#i have been picturing this scene for so goddamn long you FUCKERS HAVE NO IDEA

[nebuladreamz]

Y̸o̵u̶ ̴f̵o̷u̵n̸d̴ ̴m̵e̷!̵ ̶Y̶o̴u̶ ̵f̷o̷u̵n̶d̸ ̶m̷e̴!̵ ̴Y̴o̷u̶ ̶f̸o̷u̷n̶d̶ ̶m̶e̵!̸ ̵Y̵o̶u̵ ̵f̸o̸u̴n̴d̷ ̵m̸e̴!̵ ̴Y̵o̴u̴ ̴f̸o̸u̸n̸d̵ ̴m̸e̶!̶ ̷Y̷o̵u̵ ̵f̶o̵u̸n̴d̸ ̴m̴e̷!̵ ̶Y̴o̸u̷ ̵f̷o̸u̶n̸d̴ ̶m̴e̶!̷

[the-cult-of-russo]

gotta know how u think billy would be as a dad with his kids :D

I had so many requests for Dad!Billy headcanons 😭

I hope you're ready for this chaotic ramble.

Please remember this is my Billy I'm writing

-

You know those parents who take like a million pictures of their kid and show them to everyone? The kind that talks about their kid nonstop to anyone who'll listen? Their family, friends, the poor random old lady at the store that just wants to buy some damn milk.

That's Billy.

He's such an unbelievably proud parent, his pride for his kids knows no bounds. It doesn't even need to be some kind of milestone worth celebrating, everything his kid does makes him proud. You better believe when his baby has an explosive crap and ruins their clothes, he's boasting about it the next day to Frank and the guys at Anvil.

-

He's incredibly protective. Murder is a possibility if his kids in danger. He wants nothing more than to keep his kids safe. If they're being bullied, it takes all of his willpower to stop himself from kicking the kids ass for doing that to his kid. He's not above picking a fight with the bullies dad though if they don't get their little shit head in check and also making it known to the principle that this shit won't fly with him.

~

"Mr Russo, I don't think you understand how serious this is. Your son broke a kids nose," the principle mutters with a glare.

Billy tilts his head, regarding the teacher with those unsettling eyes that has the old man squirming in his seat.

"You’re damn right he did," Billy replies seriously, a proud tone to his voice. His dark eyes cut to his left where his son is, practically his double. As Billy smirks, unable to help himself, his son wears the same one although he's lowering his head to hide his amusement.

"We don't tolerate that behaviour here, Mr Russo," the principle huffs. Billy's eyes harden then as his eyes narrow, sitting forward in his chair just the right amount to be imposing. The second the man leans back he knows it worked.

"You know what I don't tolerate? My kid bein' bullied. You assholes won't do shit to stop it, so I say let the little fucker get a taste of his own medicine. Serves him right for messin' with a Russo," he smirks wickedly.

~

He teaches them self defence, wanting them to be able to look after themselves if it ever came down to it. Naturally, for their 16th birthday, they're gifted with a big ass knife.

-

Billy as a dad is so stupidly soft.

We all remember the scene from the show, right? Where he's in the hospital with his mom and he says;

"Maybe you did me a solid, you know? I mean, the way I see it, you want weak kids, give 'em everything. But if you... if you want 'em strong... treat 'em hard."

When he has a kid of his own he realises just what utter garbage this is. The idea of all the shit he's been through making him into the tough son of a bitch he is today is born from trauma that he still hasn't dealt with. The way his brain tries to rationalise what he went though. To make it make sense instead of it being so goddamn senseless.

But if he's honest, more than he'd like to admit, he finds himself wondering just what his life would have been like if he grew up in a loving home. What it would be like to feel wanted and cared for. To rise to the top being helped and cheered on by others instead of clawing his way there with bloodied and dirty fingers, the weight of the world bearing down on him as he's beat down at every turn.

He never wants his kids to feel that way. Not even a fraction of how unloved and unwanted he felt. He does everything in his power to make sure they know just how much he cares about them. There's literally nothing he wouldn't do for his kids. They could turn up at home one day and confess to a murder and Billy wouldn't hesitate to ask where the body is so he can handle it for them.

-

Billy is ridiculously sentimental when it comes to his kids. Drawings go up on the fridge and when a new one takes its place, the old one goes into a box of many others that he can't seem to ever throw away. He has multiple pictures of his kids at his office, even some framed cute drawings they did for him. He's kept all the mementos from the pregnancy, birth and onwards. They're his little treasures.

-

Billy is super supportive of everything his kids do. He makes sure they get a good education but he never pushes them to do something they don't want to do. Despite the large college fund he's got for them, if they choose not to go to college, he doesn't pressure them. Instead, whatever hopes and dreams they have, he does everything in his power to support and help them. Whether that's moral and emotional support, money or even breaking a few jaws of people standing in their way.

-

Let's look a little bit at how he is throughout some of the ages of his kid.

Billy with a baby is a sight to behold. No one has ever seen Lieutenant William Russo so goddamn soft. Once he's got hold of his baby, you've got no chance of getting them back off him. You'd have to fight him. He adores holding his little one close, soaking them in. He's constantly holding them no matter what he's doing and baby carriers and wraps are a godsend to him. You'd heard about them from a friend and told Billy and you better believe by the time the baby's born that he's an expert on all things baby wearing. He's a perfectionist and carrying a baby wrong can be dangerous. He makes sure he knows how to do it right.

Just as he has little affectionate touches for you, he has the same for his baby. His large hand stroking their tiny head and little hair. His finger stroking their chubby little cheek. He's a tactile person and touch is grounding for him. It soothes him to do so with his baby and reassures him they're really there and that they're okay.

He's super attentive. Of course he works a lot but as soon as he becomes a dad, he doesn't stay late anymore and makes sure to have days off. The second he comes home, he's making a beeline for his baby, scooping them up with a grin. He loves to read to them, something that continues as they grow up. His weekends used to be restful or if he was feeling like a masochist, he'd work from home. But now weekends are his time to shine. By the time you wake up on a Saturday morning, he's already up with the baby, making you breakfast as he's got the baby attached to him via baby carrier.

As his baby grows into a toddler, each milestone makes him tearful and full of pride. He kisses any booboos that happen and he's constantly playing with his child. He has a pretty silly side to him that most don't get to see. Making his kid laugh and smile brings him the greatest joy.

He loves taking his toddler to the office with him. Everyone dotes on his kid and treats them like royalty.

When they turn into a small child, he watches with a proud smile and amusement as his kid wants to fight with his men, watching them 'beat' the shit out of them. The guys at Anvil are more than happy to very dramatically go down, and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree when the tiny Russo grins smugly at their 'win'.

Their first day at school and Billy's a mess. It's such a turning point and he doesn't know how to deal with how fast their growing up. But every achievement at school, even minor ones, and he's showering them with praise.

He encourages them to work hard and as soft as he might be, he is still the boss. He makes sure they do their homework and don't fall behind on their studies.

One thing Billy loves is teaching his kids stuff. Whether that's mundane stuff to help with school or teaching them shit he knows like survivalist things, because you can never be too prepared, right? He loves helping them with school projects and answering any questions they might have about one of the many things he's knowledgeable about.

When his kids moves onto those hard teenage years, the ones where everything feels so dramatic and world ending, he's a little tougher when it calls for it. Billy is no novice to rebellion, he has a rebellious streak of his own and marches to the beat of his own drum half the time. He respects that. What he doesn't respect or tolerate is behaviour that's going to fuck his kid over in the long run or self sabotage. He will be firm and a hard ass if he needs to be to keep his kids on a path where they don't get hurt or ruin their life.

Billy has a zero tolerance policy on drugs. After the shit with his mother, he won't budge on this. If he finds out his kid is dabbling in drugs, they're grounded until they're old enough to move out.

-

No matter what age his kids are, Billy loves them immensely. He wants to be the father he wished he'd had growing up and he pours all of his anguish and pain from his upbringing into it. Channeling it into the purest form of love for his kids. To break the curse that had hold of him. He won't perpetuate the cycle.

Being a father brings him a sense of completeness and peace he didn't think was possible for him to achieve. It fills the void that's been eating away at his soul from his lack of love as a child and he loves every second of being a parent. Even the hard moments.

-

Bonus:

The Russo's and the Castle's go on monthly camping trips together. Billy loves the outdoors, the mild survivalist feelings he gets from it without the real danger. He loves taking his kids there, teaching them everything. In his role as dad and uncle, he sits around the camp fire at night, the light of the flames dancing along his face as he very theatrically tells the kids a spooky story.

You and his kids are his immediate family but the Castle's are his family too. So he really loves it when you all get to spend time together like that.

[liliesoftherain]

At What Cost?

A/N: I have a bunch of requests to work on-which I am-but I saw a video a while back about a theory saying Bakugou is the second user of AFO and well, this happened! And if you don’t know by now, I’m in LOOOOVE with Ratsuki so I had to make this. Enjoy!

Genre: Angst, sorry not sorry

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Prompt: I kinda used the 57.”I can’t stand the thought of losing you.” Even though it wasn’t planned.

“I’ll do it. Whatever it takes.”

Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest, air leaving your body as you heard the words you so desperately wished you didn’t.

The words you knew needed to be spoken despite the pain you felt.

You could only stare at the man you love as he gazed out on the small crowd of your friends, heroes. This life was a dangerous one, that you have always known. You were ready to risk it all for the lives of the innocent and the heroes alike. You didn’t expect to fall in love with one, especially someone who you were now being told you would never see again.

“Hang on, how can we be so sure? How can we know that this is the right answer!? It doesn’t make sense!” Kirishima tried to reason, a few others agreeing with him.

“Why would Shigaraki be looking for Bakugou if it wasn’t true?” 

“Because he’s got his information mixed up? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“There’s not any evidence that suggests this can be remotely true-”

“I’ve seen him,” Deku spoke up, his face crestfallen at the notion of it all,”I’ve seen Kaachan in line with every other successor. I couldn’t picture him clearly before, but after all of this, I can. There’s no doubt about it, Katsuki Bakugou is the second holder of One for All.”

A silence fell over the group, causing the ringing in your ears to grow louder.

“There’s got to be another way-”

“No, there’s not.”

Kirishima began to tug on his hair, cursing as he walked back and forth in front of the table everyone was sitting at. Midoriya’s frown deepened as he glared at his clenched hands as he listened to Kirishima’s scene. Eri sat next to Deku, looking worriedly up at the hero was to be the main piece to win this war, the one who’d save you all.

Too bad it would cost him his life as he knew it.

“I guess.. If everyone is in agreement, we need to get a hold of that quirk enhancement drug, immediately.” Shoto sighed bitterly, leaving the room once no one made any objections to stop him.

A few others followed him out, till the crowd dimmed out to five.

“Are you sure this is the only way?” Kirishima’s voice held despair, and you had to shut your eyes to not cry.

You were a hero, heroes made sacrifices.

You could not cry.

“I’m sorry.”

Eijirou stormed out in a rage, slamming the door behind him. Your eyes opened at the sound, just in time to see Eri flinch. You place a hand atop of hers, trying your best to stay strong, but you gave a wistful smile instead. Even though she had grown into a wonderful young lady who could use her quirk, you knew she still worried about the repercussions of it. She gave you a sad twitch of her lips back before excusing herself, pushing away from the table and leaving the room.

You three were left in a tense silence, and you weren’t going to be the one to break it. You needed to compose yourself before speaking, otherwise there was a high chance the floodgates behind your eyes would burst and all hell would break loose from there. Looking up, your eyes caught green and the anger slowly started to bubble up and come forth. 

You knew this wasn’t Deku’s fault, but you couldn’t help the feeling. Was it wrong to hope that this hero, one you have trusted for many years, was mistaken? How was he so sure that it was Katsuki he saw? 

How would traveling back to the past, letting him leave behind all of his family and friends, be the answer they were looking for.

“(y/n)-”

You raised a hand to silence him, having heard enough. You stood form your own seated position, hands limp at your side as you just stared blankly ahead. You didn’t want his apology, and he must’ve been hurting just as much as you were. This was his childhood friend after all, growing a stronger bond than you could ever hope to share with the man of your dreams.

You gazed longingly, hoping he would look up and meet your eyes so could commit their color and passion to memory. There was no one who could hold a candle to the greatness of Bakugou, and the fine hero he has become.

The hero you would have to say goodbye to forever.

Your anger melted as the pain took root, growing as tormenting vines which were squeezing your heart till it was to burst in your chest. It was agonizingly painful, and you raised a hand to clutch at your chess in hopes to lessen the pain. 

A futile attempt overall.

“I can’t watch you do this Katsuki.. I can’t watch you give your life away.” Your voice cracked, and while you were hurting before, it was nothing compared to now. 

Talking about it meant it was real, and you didn’t want it to be.

Bakugou finally glanced at you, his emotions unreadable while did so. The staring contest had the air surrounding it growing thick, the intensity almost too much to handle. Yet you weren’t going to back down, not when his life was on the line. 

You were a hero, you were meant to save lives.

You needed to save his.

“Then don’t. Don’t watch me. But I have to do this, you know I do.”

His voice was small but nowhere near frail. He held resolve, one you were hoping to shake.

“Katsuki-”

“(y/n). I have to do this, if not, we’ll all die. Don’t you understand?”

“Of course I understand,” You held your face in your hand and let out a wavering sigh, “I understand, but your life is just as important as anyone else’s-”

“This is my choice. Whether I can come back or not, it doesn’t matter. What matters is-”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter!?” You yelled, the dam breaking as it trailed down your cheeks.

You volume rose as you knocked your chair back, startling both men.

“You fucking matter, Katsuki! This is a suicide mission and you know it, you act like there may be a chance to bring you back, and everyone knows Goddamn well that there isn’t-”

“You fucking think I don’t know that!” He shouted back, silencing you as you shake in your spot from the ever growing anger.

“Obviously not if you’re still willing to throw your life away! We can find another way, we’ve always been able to find another way, we’ve always been able to come out on top!” You were sobbing and screaming at this point, not caring enough to hide it.

“What if we don’t, huh. You say this like you have an idea yourself. There’s no way we stand a chance against this fucker now that he has One for All. He will be fucking indestructible-”

“No one is indestructible-”

“Oh my God, well that fucker is! that would be a suicide mission either way. And if I can save more lives in turn of my own, I’ll do it. Over and over again.”

You wailed out in frustration, your quirk activating as you smashed the table into millions of broken pieces. Izuku had his own tears streaming down his face as he watched you storm across the remains and grab Katsuki by the front of his costume.

“Deku still has it too!,” You smacked said man’s hands away as he tried to ease you away from the grip you had on Katsuki, “No! There’s no reason to do this, we have to try-”

“I WON’T WATCH YOU DIE. I’D GIVE MY OWN LIFE FOR YOURS, OKAY!? I’LL FUCKING LEAVE EVERYONE BEHIND, EVEN THE ONE I LOVE, AS LONG AS THAT MEANS YOUR SAFE.” He screamed in your face, grabbing your upper arms in a tight and painful hold.

Your sobs and his heavy breathing echoed in the room, his eyes being the only thing you could focus on.

You were a hero.

But if you were a hero, why were you being so selfish?

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you.” Your broken voice whispered out as you buried your face into his chest. His broken sigh filled your ears as he pulled your closer, letting his arms drape around you.

“I know.”

Katsuki looked up, having a brief conversation through the eyes with the other member of the room before he held one arm up. 

You felt a weight to your left and glanced to see Deku had joined in, wrapping his arms around the both of you as he cried the hardest. A kiss to your head had you suck in a breath, meeting red once more as love and regret filled them.

You were a hero, 

But at what cost?

[sinkix]

《What your fav Haikyuu!! Character says about you│Nekoma Edition》

Yo-hoo! Here’s another part to this potential(?) series! I hope you enjoy the possible call-outs in some of these lmao. Writers block been kicking my ass recently but I had a lot of fun writing these. Enjoy <3

You can find the Karasuno ver. here 

✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧

Kuroo:

Have a hand fetish and will not say no to choking.

Daddy kink™

Will not accept anything below 6 inches.

More of a dog person but would love to own a black cat.

You drool over tattoos.

Your grades are mostly B’s but you know in your heart you deserve that A, and tbh you probably do. Chase ur goals bby.

Halloween is likely your favourite holiday.

You have to resist not to carve a dick into the pumpkin EvEry GodDAmN YeAr.

You either study for 6 hours consecutively or cannot study at all and you get very frustrated at this.

Have the potential to be a good leader and command the room but probably don’t put it to use as much as you should.

Your playlist parkours from sad 3am crying into your pillow songs to aggressive punk music you could rob a store to.

You like bad boys who hang around bars and look like they would put out a cigarette on your forearm and call you a slut. Just stating facts sweaty xoxo.

Either dress very feminine and girly with a ‘smol girl uwu’ aesthetic or a hardass punk who would kick your ass for a can of beer no in between and tbh both are equally hot.

You’re a big softie at heart either way and just want to be held and told everything will be okay.

Ur a hoe for when people stroke your hair or caress your chin it’s your ultimate weakness.

Watched Rick & Morty.

Twice.

Sleeves rolled up veiny forearms and donning a silver watch are your muse and something you fantasise about frequently.

Most of your memes are shitty top text bottom texts that are somehow funny and I don’t understand why lmao.

You call someone ‘bro’ even if it’s someone you’re immensely attracted to.

Did someone say ties? No it’s just ur dirty ass thoughts thinking about that hot business dudes attire from across the street and how you wish they were tied around ur wrists.

Probably had a crush on Jeff the Killer as a tween and are relentlessly haunted by your old Wattpad library. 

Tbh any dark-haired dude with bedhead that screams rugged and probably not good for you is something that draws you like a moth to a flame.

You often question why every person you’ve fallen for has been a Scorpio and curse that tendency of yours.

Dw man they’re hot so I feel u.

Kenma:

Went through a ‘I’m not like other __’ phase and it’s something that you think about a lot and wish you didn’t.

Watched dan & phil as a kid.

Any mention of Pokemon has you turning into a rabid beast you get way too excited.

It’s cute though dw bby.

Pretty antisocial but interesting to talk to.

Your family often question how you’re able to sleep in till 3pm and judge you heavily for it.

Nocturnal night owl gang rise up.

Frequently have bags under your eyes but somehow manage to pull it off.

Listen to ASMR on the down-low and will never admit it to a single soul.

Frequently go on BL binges and have many related book marks.

You pray that someone will never find your laptop bc holy fuck the amount of smut on that.

You wear scarves & beanies even when it isn’t that cold outside.

100% went through a scene hair phase/attempted to.

You dye your hair a lot or REALLY want to.

You have a voice kink low-key so anyone with a pleasant/soothing sounding voice just gets u goin’.

Cats are your favourite animal and you either do or want to own several.

Would name them after video game/anime characters u fuckin nerd lol.

Speaking of cats ,you fantasise heavily about cat-boys and have a folder dedicated to them.

Oversized hoodies are your vibe and always ball the sleeve hems in your fist as a comfort mechanism.

Shopping centres are your worst nightmare and trigger your claustrophobia or social anxiety and honestly I feel that spiritually.

Have a cute sticky note collection.

You like a lot of music consisting of guitar and slow/soothing beats.

You also fw EDM/ techno on occasions.

Honestly wouldn’t wanna anger you since you have a seething temper when pushed far enough.

It’s the kinda temper that’s eerily quiet but no less terrifying, like the other person can tell you are graphically plotting their demise.

You love sleeping to the sound of rainfall and often play those nature ambience videos while you sleep.

Never tidy your sheets and it’s just a big scrunched up heap of fabric in the centre of your mattress most of the time.

Make your fucking bed.

Lev:

Your ships are chaotic and shamelessly controversial.

Would do something just for the sake of creating mayhem lmao.

You were the fucker who stuck their chewing gum under the desk, I see you.

Your brain never stops whirring it’s a constant hurricane of crackhead energy and you have no idea how to turn it off. 

Would eat a stick of pencil lead for $2

You don’t help your situation with the amount of coffee/energy drinks you consume.

The class clown who cries themselves to sleep.

Such a wholesome dumbass but somehow kinda intimidating??? 

Even if you’re not confident you can do something you’ll try anyway and honestly I respect that about you.

You !! use!!! a lot??!! of!! random punctuation!!! so you always??!?!? seem!!111!! excited!!!!!11!?

Every time you’ve ever tried to make a sandcastle it has failed.

You tried to eat the sand once but we don’t talk bout that.

You would  also pick up slugs and snails and chase your friends around with them.

Can never tell whether people are laughing with you or at you and while you don’t let it show it high-key bothers you when you’re laying alone in your room at night.

Not one to hold grudges, you carry a ‘shit happens’ mentality which is v good but it sometimes leads to people taking advantage of it or walking all over you.

Your meme collection is both questionable and horrifying.

Like how many cursed images and heavily distorted pictures does one person need.

Never organise the files on your PC/laptop so it looks like a complete dumpster fire.

The one at sleepovers who persistently woke everyone else up with their snickering and refusal to sleep till dawn.

For the love of Asahi charge your damn phone.

I see that red bar and ‘12%’

Charge it now.

Bought a plant one time, gave it a name and talked to it frequently.

It died not long after bc u forgot to fucking water it.

No one better ever make you responsible for a pet.

Type of person that when someone asks you to tag along on an endeavour no matter how stupid it is you will agree.

2am skydiving in france? hell yeah.

Midnight shopping spree and spending over half your pay check? count you in.

Exploring an abandoned hospital and performing an Ouija board to summon the demons of hell? you’re damn right you’ll be there.

I hope you have a mum friend by your side bc if not how are you still alive.

