn’t sure ya were gonna wake up.” 

Jade blinked a few times, she moved her hands, rolling her shoulders, bending her knees up, and wiggling her toes. “Did you really think I was dead? Besides the fingers, everything else looks okay. But my shoes are gone - my feet look bruised. I liked those shoes. ”

Ghoul sat back against the tree watching her, “Yeah the thing, whatever the fuck t’was, landed mostly on top of you. Had to cut yah out of it, your ankles-" He pauses, looking at his companion who has gone back to staring at her hand.  "Your ankles were a mess, so I cut your shoes off. Sure there will be some better ones for yah at the next outpost." 

“Why were you dragging me this far? What were you going to do? Eat me?” She teases, as she kept flexing her different body parts. Wiggling her toes some more and bending her ankles as if to make sure they were connected. 

The Ghoul chuckled, “Shoulda have known ya’’d think you were worth of eating.”

Jade smiled, “Thank you.” Her brows furrowed, "I really wish I knew your name. So I could thank you properly.  

He sat there for a moment, they needed to get moving, but he couldn’t help mulling over what she said. He fiddled with his fingers, the gloves still on his saddle bag, feeling the different scars. He remembers the way the people he had lost had said his name. Did he even tell them his name? Clenching his jaw he makes his decision. 

“It’s. Ahh. It’s Coop. Cooper.” Cooper swallowed, the name feeling strange to say out loud. When was the last time he had said his name out loud? 

Jade moves, handing him back his duster, “Coop, it’s a good name. Better than old man.” She wiggled her toes holding her hand out. “Mr.Cooper, would ya mind helping me up. See if these feet will hold me.”

Cooper was up grasping her hand and helping her stand up, she winced as weight went onto her very bruised joints. She moved a few steps, the dirt covering her pale toes in mud. He held onto her arm making sure she was doing okay. He could feel her tense up as she moved. 

“Gotta taker slow, you're still bruised,” Ghoul said, watching her move away from him. “I got some med-x in my bag, or some stronger stuff.”

Jade winced moving back and forth, “Maybe the Med-X. See how it goes from there.” 

Cooper grabs it quickly, handing her the syringe. She took it, her fingers lingering on his for a moment, her green-streaked eyes watching him. Before she closed them, putting the needle into her neck and pressing down. She wobbled a bit and the Ghoul grabbed her before she tips over. 

“Forgot how hard it could hit,” She groaned, wincing some before righting herself, without moving away from him. “Coop, you are warm and I am having a hard time moving away.” 

Cooper smiles slightly holding her against him, “Just till your meds kick in.” The warmth of her body suck a stark contrast to the last few days journey. 

“Gone be hard without shoes,” She sighed, righting herself, still keeping herself leaning against her companion. “But I guess we better get going.”

Part 8

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

*someehow we made it, probably one of the hardest chapters I've written in a long time.

*likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated. Please continue to feed me and the characters

*Updating one or twice a week depending, please note my schedule is getting hectic but I will continue to update! Please be patient with me

@pixelatedprofilepic @hiddlebatchedloki @toogaytofunctiondangit

[the-type-a]

Duncney Week 2023

(9•10) Day 1: Admitting Feelings

AO3 | FanFic | TikTok | Twt

There It Is

(Read under break)

It had to be hours since the most recent Killer Bass elimination. The plan had gone accordingly; Tyler was now miles away from the island. Yet, a strange feeling crept up on Duncan as he forced his feet to the familiar campsite. His mind replayed the last few hours.

“You guys better vote for Tyler.”

Harold and Sadie shared a look before Harold asked why.

“Because all he had to do was sit on the ground with a few baby chicks and blew it!”

“Yeah, but Courtney’s the reas–”

Duncan grabbed Harold by the shirt, lifting him slightly off the ground. Harold gulped as Sadie covered her eyes at the possible unfolding brawl.

“Okay, we’ll vote Tyler! Gosh!”

Duncan’s red Converse kicked dirt as he shuffled up the tiny hill. Why had he forced those two dweebs into voting off the jock? It’s not like they were wrong. Courtney had been a reason the team lost today, but she was also why many faced their fears. Especially him. His hands bawled into fists as he recalled how her silky hand molded into his callused one. The way she lowered her voice to assure him everything would be okay. The way she encouraged him to no end. Fuck, he hoped the cameras missed the way he softened to her.

