#i'm going to fucking beat the shit out of you

[alchemistc]

He's been good. He's been - pretending to be good well enough that no one has been suspicious.

It's just -

That was it. That was The One.

And sure. He can get back out into the world. He can fall in love again. There is a beautiful man somewhere out in the world who will make him laugh, make him cry.

He's just not sure he wants to put the effort in anymore.

For a hot second he'd really thought -

Not that it matters, anymore.

He's pretty sure his leg is pinned. The cockpit is more smoke than air, at this point. He can feel his toes, but honestly that might be more a curse than a blessing.

He's been staring at the phone in his hand for the last five minutes. Ever since he realized he didn't have the leverage to try to move the bracket keeping him from slipping free of the broken, crunched in door frame.

It's selfish. It's the most selfish fucking thing he's considered since he decided to break his own heart instead of letting someone else.

But logistically he's got about seven minutes until there's too much smoke and not enough air in here, and that's only IF the fire doesn't catch somewhere else.

He's got enough bars. And there are two numbers he could call. Two ways this could go.

The phone rings through four times, and on the fifth, someone answers.

"This is a bad time, Tommy," Eddie says, and Tommy feels a little hysterical. The laughter comes in fits, only slows when he gets a nice good whiff of smoke straight up his nose.

"Sure is."

The tone shifts. "Are you okay?"

"It was a bad idea anyway."

He feels woozy. Glances down at his leg and realizes that stain he'd thought was shadow is... definitely blood.

"Listen. I'm - when Evan gets the call, don't let him go alone. It's my fault for not updating my ICE."

The silence on the other line is deafening. "Tommy, where are you? Don't - don't make any decisions you can't come back from." It's a panned line he'd heard at the VA the half dozen times he'd gone.

"Yeah I didn't really make this decision myself. I'm just - I'm losing a lot of blood, here, and there's not a lot of ways for the smoke to get out of this cabin, and -."

High alert has a very specific sound and feel to it.

Eddie's cursing, something is shuffling, he's snapping his fingers in the distance. God, they're probably at work. "Where are you?"

Tommy rattles off his last known coordinates. "I already told dispatch, Eddie. I'm just. They're not gonna make it in time, and I need you to promise me you won't let him be alone when -."

It'd been a trip he would have been riding shotgun for, if Tommy hadn't made sure he wasn't. He's grateful for that, at least.

He's really not expecting much, he thinks. Eddie doesn't have to go far out of his way to support Buck. It'll hurt him, true. But Tommy's gotten pretty used to being the cause of that. And. He'll be dead, anyway, so he won't have to carry that guilt for long.

And then Eddie betrays whatever vestige of friendship they had left, because it's not Eddie's voice that responds.

"Hey asshole. Do you have enough leverage to break the window?"

He's got a good voice. A little gruff, a little heavy.

Tommy doesn't want this.

"No."

"Actually no, or are you just accepting your fate again without even talking about alternatives."

It's not how he thought he'd go. Dramatic final hour phone call, the end of their relationship as a metaphor for the bleakness of his situation. "I'm sorry, Buck."

He's having trouble focusing his eyes. There's a beat behind his ears that keeps slowing down. He thinks he might be hearing sirens but -

"Evan," Tommy says for the first time in six months. "I'm so sorry, Evan."

He says - something. The tone of it is there, even if he can't quite make out the words.

Tommy blinks. Coughs.

There's a phone in his hands.

Why is there a phone in his hands, he's supposed to be flying a -

He'd crashed it, actually.

Well shit.

Damn.

Eddie's gonna be so pissed if he has to find out second hand that Buck's going to get a really fucking shitty call in a few hours.

He should call.

---

When he blinks open his eyes, he finds his fingers first, nearly has a panic attack when they don't move they way he wants them to, except - oh.

There are fingers interlocked with his.

Tommy follows the line of the arm, even though he knows.