You sometimes put the milk in before the cereal and it’s something I’ll never forgive you for.

Yaku:

Very responsible and usually make the right decisions.

You do have moments where you act like a complete dumbass though.

Like u go from 50 year old to 5 year old in the blink of an eye.

A hopeless romantic but it’s a side you don’t often reveal.

Prefer strawberry milk over any other flavour.

You’re the type of person to shower twice a day w/o fail.

Where that stank smell coming from? Not you clearly bc your skin is basically 90% The Body Shop’s rose scented soap at this point.

You get stomach aches a lot and you can’t figure out why.

Probably an allergy to everyone’s bs.

Really good at dirty talk even though you don’t seem the type so people are always taken aback.

You have to be really in the mood though otherwise it falls flatter than Oikawa’s ass, use your skill wisely.

You often call people clowns when you know you’re secretly the biggest one going.

Honk honk, hoe.

You send messages in one paragraph rather than multiple texts unless you are REALLY excited.

People underestimate you at times then are shocked when they realise you are capable of being a fire-breathing dragon from the flaming pits of hell.

You like spicy chicken wings.

Such a petty little shit at times lmao.

Enjoy the view from the top of mountains so you either hike a lot or really want to.

Way more of a cat person since it’s just much more convenient for you.

Usually pretty cheerful or calm and people are drawn to your stable/friendly aura.

Went through a phase of drinking mountain dew and your body still feels the awful effects

Fav element is probably air.

You’re 5′6″ or shorter.

Box dyed your hair brunette several times and can never get the pigment out to this day.

Yamamoto:

Whenever you smell something weird in the room you always internally freak out and think it’s you.

Head-butting walls is your hobby.

You fell off your bike as a kid and still have the scar on your knee.

Probably have tons of ear piercings.

Would tame a pigeon and call it Larry.

You get frequent nosebleeds and can never tell if it’s a medical issue or your extreme simping for fictional men/women.

Hopefully the latter.

You constantly chew your pen/pencil in class so you never lend them to anyone out of embarrassment.

I really hope no one ever lends you stationery bc 30 minutes later it’ll look like it was mauled by a rabid rottweiler.

You really want to own a dog and would call it something intimidating like Banshee or Diablo.

You bleached your hair that one time and it almost fell out so now you’re forced to stay at least 10 metres away from all at-home hair dye products.

You tried your best though bby so A for effort, even if it did look like dehydrated ramen afterwards.

Your grades are mostly C’s and you’re barely passing bc you just don’t care about your classes lol.

Still though you’re actually pretty smart so put it to good use you lazy oaf, channel that crackhead energy into something good.

Your phone screen has several cracks in it from when you dropped it on the bathroom floor while shitting and you’ll always be angry at yourself for that.

You have some really weird quirks but you make it work.

Actually a v chill person but you just kinda attract chaos/trouble wherever you go.

Carry a lighter with you even when you don’t need one.

Shy texter but once people see you irl you are the complete opposite, you just dk how to text without coming across as awkward.

One of those people that’s unintentionally funny and always get confused when you make someone laugh but it makes you feel good regardless.

Have a cool necklace collection and own at least one dog-tag/army style pendant.

Should really consider buying a rabbit you would look so cute w/ one.

You have really nice legs and people should compliment them more.

Either severely dehydrated or overly hydrated to the point you are peeing pure tap water so for the love of god please learn moderation, your kidneys and bladder will thank you for it.

Inuoka:

Your favourite character would be Hinata but you like people taller than you so your love for Inuoka spawned.

You really enjoy using the double spiderman meme.

Cannot correctly verbalise your feelings without creating a minimum of 10 misunderstandings but once people are used to it it’s kinda endearing.

You usually wake up in a good mood and people can never fathom how or why.

You either stay up till 5am or you wake up at that time no in between.

A morning person bc you love the sunrise.

Change your lock-screen very regularly bc you get bored.

Your humour consists solely of poop jokes.

When you don’t understand a joke you laugh anyway and hope they don’t ask you if you actually get it.

Happened once and you’re still traumatised from the cricket silence that fell upon the room.

Really like the taste of lemonade and drink it more often than you should.

Often think about what you would look like with a shaved head.

More of an extrovert but def have occasional introvert tendencies where you wanna be left tf alone.

Never allowed to pick up anything in stores bc the last time you did you sniffed a scented candle and it shattered to the floor.

Constantly have spontaneous ideas of what to change about your appearance.

You use a lot of hand gestures like thumbs up and peace signs.

‘Dude’ and ‘lmao’ is 90% of your vernacular.

Your nails are a disaster, some are down to the nub while others are pretty grown out bc you only bite a select few please sort it out.

Look really good in red.

Your laptop has way too many tabs open from random google searches of words you didn’t know the meaning to.

You read a lot of books but for like 10 minutes at a time bc you have the attention span of a walnut.

You are the type of person to nuke your AO3 tags with things that aren’t even relevant purely bc you found them funny.

Your Tumblr drafts are a nightmare, you have like 100+ in the works yet keep starting new projects why do you do this.

Happy sunshine but you have a LOT of mood swings like that shit comes out of nowhere.

Cry pretty often but no one ever sees and it’s usually because of said mood swings.

You always smile and pick yourself up again though which I commend you for.

TYPES IN CAPITALS IN SITUATIONS THAT DO NOT REQUIRE SAID PUNCTUATION SO YOU SEEM LIKE YOU’RE YELLING ALL THE TIME.

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 19 - In Which Jack and Charles Secure Planning Permission and Max Micromanages

Mary had liked several of Charles's photographs of Jack and the workroom and the half-finished fashions enough to post them to Instagram. And she'd liked the photograph of Charles all decked out in silk and countless jewels enough to use it as the title page for a more formal press announcement of the upcoming fashion show. The word “DECADENCE” is emblazoned across a glossy version of the picture in a stark, masculine font.

And then, in slightly smaller font underneath: Jack Rackham – Fall/Winter 2009.

His name. His name. Not quite in lights, but there, for everyone to see. For everyone to know that he is the one who did this. That these accomplishments are his.

Not that he did it all himself, of course. Mary's role is obvious. Christine is indispensable. And it's Charles's face on the cover of his press release.

The may have called Charles his muse as a joke. It seems like the sort of thing a flamboyant fashion designer would call his favorite booty call. Just the right side of pretentiously obfuscating for the older guard who might not be ready for the party boy persona they've both adopted.

But the honest truth is that Jack's come to rely on Charles in a way he hadn't quite expected for this con.

It's not exactly in Chaz's wheelhouse, is the thing. But he's worked hard to learn skills outside bashing skulls, just as Anne has.

Not that he doesn't do plenty of that as well. And gotten some good information out of it. But he's more than the street thug he'd been for so long. And Jack can't say he misses those days – not when the days they have now are so much easier.

So much less full of fear and strife and poverty.

It's almost like an extended holiday, the way they live now. All getting to pretend they're rich and soft and genteel. Getting to walk among the special, the exalted, the beautiful people. The ones with titles and money and pedigree. The ones with names that mean something.

Well now Jack's name means something too.

And not through an accident of birth. Through cleverness and planning. Through luck, of course, but also through plain hard work. Something those gilded, pampered elite would never understand.

--

Charles has been given a slight reprieve in lugging armoires around. The old Hennessy house has been emptied of all the furniture, finally, and Mary's light rigs have all been installed. All the walls repainted and all the pictures of grand empty rooms taken.

But then Max sees the reaction the upper crust have to those pictures. All the ruined grandeur on display, just to be knocked over to make way for progress, for new ways of making money – they fucking love it, the rich brainless investment fuckers.

So now Max wants to take advantage of that greed she's awoken in the elitist twits in thousand pound suites. That desire for wealth, for faded grandeur, for a past of riches and glory and conquest. But brought into the future. Brought into the now. So they can pretend England isn't just some pretentious backwater with delusions of grandeur, with visions of glory (that was never all that glorious) long past.

So Mary decides, yeah, it would be a fucking great idea to do a little promotional photo shoot of all the models for Jack's fashion show in the house, before it gets demolished. Jewel bright clothes, sparkling gems, enough gold to sink a fucking warship, all juxtaposed – that'd been the word she'd used - all fucking juxtaposed against the backdrop of the ruined townhouse.

So Jack'd worked like a fiend to get the clothes ready. And Charles's break is over.

Now he gets to lug around garment bags and makeup trunks and jewelry chests and even more light rigs – all to be placed precisely where Mary dictates, and moved with the changing light or her changing whims. All that shit's fucking heavy. And Anne's no help this time because she's been set to wrangling all the models and making sure they're properly primped and preened and posed for the photos. All under Max and Mary's watchful eyes.

Cuz Max has apparently decided that she wants to have her hand in things personally.

Not that she hadn't kept things well in hand with Jack's other fashion show – finding the models, organizing the behind the scenes contracts. Setting Idelle up with Featherstone.

But now she's actually telling Mary how she wants the pictures to look. Or more specifically, that she wants some big fancy painting in all the shots. Not the whole paining, though. Just pieces of it. Enough to tantalize, to excite, but not to show the goods.

There's even a picture where the models are holding it at the front of the shot, but it's covered by a lacy black cloth, all except for one corner, which pokes out like a whore's ankle in some repressed 1700s pin up.

Charles thinks the whole thing's fucking unnecessary. Who gives a shit if there's a painting showing too much or too little in the shot? Why does he have to be the one to move it over and over again – sometimes millimeter by fucking millimeter – until Max deems it just right? He's got other things to do with his day, thank you very fucking much.

Like pretending to be Jack's ditsy muscular boytoy, and all the hours in the gym and gossiping by the pool that takes to maintain. He better get another fucking break when all this shit is over.

--

With investors sniffing at Max's skirts like rabid jackals, ready to rip each other apart for a chance at the Hennessy townhouse, Jack broaches the topic of planning permission to Councilor Featherstone. And he does it over dinner in a private room at a restaurant where the esteemed councilor could never have gotten a reservation – and especially not on such short notice. Because for all that he has power. For all that he attends all the right clubs – the same clubs Jack himself attends. Well, the councilor's a bit of a social outcast. A bit of a dud in the personality department.

Whereas Jack is all glib charm and meaningless flirtation. Jack knows how to play the sort of high society games that result in the private table on nearly no notice that the councilor is currently enjoying.

What is it they say? Always come to the negotiating table with the outcome already certain? Well, Jack's doing his damnedest to stack the deck in his favor. And if a little show of how well connected he is, how much more he belongs in this world of high-society fops and casual displays of obscene wealth, is what it takes to get Max her planning permission, then Jack will wine and dine Featherstone at the goddamn Ritz if he has to.

Although the slightly less-upscale, though no less entrenched in British upper-class hegemony, restaurant he's chosen for tonight seems to be doing the trick well enough. Councilor Featherstone is looking around with ill disguised awe.

If he were slightly more uncouth, Jack imagines his jaw would be actually agape at all the gilt and velvet and fine linens and sparkling crystal. As it is, it's more than obvious Jack has introduced him to a style of dining out that he's never experienced before. Perfect.

The entire point of this little excursion is to underline to Councilor Featherstone what a... fruitful... relationship they can have. All Jack's connections and wealth at the councilor's fingertips – and all he needs to do is pass the occasional planning permission for a project that otherwise may have languished in limbo for years. And to that end, Charles is doing his considerable best to bring the conversation around to where Jack needs it to go, namely planning permission for the Hennessy house.

A conversation that demonstrates that Charles has become considerably more subtle than Jack ever believed him capable of.

And perhaps that is an oversight on Jack's own part. Him never deigning to look past Charles's rough and unpolished exterior to hidden – really very well hidden – depths. Known for a straightforward style of smash and grab, Charles has really developed a mind for strategy of late. And something of a silver tongue, though it doesn't come close to rivaling Jack's own.

At any rate, Jack appreciates his efforts. Lord Hamilton may have been willing to come right out and ask for little favors, so assured of his power and his place in the London hierarchy he would eschew subtlety entirely - but there's such a thing as being too forward.

Jack finds that method rather gauche. And the last thing he wishes to be is gauche.

Plus, Jack would rather have the councilor's regard – his friendship, even if it is a tad one-sided – than his fear purchased compliance. Because fear may breed deference in the short term, but it leads to chafing at the yoke in the long run. And Councilor Featherstone didn't get to where he is today by being a complete pushover.

So Charles is sitting in this opulent private dining room, as the councilor sips champagne and enjoys expensive hors d'oeuvres, chatting to Idelle about a spa he went to with some of his “friends” from the health club. Which isn't even a lie. Charles had in fact attended a quote girls day unquote at an upscale spa courtesy of one of the women who lounges poolside and looks over her designer sunglasses at the tanned skin Charles is so very unconcerned with putting on display.

The fact that it was a nude spa may have had something to do with Charles being invited. But it sounds as if Charles had a nice enough time. Or at least he's talking it up to Idelle, who makes suitable sounds of impressed jealousy as the story unfolds. Commenting that she'd rather like to be taken to something like that – perhaps on a date?

Personally, Jack would pay enormous amounts of money to not see Featherstone in the alltogether – but Idelle is a consummate professional and lets no sign of displeasure at the idea show. Maybe Max ought to consider giving her a raise. Jack resolves to raise the issue once planning permission has been secured. Speaking of -

“The only thing,” Charles says, voice measured to ensure that Councilor Featherstone is paying the utmost attention. “The only thing I didn't particularly care for was how crowded the spa was.”

“Indeed,” Jack butts in, “that hardly sounds relaxing. Being surrounded by all the teeming masses.”

“Oh, the actual spa part was lovely. So relaxing after a long, hectic week...”

Jack can see Councilor Featherstone's scoffing disbelief that Charles could have anything resembling a hectic week – his schedule filled with nothing more than lounging in various decorous poses on various expensive surfaces, as far as the councilor is aware. But he has some long, hectic weeks at work...

“But as soon as you're back in the more public areas, all that work at relaxing and destressing – gone!”

“Oh, how terrible!” Idelle exclaims with just the right amount of dramatic disbelief.

“And it was supposed to be one of the more exclusive spa packages as well. You think money would go a bit further nowadays, is all,” Charles finishes. And now all that's left to do is set up the pitch...

Right on cue, Idelle chimes in with, “Too bad there isn't a more private spa. Someplace intimate.” The last is directed at Featherstone, who's blushing and looks primed for the sell.

“Funny you should mention that,” Jack says causally – but not too casually. That's the key. They have to think you're playing them a little so they won't look too deeply at how you're actually playing them. “I happen to have a friend who's looking to start up a little boutique hotel spa. You know where the Hennessy townhouse is?”

The councilor nods, although Jack doubts he was ever actually invited there.

“Well, my friend got it for a song. They were looking to move to warmer climes, you know. And she got an excellent deal for the whole package – house and furniture and everything. Which turned out to be a good thing! The whole place was falling apart, if you can believe. Just completely structurally unsound.” Jack says the last part as if it's the most boring thing in the world.

“So anyway, she's looking to rebuild. Plenty of investors already lined up around the block, of course. And there's mixed zoning, you know. And she doesn't exactly need yet another house to sit empty and eat up heating costs. Plus the cleaning service – you know how much they'll gauge you.”

Pretending that the councilor has a maid service – when Jack knows for certain he doesn't, which is why he doesn't entertain at home much – is another stab at just how different he is from the upper crust.

“Yes, of course,” Councilor Featherstone responds. “They'll take an arm and a leg.”

“So she came on the idea of the hotel and spa. For the country set, or celebrities, or whoever wants a little privacy when visiting the city.” Rich men with mistresses. Government officials with less than acceptable girlfriends. Whoever.

“That sounds lovely,” Idelle chimes in. “Perhaps we might do a spa day there sometime, dear.”

“Oh. Oh I don't know,” the councilor responds, obviously thinking of the enormous price tag attached to something like that.

“We could do a double date,” Charles gushes. “Oh, Idelle! What an excellent idea!”

“Oh, I'm certain I could arrange something like that,” Jack is quick to assure the increasingly panicked looking councilor. “Given that the proposal comes from a close personal friend. I imagine I can talk her into pulling a few strings with whoever purchases the building so we get first crack at it.”

A delicate pause. Calculated to be just enough to let the councilor experience euphoric relief that his problem has been solved - that Jack has been the one to solve it – before bringing it all crashing down.

“Of course, that's assuming the project moves forward any time in the next decade. You of all people know what London real estate is like.”

“You said the lot was zoned for mixed use?” Featherstone asks desperately. He's so close to giving Idelle her heart's desire of the current moment and he can see it slipping away.

Jack nods.

He's not even lying. There are several businesses on that street dating to just after the Great London Fire that necessitate the designation. Plus one unbearably posh cupcake bakery charging upwards of a tenner for a single cupcake.

“Well, then it should be no problem. I can even take a look at everything personally - just to make sure it's all in order, of course.”

“Oh, darling!” Idelle exclaims rapturously. “Would you?”

“Of course, dear. Anything for you.”

Perfect.

Charles grins at Jack, wolflike. And then steers the conversation to other idle gossip about the rich and famous.

Best not to let the councilor dwell too long on what just happened.

[themanicgalaxy]

SPN 4X19 Jump the Shark

Oh hey is this the illegitimate brother plotline

boy I love me some sweet sweet ANGST

whelp she's fucking dead

picture of JOHN?

Sam's peacefully brushing his teeth and Dean's Not a Morning Person

boy he's having a bad morning

to be fair, living out of the car is kinda not fun either

"I'm his son" Dean: I'm gonna fUCKING KIL-

he's..premed?

they're going to ruin his life too aren't they, Aren't The-

Dean is taking this really well

I mean he did get the brunt of John's Issues, so I get it, yike

ASDFPIHP them discussing their dad's ~sex life~ is very funny though

Dean was...preteen? when this kid was born? Sam was under ten definitely

Dean Please

No that's your Actual Brother guys PLEASE

hunting accident "ah fair enough"

"who is a nuclear family these days" FEELS SO LOADED

Dean...Dean please don't fUCKING KILL HIM DEAN

THE IMPALA NOOO

"he took you to a baseball game" IDSFHAPF

He's Trying not to CRY OH MY GOD NO WAIT

Sam resonates with the away from college thing oh NO

Dean is trying SO HARD not to snap

at least he's...trying..to keep adam out

corpse snatching => HEY LOOK IT's THE BONE STEALING WIT-

I think I need to stop being online jesus christ

the [both sigh] was so good

well...that's a lot of blood

How the hell do you break it to your illegitimate brother that you're ~technically Wanted by the FBI

at least he's not an idiot

HE'S SO MUCH YOUNGER THAN THEY ARE

I mean obligatory dead mom

"do i get a say in this?" "NO!"

no..no SAM DEAN HAS A POINT

Middle sibling + younger sibling gang up on elder

"have u thought about eternity" "bro i've literally been to hell Idk what to tell u"

Dean doing it solo but Sad is...:(

Oh he worked the old case, that's neat

"so it's over for you" welllllll

OO THE TRUCK SHOT WAS COOL

dean + long dark coat truthing tonight HE LOOKS G O O D

it wants revenge

YOU FUCKERS AND YOUR REVENGE BELA WAS R I G H T

and Adam Instantly wants revenge, you sir are definitely a Winchester

"it's life" WELL IT SHOULDn'T BE

the stupid isolationism I hate it

NO GO CONNECT WITH PEOPLE KRIPKE WHY

Sam's becoming his dad, and Dean isn't

...SAM WHAT THE FUCK

DAD MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT DO RIGHT BY YOU

HIS GODDAMN GRIEF SPIRAL GOT BOTH OF YOU

LET HIM BE NORMAL! HAPPY! IT IS TOO LATE FOR YOU RIGHT NOW(NOT ALWAYS)(Also very close to the thing with zachariah in placement(eye emojis) BUT LEAVE HIM ALONE!

I do appreciate Dean Eldest Sibling'ed it up even if he didn't like the kid/was jealous. Goddammit I wish we got connection in this stupid show

I was expecting a jump scare but somehow the squish is worse

sOn oF aBitcH

Ah FUCK NOT ADAM TOO

I do like the little angel Icon though, that's what's Dean's way out

Ghouls is a racist term?what????

no john winchester was 100% a monster

ah it was their father

yada yada father killing circle idk

YAY! DEAN'S INGENUITY IS BACK!

Ghoul!mom is really really good. I liked Scared Adam better though

the slicing sam scene is BRUTAL jesus christ

So...John got his own son killed in the end...

SERIOUSLY HE WAS TERRIBLE

Dean JESUS CHRIST

awww caring Dean is nice

AWW HUNTER'S FUNERAL

"Adam's in a better place" :(

Dean tried to fit himself into the Dad box, Sam's actually him

"you take it any way you want" oh for FUC- HE- I-

he looked so Sad, so like...he's stopped idolizing him

jesus christ.

boy there's gonna be overlap ok here we go.

1. poor dean. Ok couple things: 1) he elder sibling'ed it SO HARd! he didn't even like Adam, but he still tried to keep him safe(I think). he gave him a hunter's funeral! I just. It was nice to see. It was also INCREDIBLY painful to hear the realization of "you were always like dad, I never could be" and the fact that he didn't even see it as a good thing anymore? fUCK man, that huRT me. Dean tried so hard to be something he wasn't, he got probably the brunt of the abuse(because he didn't measure up to that metric like Sam always would), and in the end all it got him was...just. so much pain. Like it felt like John left his Broken children behind to get a new one, and just turned them into his quest for revenge. It was SO So fucked

Hey actually speaking of

2. AM I SUPPOSED TO LIKE BEING A HUNTER/JOHN? WHAT HTE FUCK?

YALL ALREADY MARTYRED HIM BUT UR MAKING HIM WORSE?