His mind argued with him as he approached the uneven stumps of that campfire pit. He couldn’t possibly like her. She was everything he hated: a stuck-up princess, a goody two shoes, yet she had a side to her he had only caught glimpses of. Her freckles popped up from the bridge of her nose when she was flustered. The way her composer would relax whenever she was high off of adrenaline to help the team win—still, the thought of actually having a heart made Duncan want to vomit.

He reached his destination and sat looking into the fire's dying embers. He’d shove those feelings aside. There was no way a chick would change his stance in the game, let alone one so high and mighty. His thoughts were cut by the sudden drop of logs into the pit. The fire sprang freely; his face would have taken a few burns if he hadn't moved in time.

The teen punk looked past the flames and saw her. Courtney. She was dusting her hands off on her pants as she sat back down on a stump. She looked relieved yet angry, which was insane for Duncan to think about, seeing as he was the sole reason she was still on this stupid island.

He studied her for a moment. The flames made her skin glow slightly darker, and her eyes reflected the dancing flames. She ran her fingers through her thick hair with a sigh before making eye contact with him.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” She snarled.

Something snapped in him. Every sane part of him told him he hated this girl. Yet he found himself smirking at her foul words. Something about the way she wasn’t afraid to challenge him stirred a mix of emotions within him. He liked it. She was bold, aggressive, and dare he say a beautiful representation of the female population.

He liked her. Fuck it, he liked her a lot.

—

Courtney was trying to have a few moments to herself when she noticed Duncan sitting across from her. She was over today’s challenge and was confident she’d be sent packing, but she didn’t question her safety as Tyler sailed away on the boat of losers.

Everything about the past couple of days had been a major fuck up. The alleged cuddling with said Neanderthal, her reaction to that stupid dessert, her unbelieved display of affection in helping said Neanderthal face his fear, just to top it off with chickening out of her own. She was a complete failure. A complete joke. If she prayed hard enough, none of the final edits would keep her stupid encounters with Duncan. She could not believe she even let herself get so close to him more than once!

Enough was enough. That sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach would cease whenever he called her some stupid nickname. The way her heart raced when the two made sudden eye contact would simply go away if she kept her focus on the game. She was here to win, not make friends– or whatever he would be subcategorized as.

She’d think Duncan thought she respected him if she knew any better. Heck, liked him even. Now more than ever after that pathetic pep talk. God, how had she gotten so lost in the moment that she hugged him? Her eyes narrowed as she thought about how his fingers squeezed her waist just before everyone approached them. That simply could not continue.

Courtney caught him staring at her through the flames. Some of her was thankful for the fire, and she was sure her face was heating up more. She needed to come off as unappealing as ever to return to the zone. Without thinking, she snarled at him vulgarly, but the sudden attack didn’t meet her with the wanted scoff and possible disappearance of the punk. No, it slapped her face with that cocky smirk that twisted her insides.

Fuck. She liked him, and she hated herself for it.

[pluckysidekick]

I’m back with Part 2 of my playlist of Great American Songbook standards and other classic songs that embody Nace’s journey in Season 4, inspired by @emorfili’s post. Check out Part 1 here. Both posts contain Spotify links, but you can find all of these tracks on Apple Music and YouTube. DM me for a link to the entire playlist. Shall we?

1. Picking up with fan favorite Episode 408, George Benson’s 1976 slammin’ This Masquerade, written by Leon Russell, works on so many levels for this episode: Nancy and Ace having to pretend to be each other in front on Thom, acting as if everything is OK between them, with neither saying what they really feel. “We tried to talk it over but the words got in the way, We're lost inside this lonely game we play.”

2. They Can’t Take That Away from Me is so perfect for the 408 sunset scene when Ace returns Nancy’s necklace, and they seem to come to some kind of peace (for the present). They may not have been able to make it work, but they still have a deep bond that no one can take away. Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong’s duet of the Gershwin classic is the version.

3. Witchcraft - Frank Sinatra’s definitive version works for so much of Nancy Drew, but I picked it for Episode 409 for Nancy and Ace’s twin supernatural storylines, each of them beginning to fall for someone who may not be what they seem, and of course for Bess’s day in court defending the supernatural, and exposing the real history of Horseshoe Bay with witchcraft.