"Sorry," Evan says, and there are tears unshed at the corners of his eyes but he looks mad as hell. "You only get one dramatic exit out of my life in a calendar year."

[hemlock-dreams]

Horny brain! Activate!

Just wanted to write a scene of Spidey finally getting to indulge his colossal oral fixation. Wade volunteers as tribute! So here: 4k words of pure filth.

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

Wade's back hits the wall. He's out of breath, body thrumming from the adrenaline, pulse a hummingbird beat against his chest.

Spiderman has him caged against the rooftop access, an inky blot in the darkness, an electric shadow pressed up against Wade. Their masks are halfway up, and Spidey's tongue is halfway down Wade's throat.

Spidey drops his head to the crook of Wade's neck, leaving a series of sucking kisses that make Wade ache in the suit. "I win," he says, smug as shit, but Wade can't fault him for it.

It was a good fucking chase and an even better fucking fight. He just wishes he could keep the bruises.

"Yeah, you did," Wade pants, grinding against Spidey's dense body. It's amazing, a perfect end to the night, except Wade's not ready for it to be over. "Where I come from, winners get a prize." He says, hoping it doesn't come out too desperate. Or maybe just the right amount of desperate.

Who the winner is in this situation is really up for interpretation, but Wade wants to think they can both get what they want.

Clearly, they're on the same wavelength because Spidey grabs the tail end of the thought and runs with it. "I've got some ideas…"

The dark, masculine purr of Spidey's voice makes Wade want to lick into his mouth, so he does, groaning when Spidey lets him have it. It feels so unbelievably good to let himself want without compunction, to take what's on offer without having to break off pieces of himself to pay for it.

It has the strange side effect of making Wade unusually generous. Borderline pliant—especially when it comes to his favorite spider.

"Oh, yeah?" Wade asks. His vision is already starting to sparkle, body twitching under Spidey's hands from the venom. Wandering hands inevitably end up on Spidey's magnificent ass, squeezing hard, knowing he can take it. "You know what they say. Sharing is caring."

A hand comes up between Wade's legs, palming the erection that's been there ever since Spidey tackled him across a fire escape three blocks ago. He's not gentle, either. Wade pushes up into it, shuddering when the pressure doesn't let up.

Fuck it's good. But he's more interested in what's Spidey's got cooking.

"Here's what's going to happen," Spidey starts casually, cool as a cucumber. Wade's heartbeat picks up immediately. Spidey always has spectacular plans, especially when they involve Wade. "I'm going to get on my knees, and you're going to fuck my mouth. My prize, is going to be swallowing you down— as many times as you can take it."

The words hit Wade like a nuclear fucking blast, evaporating all the air in his lungs. He doesn't even pretend to think about it; just shoves his hands between their bodies and starts yanking at his suit like it's offended the honor of his house and name.

“I haven’t done this before,” Spidey’s voice is thick with anticipation, and the way he watches Wade unbuckle his suit, licking his lips like there’s a five-course meal waiting in Wade’s pants makes his hands shake. “But I’ve thought about it. A lot.”

His mouth brushes under the edge of Wade’s mask as he confesses, licking the seam of the merc’s lips before continuing down his chin. 

“Tell me,” Wade grunts, fingers clumsy as he tries to get his fucking zipper to cooperate- difficult when Spidey’s fangs scrape over the sensitive skin of his jaw, little pinpricks of pain and pixie magic that make his trapped cock scream in the suit.

“Been thinking about how it would feel on my tongue,” Spidey indulges, panting wetly against Wade’s neck. “Thought about holding you down and stretching my throat around you, wanna swallow till I’m sore-”

Wade tears the zipper clean off with an unhinged sound. Spidey huffs a laugh, something about being impatient, but he's far past caring. Fuck patience. Fuck the suit. Everything between him and Spidey’s ravenous fucking mouth needs to fucking disappear. 