LIKE ok listen. John's kinda set up as the ideal of hunting. They martyred him! And I was halfway sold provided they didn't mention him again. Then! he did this thing where he abandoned his kids, seeing them only as tools to fulfill his quest for revenge, literally broke them(that too late thing+zachariah saying "it's in your blood" when really it was just trained from a young age), got a NEW family he treated a lot better. I just. I have...NO idea how I'm supposed to see him as a good guy here. Maybe I just kin Dean, or his plight is WAY more sympathetic(it is, Sam is kinda pissing me off), but John's just...coming off worse and worse and they KEEP doing it!

Also! this whole cycle of revenge thing! about how if you keep taking an eye for an eye, everyone ends up blind! they barely escaped this time, and I think this was the second revenge plot that I can think of with MONSTERS alone! it was a BIG theme! Like!! hunting sucks! revenge makes you end up in worse places! it's like this one episode was made to show how SHIT hunting was!

wait who wrote this

Dabb+lofflin. The hunting sucks always comes from-

this GODDAMN INCONSISTE-

3. Fuck John Winchester

4. Individualism. Ok this is a big one. Alongside the whole revenge plot thing(which is BIG, and a hunting sucks), this one drove home the sheer individuality of hunting. But while some of the writers see that as Badass, this one made it seem lonely, and painful. Like the flip side to American Individualism is American Chronic Loneliness. I know this one was used to process the ennui of the post recession/post 9/11 time, and it's doing very well for that, but it kinda ends up like this show is EVERYONE'S therapy all at once! the gang's all here! and we're gonna traumatize you in the process as well.

EDIT: and yeah yeah yada yada american individualism is King and then so is it’s accompanying loneliness in the post 9/11 post war in iraq post recession world(we were not having fun in 08/09)

and I get that this show is the writer’s therapy and whatever

(I just thing this is phrased better)

5. bring him back. Connect! Look. I know it breaks the core ethos of this episode. But having Weird Esoteric Hunter siblings would have been SO FUNNY!

give me more sibling content! Sam+Adam teaming up against the Eldest Sibling Dean WAS SO FUNNY! I WANT MORE OF THAT

6. SAM WHAT THE FU-. Look. I hate John. I very much hate John. They set up the Sam/Dean dichotomy in regards to John first episode, and Sam acting more like an ass+like his dad is. Not making me like him. Also I feel like this was written to sympathize with Dean. Which makes the finale even more ironic, I feel.

7. Listen. Listen. One of you has to keep track of continuity. Like I know this becomes a WAY bigger problem later in the series, but if a certain writer wants to process/examine a certain part of the Life/Story(and they should, they set up a lot of interesting stuff), they have to keep track! Because then the show becomes everything all at once.

Like this show has ALREADY started feeling like fanfic of itself, where it just kinda does whatever it wants with its own concepts. And the concepts are GREAT! but you can TELL how inconsistent it is, even in the kripke era

like it ends up being Study of X, Riff on X! and I think that's where the inconsistency comes from. It's also why it's so fucking Excellent in places.

whelp this was a lot holy hell.

OH AND ONE MORE THING!

Bela didn't fit the narrative. That's why they didn't like her. I said at the beginning that an Int'l art thief does NOT fit the vibe of "grungy Angsty American Midwestern gothic" and I was right. With the lucifer story and the vibe she didn't fit, and so they just killed her as foreshadowing, and only used her like that. God I wish they'd riffed on her, especially because her callouts were all completely correct

we're Bela Salting again

listen she was preppy Jack Sparrow with some spiritualism, how dare you tell me not to like her.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Hi, could you consider? Jason Voorhees x reader thing where the reader was Jasons friend before he died and now they visit the camp every year to pay their respects on the aniversity of his death and they sorta rekindle their friendship after a while?

I tried to go with big events or staples in Jason’s life ^^ But my knowledge of Friday the 13th movies is… a bit limited… my bad.  I hope you like it anyway!! I hope its what you wanted ^^

1958 (Reader and Jason are like, 12 here): 

When I… saw him, I was scared. At first. Not of him exactly, I don’t think at least, but of the entire situation. He was supposed to be dead, and things that are alive after that are never showed in a sweet light. Vampires, zombies, ghosts.

But then he held my hand like he always would and gently lead me to his old cabin, where apparently, he was still living. I felt happy, I gave him the picture I drew him, and he smiled at me. I thought he could come home with me now, and everything would be okay! But… something was different about it all. His hands were always cold, but now they felt freezing. He spoke even less then he used to, as well. And the cabin was dirty, and he couldn’t possibly live here comfortably.

And then, I asked him to come back with me and mum. “Its okay! Jason, now we can go back home, and you won’t have to live here! We can still be friends! I’ve missed you.”

He gives me a tiny smile back, but awkwardly pulls his icy hand away from me. Shaking his head, he steps back and sits on his mother old bed. Which is mouldy and where the sheets to be white, are brown now. So, I don’t sit with him. “I… can’t go… “

My heart sinks, because of something worse than disappointment. “But… you can’t live here!” There’s no food, or clean water, or proper shelter! And… no parents. The idea is insane!

I watch while his fingers clench into the mattress his mother used to sleep on, and feel a dull, slow realisation dawn on me. Like when you’re three days from having to go back to school after a wonderful holiday. “M-my… my mum… “ I look up him with wide, furrowed eyes while thinking about all his changes. He died, even though its hard to believe, looking at him. The cold isn’t bothering him, in some places moss from the water still clung to him in some places, he was comfortable in this place that I couldn’t ever stay in no matter how much someone paid me. He’s changed so much… to the point where, weirdly, he fits here. And I can’t think of a thing that I could say or do to change his mind.

For the first time in my life I feel completely, wholly helpless. There’s nothing I could ever do, to… save him. His eyes are duller than they were when… we were friends… and he’s not him anymore. Even though it look, and feels like him. My friend Jason is gone.

He’s gone somewhere I can’t follow him.

1983: 

Awkwardly, I purse my lips, looking around at the forest while Jason carves into some wood, bored himself. I think that’s the piece of wood he was working on last year. “Okay… well, bye Jason.” I have been waiting for this all day! I want nothing but to leave Jason and get back to my family, the people I chose. It no longer feels like a choice to see Jason, even if it only once a year.

Its not like he makes me, its more that I force myself to come because I have my whole life since he died and if I couldn’t handle the guilt if I left him alone on his anniversary day one year. It used to be nice, when once a year my mum would drive me up and here and I would get to see my friend, even if it was different and weird. But soon enough, somewhere between high school and getting married, it became a burden. Because, really, what do we have in common?? Nothing. Why are we dragging this on, when all we have in common is history? History means very little when theirs no good memories to give it substance.

Oh… shit. Even thinking that sentence in my head felt bad. Of course, there were good memories… but its been so long since we’ve made a new one that I’ve forgotten what it felt like. What little I do remember, from when we little, feels made up. That’s how little it surfaces now.

As I pat his shoulder and get up from the porch where we were sitting for 4 hours -Four long, painful hours, - I accidentally wobble a bit and get a glimpse of the back of his head on accident. For a moment I keep going, getting to my feet and turning to walk off to my car, before I realise that what I just saw was not normal. People do not have dents like that in the back their head. Well, I mean, some people with the same condition Jason has sometimes do, but he was not born with this particular depression. I whip back around, surprising him and look shocked at him. “What the hell is that!?” He grunts, and shifts uncomfortably at that because he doesn’t talk anymore, and I soften my look a tiny bit in apology, knowing he doesn’t like swearing. “Right, sorry.” I roll my eyes. “But what is that crater in the back of your head Jason?!”

He sighs, deeply and shrugs.

“No, don’t you give me that. What is it? You bang your head on a branch or something??”

Not sure how a branch would make that kind of dent, but, it works to get the ball rolling. Maybe he’ll think the idea is so ridiculous that he communicates to me what it was just to set me straight. He does think I’m kind of ridiculous.

Yea, because he’s a hobo recluse who lives in the forest all alone, so he’s wiser apparently.

I watch him roll his eyes, before thumping on away from the cabin, leaving me alone abruptly, before coming back with an axe which is… not comforting. I glance from it to him and back again a few times, and he just rolls his eyes and shakes his head again.

Then he holds it up to thoroughly show me, causing me to notice the blood on it, then touches it to the dent. Finally, he grabs my hand -his is still cold as fuck, -, and holds it to his chest. Where there’s no heartbeat.

“What?” At first, I don’t get it at all, scrunching up nose in obvious confusion.

Then… slowly… it dawns on me. I gasp. “Who hit you in the head with an axe??!” He was already pretty dead, but this is new. Can’t say I feel surprised at all that he can live without a heartbeat, seeing as he survived drowning when he was 11, but this is new, at least.

Now he’s really gone somewhere I can’t follow. And can’t relate to.

2003:

I don’t know how long I’ve been out for, but it can’t be long when I open my eyes -the word a little blurred at first. The only things I can make out being a giant dark looking thing that could be a rock looking very still and another, brighter coloured one jumping on it.

Eventually those figures turn into Jason and that fucker that slashed me, - because they’re both still there near me. As far as I can see from the fight, as I get up from the earth and leaves and little twigs and dirt drop off my clothes and the wounds across my abdomen hurt like hell, is that Freddy’s doing most of the fighting, but Jason isn’t taking much damage. Good… okay… what can I do… I think, as I look around for a weapon.

Gadzooks! It’s my lucky day. Behind them, near me, I catch sight of Jason’s machete. He must have dropped it… Works for me.

On my way over to them, watching to see if either of them notice me back up on my feet, I pick up the weapon. Luckily, I’m pretty sure they both think I’m dead. So, it’s that much sweeter when I reach them and tighten my grip on the very long, sharp sword thing. Then I grit my teeth and ram the disagreeable thing into someone even more disagreeable.

Jason watches with a sense of surprise that I’m only just able to pick up on, because I know him so well, and a tiny flutter of a smile crosses my, probably terrible looking at the moment, face. “You couldn’t get rid of me when you died, and you certainly won’t just because I do.” I say, out of breath. These two may be immortal with the freaken stamina of 30-year old’s but I, am an old woman now. And kicking ass takes a bit out of me. Being too smart to drop the machete, instead roughly pulling it out of the sweater-wearers spine and walk with a slight limp, away from the scene. God, fucking… I really, almost died just then. And it feels like it. Where’s my phone? I need a goddamn ambulance.

Freddy, still alive I’m sure - a stab in the back is not going to keep him down, but I figure it’ll handicap him enough for Jason to take a good lead, - slips to his knees and I listen to the sweet melody of him groaning in pain as I hobble over to a considerably clearer area of earth, to sit down on and assess my injuries. “Bitch… “

Serves him right, the bastard. There are three deep scratches in my stomach, thoroughly ruining my one good white shirt, and making me a little woozy due to the blood loss. I look up from them to Jason, who’s staring at me in worry instead of finishing the fight. To reassure him, I flash a bigger smile and nod, gesturing for him to go on. “I’m fine, Jason. It’s okay. I’ll be waiting right here when you’re done.”

“Yeah- Hockey Puck -Fight hard for your girlfriend, heh heh,”

I look back down at my wounds and start thinking about what I need to do about them, ignoring the goblin completely. I hear a terrible, raspy gasp and then some screaming, and I know Jason’s thrown Freddy somewhere again.

An hour later, I’ve watched the teenagers leave, the group now cut cleanly in half and wait patiently, anxiously for Jason to come back too. The longer I wait, the worse I feel. dread fills up every part of my body that isn’t already full with pain from my wounds and a plain, dull, aching fear and I’m suddenly struck in the face with the thought that maybe Jason won’t come back. Maybe he’ll really lose this time.

He’s never fought someone like him before. This whole time I thought he was some invincible, super monster but, what if by monster standards he’s not??

I’ve never really felt the worry I’m feeling now. Not since he drowned, the first time. All these years after I’ve just coasted along with him, visiting once a year and forgetting about him the rest. It was like a chore, like something I had to do.

But now I’m afraid to death that he’s actually gone, and I’m stuck, stewing in the fact that I care about him. He’s an old friend, I love him. He can’t… he can’t die first. I’m the weak human!

I can’t believe I’m only realising this now. What an absolute idiot.

Just as I’m pushing myself up to my feet, to go searching in the direction he went in, I hear familiar, heavy footsteps and nearly damn well cry suddenly with immense relief. I sit back down, heavily and hide my face in my knees once I’ve seen him, trudging towards me. He looks so bad, but… animated. And that’s the main thing.

Ohhhh my god…

I feel the behemoth of a zombie, familiar to me in every sense of the word, like childhood, teenage, young adult, middle aged, and every other kind of memory put into one sit down on the grass with me. I peak up at him and can’t help the smile on my lips, tugging at the corners of my lips as the sun starts to come up over Camp Crystal Lake.

Sighing in relief, I explain my reaction to his return. “You’re okay?”

He nods, and raises 5 thick fingers to my stomach in question. I take his hand in mine, instead of leaving it to hang, and it feels good. “That’s fine. I’ll be okay. Thank you for asking, Jason.”

He curls his hand around mine in turn, as I lie down on the lush green grass, and try to rest. Finally, things feel alright again.

My eyes fall gently closed. Now I’ll go somewhere he can’t follow me. He’s never been good at death.

[hettiesworld]

War and Peace (and Love)

Pairing: Sergeant William (Will) James x OC

Summary: Corporal Joslyn Woods has been transferred to the Delta Camp and she has to work with the bomb disposal unit, consisting of Specialist Eldridge, Sergeant Sanborn and Sergeant James. She is the first female to be put on a bomb disposal unit in Iraq and her duty is to keep James safe from snipers and gunmen, willing to attack James.

During the 365 days of being with them, Woods develops feelings for James after the ‘loss’ of the kid who sold DVDs to James, also known as Beckham. She is there to comfort him and support him throughout the rest of the days.

Warning(s): Spoilers for the movie, angst, strong language, mature themes.

A/n: This is finally the second chapter of this series! Can’t wait for you guys to read it! Some of the gifs are not mine. Credit to the owners.

Chapter 2:

363 days left in Iraq. 

There was a car left in the town centre with a bomb in it. It was in front of a United Nations building. Joslyn, Sanborn, Eldridge and their leader, Sergeant James arrived at their location. 

All of the citizens were being evacuated as Joslyn helped James into the bomb disposal suit. She didn’t want to but Sanborn and Eldridge were too busy, doing their own thing. Joslyn was trying to make herself busy putting James’s suit on.

“I’m too old for this shit.” James muttered to himself. Joslyn didn’t reply, still making herself busy with his suit. She picked up his helmet, giving it to him and letting him attach it onto himself. She picked up her gun and slung it on her back.

“What? No words of encouragement?” James shouted after her as she had her back towards him. Joslyn rolled her eyes and shouted back, “Don’t die!”

James rolled his eyes and walked toward the car, which suddenly became engulfed in flames. James walked back and got out a fire extinguisher from the humvee. He then walked back to put out the fire and began to examine the car while Eldridge, Sanborn and Joslyn took up their positions as lookouts.

James opened the trunk and found several of the same type of artillery shells he'd seen the day before. 

The desert of Israel was covered in rolling hills. Wind stirred up the wispy sand and the sun’s never ending rays beaten down on him mercilessly. Salty sweat rolled off James’s nose and stung his eyes. The suit was overwhelmingly hot and sticky. After a few moments, he takes his bomb suit off completely, knowing it won't protect him.

“What are you fuckin’ doing?” Joslyn demanded. She was the nearest lookout to James as he finally took off the helmet. “And don’t tell me it’s because of the hot weather!”

James, once again, rolled his eyes and conceded, “There's enough bang in there to send us all to Jesus. I'm gonna die, I wanna die comfortable.”

Joslyn looked over to the car and a bomb canister that James uncovered, which was poking out of the driver’s side of the car. There was enough explosive in the car to kill everyone nearby, including her teammates, even if they took cover. She sighed and said to Sanborn over the comms, “James is taking off his bomb suit.”

“What? Why?”

“I saw. There are a lot of canisters there to blow us up or something. I don’t know. Ask James or something.”

James disarmed the shells and began to search the car for the triggering device, a process that took several minutes. At one point, Sanborn tried to talk to him through a headset.

But all he did was tell him to fuck off.

So, he pulled it off and threw it aside.

A few more very tense minutes passed as James searched the car. Sanborn and Eldridge noticed several groups of Iraqis watching them from rooftops and from a minaret. They also saw a man filming the incident with a video camera. At the car, James finally found the triggering device and detached it. 

“You done?” Joslyn asked him.

James replied with a thumb up but quickly turned into a middle finger.

When he returned to the Hummer, he lit a cigarette and was promptly hit in the face by Sanborn.

“You could’ve gotten us killed, you fucker. Don’t do it again.”

He was angry that James, yet again, refused to acknowledge him or any questions he had. James appeared strangely unoffended, nor was he angry at Sanborn.

Joslyn strutted up to him, taking the cigarette out of his hand and stubbed it out. “No.”

“What the fuck?” James snapped, crossing his arms at Joslyn.

“They’re bad for you.” She claimed, also taking his whole box of the deadly things and putting them in her pocket.

“And why do you care?” 

“I’m responsible for your health and safety. That means you need to stop smoking.”

“You’re not my mom!” Accused James, pointing a finger at her. Joslyn sighed and put down his finger with her hand.

“Yeah? Well, it’s my duty to not get you killed. Whether you like it or not. And by the way, I don’t like this either. So, we both have to suck up and get on with it. Okay?” Joslyn walked off.

Before James could stop her, a colonel on the scene approached James and was clearly impressed with James’s steady nerves and ability to handle such a crisis.

Back at the base perimeter, Sergeant James confronted Beckham, who sells pirated DVDs to the soldiers. 

“I want my five bucks back, buddy.”

“Five dollars for what, man? You crazy now?”

“Yeah. The DVD you sold me was crap.”

“You crazy, man. That's impossible. It's Hollywood special effects.”

“No. It was shaky. It was out of focus, buddy.”

“What, you want donkey porn?”

“It's crap.”

“Girls on dog? Gay sex, man? Anything you want, you get. I hook you up, man.”

Joslyn was also at the base perimeter, looking over at Beckham and James. She then realised why they hated each other so much.

It’s because they had a crush on each other. Maybe?

He was handsome from the depth of his eyes to the gentle expressions of his voice.

“I'm gonna buy another DVD, okay? But... if it's shaky - look at me - or out of focus, or any way not 100%, I'm gonna chop off your goddamn head with a dull knife. How do you feel about... I'm just kidding, I'm just kidding.”

James handed over some money and continued saying to Beckham, “Here. You're a good kid.”

James was amused as he hugged the kid’s head. “You're a good kid, aren't ya?”

He told Beckham he could keep the money if he was able to block a shot at the makeshift goal area which was set up.

The man looked like he played soccer for his entire life. Under that uniform was a lithe body that knew how to play and his face backed that up. Within his light tanned face are eyes that twinkle. In just moments of Beckham trying to hustle James further, he broke into a boyish grin.

Beckham blocked the shot and James agreed to buy another movie from him, mildly threatening him if it's defective.

After the team went out to the desert to detonate some of the explosives they've collected on missions (and James recklessly leaving his gloves at the blast zone), she did say to Sanborn that he should stop acting so childish to the idea of blowing James up. She would have agreed to that idea, but not after James’s interaction with Beckham earlier. 

The incident with the Brits and the snipers in the middle of the desert seemed to form a stronger bond between Joslyn and her teammates. Having found that they can actually work well together as a team, they celebrate at James' housing unit.

They took turns pounding each other in the chest and drinking. Joslyn, on the other hand, was sitting in a nearby chair (which was quite comfortable). She rolled her eyes at her teammates’ antics.

By then, they were discussing why James seems to be such a maverick teammate and how he got into their line of work, James shows them a box of parts he's collected from nearly every bomb he's disarmed.

“This box is full of stuff that almost killed me.”

Sanborn saw a picture in James’s box that he got out. “Who’s that?” Sanborn pointed at the photo. James took it out and looked at it.

“That's my son. He's ' tough little bastard. Nothin' like me.”

“You mean to tell me you married?”

“Well, you know, I had a girlfriend and, uh, she got pregnant, so we got married, and we got divorced... or, you know, I thought we got divorced. I mean, she's still living in the house and she says we're still together, so I... I don't know --” 

James paused and got out an engagement ring.

“-- what does that make her? I don't know.”

“Dumb... for still being with your ass.” Sanborn replied, chuckling at him.

James kicked at Sanborn. “Hey! She ain't fucking dumb, all right? She left me, that’s all. We’re not together anymore.”

That’s when it hit Joslyn. It hit her hard. 

Her ex boyfriend’s words, in her head, were like nails and hammers breaking her heart apart, all over again. Her heartbreak was grief that came in waves, gruelling, stealing appetite and sleep alike. It was a shard in her guts that never left, though perhaps in time the edges will dull.

After Sanborn and Eldridge left, Joslyn kept sitting in the chair.

“You still here?” James pondered, as he closed the door and made his way towards his bed, putting the box back under it.

“Yeah…” Joslyn replied, knees up to her face, hugging herself close. 

“You okay?” James pondered again, walking over to Joslyn, sitting next to her.

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“I guess I wasn’t expecting --” 

Her bottom lip quivered, the same as a baby pushed past endurance. Her eyes became glacier blue under the sheen of water, constant. 

She then started to cry.

“Hey. Hey. Why are you crying?” James asked her, knowing what to do straightaway. 

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, gently rubbing her arm. Despite the heaviness in her stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of her body pressed against his. She sunk into the warmth of his side, appreciative of the simple gesture. His touch made the room warmer somehow.