4. Nancy tells Nick in 409 that she wants a relationship that’s simpler than the ‘messy’ state of things with Ace (although note the look on her face as she says it). A Sunday Kind of Love by Etta James describes so well what Nancy thinks she wants in 409 and going into 410. Meanwhile Ace is falling under the spell of his mystery ghost - you could even say he’s Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered (I would). I went with Doris Day’s classic take from 1950.

5. Speaking of 410, I had to give a nod to Tristan Glass with Nat King Cole’s Nature Boy. Poor Tristan really goes through it this season and especially in this episode as he fights for his life when his would-be date shoots him, and from which he recovers only for his parents to kidnap and attempt to sacrifice her. I hope he has a nice life!

6. Episode 411 has Nancy crashing Ace’s Seder and causing a storm inside The Claw when she tries to raise Alice to discover how she died. Harold Arlen’s Stormy Weather sung by Lena Horne really drives home Ace’s stormy emotions, Nancy’s desperation (“Don't know why, there's no sun up in the sky, Stormy weather, Since my man and I ain't together, keeps raining all of the time”) and Alice’s pain that generates the storm.

7. Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea - The tension between Nancy and Ace that spills over from 411 to Episode 412 is all the more shocking because we’re used to them being soft with each other. But once Nancy is hot on the trail of the sin she erased, she’s not going to give up. Harold Arlen’s song, here sung by Tony Bennett in 1964, perfectly depicts that tension as Ace tries to give Nancy the runaround (and of course she isn’t having it): “I don’t want you, But I hate to lose you, You’ve got me in between, The devil and the deep blue sea”.

8. I’ve Got You Under My Skin - The venom that erupts when Ace & Nancy repeatedly confront each other in 412 couldn’t exist without the strong feelings that still run under the surface. Nancy admitting that she hasn’t moved on, and the look Ace gives her - they’ve got each other under their skin. Frank Sinatra’s 1956 gorgeous recording of the Cole Porter tune mirrors the back and forth of the star-crossed lovers throughout the season, but especially as we near the end.

9. “Oh Sinnerman, where you going to run to?” That’s the question this traditional spiritual continues to ask throughout Nina Simone’s 1965 powerhouse of a track. Nancy and Ace are both on the run in 412 — Nancy toward the truth of their sin, and Ace away from it. In Episode 413, they work together with the Crew and Tristan to lift the sin fog that’s infected the town, and discover Nancy’s soul connection to the root of the town’s sin. This legendary recording captures the frenetic energy of Nancy and Ace’s journey toward redemption and forgiveness.

10. The finale quickly moves from chaos to resolution of all of our favorite characters’ futures — and for Nancy and Ace’s relationship. Johnny Hartman’s voice on 1963’s My One and Only Love is simply beautiful, capturing Ace’s emotion as he finally comes back to Nancy, heart in hand. Swoon.

11. It Had to Be You - I had to include this one, recorded by Harry Connick, Jr. for another epic slow burn, friends to lovers romance, 1989’s When Harry Met Sally. Nancy and Ace are the soulmates that chose each other (and their friends), which this song’s lyrics capture so perfectly: “For nobody else gives me a thrill, with all your faults, I love you still, it had to be you, wonderful you, it had to be you.”

12. Cheek to Cheek - We didn't get the 6 minute director's cut of this scene that included a little dance with a dip (grr), but we did get that sense of effervescence once Ace and Nancy have broken the curse. Ella and Louis trading off verses on Irving Berlin's timeless classic is just the mood.

13. Ending on a sentimental note, At Last Nancy and Ace are together, and they and all of the Crew have the next part of their journeys mapped out. This lovely Etta James 1960 track is a perfect ending for this playlist, and for Nancy and Ace, Bess, George, and Nick as they say goodbye to The Claw.

So there you have it, my picks for Nace S4, classic style. Would love to hear what you think! Tell me your favorite pick, what I missed, or what you would have chosen instead. Hope this playlist brings a little joy this festive season - I think it’s the perfect background soundtrack for reading all of the @secretsleuthexchange fics!

[toothpickalpha]

For day #8, I'd like to do William Vicarage. He was another severely burned man at Jutland. This is a particularly revolutionary case because it he was the first patient to receive the Tubed Pedical, which if you don't know, was a skin graft invented by Harold Gillies. It's similar to the traditional flap, but it's stitched into a tube shape before being attached to the sight. This increases blood flow and diminishes the risk of infection. In Vicarages case, two V like grafts were taken from his chest and placed onto his cheeks, as seen in the first picture. The poor man had no lips or eyelids, and it took many surgeries and grafts to get him functional again, but as you can see In the last picture with him as an old man, he was infact returned to his former self, and lived a long and happy life.