It takes a few drugged, desperate seconds to summon the coordination, but Wade finally manages to pull out his dick, hissing in relief as he palms the throbbing length of it. He’s already painfully hard from the chase. The thrill of being so thoroughly roughed up has him leaking against the blood-slick leather of his glove where he twists it around the head. 

Spidey bats it away with a low, possessive growl that makes Wade forget to register the tired knee-jerk stab of shame about his scarring. All attention is devoted to the sight of Spidey sinking to his knees with inhuman, predatory grace, and the heavy curl of his hands around Wade’s hips, coupled with the sharp glint of his venom-streaked fangs, has his dick jumping like he’s been electrocuted.

Fuck, fuck— Spidey hasn’t even done anything, and Wade's on the verge of begging.

“C’mon, Fangs,” he pleads because shame is on vacation right now, fisting the edges of Spidey’s suit and spreading his legs as far as the leather will allow. He tries to flex his hips, but it’s no use. Spiderman is carved from marble, his hands immovable from where he’s anchored Wade. 

There’s barely two inches between Spidey’s mouth and his dick, but it might as well be a fucking mile. He glances up at Wade, and his smile is hungry and a little manic, tongue pink and lurid as he swipes it across his fangs.

“I’ll probably hurt you,” he whispers.

Wade’s brain rattles in his head. “Promise?” He begs, breathless because just the thought of it has him panting like a bitch. 

That was apparently the right thing to say because Spidey laughs and gets with the fucking program.

It’s been a while since Wade’s been on his knees for anyone. Even longer since he’s been on the receiving end, but given Spidey’s hungry enthusiasm, Wade expected to be halfway down the man’s throat by now.

But predicting Spiderman is an exercise in futility because instead of going to town or doing any of the normal things people do when presented with a cock, he bypasses it to press his face to the base of the shaft, inhaling through his teeth in heaving gulps.  

Oh, that’s right. 

It's been mentioned once or twice, how Spidey can taste Wade on the air, that their constant proximity means he can parse the merc’s flavor apart from the rest of the ambient soup of the world. 

Wade doesn’t know what that really means, but he doesn’t care because Spidey rolls his face against Wade’s skin, breathing deeply, fingers convulsing around the merc’s hips in fits.

It’s both blisteringly hot and strangely chaste— like Spidey is feeling Wade because he’s pleasing to touch, using his body to satisfy all the little urges he’s had to keep tucked away, just because Wade makes him feel good in some bone-deep way.

The feeling unfurls, rolling outwards till his legs are trembling. His hands scrabble against Spidey because his grip is the only thing keeping Wade from freefalling.

“Jesus, Slick,” Wade pants, trying to swallow around the sudden lump his throat, “You’re gonna fucking kill me, come on.”

“Pot. Kettle.” Spidey breathes, in time with Wade’s spiking pulse, “You’ve been driving me crazy. The way you fucking taste, you have no idea-”

Wade really doesn’t. He’s extremely fuzzy on what keeps Spidey here, but he’s not dumb enough to call his bluff, not when his gorgeous hunter leans back and rolls his tongue over the head of Wade’s weeping dick, groaning like the merc is doing him a favor.

The first real touch of his tongue has both of them shivering, and Spidey suddenly descends on Wade like a man starved. He works his lips over the head of his dick like it’s the world’s most delicious lollipop, leaving tingling iridescent trails in his wake as he kisses down the shaft.

Wade is transfixed at the sight, pulse rabbiting as Spidey traces over the scars with his tongue, dipping into the grooves like he’s trying to ingrain them into his memory by mouthfeel alone. 

It’s the hottest fucking thing Wade’s ever seen. In fact, he wishes he could permanently pluck out his own eyes to make sure it’s the last thing he ever sees. Then again, maybe it's good he can't because there’s no way he’s missing the sight of Spidey chasing a drop of precum like it’s vital to his survival.

“You taste so pretty,” Spiderman slurs like he can read Wade’s mind, or maybe taste it on his tongue— punctuating the statement with a debauched kiss to the leaking tip. “So fucking perfect, wanna keep you here forever.”