“I don’t know. I guess your story about your ex-wife and your son reminded me of my ex-boyfriend.”

His fingers were long and slender, easily rubbing her arm, as if casual wind fluttering across the surface of sand and shifting it into motion so easily. Unlike others' his fingers were thin and frail, shaped by prominent phalange bones and knotted where the joints curled around the ends of each long and short bone in his hands. There was no muscle tone or fat definition and his skin was only the layer of dust so fine over the polished white underneath.

“I’m sorry.”

Joslyn bit her lip, eyes everywhere but on James. Then he moved closer with those eyes that look so deeply into her own.

They both knew it was coming.

James held her gently, cupping her face with one hand, also wiping her tears with his thumb. He leaned down and softly kissed the tender area at the base of her neck. Joslyn’s body went rigid with surprise as trembles shook her body and the euphoric warmth blossomed within her once more. Joslyn was breathless with delight as he showered her with gentle, soft kisses, each with its own flicker of warmth. Joslyn gazed up at him, thrilled beyond words to be the recipient of his affection. He drew back again and spent a moment studying her face.

“Thank you," he said in barely more than a whisper.

"For what?" She replied.

"For being you." His voice wavered, exhilarated from the tension between them.

Joslyn felt her blush deepen under his scrutiny. James gazed at her lovingly, his eyes softening with tenderness before sparking with something else. He tilted her head to the side and kissed her, his lips demanding. Joslyn felt a smoldering heat deep within her as James’s grip tightened, crushing her body to his, gentle yet firm. He slanted her head further, deepening the kiss.

He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her up close against his chest. His hand gently glided through her hair, as he looked at her in a way he had never looked at a girl before. Her eyes were candles in that night, their light a spark of passion... desire. As a small but teasing smile crept upon her face, goosebumps lined her skin, not the kind that one got in the cold, but the kind one gets when nothing else matters except right here, right now.

--------------------

Taglist:

@ilovebrandt​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ @sarabeth72​ @archerybitch68​ @dreamlesswonder86​ @carissime72​ @yavanna80​ @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho​ @axelwolf8109​ @fizzytaurus​ @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory​

[vannminner]

Two Hundred and Twenty-One Thoughts I Had During The Avengers: Endgame

(Ordering.. loosely based on memory. Spoilers DEFINITELY included, as well as some serious profanity)

Aw fuck. Yeah, Hawkeye- is he dead? Shit, well his family is now. That's sad..

 TONY'S TEACHING NEBULA HOW TO PLAY A GAME. That's good. Thanos was a really shitty father who only ripped her apart and taught her how to enslave and murder mass populations. Bitch deserves a childhood. Ha! And she's competitive... Go figure.

I know Tony's going to die, but shit, really? They're going to do this is the first ten minutes?!

Aw, Tony's dead! Fuck! Wait- what's that!? Oh, that's the Marvel chick! Crap, I knew I should have watched that fucking movie first... 

Groot and Neb's hand holding.. my god... so THIS is how this movie is going to go...

Well, Tony's still a prick. Space didn't change him. Didn't we see this tantrum in Civil War? Or was that Iron Man II? ...wait, now that I think about it, boy whines A LOT. 

I feel bad harping on Tony. He totally has to die to save the planet- circa: “I shouldn’t be alive, unless it was for a reason, I know what I have to do, and I know it is right.” He's my favorite character and he was alone for, like, five years. Tony deserves more respect. 

THANOS IS DEAD. Yeah.. this makes sense... what's the rest of the fucking movie about?

Five year time jump, really? REALLY? You should have made us wait longer for this movie, then. 

What even are The Avengers doing? Oh, okay bye, Captain Marvel. We didn't need you anyway...

HOLY FUCK ANT MAN!? DUDE! Where did you come from? OH OH! Your kid's alive!? That's super cool. But dammit, yeah, get your ass back to headquarters. You've got shit to erase! 

Oh... and you know how? Okay cool...That's a good save on your irrelevant Avengers plot line.

TONY HAS A KID!? HOLY FUCK! NOOO TONY AND PEPPER MAN MY FUCKING HEART IS BLEEDING!

You want Tony to what now?! But his kid! SHIT. This is, like, not good. He's going to erase his kid with this shotty time travel idea. FUCCCKKKKK....

Or not... I get it Tony, but I don't believe you. See you in a few days. 

I love you three thousand. ughhhh just kill me.

Haha... Hulk. What the fuck are you?! This, this REALLY? This is the best of both worlds... okay... okay... settle down Hannah Montana. OH! And you're, like, some weird-ass celebrity now? Cool.

Did we really just watch a two minute scene about NOT taking a picture with Ant Man? No one likes Ant Man. Sorry not sorry Paul Rudd. 

Haha- Little Paul Rudd... Haha- Old Paul Rudd... Okay, really? This has gone on too long. Ha- and he pissed himself... cool. 

TONY HERE TO SAVE THE WORLD BECAUSE HE'S THE ONE TRUE GENIUS. FUCK YES BITCH. 

See, told you we'd see him in a few days. 

Hawkeye is, like, a hitman now? Makes sense...

THOR IS FAT. OMG THOR IS FAT. A DRUNK TOO, BUT OMG THOR IS FAT.

Fiancé in my ear: "They got a lot of shit for this apparently... fat shaming"

OMG THIS IS HILARIOUS THOR IS A FAT DRUNK WHO PLAYS VIDEO GAMES ALL DAY. IT ME!??? HAHA Comedic relief while everyone is trying to figure out time-travel and quantum whatever. Haha, Thor, you've finally after ten years redeemed yourself for me. 

Yeah, time travel practice-run with the depressed guy. AW HAWKEYE'S KID.. oh..and he's back.. yeah.. this wasn't painful for NO FUCKING REASON.

Okay, let's do this. I am tired of waiting... go go go go go. GO TO THE PAST. 

Wait, where the fuck is everyone going again? 

Oh, New York, cool cool, OH SHIT WAIT... Like, THIS New York. FUCK MAN. WE ARE REALLY BRINGING IT BACK.

Hahahaha Hulk smash.. kinda.. ugh.. man, level-headed Hulk is, like "I'm trying man. He won't come out!"- all over again. FUCK THIS IS FUNNY.

Wait, okay, Captain and Tony going to the- OH SHIT LOKI, okay, I remember now.. man I should have fucking rewatched all these movies. My ADD IS KILLING me right now. 

We're not close to three hours yet, are we?? ARE WE?? *checks clock* okay, good, good, proceed... 

Okay, Asgard, got it, got it... HAHAHA Fat-Thor, this will never get old, and Rocket.. this should be interesting... 

Settle down, Thor.. Jesus, how the mighty have fallen.... 

Wait Nebula, who else knows the stone is here!? WHAT'S GOING ON. DON'T BE OMINOUS, BITCH. OUT WITH IT. 

 It's Thanos. It's definitely Thanos. 

Ohhh OMG GUARDIANS YES. YOU DANCE, STARLORD. YOU DANCE. ... wait... he looks insane dancing to no music. THIS IS GOLD, MY FRIENDS, PURE FUCKING GOLD. 

OH FUCK NO. Black Widow and Hawkeye are going there?! Shit.. I know what this means. Wait.. I KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS! NOOOOOOO NATASHA AND HAWKEYE.

Hulk's just over here talking to Tilda, whatever her name is, like, wanna grab a cup of coffee and chit-chat a while?! BITCH, THIS IS YOUR FAULT. GIVE HIM THE DAMN STON- oh shit, now he is out of his body. PLOT TWIST. PUT HIM BACK YOU MONSTER! WE ARE ALREADY OPERATING AT HALF CAPACITY HERE!

Okay, New York. Got this... Wait, which one is which? I can tell which Iron Man, is which... because well, Tony has issues with LEAVING SHIT ALONE. 

Hahaha Hulk and the stairs. 

America's ass? Really.. 

I'm pretty sure Scar Jo has America's ass. 

Okay, Loki, yup, okay.. and sweet talking Captain. We got this.

HAIL HYDRA. I AM DEAD.

I kinda forgot Antman was here... OH GROSS GET OUT OF TONY! What the fuck are you doing in there!

IF Tony dies in the past? What happens in the future... THIS SHIT IS SO CONFUSING. I HATE TIME TRAVEL.

Past Tony is dead?

Is this part of the plan?

Oh, sorry, jumped the gun... He's okay. 

HAHA THOR HAMMERING TONY'S HEART!

HAHAHA HULK AND THE STAIRS!

Loki, what are yo- FUCKING LOKI. Wait, what? FUCK. COME BACK. WHY DO YOU ALWAYS FUCK EVERYTHING UP YOU SPINELESS, DEMONIC, SPACE-MAN, YOU?!

FUCK IT WAS THANOS. BITCH TURN OFF YOUR BRAIN. NEBULA YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING- wait, what is happening?! 

Okay, we got two stones, right? RHODES HAS THAT STONE, RIGHT?

YES BITCH! NEBULA BETRAYED YOU. YOU'RE LITERALLY THE WORST PERSON (person?) EVER, THANOS. FUCKING DAMMIT.

Wait, we're going where now? I am confused. WHAT THE FUCK IS IN JERSEY. THERE'S NOTHING IN JERSEY! I CAN SAY THIS SHIT BECAUSE I AM FROM CONNECTICUT AND DRIVING THROUGH JERSEY IS THE WORST PART OF ANY SOUTHERN DIRECTED DRIVE!

OH... Jersey... ohhhhhh... okay.

Is that?! OMG IS THAT HOWARD STARK?!

Your name is Howard? Really, Tony.. really? ...Howard...Potts...

WOW I DIDN'T KNOW HOW MUCH I WANTED THIS, BUT NOW IT'S HAPPENING AND OMG. HUG OR SOMETHING! THAT IS YOUR FATHER TONY! UGH. I am already too emotional for this..

Wait, how long has this movie been on so far? Don't check, don't check, don't check....

Thor literally has the bloody easiest job. Like hug your mom, sneak a peek at Nat. Port, and take the stone? What did they need Rocket for?! He should be with Nebula, WHERE HE WOULD BE FUCKING USEFUL!

Hulk's still just talking to Tilda, what's her name. YES BITCH DOCTOR STRANGE WAS A DOUCE. NOW GIVE HIM THE DAMN ST- okay, thank you. Job well done, Tilda. See you, probably never again...

Nebula vs. Nebula?! Bitch was such a suck up. This is ridiculous. Is this really Canon?!

Okay yeah, appease your demented father. NEW-NEBULA! SPIT IT THE FUCK OUT. "THANOS KILLS YOU GAMORA! HE LITERALLY THROWS YOU OFF A-"

NO NO THE CLIFF.

FUCK ME. Who is this.. okay.. Hawkeye has kids, but Black Widow is a female. What is going to... wait, what are they even talking about? Has someone made a decision yet? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT. STOP TALKING IN CIRCLES BOTH OF YOU. ONLY ONE HAS TO DIE. BE SMART ABOUT THIS. IF YOU BOTH GO DOW-

-Oh no Hawkeye-

-Oh no Black Widow

Wait.. 

...now I'm...

No.. okay, Black Widow... That's sad...

What a waste of a really good butt. 

PEGGY CARTER. FUCK MY FUCKING HEART MAN.

Are we good to go yet? We got the stones, and some more magic potion... I kinda forgot we needed that, but that's good... that's good...

STARK HUGS! FTFW.

We're home!

Guys, that's not Nebula! THAT'S NOT FUCKING NEBULA. Okay, we're just going to ignore the fact that her arms are different and-

Yes guys, it's sad, Black Widow is dead... I'm sad too, but GUYS, COME THE FUCK ON. WE'VE GOT SHIT TO DO! STONE, SNAP, BRING BACK, TAKE OUT NEBULA BECAUSE SHE'S A BITCH!

Hulk is made for this. Really? Really guys? Because that looks like it belongs to Tony's suit. ARE WE REALLY IGNORING-

OH... oh shit... it's fine guys, the hand grows. 

OH FUCK HE SNAPPED. 

DID IT WORK?! DID IT WORK?!

DID IT FUCKING-

ANSWER THE PHONE!!!!

ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE! WHO IS FUCKING CALL-

OMG! HIS WIFE! HAWKEYE! AHHH. IT WORKED! WAIT- WHAT THE-

Wait.

What is?

OMG WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING?

OMG WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING.

FUCKING- WHAT?!

Thanos. FUCKING, Thanos. 

Shit, where's the hand?! WHERE ARE THE FUCKING STONES.

Wait who has them?

Where is everyone?!

OMG THEY'RE DROWNING!

I can't even remember who is here right now.. 

Is everyone alive? 

Where are the other avengers? WHAT IS- Nebula, seriously, go home. You're ruining this. APPEASE DADDY YOU BITCH.

Sure, cool... Thanos why don't you just pop your happy ass down on that rock. Take a fucking load off. Have a good rest... because... IF YOU'VE FORGOTTEN, YOU HAVEN'T EVEN DONE ANYTHING IN THIS TIMELINE YET, YOU LAZY PIECE OF-

Wait, that's actually kinda badass.

You're just sitting there hanging out and-

OH GOD WHAT ARE THOSE THINGS?! FUCKING MUTANT GIANT ALIEN BUGS!

RUN HAWKEYE RUN!

THEY'RE STILL DROWNING! GODDAMN, DO SOMETHING USEFUL FOR ONCE, ANTMAN, INSTEAD OF THROWING OUT THEORIES THAT YOU CAN'T EVEN HELP EXECUTE! HURRY, FUCKER, HURRY!

Thanos vs. Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor. Okay, I don't understand how this isn't over in, like, two seconds...

Seriously, what makes this Thanos guy so badass? 

Like what is his secret? 

Maybe it's Maybelline? 

Fucking Thanos...

SHIT WE ALL GUNNA DIE!

TONY! IS THIS... is this it? Are we-

Are we dead now?

That's right, Gamora. Help your fucking SISTER!

Did Nebula just commit suicide?

That's awkward... 

Seriously, is no one going to say how painfully awkward that was to watch?

NOO TONY!  

NOO CAP-!

HOLY SHIT WE ARE SO OUT NUMBERED! FUCKING THANOS.

WHAT IS-

Oh...my god.

OH MY GOD!

THEY'RE HERE! THEY'RE FUCKING HERE!

OH MY GOOD, ALL THAT IS HOLY, GOD!!

Is that, IT IS! STARLORD!

BLACK PANTHER!

GROOT! HOLY SHIT, YOU GIANT TREE, YOU. I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH!

Wait, where is- SPIDERMAN! YASSS YOU, WEB-SWINGING, LITTLE BASTARD, YOU. I TOTALLY HATED YOU BEFORE YOU DIED AND I REGRET THAT NOW. IM SO FUCKING SORRY.

IS THAT PEPPER-FUCKING-STARK, MAN!?

GIANT-ASS ANT-MAN. I take back whatever I said about you before. SQUISH THANOS’ ARMY LIKE THE TINY SPINELESS BUGS THAT THEY ARE!

Is that... insensitive?

Seriously, how are you guys still losing?! WHAT IS THANOS!? FUCKING GOD. THAT'S WHAT- HOW ARE YOU ALL SO USELESS RIGHT NOW?!

SPIDERMAN AND IRON MAN!

DOCTOR STANGE DID THE SPARKELY CIRCLE. Omg, I am dead.

THIS IS NICE! HUGS. Holy fuck. MY FUCKING HEART.

GAMORA! But wait, Q, that's not...

OUCH! FUCKING NUT-KICK ON POINT.

HAHAHAHA- yes, Gamora, that's the one... HAHAHA

Yeah, Doctor Strange is a prick Tony, we know this. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T TELL US? I swear to fucking god I'm coming for you Cumberbatch if this doesn't fucking work-

HOW ARE WE STILL LOSING?! YOU HAVE THE FULL-SPAN OF THE AVENGERS, AND A FUCKING BADASS WAKANDA ARMY, AND YOU ARE STILL LOSING. 

This is like one badass game of keep-away.

Seriously, though... of all the games we learned as kids, THIS is the one we're going with?

HOW ABOUT HIDE THE FUCKING HAND SOMEWHERE ELSE FAR FUCKING AWAY FROM THANOS.

OH SHIT SPACESHIP FIRE!!!

OH SHIT WATER!!!!

Water? Really?

STRANGE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! What is that thing!? Now, use it! PUSH IT! Dammit, okay, cool, just stand there holding a giant ass water weapon that you could be throwing at Thanos' giant-ass head!

Are we all dead yet?

How long has this movie been on for?

Don't fucking look, MEGHAN.

GROOT AND ROCKET- OH MY FUCKING GOD.

WHAT IS THE SPACE SHIP SHOOTING AT!? WHAT THE-

FUCKING C. MARVEL. REALLY. DAMN, YOU FIERCE BITCH! 

Oh, oh, look at you, girl! Go girl, go! You put down that blue-faced mongrel. 

FEMALE MONTAGE. FUCKING FUCK, HOLY HELL, FUCKING A.

SHIT! OH DAMN... Those stones... how did I forget about the stones again. FUCKING! DON'T LET HIM PUT IT ON!!! 

Seriously, we are fixing a car right now?? Is this really important?? I feel like this can wait until after Thanos is dead. 

Someone call DCF... what the fuck did Thanos just do to Spiderman?

DAMMIT! HE PUT IT ON. 

GET IT OFF HIM CM! DON'T LET HIM-

Oh jeez, he made CM look like a ragdoll.Oh... more ragdolls...

WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING. WHY CAN'T I KEEP UP WITH THIS BULL-SHIT.

WHO IS DEAD? IS ANYONE DEAD? WHAT THE FUCK?!

SHIT THE GLOVE IS ON AGAIN! 

How did we not learn the first time, NOT to let that happen.

WAIT! GO TONY GO TONY GO!

NOOO TONY NOOO TONY NO.

Wait, I'm pretty sure I saw those stones fall off...

HE SNAPPED. 

Deep breath... nothing.. ha.. Thanos you little grumpy bitch.

Stones-

TONY HAS THE STONES!

BITCH, YOU KNEW THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN!

YOU'RE TELLING ME YOU JUST HAD FUCKING HOLES READY FOR FIVE INFINITY STONES SET INTO YOUR FUCKING IRON MAN ARMOR THE WHOLE ENTIRE TIME!? WHAT THE-

Yes baby, YOU are Iron Man.

SIT THE FUCK DOWN THANOS.

YOU BLOW AWAY IN THE WIND, BITCH. 

BLOW

BYE BITCH, BYE!

No... Tony....

Peter fucking Parker.. no.

God no, what the fuck. I didn't need this. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark"- just... fucking kill me.

SOMEONE CALL PEPPER! HER HUSBAND IS-

Oh, hi Pepper...

Jesus Christ. 

WERE GOING TO BE OKAY. REST NOW, TONY! OMG. Seriously, just kill me. OMG ... WHAT THE FUCK.

FUCKING EMOTIONS.

Wait, did we win? I forgot to pay attention.

Has anyone seen Groot in a minute? How is my giant fucking ficus doing?

HOW LONG HAS THIS MOVIE BEEN ON?

Do we have to watch them put the stones back? I really hope not. I cannot take anymore stress tonight.

I LOVE YOU THREE THOUSAND.

FUCK ME. 

TONY HAS A HEART... and mine is having palpitations.

OMG EVERYONE'S HERE! WE CELEBRATE YOU, TONY STARK.

 IS THAT- OH GOD, ALL THAT IS HOLY. IT IS! HARLEY OMG!

WE'RE CONNECTED. 

YOUR DAD IS A PUSSY, BUT WE ARE CONNECTED.

God, this fucking hurts.

Happy and MORGAN. What the fuck. 

CHEESEBURGERS?! YOU WANT FUCKING CHEESEBURGERS?! OF COURSE YOU FUCKING DO.

As if my emotions weren't compromised enough already... 

Thor giving his throne up to a badass- FUCK YEAH HE IS. 

Fucking really, Wanda and Hawkeye. Shit. I give up. I'm just going to sit here now....

I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOU CAPTAIN AMERICA. JUST PUT THE STONES BACK SO I CAN LEAVE THIS GODDAM THEATRE AND DROWN MYSELF IN WINE. 

Oh... you're old now, Captain...

This makes sense.

Wait, does this make sense?

Weren't you like frozen or something? Did that just not happen? I fucking hate time travel. 

Oh, and you married Peggy. 

Is that really the end? Seriously. WHAT.

OMG... THIS CREDIT MONTAGE. WHAT THE-

OH IT CHANGED.

HOLY FUCK. GOODBYE TO THE FIRST GENERATION! I AM CRYING.

NATASHA. SCAR JO.. OMG. I LOVE YOU.

TONY. 

Fucking Robert Downey Jr, I love you man. Thank you for 12 brilliant years. FUCK. I need a nap.

[cyrelia-j]

[fic preview] Wheel Cage (original)

Based off of Tim Ransom’s John Dunn character [super loosely since it’s only a 5 minute scene] the following is a preview prologue of a 2nd person POV story I couldn’t resist starting. You may recall a story idea I mentioned from the spotlight on that character so this is that fleshed out!

Title: Wheel Cage

Genre: Drama/Suspense/Romance/Horror

Summary: With the world well on its way to a zombie filled hell, retired ATF agent Ed Miller is cashing out early. That is, with a little help from his son Isaac, the two of them figure on securing a little safety net he and his old team stashed away. Under the guise of an accidental [non zombie related] death, Ed cashes out his insurance policy, knowing that his last living team mate, John Dunham wouldn’t waste time in going to grab the hidden stash.

And that leaves Izzy to catch that same armored Greyhound from El Paso to NYC to seduce the old bugger and filch his key to the lock boxes along with the rest. Easy enough, right?