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, today we have a rec list of BL fics where Louis and/or Harry are lawyers. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Pretty, Perfect Angel | Explicit | 2514 words

Harry comes home late and wakes Louis up. Louis does something he wasn't supposed to and gets in trouble.

2) Helping A Friend | Explicit | 2961 words

Louis is very energetic and sometimes a bit too much for people to handle, but Harry finds an unconventional method that works better than meds.

3) Where We Start | Mature | 3728 words | Sequel

Being sick and tired of getting teased by all his friends for being the only virgin left in his group, Louis is determined to get fucked; he doesn't care who or where or how. He just so happens to get fucked by the infamous slut, Harry Styles.

4) You'll Wait For Me Only | Teen & Up | 9106 words

Harry nips at the bondmark on Louis’ neck, Louis’ hands go to his hips, grounding him. He allows himself this, knowing that his Omega needs it too. Harry pulls back, “Go on a date with me.” He rushes out, looking at Louis’ eyes.

Louis laughs and shakes his head. “No, Louis, I’m serious. We’ve bonded for life anyway, might as well try.” Louis looks at him, “You’ve been thinking about this a lot.” Louis points out, Harry nods. “Okay.” Louis says and walks out leaving Harry. “Okay what?!”

5) You’re All I See In My Mind (I Think I See A Lifetime) | Explicit | 16312 words

Kitten hybrid Louis gets kicked out of his house. With nowhere to go and a very cold and stormy weather outside, he ends up wandering into Harry’s shed to hide from the thunder and rain (he gets terrified by it). Harry hears crying from the shed so he goes to investigate.

6) Before We Knew | Explicit | 39830 words

Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed onto his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

7) Somebody To Love | Explicit | 51471 words

A hesitant fist hovers, ready to knock on the hard surface, when suddenly the door swings open revealing a small child with a huge smile plastered on her face.

“You’re here, finally!” She beams up at him, haphazardly brushing her orange hair away from her eyes.

He can’t help but let a grin fill his face at her anticipation. Bunching his pants at his ankles, he crouches down to her level. “You must be Margret.”

“Actually, only my daddy calls me that when I’m in trouble,” she explains with an assertive tone. “So you can call me Margo.”

“Well, Margo, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Louis.”

8) Echoes & Omens | Mature | 100707 words

Echoes of the dead come in many forms. Their imprints forever tied to the ones who'd killed them.

Louis Tomlinson is able to track the dead using their echoes, they call to him. He's used that gift to aid Scotland Yard in their investigations, with the hopes of studying Criminology at Cambridge University. He's lived a life of privilege and good fortune as a Marquess, son of the late Duke Tomlinson, with his life mapped out since day one.

Until two terrible truths are revealed.

One, he's adopted.

Two, his biological parents are London's most notorious serial killers.

Against his family's wishes, Louis travels to Chicago to uncover the truth of their incarceration. Much to his dismay, his biological mother's Lawyer, Harry Styles, wants to take his case. Together, they work to uncover what really happened all those years ago, but perhaps more is revealed than they could've ever anticipated. Trapped in a whirlwind of portents and omens, Louis and Harry find themselves pitted against an enemy they'd not foreseen.

9) You Drive Me Crazy (But It Feels Alright) | Teen & Up | 102036 words

“Harry is not short for Harold,” he corrects, his voice as thick as molasses. He lowers his eyes to Louis’ sequined lapels, rubbing one between two fingers. “Is this small or extra small? It looks lovely.”

Louis breaks away from his grip with a petulant huff and pushes him back with two fingers.

“You’re mocking me. Again.”