The praise goes straight to Wade’s head, hips jerking uselessly against Spidey’s iron grip. “You can,” he sounds pathetic. “As long as you want, all yours.” And he is, fuck, he is— for as long as long as Spiderman can stand him. 

“Yeah?” A pink-slick tongue laves the underside of the head, tracing the throbbing vein there. Wade’s vision crackles; it’s so intense, “Whenever I want?” There’s something deeply satisfying in the way his fingers dig into Wade’s hip, ten sweet points of bruising pain that makes his dick weep.

“Yeah. Anytime, anywhere,” Wade promises fervently, sounding like the lovelorn maiden he is. He’ll let Spidey blame it on the venom. 

That gets him a crooked grin, pleased. Spidey purses his lips around the head of Wade’s cock, content to linger, pressing torturous little licks into his slit. 

Now, Wade is a well-known masochist, but apparently, he’s got a limit. “C’mon, Fangs,” he moans, twitching against Spidey’s mouth, heart jumping when the head of his cock hitches one venom-slicked lip high enough to see teeth, “Let me in.”

That earns him a heartfelt groan and a shiver. 

“I want, but-” Spidey hisses, rubbing his lips against scarred skin. Lips draw back in a facsimile of a snarl.

Wade pulls at Spidey’s shoulders, impatient, “Your teeth? Trust me, baby, it's all I've been thinking about. I want it.” Wade’s cock is literally jumping at the sight. Want doesn’t even begin to describe it. 

Wade needs it; needs to see that pretty needle-lined mouth wrapped around his cock before he wakes up behind whatever dumpster he’s offloaded his body. 

Spidey stares at him, breath coming out in harsh gasps.

"Please," Wade begs, and it must be convincing because Spidey twitches forward in an aborted movement.

“Show me,” Spiderman says, then shakes his head, sounding unhinged, borderline feral. “No…Make me.” 

The demand practically creaks under years of habits born in response to having fangs that don’t retract.

Jesus, he really hasn't done this before, has he?

The thought of being the first person to sink into Spiderman’s virgin fucking mouth drives him crazy. Wade isn’t delusional enough to believe he’ll be the last but fuck, he wants to make it so good that Spidey keeps coming back-

He remembers to tear his gloves off before fisting one hand into the back of Spidey’s mask, tugging hard, forcing the man’s head back until his neck is a pale, elegant line in the dark.

His gorgeous little spider doesn't even flinch; he just leans into the pain like it's a gift. The explicit show of trust sends all voices roaring, and the intensity of Wade's desire takes him by surprise. Violence, lust, love, all the lines blur until Wade can't tell the difference between wanting to fuck Spidey or kill him— whatever it takes to permanently mark him as Wade's.

Spidey chooses that moment to swallow, knowing that Wade's eyes follow the motion like a man possessed. Fucking tease. Wade's going to ruin him.

“Poor itsy bitsy spider,” Wade's voice is a velvet growl as he settles his other hand around Spidey’s jaw, reveling in how the simple touch makes him shiver. Has anyone else ever reacted like that to Wade? “Spent your entire life with that hungry mouth muzzled, huh?”

Wade doesn't wait for Spidey to confirm. He can already imagine the man's civilian life, a sad snapshot of carefully regulated emotions filled with close-lipped smiles and pursed grins. A real fucking shame because Wade recognizes a repressed slut when he sees one. Something, something birds of a feather.

“Don't worry, baby,” He slides his cock up and over Spidey's mouth, watching the wallcrawler jerk and pant as he spreads all that shiny venom over his cheeks, pushing up against the edge of his mask, “I'm going to pry you open just to see how soft you are inside.”

Spidey grits out a wounded noise, jaw hard enough to chew through gravel. He’s drooling through clamped teeth, venom, and spit trailing down his chin in rivulets. He wants it, bad, and Wade wants to give it to him.

Spidey just needs a little coaxing, and the challenge of it, combined with Wade's frayed impatience, makes his touches mean.