Notes: in the prologue a warning for offensive language (swearing and homophobic/sexist) but no other warnings. 2nd person POV and a trans male character. Big 80s references and aesthetic and age gap. Any feedback super welcome :)

---

“John huh? I like that. They call me Izzy. You ready to take a trip around the world with me?...”

           For as long as you can remember it’s always been you and your old man against everyone. Ever since his old lady (you haven’t called her “mom” since you were five) served him up the divorce papers with a slice of birthday cake and you said you weren’t leaving your cousins and your collection of baseball cards, it’s just been the two of you. She hightailed it with your older sister - who you haven’t spoken to either since she refused to stop calling you “Jenny” some seven years back - and so the both of you just up and said fuck everyone else.

 So when your old man made the proposition, you didn’t think twice before agreeing.

           Here’s the situation. You found out your old man wasn’t as Dudley Do Right as he’d have led you to believe. Seems he and his old narc buddies made some big bust back in the day, back before the strung out zombies were actual fucking zombies and they didn’t exactly tell the Feds and the rest the whole of their haul. Got his picture in the paper like a real hero and all ‘cept Mr. All American Hero made it with a cool couple million and disappeared it like Houdini.

 Course you didn’t exactly grow up in luxury and he sure as shit didn’t lose it in the divorce like he did the house. Trying to make off with all that dough woulda set off every agent in the country asking questions so the four of them made a gentleman’s agreement: they stashed it away in some series of lockers up north ‘til enough time passed and sure enough old Dan and Bill kicked it getting caught in Atlanta leaving just your old man and John Dunham. Dunham being an old desk jockey who’d probably live forever and while your old man never had a bad thing to say about “good old John”, your old man didn’t figure on splitting the pot when he was so close to taking the whole kit n caboodle for himself.

 He also figured with the whole world well on its way to some Romero zombie hell better now than never while south of the border was free and clear.

 You didn’t exactly blame him either and the both of you figured it’d be easy enough to live like kings south of the border. Course he couldn’t exactly walk into the fucker’s office and whack him. Well… seeing as how as of today, April 1st 1987, the whole world thinks your old man died in a car accident six months ago, he probably could. But while your old man may be a lot of things, a killer ain’t one of them. Thief? Sure. Liar? What man isn’t? (And if his ex old lady’s to be believed a wife beater too, but the only time you ever seen him raise a hand was to block her throwing a lamp at his head when he said your sister “Miss Priss” Priscilla might be going with her - likely not being his anyway - but he’d be damned if she made off with his Izzy.)

 Well maybe he didn’t call you Izzy back then but your memory, your rules.

 And here’s where you come into the whole scheme.

             You’re not a killer neither but you also may be just a bit of a thief yourself, and more than that you’ve got a certain charm about you that your old man says you inherited from him. Your old man also says he doesn’t know why he paid all that money for you to lop your tits off and change your name to Isaac if you’re still gonna prance around wearing makeup like a “goddamn fairy”. You like to remind him that’s exactly what you are loud and proud and if makeup is good enough for Alice Cooper and all the hot new glam bands he can just shut his hole or find himself a new honeypot.

             Course you’re not exactly the traditional va va voom vamp but that’s only gonna keep the suspicion off you a hell of a lot better than coming on like some boozy lot lizard, and if your old man hadn’t fallen asleep ten minutes into Murphy’s Law then maybe he’d know that those middle aged straight lace types seem to have a thing for cute and lovable punks half their age. He conceded (as big a Bronson fan that he is) you might be onto something and that settled the matter there, you hanging up the payphone outside the shithole apartment where you’ve been crashing, tucking the number back into your wallet.

             You’d been crashing on your pal Stevie's couch, helping out with the rent from a few “odd jobs”, and while you hated lying to her, you sure couldn’t tell her the real reason you were headed up north where they got shit locked down a hell of a lot harder cause of the “mess”. So far as she knew, you took your old man’s “death” hard and on top of that come to find his half a mil insurance policy was a bust to boot leaving you with a big fat nothing and in need of a place to stay. Wasn’t a far stretch seeing as how the insurance companies were finding it all too easy nowadays to call any claim they didn’t’ want to pay “ineligible” living dead shit. It wasn’t a lie exactly anyway, seeing as how you’d followed your old man’s instructions to the letter and made sure he got every untraceable dollar coming to him.

 Alright, so you kept a couple thousand for necessary expenses helping out Stevie (and getting your ticket and some new kicks) but it wasn’t like you pissed it away at the arcade.

             Stevie refused to buy your ticket though, saying you were crazy to go up north with some guy you met at a bar and chatted up on the phone and she didn’t care how good of a screw he was. Course you couldn’t tell her it was your old man you’d been plotting with so you just packed up when she left for work at Sid’s, left another hundred dollars, and swore in the note sitting next to it that you’d call after you were settled, sure she’d bawl you out a good one but you know the less anyone knows the better. You ended up paying some wino looking about to turn any second twenty bucks to buy your ticket and an extra dose of the anti Z Juice to keep quiet if anyone came ‘round asking any questions on the matter. You promised him you weren’t killing no one, just leaving a shit situation.

             It’s simple, you think as you shoulder your duffle bag, ticket out of El Paso ticket in hand. Blow the old fuck ‘til his eyes roll back into his head and swap the four bum keys for his. Nick his wallet once you get to NYC so you get a head start, and meet your old man’s contact in Jersey once you’ve secured the money. You got his old piece, his thirty nine and you can’t say as you’re a shot up to his standard but you don’t know a man to have ever missed jamming the muzzle of a gun into someone’s gut either so you’re none too worried about that part of it.

 Bullets don’t work none too well on them other fucking things if you ain’t a crack shot but you got your Dynaco L-Rod for that.

             You make sure to smile nice as you approach the benches where everyone’s waiting to start boarding. First impressions and all that and ain’t no need for either piece here between the shock fences and the scans. Nah, you’re rocking your ripped black jeans just tight enough and your favorite half threadbare Dokken shirt neckline stretched out not quite off your shoulder, and your choppy brown hair is streaked with red same as your lips. You look pretty damn dynamite with your black leather boots up to your knees and a swagger in your step sure you catch a few eyes wondering if staring at your ass makes ‘em bent or not when they see the slight bulge of your crotch and your lack of tits.

 Yeah, fucking putty, you think with a wink to a straight laced dope in a polo shirt and khakis, strutting over to Mr. Paper Pusher Dunham, counting dollar signs in the whorl of his thick black - has to be a dye job pushing fifty five like that - hair and grey Garanimals button down.

 Only one thing you didn’t figure on as you take a seat next to him and get ready to charm…

 ...And that’s fucking John Dunham.

[jesbakescookies]

Too Hot To Handle: Chapter Forty

Happy Hump day!! Have some drama filled smut. 

So I kinda wrote a different kind of fanfiction. It’s nothing as in depth as my other fics so I am going to post it here. ENJOY!!***Actor, Real Person Fanfiction, Walking Dead RPF***Featuring: Jeffrey Dean Morgan X Original Female Character, Norman Reedus and others.. (FYI this is total fiction, as in I know nothing about JDMs life or that of his real SO and son etc. Because of this, for this work of fiction, they don’t exist. Jeffrey’s been a typical actor playboy dating fellow stars etc. This is written for sick daydreaming pleasure.)

Aria St. James is a busy woman with a thriving restaurant. She thought she had everything she needed until a few famous faces visit her dining room. A tall, dark and handsome actor decides Aria’s just what he’s been looking for.

Rating: Mature : NSFW **dirty dirty**

Find Too Hot To Handle Master Chapter List Here

Cover Art by @magikat409

After thoroughly enjoying the new restaurant’s kitchen, Jeffrey and Aria left for the evening to find paparazzi still waiting for them. Their security team, having taken off for the evening, were not there to control the crowd.

"Fuck." Jeffrey cursed when they were met with cameras. "Bike's close doll."

"It's fine." She commented, before they exited the building.

"Jeffrey. Aria!"

"Guys over here."

"Aria. Aria!"

Glancing at the man currently yelling above the rest, she watched him clamber towards the front.

"Aria, can I get your thoughts on Jeffrey's new movie. How do you deal with him having sex scenes with other women?"

Aria's eyes widened at the question but she didn't answer, opting to follow Jeffrey's silent lead.

"Aria! Jeff!

"What do you say to the reports that there were sparks on the set between them?"

"We heard they had a relationship."

"Hey guys, calm down." Jeffrey drawled, pulling Aria into his side. "No need to throw accusations out."

"Aria how do feel knowing these scenes are graphic enough to warrant NC17 warning?"

"Jesus." Jeffrey muttered, pulling their helmets from the saddlebags. "Here, darlin'."

Aria let him help with her helmet as the men took pictures, her mind racing at the questions thrown out at them.

"Jeffrey, are you and Sarah Phillips involved?"

"I'm a happily married man, you guys. Now if you'll excuse us."

Peeling out of the parking lot, Aria wrapped her arms around him tightly and let all the words sink in. Jeffrey was gripping her thigh when he wasn’t shifting, his hand obviously trying to comfort her.

They pulled into the garage and were silent as they climbed from the bike and entered the house. Aria was chewing her lip to contain the flooding of questions filling her mouth but couldn't stop it.

"So NC-17 huh?"

"They did some editing, it's still rated R."

"But there was footage too graphic?"

"Apparently."

Aria nodded, her eyes narrowing as that knowledge sunk in. She thought about what kind of dirty things she'd seen in rated R movies and couldn't imagine what he could've been doing to be consider worse. Her chest felt tight at the very idea. 

Jeffrey reached out for her hand and pulled her closer. "It wasn't anything I hadn't done before."

"Before you were married you mean?" She muttered, her brow furrowed. 

The room grew quiet, as Jeffrey seemed to think his words over.

"Look, I signed on for that roll forever ago. You know I wasn't happy about doing it."

"I know." She sighed.

"It's over now and it won't be happening again."

"You can't promise that."

"I can and I am." Jeffrey growled, his eyes flaring.

"So if a movie calls for a sex scene, you're going to what? Refuse?”

"I'll work shit out."

Aria sighed, raking hair from her face in frustration. "What about Sarah?"

"What about her?" Jeffrey drawled, his gaze narrowing at the question. "She was a nice girl. Nothing more. We worked on one movie together. The dirtbags are just trying to start shit."

"Ugh." Aria huffed, pressing her forehead into his chest. "I'm sorry. I know that. They're getting in my head."

"It's okay but seriously, you've got to trust me."

   Jeffrey was growling under his breath as Katherine read him the article published on a few websites.

"Jeffrey and Sarah were so hot and heavy on set, the director called in the steamiest scenes he's ever filmed. He stated if it weren't for producers insistence on mainstream markets, he'd release it as an NC-17 rating."

"Lying fuckers. He literally had to tell me what to do because I hated every fucking second. It was the most awkward scene of my life." Jeffrey growled, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. "You realize there's no way she's going to the premier now right?"

"She has to. Especially now."

"I'm not making her go." Jeffrey scoffed, the idea of forcing his wife to do anything completely repulsive.

"If she doesn't go, it's going to fuel it, Jeff. She needs to go to show there isn't some secret affair. They need to be seen together." Katherine explained.

"Who? Aria and Sarah?"

"Yes. It'll cut the rumors out. No woman would be friendly with someone fucking her husband."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Kat." His eyes widened at the statement, the idea of putting the woman he loved, in a room with the woman he pretended to fuck, sounded like a nightmare.

"I'm just stating facts. You want this story gone, you gotta get her to play ball."

"Fucking hell." He grumbled, scrubbing his eyes roughly. "Alright, alright. I'll work it out."

"Good. Call me with good news tomorrow."

Sighing deeply, Jeffrey rasped "Yeah, fine."

"Hey, Jeff, you know I'm on your side and that means I'm on Aria's side also. I know how to play the game, that's my job. Follow my lead and I'll get you through it." She promised, her voice softening as she noticed him stressing out.

"I know, thanks Katherine. I'm sorry I can be such a prick. I'm just trying to protect her from all this shit that comes with being with me. She doesn't deserve it. She deserves a peaceful fucking life, not the carnival act." Rubbing his temple, a headache had begun to brew behind his eyeballs. Jeffrey couldn’t believe he was going to have to tell his wife the news and dreaded what would happen when he explained Katherine’s advice.

"Now, there's none of that talk. This is just a bump in the road, Jeff. She loves you, you love her. Hold onto that, it'll be worth it."

"Thanks, Kat."

"You're welcome. Now get to work."

   "I know it sounds like a total shit show but I trust Katherine to get this story pushed off as bullshit."

"Why the fuck do we care?" Aria growled, her hands in tight balls. "I don't fucking care. I love you, you're all that matters…. As long as it is rumors."

"You can't possibly be hinting at something because I know for goddamn sure I am crystal fucking clear on how I feel about you."

Growling, Aria raked a hand through her hair. "I know, I'm just saying-."

"Well stop saying it. It's bullshit. Now, are you going to go with me?"

"It's not like I have a choice right?" she muttered, crossing her arms tightly around her chest. Aria couldn’t believe the gall his publicist had, insisting she meet the woman who the press were saying is fucking her husband. How was she going to look that person in the eye and not punch her in the face? Lies or not, she felt a deeply cutting jealousy growing inside her. 

"Of course you do. I won't make you do anything you don't want to, you know that. How many fucking times do I have to say it?” Jeffrey snapped, his hand thrown up in frustration.

"Obviously more because I'm doubting it’s actually the case."

Jeffrey glared at her, his mouth into a deep scowl. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"Oh my god. No." Aria huffed, throwing her hands up in the air before turning on her heel and striding away. "I'm done talking about this. I get it, I don't have to go but I do, so I'll go shopping tomorrow and get a dress.”

Aria stomped up the stairs leading to the second floor, her chest heaving as the angry words they'd slung at each other rang in her ears. She was halfway up the steps when Jeffrey caught her by the hips, his large hands yanking her back into his chest.

"You're not walking away from me." He growled, his nose pressing into her temple as his lips brushed her ear. "We aren't done talking."

"I'm done talking." Aria snapped, her eyes narrowing as he spun her around. He took hold of her hip and neck, his palm cradling her head. She moaned as he tightened his fist into the hair at the nape of her neck, the motion sending chills to her core. Jeffrey's chest rumbled at her natural reaction to his touch, his cock hardened against her thigh. Aria struggled with his grasp, her hands pressing on his chest.

"Easy." He muttered, yanking her closer, her arms weakened under his pull. Huffing at him, she tried to fight her body's reaction to his tight grasp and darkening eyes, but couldn't help how her body began relaxing under his hands.

When he leaned closer, his hooded eyes dropping to her lips, Aria couldn't stop him if she tried. She was only thinking about what he would taste like and how it would feel for him to just, bury himself inside her with no finesse.

Jeffrey finally reached her part lips, his breath ghosting over her face. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, nipping the pink flesh to a deeper red, before delving into her with a greedy tongue. She tugged him closer by his belt, the rattle of her nimble fingers unbuckling the leather barrier jolting him into action. He was gripping her curves with tight fingers and rutting against her thigh. 

"No more talking then." He rasped, his voice impossibly rough and deep, his whiskers brushing her skin raw. Jeffrey yanked her leggings down and tossed them over his shoulder, before he pinned her to the stairs. Her back was arched, her tits pressing into his face as she spread her thighs for him.

"If I didn't want to fuck you so bad I'd drag this out, make you suffer a little for being so goddamn stubborn." Jeffrey drawled, while biting and licking her neck and chest. "If I didn't need to bury my dick deep in this tight pussy, I'd smack your ass red for doubting me."

"Jeff." Aria moaned as he sunk into her with one insistent thrust.

"Yeah, that's it. Take it all, baby." He growled, his hands gripped her ass, while drilling her deeply.  "Feel me?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, you do."

Aria squeaked as he pulled out and flipped her over, tugging her against his chest. Moving one of her knees to a higher step, Jeffrey spread her open and slid back home swiftly.

"Oh my god." She gasped, her hand clutching the stair railing and carpeting to hold on as he pounded into her.

"Holy... fucking shit. Your ass looks amazing." He panted, his hands massaging and grasping her hips.

"Jeff. Oh god."

Sliding his hand up her spine, Jeffrey combed it into her hair softly, before curling his fingers for a firm grip. Aria moaned as he pulled the length taut, while keeping his hips snapping a steady pace.

"Jesus. Look. at. you." He rasped, his voice hoarse and breath quickened. "So goddamn sexy, baby girl. You’re taking it all huh?"

"Ye-s. I wanna cum." She gasped as he continued to back up from pushing her over the edge. Laughing gruffly, Jeffrey demanded in a rough growl, "Say it."

"Please."

"Please what?" He grunted, slapping her ass sharply.

"Fuck." She hissed, her walls clenching around him tightly when he smacked her ass again. "Please make me cum, Mr. Morgan."

"Yeah. Fuck I can do that for you, sweetpea. Gonna make you feel real good."

Without hesitation, Jeffrey unleashed himself and took what he wanted, while giving her what she begged for. Her husband practically plowed through her with no relief, as her thighs quivered at the strained position on the stairs.

Jeffrey pulled her upright, his hand tangled in her hair, as his other clutched her hip. He ground into her, while sucking on her neck and shoulder. His hand slid from her waist to stroke where they were connected.

She moaned deeply as his fingers swirled over her throbbing hood, her head resting against his shoulder. Jeffrey growled as she throbbed around his dick, the woman pulling a groan from him as she squeezed, while he thrust deeper.

"Cum now, baby. I'm gonna fill you up when you do." He demanded, nipping her earlobe. "Cum on my dick."

Aria's lungs hitched at his words, her eyes fluttering as the tension he'd twisted and pulled inside her, snapped. She could feel her body convulsing around him as he continued to fuck her relentlessly from behind, but her mind was a haze. Clutching his wrist with sharp nails, Aria sobbed out as the sensations of him driving into her, while stroking her, was too much.

"Fuck, that's it." He panted into her neck before cumming deep inside her. She felt him pulsing as his hands tightened in her hair and squeezed her waist.

"Holy hell." He rasped, his hand reaching out to grab the railing to keep from falling on her. Aria panted out a dry laugh as she collapsed against the stairs, her eyes taking in a disheveled Jeffrey.

"We gotta fight more, doll. That was fuckin’ awesome."

Find Chapter Forty-one here:

http://jesbakescookies.tumblr.com/post/165951559371/too-hot-to-handle-chapter-forty-one

I started posting this fic over on AO3 also. I will probably post in both places since I’m still figuring out AO3 formatting etc.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for updates. I’ll try my best to remember!

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[fester-ing-blog]

@evertonem prompted: Adam proposing to Nigel

Adam had been dating Nigel for exactly 259 days when he decided he wanted to marry him.

He had never really considered marriage before. Of course, he knew that the financial and legal benefits were useful, but he didn’t need them to know that he would be with Nigel forever. He was an integral part to Adam’s routine. Now he would lie in bed for twenty minutes after waking up at precisely 7am, waiting for Nigel to wake so they could cuddle or indulge in sleepy morning sex, depending on what mood they were in. Then they would get up and shower – sometimes together, which would inevitably take longer than Adam had scheduled but somehow, he never minded – and eat breakfast together. Nigel would curse over the burnt toast and resort just to drinking coffee. Adam had always hated the smell, but he ignored it for Nigel.

After breakfast, Adam would walk to work. At 1pm precisely, Nigel would walk through the door to the observatory and they would eat the cheese sandwiches Nigel made them together. He worked all the way across the city, and it took him an hour to drive to see Adam, but he did it every day, because it made Adam happy.

Once his shift ended, Adam would walk back home and read until Nigel came back to him. They would eat dinner together, and on some nights, drive out of the city so they could watch the stars together.

Adam had never been so happy in his life.

That being said, he saw no reason to make any changes to their lives. He was utterly content, and, as far as he could tell, Nigel was too.

It wasn’t until one day, during their regularly scheduled movie night, that Adam started to think about marrying Nigel.

Nigel had chosen the movie that week, some action blockbuster that Adam wasn’t particularly interested in. They watched it curled up on the couch, Adam choosing to spend his time pressing kisses to the tattoo on Nigel’s neck while the other man huffed and kept staring at the screen, fighting to keep the smile off his face.

Towards the end of the movie, there was a wedding scene. It culminated in some needlessly dramatic fight rife with obviously fake blood, but Adam was barely paying enough attention to notice. He was, however, entirely aware of the little sigh Nigel gave as he watched the couple deliver the vows on screen.

“Nigel?”

Nigel hummed softly.

“What’s it like being married?”

“I don’t think I’m the best person to ask, darling. I didn’t exactly have a successful fucking marriage,” Nigel said, bringing his hand to rest in Adam’s curls.

Adam snuggled closer. “But there were good things? Marriage must have good things. Statistically, far more long-term couples choose to marry. So it must be good.”

“Well, yeah, there are good things. But it’s more about the person you’re with. When I was with Gabi, it was...” He sighed again. “It was really fucking good at first. But then I went fucking crazy. You know all of that, gorgeous.”

Adam considered that for a moment. “But you’re not like that anymore.”

“No,” Nigel grinned, running his fingers through Adam’s hair. “Course I’m fucking not, darling. I have you now, don’t I? My little astronaut, keeping me in check.”

“So marriage is good?” He asked.

“Yeah, baby. With the right person, it’s fucking fantastic. As long as you’re not a crazy fucker like I was.”

Adam stopped asking questions, and Nigel continued to watch the movie. They didn’t speak about it again, but Adam was already forming a plan in his mind. He spent his next day off online, searching for proposal ideas.