Harry smiles and it's a real honest swoop of his lips this time. Louis’ stomach swoops with them.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[tegarrianlore]

do you have like, a summary of your oc shipgirls? as in how many there are and how they're related? (maybe even how they look? 👀)

ohhh boi there's a lot of them and for the vast majority i only have small lore bluffs about them (which is intentional as i dont wanna focus on, like. 60 or so OCs. i just wanna have a few be protagonistic). i'm just gonna list some of the OC shipgirls i have below, in no particular order

for the ones who are from completely made-up factions or nations we've got a few interesting ones.

the Pax Tenora-class super-heavy battleships are the epitome of Tenoran shipbuilding. The nation isn't very big nor very populated, so to compensate for that they aim for high-tech. Developed late into the 60s (i just didnt want battleships dying out even if carriers are a thing), Pax Tenora and Oransje Harold are the only members of this class. They are equipped with three quadruple 510mm gun turrets that fire super-heavy shells, have a speed of 31 knots, and a very thick armor belt. This translates into both of them being rather big shipgirls with very noticeable musculature.

the Thule-class battleships are similar in design to the Pax Tenora-class, but overall smaller. Instead of 510mm guns, they have 430mm guns; their armor is weaker and their overall size is much smaller. Despite this, their speed is also 31 knots due to being more antiquated post Great War designs (which ended in 1940). Thule is, usually, the de-facto admiral of the Tenora Basmu fleet; while Mittilagart enjoys being a lone wolf.

DFNV Ulysses is a nuclear-powered super-aircraft carrier, a Priority Research of the Dämmerung Foundation. She is an expert among experts at dealing with the Sirens.

DFNV Irkalla is a heavy cruiser of the Suffragan-class. Despite her hellish appearance - pale skin, deep red eyes, four massive horns sprouting from her head - she is a rather lively and bubbly shipgirl. However, for some reason, the Sirens fear her presence and try to avoid her. Neither Irkalla nor the Foundation knows why.

of the nations every AL player is familiar with (in no particular order)

The Preussen-class is a pair of PR sisters belonging to the Ironblood. Preusen herself is a military genius, single-handledly dealing with all the armed forces of the Ironblood. Großer Kurfürst, however, is not as gifted as her sister; instead prefering to deal with the enemy one-on-one. This is because of the two (in WoWs), Preussen is a decisively better battleship overall, while GK is a brawler first and foremost.

Admiral Nakhimov started as a proposal for converting a Sovetsky Soyuz-class battleship into an aircraft carrier. Like the rest of the Parliament CVs, Nakhimov uses single-attack squadrons that deliver devastating blows; but she's the biggest of the 5 CVs they have (Admiral Serov, Chkalov, Pobeda, Volga and Nakhimov). Nakhimov is an arrogant woman hiding deep self-hatred issues, as she believes herself to be unnecessary among the Parliament fleet.

Kremlin and her sister Slava are a pair of PR battleships. Kremlin utilizes much bigger 457mm guns, while Slava enjoys much more accurate 406mm guns. Kremlin is the right hand of Soyuz, the leader of the fleet when Soyuz can't deploy herself; a bit of a workaholic, she is extremely loyal to the Soyuz-class. Slava is a bit more of an outcast.

Satsuma is part of the larger Yamato-class family. They are all divine kitsunes - Musashi, Yamato, Shinano and Shikishima have massive flooffy tails and all that; however, Satsuma is an oni. A very stupid oni. You can imagine her as female Itto, because that's the main inspiration for her design (yes, with muscles)

CEFV Patrie and CEFV Empereur (you may know her in WoWs as République) are the biggest battleships ever produced by Sarthale, even if they are only PRs. Both are equipped with quadruple 431mm gun turrets, although Patrie is considerably bigger, slower, and more well armored. Empereur is the right hand of the Emperor in many regards, acting as the leader of his anti-anomalous organization. Patrie, however, is a reclusive woman, highly devout to the Church and close to Richelieu.

[demonicallyslaying]

New OC motherfuckers, his name is Leon/Harvey/Harold, (He has many names, it’s different depending on who you are and how you know him!) and he’s the Hive King of a mind hive of human/cyborg things

He’s actually a Hilda OC for once! He gets people to join his mind hive by promising them friendship, protection, knowledge, etc. I guess you could say they got what they asked for ;) He turns them into cyborgs by eating their skin and muscles and replacing them with robotic parts that he collects from junkyards and landfills.

In his debut episode, Hilda and the gang would meet one of the hive minds first, and from there get to meet Leon/Harvey/Harold, where while David and Frida are distracted, he actually almost convinces Hilda to be his “friend” by offering her protection during her dangerous adventures and kind of causes Hilda to have an existential crisis lmao

If anyone’s wondering there’s about 20-50 people in the mind hive :D

@jennidewdroplet

[12-cluh]

UNIQUE PERSONNEL PROFILE

Demographics

Name: William Afton Jr.