“Thought you wanted this?” Wade cruelly squeezes his fingers deep into the bone, right where the hinge is, just to watch Spidey flinch and take it. “Don’t tell me you chased me through the city just to pass on your prize?” 

He presses his cock against Spidey’s closed mouth, pushing past his lips to rub against his teeth and catch against his swollen gums, right up against the sensitive glands.

It must feel intense because Spidey shakes and whines, muscles spasming under Wade's fingers as he struggles to fight years of conditioning.

“Was it all talk?” He taunts, pulling back just enough to watch Spidey fight his grip to chase him. “Is it too much for you? Maybe I should put it away-”

It’s a bluff because Wade is fucking desperate, but Spidey’s jaw flexes in response, loosening just enough to unleash a furious growl. 

“No?” Wade pretends to think about it long enough for Spidey’s grip to turn dangerous. Wade's hips might be splinters by the end, but that’s just icing on the cake. “You want it?” 

“Yes,” Spidey chokes out, and Wade gives him a brutal little shake,

“Then, open up.” His voice is all malice, the way it gets when Wade's face to face with a target he’s looking particularly forward to taking his time with. “Let me break you in.”

That does it. A full-body tremor rolls up Spidey’s entire frame, and slowly, very slowly, his jaw begins to relax. 

What a perfect, fucking freak.

Immediately, Wade pushes his fingers into the soft hollows of Spidey’s cheeks, forcing his jaw wider, crooning in pleasure as he watches bruises bloom under pressure. “That’s it, Slick. Open up those pearly gates, lemme see what heaven looks like.”

The fangs really are pretty- long and graceful, and absolutely drenched, gums swollen around the base of his canines— hypersensitive, if the way Spidey is twitching is any indication. His mouth is plush and bright pink, a salivating mess when Wade jerks his head up for a better look.

His cock throbs at the sight, and Wade reached his limit about two paragraphs into this whole thing, so he starts pushing, dragging the leaking tip past Spidey’s criminally soft lips.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hand shaking around Spidey’s jaw. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Wider, that’s it, yeah-“

Spidey makes a garbled, incoherent noise that makes Wade want to slam in. His spider is breathing hard and fast, hands tight across the merc's hips; Wade has to fight for every goddamn inch, earn every shallow, torturous slide into that glorious mouth.

The wet, needy sound that accompanies every slide is addicting.

“That’s it, baby, keep that mouth nice and loose for me. Let me give it to you, fuck-” he’s working his hips in little jerks, just dragging the head across Spidey’s drooling mouth, fighting not to come before he's given Spidey his damn prize.

Wade goes deeper each time, teasing both of them when he pulls out and dips back in, little thrusts that have Wade’s nerve endings sparking. Fuck, fuck, he needs more—

"Is that all you can take?" It's supposed to be a taunt, but the words come out twisted, desperate. Wade needs to get deeper; he needs to carve out a space in Spidey's body just for him.

Spidey makes a frustrated, guttural noise around Wade’s cock as he tilts his head. The new angle makes his fangs look obscene, like two gleaming daggers poised over the head of Wade’s dick, and his voice pitches embarrassingly high at the sight.

“In, wanna see you take it.” Panting breaths, Wade pulling as much as he can, pushing his hips at the same time, but there's no fucking give to Spiderman. “Come on, come on, c’mon, c'moncmoncmon-”

Spidey shifts, and Wade feels his jaw pop under his thumb, the final piece of resistance disappearing as he finally leans in, and god- Spidey's mouth is a fucking revelation, all scorching heat, so wet there's almost no friction, just a long, dripping, sinful slide.

Wade hears himself whine, a perfect counterpitch to Spidey's low animal groan.

It's too fast, especially given Spidey's inexperience, but the promise of bruising that beautiful throat from the inside out burns all of Wade's gentler impulses.