A lot of the sites he looked at told him that grand, public gestures were the most memorable, but Adam didn’t want to do anything like that. He didn’t think Nigel would like it much either. One website said restaurants were a classic place to propose, but they never went out to eat. Another said that involving your partner’s friends in your plans was very romantic, but Nigel’s friends weren’t very nice.

If he was going to propose to Nigel, he wanted to do it in his own way. He wasn’t good with speeches, couldn’t make his words sound pretty or sexy like Nigel could, but he was good with facts.

Adam knew he loved Nigel and wanted to be with him forever. So if marriage was important to Nigel, then it was important to him, too.

Finding a ring took a long time. Adam hated shopping, preferring to buy anything he needed online whenever possible, but he wanted to see the rings in person. It had to be perfect.

Nigel wouldn’t want diamonds, or anything extravagant. Adam could almost hear him scoffing at all the “sparkly shit” in his head. No, Nigel’s ring needed to reflect Nigel himself: beautiful in the most simple and straightforward way. He’d tried several stores before he found the right one, and he was growing more and more anxious that he wouldn’t find anything. All of the rings were too shiny, too big, too extravagant, nothing he could picture Nigel wearing.

The woman at the last store smiled at him, and asked Adam what he’d like to see.

“Just – something different,” he said. “No diamonds, no jewels. He’d want something plain, but I don’t – the plain bands aren’t right, either. Do you have something different?”

She brought out a simple, wide band. The surface of it was covered in a pattern of criss-crossing lines, and it was slightly bumpy to the touch. Nothing shiny. Straightforward, but still beautiful.

“It’s made from Gibeon meteorite,” she told him. “We mostly tend to get people looking for traditional metals, so these pieces are kept in the back. But you seemed like you’d appreciate it.”

Adam imagined the ring on Nigel’s fingers, rough and worn, knuckles scarred in places, but ever soft when they touched him. “Yes,” he said instantly. “It’s perfect.”

*

Adam had only just arrived home when he heard Nigel walk through the front door. He was so nervous his hands were nearly shaking, but it wasn’t the typical kind of anxiety he felt. Not a fear so overwhelming that it overtakes his entire body, leaves him rocking back and forth. This was more of a soft fluttering in his stomach; he was nervous, but he was not afraid.

“Hi, darling,” Nigel kissed his cheek swiftly while he passed him, falling onto the couch with a groan. “Fucking long day. Sit with me?”

Adam obliged happily, going to sit next to Nigel and squeaking in surprise when an arm wrapped around his middle and pulled him to sit on the older man’s lap. Strong hands came to rest on his hips, while a face rough with stubble nuzzled his cheek. Adam sighed contentedly. When they had first met, he never could have imagined Nigel to be so tender. In truth, the man was like a giant cat, constantly seeking affection.

Adam loved it. Adam loved him.

“Nigel?”

“Hm?”

“Let me up for a minute.”

Nigel looked up at him. “Is something wrong, darling?”

Adam shook his head. “No,” he smiled. “Everything is perfect. And I need to get up right now so I can do this properly.”

Arms falling to his side, Nigel watched as Adam stood and reached into his pocket before kneeling on the floor in front of him.

Nigel felt his heart leap into his throat. “Baby...”

“Nigel,” Adam began. “I’m not good with words. I’m not good with change, or with people, or with lots of things. There’s a lot about the world that doesn’t make any sense to me. But you always do. And I think that we should get married, because I want to be with you forever.” He frowned a little, not sure what to say next. “Oh! Also, I love you very much. Will you marry me?”

Nigel’s was blinking furiously, trying to stop the tears he could feel welling up from falling.

“Nigel?” Adam looked concerned. “Are you upset? We don’t have to get married, I’m sorry.”

“Upset?” Nigel managed. He stood, gathering Adam into his arms. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever fucking been, darling. You’re fucking perfect, you know that? A goddamn angel.”

Adam still looked confused. “You haven’t answered, Nigel.”

He held Adam tighter, peppering his face with kisses. “Yes,” he breathed, in between brushes of lips. “Yes, baby, yes. I’ll marry you, Adam. My Adam. My fucking husband.”

Adam grinned as Nigel continued his onslaught, mouth covering every inch of skin he could reach. “Not yet. We have to actually have the ceremony, and plan it first, and – Nigel!” He laughed as Nigel picked him up bridal style, and Nigel felt his heart grow several times larger.

“I’m taking you to bed, darling. And we’re not going to so much as fucking move until tomorrow.” Nigel rumbled, walking steadily towards the bedroom.

“Okay. But we might have to move for dinner. And to use the bathroom. And –” His breath caught as he was tossed onto the bed, Nigel covering him quickly and tilting his head to suck at Adam’s neck.

“What was that, baby?”

Adam lifted his head to look into his eyes. “I love you, Nigel. I’m very glad you’re going to be my husband.”

And Nigel can do in response to that other than to kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him.

[bwicblog]

> HADEAN

Sip made you all pretty while you chatted about beating Emerel's ass in. It was... Fun in a way you've never gotten to experience before, really. And hey, you were pretty enough to pull of anything.

And Sipara seemed sure that this goo wouldn't melt off your mug. She would know better than anyone else... You hope. Back in your normal clothes it seemed right to head to the fighting rings and see about scouting out your opponent. You'd had your fun at the faire, gotten to meet a bunch of trolls and have enough quality bonding time to last you a few sweeps...

That meant it was time for business. You absently tapped your staff against your shoulder as you walked, eyes sweeping over the trolls assembled. Honestly, you had no idea who you were looking for! Just that he was jade.

"Siiip. Which one of these dirtbags is Emerel? Fucker was hella rude, not even sending me a picture. He's not actually hideous or something, is he?" You had thought Pheres had taste. But... With what he was wearing... Maybe not.

> EMEREL

You walk back into the arena, sweat dripping down your forehead that you can't be bothered to wipe off. Besides, it's kind of attractive. You had some rage to let out and you feel a bit better now. There's a bit of blood streaked across your garb and you're not sure if it's yours or that blueblood you took a quick drink from while he was knocked unconscious with a very rude halberd pole. Ironically, you're pretty sure that's the same blue you drank from during the faire where you meant Pheres. Small world. You decide you'll hang out on the benches with your waterbottle for now, thoroughly overheated and in need of something for your throat. Hadean will make himself known when he gets here, you're sure.

 > SIPARA

Hadean's pretty as a goddamn picture, and you _absolutely_ crammed your phone full of 'em. Between Pheres's horn-shining and your work, there's something deeply satisfying in how positively _glam_ he looks. And he'll look even better when he's kicking someone's ass in it. Empress, you miss being in the ring. "Ha~aaaaads," you drawl back, squinting at the crowd. "He's the mossball over --" You bounce up on your toes, peering at each troll in turn, before you jerk your chin towards Emerel. You've only seen him in person once or twice, but with as many pictures as Pheres's put up, he's kind of hard to miss. "There! And - eye-dee-kay, dude, he's not _my_ thing. You like 'em long and gangly and nubby-horned?" "Because if you do.. looks like you might have competition. Haha, holy shit, did he fuck around with a teal before he's _fighting?_"

 > HADEAN

Huh. First thought it he looks like a sweaty gross nerd. Second thought is woww, was he really fighting before your bout? "Looks like it. Hella rude, doesn't he know he was supposed to save himself for me? Might start bawling as soon as I try talking to him, I can already feel myself getting choked up." Well if he wanted to tire himself out before his fight, fine. You were used to being looked down upon for your blood color, obviously he didn't think you were worth his best. His loss, it'd just make it an easier win for you. You stroll your way over to the benches, whistling loud- like you would for a woofbeast. "Oh Emerel~ Are you always this sweaty and dirty, or was this your attempt at cleaning up for me?"

 > EMEREL

You're quietly minding your own business, drinking your waterbottle on your bench, when you're whistled at. It's not the first time someone's whistled at you, so you can't say you're bothered. You love it when strangers pay attention that kind of attention to you, usually. When he calls your name, however, you pause with your bottle still at your lips. You don't look towards the source of the sound and your only response is to tap your fingers on the bottle. "You could say-" You look over to him, snorting when you notice how prettied up he is. Even you know better. "-That I simply look the part of a man who just went to war." You HAVE been doing reenactments all day, after all. You stand up, setting the bottle down to look Hadean over. He's not much taller than you, horns notwithstanding, and the only thing about him that's really concering you is that dumb floating horn. You're sure you should be wary of that one.

 > HADEAN

"A man who went to war. Sure, buttercup." You make sure your voice is as dry as possible. War? Is that what he thinks fighting trolls one on one for a while is? Man, he's a dramatic one... But you guess it comes with the territory of being a fucking. Historical nerd. "Well, you need a little more time to freshen up, or are we fighting now? Because I came all this way to this stupid faire to beat you up. Might as well get it over with." You lean against your staff, giving him you best cocky smirk. You didn't have to get serious about it until you were actually going at it, after all. Let him think you the cocky lowblood who was getting in over their head. You could play stereotypes to your advantage any night.

 > MAIDEL

You’re sitting in the stands with Sipara, watching Hadean and Emerel anxiously, but then Prisma really does come over! You beam at the yellowblood. “Hi! Are you excited for the fight? I’m a little worried, but…” You trail off and look at the two trolls. “…they both seem pretty capable.”

 > EMEREL

"I'm ready when you are. Question is, Hadean, just how good are you at putting your money where your mouth is?" You look to his face, a wide smirk crossing yours as you summon your halberd to your hand, copying his lean. For all your talk, you're making all sorts of immediate observations about him: Face tattoos. High pain tolerance. Floating horn. Some type of psionic bullshit. You probably shouldn't get too close. Staff. Another indicator that he keeps a distance. Cocky. It's a trick you know quite well. Tall. Inherently on the tough side. Long hair. Doesn't spend too much time in close range fights if he's not worried about getting his braid yanked on. You think you might try fighting close to him and seeing what happens. "But, you know, if you want to apply a little more makeup before we get into it, I'll wait. Be my guest."

 > PRISMA

"I am marginally excited. I am more excited to see Hadean destroy this mysterious jade blood," You remark simply, cocking your head lightly at Maidel. "You found time to get away from the booth, finally?"

 > VATRRA

You've locked up your shop in favor of wandering around until you find where you need to go. And it's not hard to spot the familiar face in the crowd once you remember what to look for. The greenblood and goldblood next to Nzinga are unfamiliar, but based on the chrome in the chat these are probably the other people you were just talking to. You walk over and take a seat at the end of them, nodding in greeting.

 > HADEAN

"Oh my god, clearly you've been watching way too many shitty movies with Gliese is you're going to spew that line and try to look cool doing it." You roll your eyes at him, but you're taking note of him while you trade jabs. But let him try to compartmentalize you! As much as he likes to think how good he is at fighting, you've just had a lot more time alive to fight. And you're used to fighting trolls that are physically stronger than you. "Now don't go tossing Sip's skills or she might give you a good kick when you're down. Are we going to stand around all night, or are we going to fight?"

 > LOKKIC & CO Somehow, all of you have managed to sit on the bleachers without causing a scene. Of course, it helps that you have yourself, your lusus, Nikola, AND Desmon in that order between Natali and Daiyel. It seems to be working as far as keeping them seperated goes. You're so glad. Your arm still hurts and you hope it's not infected. Where even is the med tent? You never were able to find it and you gave up.

 > EMEREL

"You say that, but I think you're just pissed that you're missing out on the movie night food. Too bad, it's good stuff too. Oh well. Sucks to be you." You shrug at him, twirling your halberd once and hoisting it on your shoulder as you approach the ring. You think you have a strategy worked out for this guy, at least for the first few minutes. You'll have to see what other surprises he has up his sleeve. "You're the only one still standing, Hadean." You look over your shoulder, winking at him. "Be sure to get a good look at my ass while you can because this is the last chance you'll get to see it."

 > MAIDEL

“Well, Pheres will be here too!” You say. “He’s hardly going to miss his matesprit…so I think we’re just closing for a bit.” You say, shrugging, then realizing Prisma doesn’t know who Emerel is. “Oh, Emerel’s not mysterious! He’s very nice, really, and he’s a military history expert.” You wave to the redblood who you assume is VA, and you feel bad that you don’t remember her name. “Hi! You’re VA, right? Good to see you!”

 > CANELA Fight, fight, fight! You're so glad you found the fighting rings. You love watching people beat each other up! Especially when there's blood involved. And that is exactly why you're polyp-levels rooted to your bench, happily tapping your feet as you rest your chin in your hand. Your other one is reaching into your box of tasty fried crabs. You were so glad you found a seadweller food booth at the faire! She was such a nice girl, too. And she makes tasty crabs. You can't wait for the killing to start.

 > PRISMA

A military history expert... You raise an eyebrow at this, pursing your lips somewhat tightly. This is an increasingly odd collection of people. Even more so with the newcomer, and you look at the redblood appraisingly. They must all really believe in comraderie. "But then why are they fighting? For the sake of it?" You ask Maidel, turning your gaze back to them.

 > LALEDY

Even front row seats don't manage to make this a fight worth bothering to try and actually view. You're kind of having fun with the rest of it, though - Sipara's done up your face in a way that actually makes you want to preen, and you can already hear Hads and the other guy talking shit to each other. It's like a bad drama, and you're snickering into your left-over pizza plate as you wait for the real theatrics to start. You're probably not going to see much of it, but you're fully prepared to make fun of the crowd.

 > VATRRA

You give the greenblood a small, slightly awkward wave, "Aye. You're AC, right?" You catch the tail end of the yellowblood's question and hope that it gets answered. You're not so sure why there's a fight either, and it seems a little rude at this point to ask if it's a deathmatch or what.

 >SIPARA "Because it's _fucking cool_," you declare, looking up briefly from your phone to grin at Prisma, at the same point that Pheres huffs, from down against the fence: "- because they're a pair of _morons_, that's why."

 > LALEDY

You were right, the crowd is totally the best part. You lean over so you can raise an eyebrow at Pheres. "Ain't one of them your, like, matesprit?" you ask.

 > MAIDEL

“Um.” You say. “I think they think it’s fun. Hadean really likes fighting in general, and Emerel does re-enactments.” It’s not your thing at all. “Oh! And I think some trolls bet on it, too.” You remember, then laugh a little as you look at Sipara. “Maybe Sipara will make some money!” “Yes!” You say, smiling at the redblood. “But my name’s Maidel - what’s yours?” You have to restrain giggles at Sipara’s statement - it’d be rude to laugh! Unfortunately a few escape past your hand on your mouth, your floppy ears flicking.

 > PRISMA

You can't help but grin at Pheres's reply, looking away to keep it politely hidden. It is strange they would let their matesprit get caught up in all this -- you're confused still by the connections everyone has. It seemed like too much to take in, and you sigh briefly. "Hadean likes competing. Emerel's interest seems more skewed, based on that," and then you quiet as Maidel reels to the other troll.

 > HADEAN

Ugh. Is he showing off to intimidate you, or to piss you off? Doesn't he know the brat section of this fight belongs to you? Well, he'll probably lose it when it gets to the actual fighting. No one can play dirty quite like you. "What, is getting to look at your ass a scare tactic? I mean, it is a pretty sorry sight." You stroll over to catch up to him, giving him your least impressed look.

 > VATRRA

Sipara's answer tells you that it's probably NOT a deathmatch, and the other rust's answer cements the idea, which is sort of a relief. Jade is kind of up there, but it would still be a shame to see them or a rustblood murdered in the pit. You lean forward, trying to not make the greenblood- Maidel switch between talking to you and the goldblood. You look between the two of them. "I'm Vatrra". "So, they're just gonna duke it out for the fun of it?"

 > EMEREL

"Well, if you want a better look to make a decision on that, all you have to do is ask~" You put your finger to your lip, giving him a one-finger blown kiss before stepping past the circle into the ring. You know he gets weirded out from shameless flirting. And that's something you're very, very good at. "Now are you going to fight me or weep mascara on my face?"

 > PHERES

Being mean to Laledy would be dreadful, given how much Sipara chatters about him: she clearly _likes_ him, and that's rare enough. And you're fond of him, too. And it wouldn't do anything to stop your sulking. "Mm," you say, not quite an agreement, and watch Emerel spin in the ring. "He's the jade. Who're you betting on, Laledy?"

 > HADEAN

undefinedUgh. You keep you unimpressed look up, tapping your staff on the ground as you look around. "Oh, we're fighting. I just wanted to make sure we didn't have to do anything like cross weapons or bow or any of the other fancy shit that only historical losers would do!" Hah. You're throwing jabs and making constructs at the same time. Under your clothes where no one can see it, hardening your energy to take blows for you. Your psi are sneaky- there's some sparking of your horn, but not much to show for it. For all he knows the flames dim and flare naturally.

 > MAIDEL

“I think Emerel likes showing off.” You say fondly. “He’s good at it! And aha, yes, Vatrra. They both seem really down for it, they’ve been talking about it for nights.” You smile at Pheres, and oh, there’s another jade! What unusual hair. Laledy? Huh. You don’t want to interrupt

them, but you’ll have to say hi at some point. Any friend of Pheres’s is always worth talking to.

 > LALEDY

You blink. Well, that's not exactly the answer you expected. Pheres's words don't say much, but his tone speaks volumes. Did you say something? "Nah," you tell him, "Ain't bettin' nothin'! And it's totes cos I'm a respectable and carin' friend and ish and not, like, cos I ain't got nothin' but pocket lint and pizza to bet. You doin' aight, pal?" You pause, debating, and eventually resign yourself. "... Got pizza if you want some," you say proferring your plate. You've still got two perfectly respectable slices on it. You can probably spare one, at least.

 > EMEREL

You chuckle, taking another look up and down him. He smells like he hasn't showered in a while. Or at least like he doesn't do it nearly as often as he should. Does he spend a lot of time sweating? Because old dirt and sweat is what it smells like to you. You vaguely recall that he travels. Talk about traveling on foot a lot. But that means he's probably got some good muscle built up, at least in the legs. So avoiding them is a good idea for now. Your most likely target is going to be his front: The face, neck, and chest. But you promised Pheres no lethal blows, so you think a good crack over the head and a kick out of the ring might work out here. "I only bow to people who aren't named Hadean, I'm afraid. So unless you change your name, that's out of the picture." You raise your weapon, tapping the handle on the ground twice. "We do do this, though." AKA, only you do it. But he doesn't have to know that. "Let's go."

 > HADEAN

"Oh wow. Did you stay up all day thinking of quips for me? Managed to rub those two functioning circuits in your thinkpan long enough for that one, good job." Huh. You just tap your staff twice before you shift it in to both hands. Your energy is a low hum against your skin, familiar- ready to spread when you're ready to reveal your hand. "Hope you can use that pig-sticker." You don't like pressing an attack, not at first. You set your stance a little bit, waiting to see what he'll do- if he thinks he's naturally got the advantage and come charging in.

 > EMEREL

This is going to be interesting. Since you don't know yet what Hadean can do and all your observations have indicated that you shouldn't take him lightly by any measure, you're playing the safe route at first. You ignore your buddies at the side yelling out their bets, deciding you'll try and fake him into making the first move. "You know, they normally wear something a little different in the ring." You shrug, tapping your fingers on your halberd which is still balanced on the sand. You note the tightness in Hadean's muscles and try to figure out where he's the least defended. "We normally wear a lot more padding. Even if we didn't, where's the fun in your jeans?" Before you've even finished speaking, you've made use of how long your weapon is, the tip of the axe aimed right at his face.

 > PHERES

You would really rather dig holes into the fence post and seethe. But Laledy's trying to be kind, so you roll your eyes and slog up to his seat. Your smile's crooked, but at least you manage it. "I'm fine! Disappointed, but. Ah. We'll see how it goes. Thank you for asking, though. Sipara, scoot over," you demand, and as soon as she shifts, you cram yourself onto her lap. She's got her phone. It'll be _fine._ And you do steal a piece of pepperoni off of his pizza. Well, if he's _offering..._

 > HADEAN

Ah, the old keep them distracted with talking while you swing at them. Good to know he's not above using tricks! Means you can't rely on him playing by the rules, which is fine by you. You feint back and let your staff come up, trying to sweep his halberd- a test to see how much he'll fumble, knowledge of how long you might have to strike in the future. You don't press an attack now, you're still using a staff after all! It's a defensive weapon and you're going to take your time when you can get it. Build up some energy weapons under your shirt to play with. "Jeans are comfy. The fun is in beating you. Duh."

 > MAIDEL

Pheres doesn’t look happy, but you can’t help smiling as he scoots onto Sipara’s lap and takes a piece of pepperoni off of Laledy’s pizza. You look down at Emerel and Hadean, wondering when they’ll actually start fighting. You’re nervous - naturally - but also excited and a bit curious - Ooooh, there goes Emerel. You suck in a sharp breath, until Hadean swings his staff up to meet him. Your eyes are still wide, though.

 > LALEDY

You can't quite read Pheres's face even when he gets closer, aside from a general smile. His tone is still stiff, though, until he shoves Sipara over and grabs a slice. Well, if the food's gonna help get the stick out of his ass. He's probably worried his boyfriend's going to get shanked, you figure, but it's not like these things are to the death. Besides, Emerel's green - and hasn't been living on fumes and duct tape for the past quarter-sweep like you. He's going to be fine. You nab the last slice of pizza for yourself (anchovies: not actually as bad as everyone has been making them out to be, but hunger is the best topping) so Pheres can't grab it if he decides he wants another, and lean back to munch on it as the fight starts. Well. "Fight." It's still mostly posturing, which is more fun if anybody asks you!