Age: 47

Sex/Gender: Male

Country of Origin: The United Kingdom

Occupation: Foundation Scientist at Site 46

Physical Appearance

Eye color: Blue

Skin color: White, slightly pale

Hair color: Black with occasional neon purple highlights

Height: 5’ 9

Weight: 134 pounds

Body type: Underweight

Fitness level: Low

Tattoos: Scars/Birthmarks: 

Disabilities: Small scar above the left eyebrow, small scar on the right forearm

Clothing: White lab coat, black dress shirt, purple tie, black jeans, black boots, white arm wraps.

Accessories: Silver wristwatch on his left wrist.

History

Birth date: March 13, 1976

Place of birth: London, England

Key family members: 

Mother: Margaret Afton

Son: Michael Afton

Affiliations: SCP Foundation, Afton Robotics

Psychological Traits

Personality type: INTJ

Personality traits: Analytical, Reserved, Slightly Sadistic, Quite Psychopathic

Temperament: Melancholic

Introvert/Extrovert: Introvert

Mannerisms: Folds arms when thinking, pauses before responding, 

Educational background: PhD in Robotics

Intelligence: Exceptional

Self-esteem: Mid

Hobbies: Chess, Tinkering, Reading Classic Literature

Skills/Talents: Programming, Theoretical Physics

Morals/Virtues: Questionable

Phobias/Fears: Claustrophobia, Thanatophobia

Flaws: Prioritizes Himself, Selfish, Manipulative

Communication

Languages known: English, Proficient In Spanish and French.

Accent: British

Pitch: A Little Deep, Raspy

Laughter: Echoy, Often Turns Into A Cough

Smile: Wide, Eerie, Scares Many

Strengths, Weaknesses, and Abilities

Physical strengths: Dexterous Hands

Physical weaknesses: Prone to Fatigue, Underweight

Intellectual strengths: Calm, Innovative, High Emotional Understanding

Intellectual weaknesses: Generally Uncharismatic, Awkward in Large Crowds

Interpersonal Strengths: Manipulative, Efficient Leader, 

Interpersonal weaknesses: Tends to Isolate Himself, Always Seems a Bit Off

Magical abilities: N/a, may change if his experiments progress as planned.

Relationships

Lover(s):

Clara Afton (wife)

Parents/Guardians: 

Margaret Afton (mother)[deceased]

William Afton Sr. (father)[deceased]

Children:

Michael Afton (son)

Elizabeth Afton (daughter)

Evan Afton (son)[deceased]

Grandparents: 

Evelyn Thompson Afton (grandmother)[deceased]

Harold Afton (grandfather)[deceased]

Grandchildren: N/a

Pets: N/a

Friends: Nelson Syphus

Enemies: Many he works with do not like him very much.

Mentors/Teachers: Henry Emily (though their relationship was mutual mentors)

Character Growth

Inspiration: Non Applicable

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Character archetype: Psycho Manipulator

Goals: Wishes to discover immortality.

Motivations: To overcome death.

[cataqu33rz]

Worth fighting for

One shot fic (Bubby x Dr. Coomer)

Bubby uses He/him, She/her, and Kye/kyr pronouns. Coomers just He/him in this one

The cyborg might have been more metal than man, but his body was badly damaged in both aspects. His peer couldn't look away from the blood mixing with oil that seeped from the layered skin and metal ripped open from two sizable shotgun bursts. Bubby was paralyzed at the very sight, and he had been shaken before but he locked all that pain and fear away for so long. Fear is what got experiments, more tests and resulted in more deaths and more pressure for the next one to work. Bubbys outstanding endurance and fast thinking is what kept him alive, not the terror of being easily replaced and pressured into working the best he could to prevent more losses for the company. His success was vital to the research at the facility, the very same one that was now in just as many shambles as the only person who gave a shit about him as a person, rather than just another investment.

Kynes' peer, kynes best friend struggling to hold onto life made something inside of kyr just snap and ignite whole new flames within. Kye had proven to multitudes of heartless watchers by hardening kyr heart and mind to feeling, the realization of how much it just doesn't matter anymore. How much more important this man was rather than an entire government opening icey flood gates within kyr.