And Spidey sounds so fucking pleased, like Wade is everything he ever wanted, sinking further and further like he can't bear the thought of pulling back— like the weight of Wade's cock is more important than the air in his lungs.

“C’mon,” He’s babbling, comically delirious even to his own ears, leaking every thought right into Spidey's greedy mouth, “Take it, take it, sweetheart, it’s yours, all of it, anything you need, Slick, please—”

He's so close. The world is starting to go hazy, the wet sound of Spidey's mouth, the bruising grip around his hips, the chill breeze over his stomach, everything blurring together to tease the most monstrous orgasm of his life.

Right as he's about to tip over the edge, Spiderman retreats, and Wade nearly breaks his own fingers trying to claw him back over his aching dick. Wade's throat burns, loud and incoherent, a wash of white noise against the coming tide.

It doesn't seem to matter, or maybe it does, because Spidey just breathes deep and sinks all the way to the root, and the resounding crack of Wade's skull against the wall is nothing but a delicious accent to the absolute tidal wave of pleasure that swamps him.

Time turns to spaghetti, and by the time Wade floats back up, it's to the sight and sound of Spidey shaking, whining around the thick length of Wade's cock, nose pressed against the bone. He sounds pained, like he's hurting, or—

“Jesus, Jesus, baby, did you just-?” Wade shudders, staring down at Spidey's kneeling form in disbelief.

Spidey just makes a raw, broken noise, sounding as fucked out as Wade feels. He swallows, then nods.

His hands haven't moved from Wade's hips.

"Where did they make you? Fuck, you're so, —just— fucking perfect. You're gonna kill me," Wade chokes out, hoarse, twitching against the soft meat of Spidey's throat.

Spiderman seems to take this as advice because instead of pulling off, he sinks even further until his face is completely pressed up against Wade's abdomen.

It's immediately too much, and Wade scrabbles at Spidey's shoulders, hissing as his body instinctively tries to retreat.

He doesn't go far because Spidey fuckin’ snarls around Wade’s cock in protest, and Wade suddenly finds himself pushed against the wall hard enough to grind his spine into the brick. He’s pinned, completely immobile, save for his mouth- which is still running a mile a minute, 

“Fuck, baby, Jesus, you're a fucking lunatic—!" His voice cracks as Spidey inhales him, taking the entirety of Wade's shaft like he's going to find the meaning of life at the base of it.

He stays there for a long time, immune to the desperate, inarticulate noises tearing out of Wade's mouth. Wade's cock hasn't even had a chance to go down, and thanks to Spidey, is almost painfully hard against the back of his throat.

Enthusiasm aside, Wade knows he needs to ease up. Spidey can't be getting enough air— but Wade can’t pull back, not when he feels the tips of those fangs threaten him when he tries. Instinct paralyzes Wade, but the sound that Spidey makes, a low hum of warning, vibrates through his cock and all the way up his spine.

Those teeth press close, locking tight enough to be unnerving. There's no pain, not yet, but the threat, the mere idea of it, sends Wade's brain right into the fucking stratosphere.

When his ears turn back on, it’s to the sound of his own babbling, out of his mind on a heady cocktail of terror and pleasure, "Fuck, Slick, your fucking teeth, yeah do it, do it, do it, do it—" Wade’s voice is wobbly, wet as he shakes from the overstimulation.

Spiderman doesn't let up, forcibly pushing Wade deeper into the wall as he speeds up.

Spiderman pulls back and sinks down, dragging the sharp points of his teeth across Wade's cock over and over and over, carving shallow lines of blistering pain and pleasure that coil in the mess of his brain until they're indistinguishable from one another.

Wade is suspended, writhing in pure, terrifying sensation, and the sounds being punched out of his chest are humiliatingly small and honest. 

Spidey’s venom is shimmering on his skin, coursing in his veins, sinking into his fucking soul and staining the ragged thing electric pink. His entire nervous system feels like it's been doused with gasoline and set on fucking fire.