 > EMEREL

You shift your grip on your halberd and turn it, trying to use it for something resembling its proper purpose as you attempt to catch his staff with it. If you can disarm him, the better. There's a loud cheer from somewhere to your left as the weapons clash together and you admit you love the sound, even if this is a bad time to comment on that. "Comfy and also boring. No wonder someone had to fix you up for this. It's not like you can take care of yourself~"

 > HADEAN

Well, looks like he can use his halberd some. He probably thinks he's clever catching you, but you put your strength in to it as you clash, trying to lock your weapons together as a plan forms. You let him talk, it gives you enough time to hopefully hold your ground and let your energy gather, teeth bared as your shirt rips. RIP one of your three shirts. But you've got another arm now! Does an energy tentacle count as an arm? You think it does when it's armed with a knife. It's just like using any other limb for you, a little will springing it around you to lash at his middle while you hopefully keep his weapon engaged with your own. Thank god for buying the staff with a lead core in it, it's probably the only thing keeping your staff in one piece.

 > EMEREL

Well, your plan to disarm him isn't working. If anything, he's trying his best to make sure you can't move either. What's he planning? Your immediate instinct is to disengage and step back and when you hear the sound of ripping cloth, you feel like that was the right choice. Your weapon, however, is locked hard in his and you're going to have to make a gambit to tip things in your favor here. You hold your breath and hold still until whatever the hell he just made actually punches you staight in the stomach. You cough, holding tighter to the chapped leather on your handle as you use those locked weapons to your advantage. Hopefully he won't be expecting you to counter so quickly after being basically sucker punched. Which means he hopefully won't be expecting you to immediately swing yourself around via your trapped weapons and sweep your legs under his to knock him down.

 > HADEAN

Oh fuck, did you just straight up shank the fuck out of him. Oh yeah, that's the sort of flesh ressiting and then submitting to a razor edge that signals that your knife went riight in. He was supposed to dodge! What kind of troll stays locked in with a guy and just takes a gut shot!? The same kind of idiot who just sweeps a guy when he's still got a knife in him you fucking guess. You instinctively use the tentacle coming out of your back to try and catch yourself somewhat, to not leave yourself completely defenseless. The staff is gone, but you've still got psionics, and- oh yeah, your tentacle was still knife-ing him. You really hope your trying to catch yourself didn't slice him open even more. You focus on keeping your head and arms protected if he comes in for an attack while you're still trying to regain your footing, purposefully leaving your armor-protected legs and chest there for him to try and stab at. Unlike him, you don't just take a gut shot like it's no big deal.

 > EMEREL

You cough again, louder as blood pours over your lips and your chest burns and throbs. That fucking hurts. That hurts like hell, why did you do that? You hear what sounds like a distressed goat screaming somewhere and you think that might be Pheres. This is a weird time to want to laugh and you're going to stop chuckling now. You think you'll be just fine, though. You've been dealt a literally fatal blow and this isn't nearly as bad as you remember. Holy shit, you were not expecting those powers of his. At all. What are you supposed to do about them? You'll figure out something, damn it. You refuse to lose without a hell of a fight. At least it looks cool for the crowd, as they're getting louder. You stumble back, finally getting that damn tentacle out of your chest and that hurts even worse now that it's out. Okay, this is hurting as much as you remember now. "Fucking hell-" You mutter. "That's impressive." Your voice cracks and you promptly step on that stupid shitty braid of his, aiming the butt of your halberd at whatever gap in his guard you can reach, fully intent on butting his his eyes out if you can. He's lucky you're using the blunt end, honestly. Of course, this would be easier if you weren't busy watching the tentacles for more shenanigans.

 > HADEAN

Oh man you fucked up. How bad did you fuck him up. He's bleeding from the mouth, so... You're gonna err on pretty fucking bad. But hey! He's still talking. Is that good? You're counting that as good. Otherwise you're going to feel really bad at that screaming from Pheres. Okay, he's stepping on your braid. Less pity now. Especially when he's aiming for your face, fuck that. You raise your arms to block it and yeah, that hurts like a son of a bitch. You're used to pain, you can do this. Just gotta ride that adrenaline high and hope that nothing is fractured. ...Something is probably fractured. You whiz the tentacle at him again, just trying to force him to give you enough distance to get up. You're slashing at his legs, because step number one is trying to convince the guy who just took a gut shot that he needs to fucking move holy hell.

 > EMEREL

This time, you actually move. A second stab from that thing might legitimately kill you and you quite like being alive, unlike your sadsack of a brother. You spit a bit of blood at his face as you move your legs away from the tentacle before they end up shredded, quite content to see your blood dripping all the hell over him. Hot. The bitch can have something to remember you by for a while if he insists on not showering often anyway. Wait a second, how much juice does he have? You date two psionics, you know they get fried after a while. You grin rather darkly at that, realizing you know exactly what your plan is. "Hey, Hadean! Is that the best you've got?" You call out through your blood-choked breaths. "I'm still standing and I'm still winning that sweet prize!" It's a taunt, plain and simple. You put your foot in position, waiting for the second that he takes his arms down to kick sand from the arena at his face. "Why don't you get back up already and make my night a little more fun?"

 > HADEAN

Good news: He moved. Bad news: He fucking blood bukkake'd your face. Good god, he better not be diseased. If you catch something from his shitty jade blood you'll be pissed. You've got some distance, but he's still there, waiting. And taunting you. "I just had part of me inside you and then you blood bukkake all over my face and don't call that fun? God Emerel, at least buy a guy dinner first." You don't rise to his bait, not when you're already on the ground like this and he's looming so close. But your tentacle has him edgy and you can take the moment to draw some energy up your poor injured arms to shield them from the next hits, forming a shield as well to hold in front of you as you stand.

 > EMEREL

"Yeah, give me something I haven't tried before and we'll see about fun. Bitch, I'll make you dinner." You shoot back, weapon at the ready. You need to keep this plan going. But that means getting close again and not taking stupid shots that involve you getting stabbed. Your plan worked, but now you just look dumb. Oh well. You'll recover. You like yourself enough for everyone else anyway. As soon as he stands up, you're running forward fast to kick the sand up at him. It's not much, but it's some degree of a distraction. And sand blows, so you're not worried about his shield saving him from it. As you charge in, you keep a close eye on the tentacle. And that whole damn light show he's putting on right now. You can't afford to get hit by that thing again, or anything else he might have on him. You make like you're going to make a right step and slash at him, only to stop at the last second and slide left and swing your axe at his shoulder. It's time to see just how goo of a shield he can make.

 > HADEAN

"Oh, you blood bukkake everyone? You perv." Fucking sand. You were raised in it and this is how it repays you. Dirty trick though, you should have been hurling sand at him! If you weren't busy. Stabbing him. Yeahh..... Oops? At least it's a momentary distraction, because you have a axe coming at you. You get your shield up but not enough- thank god for the armor you constructed under your shirt that takes most of the blow. But you can still feel blood welling up, not enough to stop you from getting by unscathed. Shoulder wounds are so nasty- did he slice your tattoo? Fuck, you'll need to get it redone. The pains are adding up, but you press an attack with the tentacle at the same time you go for a shield bash, pulling your mangled shoulder away. It's pretty deep, but you've had worse. You switch hands that the shield is in and let the tentacle swing to your injured side to take over, hoping you've got enough time between attacks to form another one.

 > EMEREL

"What can I say? A man has needs. And mine include blood bukkake-ing everyone." Your chest is squishing with the blood and you deeply regret that gambit. It played out so much better in your head. That was a bad time to mess up that badly, but whatever. It is what it is, you guess. On the bright side, you think it's starting to heal itself already. Thank goodness for speedy healing. At the very least, you can make Hadean bleed to make yourself feel better. When you see blood bubbling up around where you hit him, you decide to go for a second opening while you have the chance before that tentacle gets you, jerking hard on his braid which is dangling in your arm's reach and aiming the blunt end of the staff at whatever unprotected point you can reach.

 > HADEAN

Boy, you're starting to hurt. Your arm is definitely protesting all this moving around you're making it do, and your body is already pulling energy away from your constructs to worry about the damage done. Stupid shitty psionics, not realizing you need to win the battle before you worry about repairs. Your hair is getting a lot of yanking today, you don't like it. You pull the shield in against his staff hit but the injuries make it flimsy- instead of absorbing the hit it shatters and you still get a nasty hit that will no doubt leave a mark. You don't like this, you're starting to get angry- your shield is gone so you just reach out to grab the arm wielding the halberd with one hand while you blindly let your tentacle form a projectile, flinging it at Emerel's face. Well, it's the right color for a brick at least?

 > EMEREL

His defenses are weakening. You can see it. He's moving more slowly and even his powers are having trouble keeping up. You're winning. You just need a few more good hits and you can finally knock his ass right out of the ring. You raise your knee, getting ready to kick him out of the circle the two of you are inching closer to, when you suddenly wraps his hand around your halberd arm. You twist your body and move your arm to break it out of his hand past the thumb. You're already pulling back to kick at his chest while you're at it. What you didn't expect, however, was the light coming at your face. You immediately duck, but it's too late; there's a searing pain in your face and the pain is shooting through your eye and all the way into your neck. You let out a shout and swing your halberd blindly at Hadean, your pan frantically trying to figure out what the hell even just happened. "What the fuck are you doing?!" You snap at him, finally going through with that kick to the chest you were trying for in the first place.

 > HADEAN

Haaaa, sweet sweet face contact. Followed by nearly getting gored by him flailing his halberd, but you dodge that by the skin of your teeth, riding high on his shout. Well, until he fucking kicks you. Oww. You nearly buckle, your poor torso is really not doing alright, but he sounds so pissed. "Just improving your face a little bit Em! Fans might find a facial scar charming! And you'll get to look in the mirror and remember this fight for the rest of your life." Was that too much? Fuck it, who cares? You got to hit him in the face.

"Uggh, you-" Oh, now you're mad. You're shaking mad. You've been hit in the face before during these fights, but it's specifically when Hadean does it that you're pissed off. This was supposed to be a no kill fight and that's the second blow that could have legitimately killed you, even if the first one was your own damn fault. undefinedImproving your face a little bit, Em. He says that that's it. That's just it. You grip your weapon so hard that the leather is digging into your palms. You hiss as him, loud and sharp and more animall than troll. Your fangs are bared and you're lunging at him, one hand aiming for his throat, the other raising your weapon (which, miraculously, is still set to the blunt end) to hopefully stick in his skull

 > HADEAN

Oh. Ohhh he didn't like that, did he? That's a nasty noise coming out of him, and a nasty look, and- fuck, he's gonna try to kill you. You knew that look just fine, makes your pumper skip a beat before the survival instinct kicks in. He's got a hand on your throat and it's enough, he's going to try and kill you? He's dead. If only you knew how dead he really was. It's just a light glow, outlining his hand around your throat as your psionics open up and swallow his lifeforce in. It's always such a heady feeling- you imagine this is what being high might be like, might be trying to capture this euphora. To be able to hold the stuff that lets a troll breathe, let them love and grow and be- and to take it away. To make it so you breathe. But the euphoria fades about the same time as your body jerks, eyes and horn jerking from rust to jade. Something's wrong. Why do you feel cold? What is this? What did he do? You can't identify the anti-life, the death trying to spread through you- not while your pan is screaming that you're dying. You crumple in to the sand and you can't move, your body is spasming but you aren't controlling it. It feels like there's acid in your veins, but instead of burning it's freezing. You might be making noises, you don't know. All you know is that it hurts. In other words, you're fucked.

 > EMEREL

You really don't know what you're doing. Somewhere in the back of your head, Pheres' worries about your temper flash and you get a cold feeling as you realize just how well he actually had you pegged there. You're about to let go of Hadean's throat and punch him or something instead when he starts fucking glowing. Oh no. Shit. Instead of the sharp, piercing pain that you were expecting, however, you get a hollow, light feeling. Your head feels light and fuzzy and all at once every muscle in your body feels like it's made of lead. You shake and tremble, clutching vaguely at your chest as you literally lose your ability to breathe. Hadean is seizing up like he's having an attack and all you can think is that something has gone very, very wrong. He's screaming. Are you screaming? You think you're screaming. You collapse to the side of him, shaking hard and gasping for air before you finally feel too heavy to struggle anymore. You feel warm blood on your face and then nothing else as your eyes close and the sweet embrace of...something...takes you over.

 > GLIESE

You were running toward Hadean even before he fell. Before _both_ of them fell. These _stupid fucking morons._ You hate both of them! You’re going to skin them and use their hides for _leather!_ You don’t know what just happened, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize it’s bad. Hadean’s rust. He’s in more danger. You feel a stab of guilt - but Emerel has Pheres, he has caste on his side, and something really bad just happened to your lowblood friend. You pick him up, struggling under his lanky form, but you put him over your shoulder regardless with blueblood strength and start marching off, looking for a mediculler, looking for somewhere you can keep him so that nobody tries to _cull his stupid ass._ He deserves it. Fucking idiot. But you drag him to the mediculler’s hut anyway, and the yellowblood doctor there immediately starts working on him. You get up, worrying, worrying, guarding the door in case anyone gets a bright idea. You’d attack almost anyone right now if they tried anything - Hadean’s _yours._ He’s stupid, he’s reckless, but he’s _your_ friend and damned if you’re going to let him die from some stupid fucking fight.

 > PRISMA

The fight seems to be turned on its head within seconds, and with that you're standing up and looking over the ring with confusion. What the hell was going on? You'd known this was foolish, and turning quickly into a furious blood bath, but at the sight of Hadean seizing you feel like you should act -- before that, though, a blue blood is darting out towards them You reach out briefly, brows furrowed, and then you're physically hit by something. It causes you to suck in sharply, covering your mouth and causing your heart to contract in -- fear? You aren't sure. It's not something you're familiar with. It blooms quickly from your chest, turning into a horrific split of lightning through your head that blurs your vision and sends shocks through your map of the area. Everything is alive, and then suddenly it isn't, and when you are able to fight through the feeling, you push through to follow after the blue blood snatching Hadean. Was it Hadean? Where did the other... Emerel...? Why couldn't you feel what they were... It didn't matter. Someone should have broken them up -- you, actually, should have broken them up. Inhibitor be damned. It's strange feeling... anger? Why were you able to feel this suddenly? You arrive at the hut, clutching at your eye as if that would stop the pain behind it. There wasn't really anything you could do but wait. You aren't foolish enough to try to get in the middle of this -- and you aren't foolish enough to see what touching Hadean would do to you -- or him.

 > BUDINO

You watch the fight in pure shock and horror, your mouth hanging slightly open as you watch Em let out that unnatural hiss. You feel the chill race down your spine when you realize that the fang bearing and screaming that he's doing, that leap, that choke attempt...they're all things that you've done before, when you were a different person. Is this really some type of genetic lineage bullshit? Regardless, you're on your feet and racing at top speed to Emerel when you see him convulse and fall to the ground. What did Hadean do to him? Whatever it was, it clearly hurt him too. Whatever. That's not what you're worried about. You kneel next to your 'brother,' trying hard and failing to shake him away. "Emerel, get up. Come on." When that fails, you at least pull your apron out of your inventory to wrap around his chest. You could at least try to help with the bleeding.

 > HADEAN

You're in too much pain to really register that you're moving- but you do notice that you're being carried by someone just spilling over with energy. You can judge it as blue- gliese, some frazzled corner of your thinkpan provides. But you're on cloth, you can feel the energy but it's trapped away from you. You're put down, the energy retreating to be replaced by a candlestick, burning down to nothingness much quicker. Again, a barrier. You want to scream as you realize they're trying to heal you. You didn't have energy, they were going to be working on a corpse soon! But then, there's a hand against your shoulder, wonderful skin. You can't help it, you need it- you slip some of her life away before your thinkpan provides gliese again and you force yourself away. It's enough, you think. The pain is ebbing back, you don't feel like you're being frozen alive. Your psi sputters back to rust as you raise a hand to feebly wave at the mediculler. "Getchur pawsof me." Well, you tried.

 > GLIESE

You snort at him. Dumbass. But your ears raise and your eyes tinge orange as someone else arrives at the entrance and you lift your hand off your friend’s shoulder, ready to defend yourself and him, but it’s just Prisma. “You said you were his friend, so I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and not stick you with my scythe.” You say curtly. “Don’t make me change my mind.” You watch him carefully as the medic does their work, ears slightly lower but still wary to any sound, any rustle of movement. Before your fleet training you might have been tempted to take an occasional anxious glance at Hadean, but if the military’s good at anything it’s taught you discipline. You’re focused like a good soldier.

 > PRISMA

You manage a heavy sigh, unconvering your eye briefly as you lean against one of the poles before you glower somewhat at Gliese. You're too frazzled by Hadean's twisting emotions to do much more in retaliation, though. In your state, it wasn't like you could take her. He wasn't dying, was he? You just met him... It's an empty feeling, though, replaced by a torrent of frustration, terror, breathlessness, help? Lock, trap, blue, trap, trapt, trapped, blue -- You inhale sharply and shut your eyes tightly. And suddenly it's gone. You hold your abdomen and look worryingly over to the rust on the table. You just met him... You can't even be frustrated. You just stare for a few moments until he moves, lacking the ability to feel proper joy or relief so much as the hollowness leaving you briefly. "Hadean?"

 > SIPARA

Red-faced, annoyed, you'd helped Pheres move Emerel from the sandy field to the stands as Gliese - _Gliese_, of all fucking people - hauls Hadean off. "He'll be _fine,_ he's _jade_," you tell him and the jade alike, your flaps all the way back. "Pheres, Maidel - you can spark 'em to the cart, but for fuck's sake, don't _lift him_. Wrap the torso, stick one of those bloodsacks on him, don't _jar the wound_ --" It takes longer than you'd like to actually wrest yourself free! It's a guilt thing, mostly. Pheres is furious and shaking and dry-eyed in that way that means he's contemplating murdering something, and you ought to pap him down - but he _dumped you_, and you're more concerned about Hadean's life right now than Pheres's emotional _fit._ At least Prisma's there to keep Gliese from doing anything stupid. "Pri!" you yelp as soon as you're at the hut of the mediculler, shoving your way through the door. "Is Hads okay? Like, what the fuck happened out there?"

 > HADEAN

God, this is so not your night. Everyone's showing up now, are they there to gawk? They're going to have questions that you... Really don't want to answer. But hard to avoid it now, isn't it? Hard to focus on them when you hurt so much. Especially your damn shoulder. And your arm. Breaks suck. Stupid shambling corpse jade bastards suck. As nice as it would be to just sleep, you don't know if you can. You still need an actual meal sometime soon- Gliese was enough to balance out the spiral that that undead energy had sent you down, but you still feel like you're running on fumes. The glow of your horn is probably a sad sight, sputtering flames as you try swatting at the mediculler again. "Need to go." You try to rise, and it doesn't- go well. Your body sends up a chorus of pain that lays you flat for a moment, choking on a curse. Getting the shit beaten out of you is never nice, being so fucking drained is just the cherry on top. But you're stubborn and you try again, baring your teeth at the mediculler. Hey, at the very least you might diffuse any hot tempers from flaring up in the tent.

 > PRISMA

You look immediately to Sipara when her burning presence bursts through the tent. Shaking your head, you can't even process what to tell her. "Hadean had some sort of reaction. I don't know, but I felt it. It may have been psionic, there is no telling," you attempt, at least, to offer something up. "But he was very hurt. And very scared. I didn't feel anything from Emerel, though. Nothing at all." It's stated like a report, as if you're coolly relaying a dispatch to an officer. As the laid out red blood begins to fight against the doctor, you take a step closer with a wary eye on Gliese. Clearly he didn't have enough energy for something - it didn't take a genius to figure that out if his horn was sustained psionically. It certainly couldn't be physical. "Go where, Hadean?"

 >SIPARA

ou like Pri, you decide. Unlike everyone else, he just rattles off information without even needing you to threaten him with it. It's for the best, because as soon as Hadean tries to sit up and chokes, you kind of want to kill something. "Thanks, dude. And what the actual fuck," you complain instead, stalking closer. Gliese might shank you for getting this close, but whatever, you don't care. "You can't even get up, dude. Where the hell would you be going? Is he feverish?" Being rude to the mediculler never helps. That doesn't stop you from trying to lay a hand on his skin, though, just to check.

 > HADEAN

Right, Prisma was an empath or whatever. He's feeling your shit. You might have felt bad for that- you probably will, later- but right now you're just focused on getting your sorry ass up. Easier said than done when you're getting a bunch of well-intentioned jerks butting in. You'd feel touched, but. They're interfering in stuff they didn't know about and didn't have to understand. "I just need to go." Man, even talking hurts. You just had to find someone, get them alone. You wouldn't be picky right now, even a maroon would do. Speaking of maroons, Sipara is coming closer. She touches you and there's the urge to drain, but no. She's a friend. ...But the parasites are another story. They're a shitty meal, really. Like trying to gorge yourself on fortune cookies. But it's the best you have at the moment without losing a friend, isn't it? You can't stop yourself from making a low sound as you take the energy, a mouthful of water when you're blistering in the fucking desert. Hopefully Sip can get the bastard off before it goes for her blood.

 > PRISMA

"Of course," you reply, just before Sipara launches into her spiel. Lord... "That doesn't make sense, Hadean. Your body can't sustain movement right now..." you say quietly, remaining at a distance with the other three tending to him. "You have to stay. If you go the injuries could tear again..." You're at a loss for words and action, instead looking with worry between Sipara and Hadean. You can't feel anything else from him, so he must be fine...? No, that's not right either. And what was with the noise... "What is it you need to leave for, so badly?"