Reality crumbled around her, as the inferno and blizzard married into excruciating pain she hadnt ever felt before. Bubby knew the Resonance Cascade changed his chemistry, but until now she hadnt had a chance to experience what it really did, and now with so many test subjects before her it seemed that now was a better time than ever to run some experiments.

Control was giving way to emotion as his body moved of its own accord, the stinging ice and hot flesh urging him to release it out of his system. To let instinct take charge. As kye reached a boiling point, the soldiers fear was palpable as some started to tremble at the sight despite having no real reason to fear kyr their own instincts knew that it was fight or flight if they wanted to live. Before any of them could make the first move, Bubby had frozen two soldiers feet to the ground with a wave of kynes hand and using the other shot two clean headshots, initiating combat. This finally spurred the boot boys to take action as guns were raised and fired. Doding their lines of fire, Bubby closing in on a solider grabbing their gun that instantly froze entirely at kyr touch, than using the momentum knocked the gun right at their head flinging them back a good distance. Using the same frozen gun, kye threw it into the gut of another one as kye took care of the next soldier, Bubby kicking their knee in and swinging kyr other foot right at their head, a magnum bullet lodging in their skull killing them for sure. The soldier who had the wind knocked out of them with a frozen solid gun was taken care of by another bullet, and Bubby was already feeling better letting kyr access powers run wild.

The immediate threats were taken care of, and she could drag the wounded scientist behind some cover to recuperate and touch base. It was all a terrible nightmare, the thick oil sure to stain her chilling hands and the smell of his blood never to leave his memory, but nightmares could be real too. The man in her arms opened his mouth to speak, but Bubby swiftly began to shut him down. "If you try to say a goddamn word instead of preserving your energy, I swear to god you will become my meat shield. Got it?" She hadn't meant to scream directly at Harold, and it seemed to surprise him too with his wide eyes looking back at her. The shock passed and a smile graced his face as he reached up to caress Bubby's sharp cheekbone and nodded.

Dr. Coomer might have long lost feeling in his hands, but he didn't need to feel in order to see Bubby's brighter blush spread on his face on top of his already feverish burning skin, which only made him smile with his whole face at the sight. Bubby would later hear on some quiet nights about him committing every detail of the scene to heart, down to his numbing body, because it was the safest he had ever felt before.

The perfect scientist easily swung his friend's body up and over his shoulder, rising and taking fire as he swiftly moved to more cover. Bubby ducked and ran into a clear hallway, explaining the rest of his plan. "I'm not stopping until we either find a med station or the rest of the team." He barked out, not waiting for a confirmation but Dr. Coomer slowly nodded anyways. It pained Bubby to know he was too hurt to lighten the mood, he instead focused on navigating the Black Mesa labyrinth, follow any trail he could find of the team, and forget the feeling of mortal ichor running down his back.

[houseofbrat]

https://www.tumblr.com/houseofbrat/766499753412476928/are-we-still-pretending-william-hasnt-lost

Oh boy, he is lucky that most of the pics that have taken of him are from better angles, lighting, etc. because here, he definitely looks very very thin. No surprised why he decided to grow a beard (that covers the flacid skin over his cheeks, if you paid attention, his skin on that area was making him to look older already). I mean, he definitely suffers a lot of anxiety or else, because even his dad or Camilla look in better shape than him and they have been through similar situations. And for those who say that it’s because he has young children not like C&C, well, that’s the point, that man suffers from anxiety or else because how he is even in worse shape than the two who suffer cancer.

In other news, every trip or engagement he is becoming more insufferable at least with the PR department. I can’t believe that he ‘overshadowed’ his own ‘great project ES’ with an interview talking about his wife, and making himself the biggest victim (even a bigger victim than The King and The Princess of Wales)but was expected, since his ES had even less attention than last year he needed to seek the attention somehow and he knows his wife ‘sells’. Then his lazy and unfortunate comment about not liking responsability 🫣 what the hell, if that was said by the King or Philip, etc, people would have attacked them mercilessly, but because it was Di’s boy, he has a pass. And lastly the one where he say that he wants ‘empathetic’ leadership, what the hell is that? As if his grandmother, his father and his grandfather haven’t been doing exactly that. He is starting to sound just like Harry, and only W’s fans pretend that he is actually the most intelligent man for say such BS, but trust me, if you pay attention to some of Harold’s BS, it’s the same BS that W is saying.

Yup.

I cannot believe that the head of communication department at KP has not been fired yet. Just think over everything that has happened this year including but not limited to the Mother's Day photo and Kate's fall perfume ad.