 >SIPARA

You're not expecting him to touch your arm. You're definitely not expecting the flash of colours that means your prosthetics levels are plummeting - - but this time, at least, you've got the sense to snap off a _disconnect_ before the fangs dig into retaliation. The worm goes limp as the fangs pull out, sliding down your arm in the process, and you hasten it by half-yanking the rest off. It's already stiffening into a defensive curl when you drop it on his lap. "Don't be so fucking petty," you snap. "If you don't wanna be touched, you can just _say! _

 > HADEAN

Oh my god, you're dying and she's whining like you're killing her worms to spite her. You groan and try to force yourself up, slightly more successful this time- you sit up, even if you wobble. Your head is spinning, but you swallow against the dizziness. There's a worm in your lap and you grab it to see if there's anything left in it for you before you weakly shove it off. "Need energy." You squint at the floor, trying to judge if you can stand. How are you expecting to get past all four of them? You weren't planning, you just know you need to. Damn them for caring.

 > PRISMA

You flinch somewhat at the sharp reprimand, curling your hands at your side. What did he do to her... arm? You don't understand in the slightest, watching in some horror as she pries this grotesque something off of her arm. In another life, you might be somewhat nauseated. This time, you move to try to help Hadean steady themselves, "You should stand against someone, or the table. You could black out," You said hurriedly, "What sort of energy?" You look to Sipara, as if she might be able to produce an answer for all of you. Psionic energy? But... that was an extension of will. He said his was... no, he denied it was metabolic. So what was it? The puzzle is irritating.

 >SIPARA

His horn is a little brighter, is the first thing you notice. That's a relief; the way he isn't even bothering to bite back at your snap deflated you, quick as anything. Maybe he's feeling better? No. He's swaying just from sitting up. And Prisma's looking at you. And there's a dead worm on the ground, same as your last one. (When did he zap that one? When you said you wanted to fight him...?) "Tyrian tits, dude." You hate taking the prosthetic off of your bad arm, not least of all because it hooks in tighter: there's those pinprick flashes of pain as it disconnects from your nerves, but at least it's made to come off easier. And if you roll your shoulder after it's free, it looks like it's just asleep, not dead. At least, it better. You toss the freed prosthetic one handed at Prisma, trying not to frown too hard. You're settling a theory, that's all. "They've got psi, " you deadpan. "Let's see if he wants to cull that one, too.

 > GLIESE

You decide to sit down and curl up into a ball as Prisma and Sipara talk. A sudden apathy washes over you. You’ve done everything you can. You can only wait. Though you do frown as Hadean…what did he do? Sipara’s bug is just…dead. At least the mediculler doesn’t seem at all perturbed by Hadean’s insistence and keeps working, sanitizing, bandaging, and packing, cleaning him up. “He’s not feverish.” says the yellowblood quietly. “No warmer than a maroon should be.” “If you need psi - “ You finally say, hoarse. “ - take mine. My bloodline’s stupid strong, it won’t do anything.” Even if it did, you wouldn’t care. Hadean’s life is worth more than some lousy mind control.

 > HADEAN

Well, Prisma makes a good brace to just sort of lean yourself against. You tell yourself you'll just give yourself a minute. Then you'll stand. That sounds good. "I'll black you out, hush." Yeah. Keep acting tough, even when you're feeling weak as a half-squashed grub. You frown at Sipara when you notice she's doing something, then her arm is off. Huh. Neat. She tosses it to Prisma worm and all, and you might grab at it a little eagerly. Fuck the eyes watching you, you'd deal with it somehow... Later. For now you just focus on that little burst of energy you get from the worm, leaving it to have its death throes in Prisma's arms as you close your eyes. At least it's enough to give your horn a faint little constant glow, you're not just coughing up sparks for the moment. But you know it'll come, you have a lot of damage to repair. And oh, they're talking. "I don't eat psi." God, look at her just offering up her powers to you. That's the only thing that gets her that fancy desk job later in life, isn't it? Jeez... "Uh. Thanks for the offer." Hey, you can try to be polite. Even when you're three-quarters dead.

 > PRISMA

"I will see it coming. I do not recommend that, friend." You resituate how to support Hadean when Sipara tosses the... creature... to you. The last thing you wanted was to hold this in your bare hand, but you don't actually have any complaints-- at least until Hadean's touch causes it to seize and crumple. You drop it to the floor, staring down at it numbly before your attention is pulled towards Gliese's offer. If it's not psi... but it can be sustained by food... You purse your lips, eyeing Hadean beside you in silence and waiting for Sipara's authority. Until then, though, you are determined to either keep a grip on Hadean or keep them in arms length.

 >SIPARA He doesn't eat psi, but he's murdering all of your worms. And he fucked up Emerel fairly bad. And, yeah, now there's a glow worth noting in his horns again, and... You blow out your cheeks, trying not to look as alarmed as you're starting to feel. It's Hadean, he's _fine_, and besides, you're totally going down murder hive lane for no good goddamn reason. You've never heard of psionics working like that. They expel, they don't _siphon._ "Sit the fuck down, Hads," you say, curt. This is his deal. You don't need to shout it to everyone in the room, especially when one's blue. "You don't need to _hold_ him, Pri chill already. You need energy, Hads, we'll get you some." "How raw do you want it? "There. You're the queen of subtlety.

 > GLIESE

If he doesn’t eat psi, what the fuck is his deal? Oh. Energy. Weird. But whatever. And now Sipara’s offering, and you roll your eyes a little but don’t comment. At least she’s helping. …wait. Was that why - did he try to pull that on Emerel, and - ? Your eyes narrow, but now’s not the time. Though if he did, why did it fail on the jade? Emerel’s as energetic as anyone. You feel a stab of guilt for abandoning him, but he has Pheres and that greenblood to fuss over him, plus caste on his side. He’ll be okay. You’ll visit him later. “Yeah, Hadean. Name it. We’ll get it.” You say, wry.

 > HADEAN

Sip's smart, you have to give her that. But then of course she is, growing her worms and doing all that lab shit. You've given her enough information now for her to make a calculated guess. You're not sure what you expected of her when she started putting the dots together, but... This wasn't it. You just stare at her, wondering if this is a trick. Or if you're more fucked than you thought you were. Do trolls hallucinate when they die? Maybe. You settle on the bench, licking your lips as you try to figure out what the fuck you do. But there's not much choice now, is there? They all know enough. "Fuck. Fucking. Raw as it gets. Colder the better." You turn your head to stare down the mediculler, because they're an unknown in all of this. Would they blab? Maybe it was best to take care of them.

 > ULLANe

Your only response to the redblood glaring at you - Hadean, you’ve gathered, from everyone saying his name so much - is to raise one eyebrow. “Your powers are none of my business.” You say, shrugging. “Culling me is ill-advised. I can leave you all deathly ill with my psi before you do, so why bother.” The blueblood makes a frustrated noise. Too bad. “I’d like to test that - “ she says, going for her scythe, but before she can she chokes, her own esophageal cells multiplying and blocking her air intake before you cut them off again. “Don’t.” You say. “I shan’t tell. As far as I’m concerned - “ You say, looking around. “ - this was a normal treatment, and nothing unusual happened. I left you to go check on the jade.” Saying so, you pack up your gear and leave to do just that. Whatever they get up to now is none of your business.

 >SIPARA

The mediculler flounces with a flick of her fingers that sets Gliese to choking. It is manners alone that keeps you from grinning until you're out of the tent, and then you're fairly cackling as you walk away. You hate walking without your prosthetic. Your bad arm jangles next to you like a weight you can't feel, startling you every time it brushes your thigh, but luckily Pheres's cart isn't that far. The stall is still attached to the front, even, for all that the doors have all been shut and the curtains on the van proper drawn shut. And there's Lal, right where you left him. Well. Not quite. "What, he wouldn't let you in?" you ask, sympathetic. "Soz. Hey, wanna help me steal a goat?"

 > LALEDY

In your defense, you did try to get into the cart - but no amount of pizza peace offerings are going to calm Pheres down from the mood he's in. Understandably: you're pretty sure his matesprit is dead. That doesn't stop you from being anxiously restless as you strain to hear inside the cart and wait for someone to show up before a fairgoer decides your loitering is getting suspicious. Thankfully, Sipara comes loping over to your rescue. No worse for wear despite what you're sure was a tense situation, though with a little less volume on one side. "Depends," you declare, shoving yourself off the side of the cart, "That, uh, Pheres, on accounta the attitude and, y'know-" You gesture at your own horns- "Or the one that up and ate your frond?"

 > SIPARA

"Neither! We are stealing, like, a totally unrelated hoofbeast that's innocent of all crimes. Shit's gonna be wicked." He doesn't look chill. He looks, actually, pretty much the _opposite_, and you catch yourself looking at the van like you can peer inside. "So. Uh." God, you shouldn't ask. "Is he, y'know -" _Croaked it_ isn't a good term, not when Pheres might hear it. "How's he doing?" you say instead, twisting your mouth to the side.

 > LALEDY

"Well," you concede, hoping Sipara doesn't ask. "So long's I ain't gonna get short, mad, and fluffy on my tail. Cos, uh-" She asks. Damn it. So much for getting away from the death and angst card immediately. You lean back against it, shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets. "- I ain't a medical professional," you say carefully, awkward and a good bit quieter. "But, uh - green dude ain't, like. Aspiratin' or nothin'."

 >SIPARA

Laledy looks like it's _his_ clademate that just croaked it. You should feel worse, you think. But it's not you know Emerel! And it's not like Pheres's even known him for _long_. Still, he's still going to be frothing, so you puff out your cheeks, and with great reluctance, rap hard on the door. You barley get to a second knock before a window cracks open, and Pheres's voice drifts out. "He's fine," Pheres snaps. His voice's gone all _throaty_, in a way that makes your ears pin back at the sound of it. "And you're not allowed in, so just - _fuck off._" A moment later, the window snaps shut. "Well," you say, turning around. Your cheeks are warm. _Goddamnit._ ".. uh. Shit. Um. Thanks.. for staying? Y'know. During that."

 > LALEDY

Pheres sounds like he's either been crying or is about to, and that's just about more emotional vulnerability than you can tolerate from a guy that you're barely friends with. Sipara doesn't sound much less comfortable when she turns her back, and you're relieved at the chance to jog a few steps to catch up with her. You duck around until you're on the side of her good arm, pressing your fingers to her elbow so she can lead you to wherever you're going to... catch a goat, apparently. You shrug awkwardly. "Ain't no big. Gotta make sure a guy ain't gonna go nothin' - y'know, right?" Well, that's certainly a sentence that made sense. "He'll be fine. Pher, I mean. Ain't so sure 'bout his boo, but..." There's not really a 'but' that follows, and you're not entirely sure how to even have this conversation. The one boon to being stuck outside listening to make sure Pheres didn't, like, hurt himself or snuff Emerel was that you didn't have to talk to anybody about the potentially dead guy in the van. "Why're we gettin' a bleatbeast?" you blurt.

 > PHERES

You have no idea what to do. It's a good thing that Budino's being quiet in the corner, because right now, you'd cull him if he said a word. It didn't work. He looks like he's sleeping, with scarcely a dent in his face to show it was ever injured, and he's not sleeping: he's _dead_. The saw is still lying where you left it. If you have to, you'll cut off his head. But.. maybe you'll just wait, first. It can't hurt to wait. "Maidel," you say, and you hate the way your voice rasps. "You should go. _Please._ Thank you, but.. Go."

 > MAIDEL

You completely understand. You fixed Emerel - mostly - but it doesn’t seem to have done any good. You don’t understand. His body responded to your healing, but…he’s still… You don’t even want to think about it. You hang your head and don’t say a word, going out at Pheres’s orders, floppy ears sadly drooping even more than usual. But then those ears flip up slightly as you see Sipara and Laledy walking off, and tilt your head as the jade asks why they’re getting a goat. “Why ARE you getting a bleat beast?” You ask curiously. Maybe it’s none of your business, but you need something to do, and - wait, where did Sipara’s prosthetics go? You’ve _never_ seen her without them before. You hurry over to them, concerned. “What’s going on?”

 >SIPARA

Maidel looks like someone shot Kabiir in front of him, and then started eating. It is entirely too fucking depressing. "We're getting a bleatbeast to impress he-who-must-not-be-named," you murmur, quiet enough that Pheres won't hear. "C'mon, Maidie-baby, you're getting conscripted to help us out, on accounta the fact, like, I'm _totes_ down an arm." "And how else are we gonna carry it, if you don't come with?"

 > LALEDY

You suck in a breath through your teeth and realize - well, shit, you've now got one friend that's culled another friend's quadrant. At least Sipara doesn't seem to have forsaken Hadean - or you think so, anyways. Maidel catches up the few steps to the two of you, and you wave an awkward hello, briefly considering letting go of Sipara's arm before you decide you don't currently give a fuck. "Where we gettin' it?" you ask, "Cos, lemme tellya, it ain't been smellin' near's bad as I'd've figured for a place what's up and got bleatbeasts to spare. And, like, why's Hads want a goat?" You suppose it's better than him not needing a goat, on account of being dead.

 > MAIDEL

You blink as Sipara tells you why, and you don’t really understand, but she is your boss, so you shrug and go along with it. Pheres would probably want you to keep an eye on the pair of them anyway, just to be safe. Besides, you kind of like the nickname. “I can take care of it.” You say, confident. You don’t even have to carry it - you can just stick it in a safe plane and retrieve it. That way you don’t have to worry about it getting loose. “Um, one second - “ You take your fair map out of your sylladex, looking it over, and then showing it to Sipara, waving a freckled finger over an area labelled ‘authentic historical food, slaughtered fresh!’. “They’ll probably have one, or something like it.” You walk with them, and even though you’re further away now, you still lower your voice to ask. “Is Hadean okay?”

 >SIPARA You give Laledy a long look. "Do you _really_ want to know why he wants a goat? Like, really? Really?" "And - yeah, we'll get it from there. Sounds good." Lal's clinging to your arm, and it's.. actually, weirdly sort of endearing. You need people on your arm more: if it weren't currently being dead-weight, you'd probably loop your others through Maidel's. "Hadean's.. aright. Why wouldn't he be?" "He's not the dumbass that walked into a fucking _knife._"

 > LALEDY

You stare at Sipara. "Pal, the way you're goin', there's like a 50% chance you're about to tell me he wants to pail it, and a 50% chance you're gonna say we're summonin' the Demoness, and, gotta say, there's zactly one a'those options I ain't down for." Then she calls Emerel a dumbass for walking into a knife, and you bark an incredulous laugh. "Wait, for cereals? Even I ain't that shit at fightin'! Uh, crap-" You just insulted a dead guy and somebody needs to tape your mouth shut- "Then what'sa matter with 'im? I wan't half-sure he wasn't, like, also dead."

 > MAIDEL

Your face knits in worry as Sipara questions Laledy, but you nod as she agrees. Then you’re puzzled again, but from her tone, you figure it’s better not to ask, and you wince at her last comment before trying to withhold slightly horrified laughter at the jadeblood’s remarks. “I don’t think Hadean has the energy for the first one.” You say, bemusedly. “And I think we’d have to offer the Demoness better than just a goat, probably.” You give the jade an alarmed look, but he seems to have realized his mistake - besides, you have no idea how well he knows Emerel. Maybe he hasn’t even met him properly. “He’s probably just recovering, I imagine.” You say, partially to help Sipara out. “Those wounds looked nasty.”

 > SIPARA

"Look, what I'm _saying_, Lal, is that we're gonna walk in, drop off a goat, and close our eyes to whatever fucked up shit goes down before we manage to get the fuck out. Why do you have to go 'n make it weird?" A beat. "'sides, why can't he do both? Hadean's, like, _talented_, dude." .. are you supposed to fight Laledy over him insulting Pheres's quad? He's dead. He can't exactly _object_, and Pheres isn't exactly here to _hear_, so... nah. "He's fine! He's just gotta sit, take a breath and then walk it the fuck off." You shrug. "You saw the braid thing, dude, 's just woozy," you drawl, light, and then you nudge Maidel with your shoulder. Thank god she's so tall. "Hey, babe, you leadin' the way? 'cause beeteedubs, I have _no_ fucking idea where this is."

 "Uh, right." The braid thing, whatever that was. "Ain't impugnin' Hads's many talents, pal, just wonderin' what choice I made in life that's let to this demonic cult I just joined, and also how you know the Demoness goes in for that kinda ish. Like, pal, if we're gettin' her a bleatbeast, seems kinda shit to get her a used bleatbeast!" You thought that maybe if you talked enough, it would somehow eliminate the awkward, but you forgot that you opening your mouth absolutely never entails a lowering in awkwardness. At least Sipara is half as lost as you are. You snort at her - the blind leading the blind.

 > MAIDEL

You make a lot of faces as the two of them talk. You’ve lost count of how many different emotions you’ve been running through. “Oh! Yes, I’m taking us there. It should only be a few more minutes.” You reassure her. You keep switching between the map and the landmarks, anxious to keep the three of you on the right track, and you’re pretty sure it’ll be coming up soon. You laugh a little at Laledy’s comments. “I’m about…ninety percent sure, there will be no heraldic figure of doom summoning.” You say. “Oh! Yup, there it is, uh…hm.” You come up on the place, and you can tell by the smell and sound of it. There’s a very menacing looking yellowblood with a butcher knife, slicing a bloody haunch of meat at a stand, but peering around that you can see stalls from where bleating and mooing is coming. “Hm.” You say again, more quietly, thinking. “I think one of you might want to distract the stall keeper, while I get close enough to grab the bleatbeast…that part’s easy, I just need to make sure I won’t be getting a blade in the neck.”

 >SIPARA

"Dude, the fuck is your thing with demon summoning? You got _practice?_" You jeer at him: "-'cause if you do, don't tell Queenie. Pretty sure she's the only spoopy thing allowed in the shop." You lace your fingers through Laledy's, then use that to tug him forward. "We'll distract him," you declare. "C'mon! It'll be just like the musical dude, In Which Seven Young Signmates are In Need of Kismesises (And One Case of Auspisticism). You've seen that, right? Or - shit." You pause, peering at Maidel, your ears pricking forward. "Can you even carry a goat by yourself?"

 > LALEDY

"Duh," you tell Sipara, sticking out your tongue, "Ain't you heard? It's, like, emogoth chic, I gotta be true to my identity-!" You were going to keep going, but then Sipara actually grabs your hand, winding her fingers through yours like you're in a romcom, and now you're walking together instead of behind her, hands swinging between the two of you. Well, that's one way to shut you up. You're pretty sure you've gone green up to your ears. The last time you'd held someone's hand, Cateex looked at you like you'd rotated your head 360 degrees. "Well," you manage, though not without missing a beat or three, "If there's precedent - and, shit, pal, who's up and questionin' peeps' talents now? Maybe she can, like, carry two bleatbeasts, even! One for Hads, one for the Demoness."

 > MAIDEL

You laugh, letting a few lime green sparks off from your eyes - not too noticeable unless you’re looking closely, but apparent to anyone within a few feet. “I don’t have to.” You say, smiling. “But I _am_ going to vanish with it, so we’ll have to meet up somewhere else. Pheres’s cart?” Aww, Laledy’s blushing. It’s kind of adorable. Are he and Sipara quadrants? Well, none of your business, you suppose. Maybe your bosses just like jades. “I could grab two, but I think one is enough to worry about.” You say dryly. “Unless you really want one as well, Laledy.”

 >SIPARA

"'sactly! And -" Wait, Lal's blushing. Why? .. over-exertion, probs. For fuck's sake, why'rne you always surrounded by a bunch of waifs? But you slow down, obliging up until Maidel chirps off that line. "Holy shit, _no_, not Pher's. You -" You pause, completely serious: "- you, Maidie, keep the fuck away from the cart for awhile, 'kay? 'til he says he wants you there. Like, either of us pops back up, he's gonna eat our fucking faces. Let him cool off." "Take it to the mediculler tents! Hads in the fifth one down."

 > LALEDY

"So he is effed up!" you accuse, "What's he gone to the mediculler's for? And what's the bleatbeast for?" To be clear: You are totally down for stealing a goat. You're just incredibly fucking confused, have no idea what went down the entire fight and how and why everyone is so injured, and this is, like, the one thing you can probably get a decent answer for so by the Mother Grub, you're going to get it. "And shit, pal," you tack on, midlly disbelieving, "The more the merrier! Just pop on over with one on each shoulder like it's nbd, yeah?"

 > MAIDEL

You wince, but of course Sipara’s right. Even if you didn’t go in and just stopped by before taking the goat away with you, Pheres might be mad, and you don’t want to deal with that. “Right.” You say, nodding. “I’ll see you there then.” You snort. “Not really…but it’d take me too long to explain. The point is, I can do it and leave no trace. It’s a psi thing. Anyway. I’ll wait until they’re focused on the pair of you, and then I’ll dart in and get one. It shouldn’t take me more than a few minutes.”

> BUDINO

You've been quietly sitting in your corner of Pheres' cart, not particularly wanting to say anything even if it didn't look like Pheres might eat you if you so much as breathed too loudly. You keep your knees drawn to your chest as you stare down at the floor. This is way too familiar to you and you hate it. This is why you try not to like people. It always ends up like this and you're starting to think your existence is just fatal luck to everyone else. You stand up, slowly padding over to Emerel's body when Pheres isn't looking, staring down at his face. This is distressing, how much he looks like you. Is this what you'll look like whenever something finally finishes you off? Somehow, the thought is...it usually comforts you, but now it just fills you with bubbling terror when you're actually looking your double in the cold, dead face. You keep expecting him to wake up and yell at you to get a new sign, but he won't. You know he won't. You sigh loudly, your shoulders slumping as you rest your arms on the table next to him, letting your forehead fall on them. Fuck. Everything.