What other things does their comms guy have to fuck up before they realize they need to get rid of him?

What kind of scandal does the head of Kensington Palace communications need to cause in order to be told his services are no longer needed?

[lynn-707]

Depression-Borg

An AU I wrote abt Melvinborg suffering because I HATE HIM. 🤬

•••

TW: Substance Abuse.

•••

What is Melvin doing in his life? Being a rich-man swimming in gold? His grades, and academic accomplishments as well as his creativity was proven to be useful. His daily life must be easy.

   Firstly, he gets up to take pills for his multiple mental disorders considering the fact he NEVER got into his dream school, and gave up on trying to get in—especially since he feels guilty about killing off George, and Harold. Sure, they were a pain in the ass, as well as made his life miserable, but ever since their death it was quiet. Too quiet...

   When everyone found out who was responsible, people went from sympathizing with Melvin to loathing him. The torment never stopped, so of course he moved to another state to run from his past. Albeit, he did manage to hide from the past, he still gets nightmares about it. Every single dream, it's about atrocious George, and Harold, like they purposefully haunt him.

   Oh, how much he disdains them. The amount of sleepless nights they caused for him, but also any sort of academic opportunities were gone. So what does he do? Drinks away at his problems at a local bar. He isn't too fond of sleeping with strangers, but wouldn't shy away from a stranger asking for his number, especially if they've been at it for a while.

   Sometimes it's a drunk walk home, sometimes he's just too drunk to walk home so he needs a ride, other times he'll pass out of the streets, and sometimes he'll be sober enough to make it home, then proceed to cry himself to sleep. He hates himself for getting so drunk, but at least it numbs the pain that has been there since he was a child.

   Drugs were enticing, though he never took them, same with getting high. He was tempted to try cigarettes—and he did, though he had many problems with it that he decided not to after his first try. Substance abuse aside, he tried to drive home one night after the bartender kicked him out.

Unfortunately, that didn't end too well for him. His hatred for his body somehow increased after the crash. Almost half of his body was burned off, but thankfully he managed to survive. His mom was the only one who came over since his dad was busy off at work. At least what his mom tries to say...

   Her soft, wrinkled skin has eye bags underneath them. Whenever she tried to reassure her son that she still loved him, he didn't believe her. Understandably so because, who would ever love a mentally ill, alcoholic, disabled, lonely, piece of lard as their son? His mom got rid of his mirrors to avoid him getting reminded of his past mistake.

   Even as an old woman, she remained kind to him. She took care of him like he was a sick 6 year old. Her love was unconditional. When strangers gave him weird looks, she would always defend him. Although it took a lot of her energy to do most of his errands, she still did it because she knew how insecure he was about himself. It was nice while she lasted.

   There wasn't much he could do other than reflect on his past lives, and his mistakes. Oh, how he loathed himself. He can't even stand looking himself in the mirror. The fact that his own mom got rid of reflective surfaces for him showed how much she cared, and yet he still found himself being able to see how he looked like, and he hated seeing himself—it was a reminder of his mistakes, a reminder of how he fucked himself up.

   He was tired of having to run from the past, so why not fix it instead? Maybe then, he can finally have a better future...

•••

I can do a part 2 of Depression-Borg if anyone wants. Not too sure about giving him a happy ending because imo he doesn’t deserve one. 😚

[lovelypink2005]

Not me realizing that I've never shared my previous boy here before but-

Meet my CU OC, Hazzy Windward!

He's a 5th grader at Jerome Horwitz Elementary who just moved into the school!

Hazzy never have an actual close friend growing up since each year his family keeps on moving due to his parent's jobs. Lucky for him, they stayed on Piqua for 2 years, making him able to graduate Elementary on Jerome Horwitz, and it gives him time to make an actual friend who eventually became his best friend!

Hazzy was born with a sensitive condition, he could easily get sick, his skin are sensitive to cold and chill wind, hence why he wears winter fit to school during normal days. (Exceptional for Summer, he'll still wear his long sleeves and long pants tho)

Despite hia condition, his favorite season is Winter, because he just thought snows neat!

Oh, and also, he like some bugs! He's always a curious boy when it comes to something new :]

(Side note, he's one year older than George and Harold, so he sure would have heard about them many times, the monster-of-the-week thing would be a "culture shock" for him for sure)