It's too much. Every inch of exposed skin feels flayed. Wade's cock is just a raw nerve, and Spidey’s mouth a fucking black hole, sucking every single thought out of Wade’s head with incredible violence.

“Fuckbabyfuckican't—" But he wants to, wants to give it to Spidey, but there's just no way, he can't.

Spidey doesn't give a shit about Wade's limits, because he pries one of the merc's hands from his shoulder, and Wade valiantly scrapes half a brain cell off the floor to pay attention when Spidey presses the bare palm to the side of his neck—

Everything slows down. Oh fuck. Oh fuck-

Then Spidey swallows and squeezes, and the feel of his fangs pressing in, his throat distending around Wade’s cock, under his palm-

That’s it. Game over. Wade’s entire body locks up, muscles convulsing as Spidey wrenches his second orgasm from the fucking pits of hell. He comes so hard his teeth ache. It lasts for centuries, time stretching and wringing out every drop of pleasure until Wade is whiting out, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He’s not sure he ever really comes back down; just floats just over the precipice of consciousness, just low enough to hear his own overstimulated whimpers as Spidey swallows around him, just like he promised.

For the first time in ages, Wade's head is blissfully silent, and he basks in it for as long as he can.

Eventually, the world begins to filter in, but Wade's body still feels languid, lacking the telltale bite he associates with general living.

Cracking his eyes open— when had he closed them?— Wade is treated to the sight of a very satisfied, very smug spider.

"Fucker." He manages, voice broken and rough with affection.

His legs are completely fucking shot, and the only thing stopping Wade from buckling to the grimy cement are Spidey's hands holding him to the wall, keeping the entire bulk of Wade's considerable weight like he's nothing.

His thumbs are stroking over Wade's hipbones.

It's hot. It's...it's...

He runs a soft hand over the fading bruises on Spidey's jaw and gets a sweet kiss on his knuckles in return. Wade's heart does something funny in his chest, but the accompanying feeling isn't funny in the slightest.

Then Spidey nips the thumb, grinning wide, a little drunk and a lot vicious. The broken rasp of his voice straight up rewires the pleasure centers of Wade's brain, “Again?”

Wade feels the addiction forming, physically impossible but there all the same. And like every substance abuse story, Spidey is going to eat Wade alive from the inside out.

What a way to go.

"Yeah," Wade grins. "C'mon sweetheart, let's see if you can actually kill me this time."

[twstfanblog]

*~Thanks Give Me~* Pt 1

A/N: I'm excited to get this fic out that I'm posting the first part before the second is even done XD Enjoy the fic and look forward to part two! Word Count: 2.5K Warnings: Swearing, Glossing over the history of the Native Americans Part 2

Banging on Ramshackle's front door was easily the quickest way to get Yuu to answer. Banging on Ramshackle's door at 7am was easily the fastest way to get Yuu to murder whoever was at the door with reckless abandon. 

Yuu had to give credit to whoever was on the other side, they did not let up on their knocking even at the sound of them stomping down the stairs nor the aggressive way they started to undo the locks more than likely broke one of their nails. Swinging open the door, hair wild from sleep and tired eyes glaring they started to yell, “What the fuck do you WANT-”

Ruggie barely missed a beat, stepping closer to squeeze himself under Yuu's arm and into the entry hall of the dormitory, “Hey Ramshackle! So…you told me about a holiday from your world last year and I wanna hear about it again.”

“...” Yuu slammed the door closed, “You were knocking on my door like you were the fucking police because you wanted me to info dump holidays?”

“Nah, nah, nah…Just the one you talked about happening in November…the food one…tell me about the food one again…”

“...Thanksgiving-?”

“Yeah, Thanks Give Me. Are you doing it…this year? Did you do it last year? You should do it this year…and invite your good friend Ruggie-”

“I should fucking kill you. You woke me up on a Saturday for this shit-”

“Come on, prefect!” Ruggie’s face had slipped into an almost pleading expression, “You told me that you'd host one if you had the money for it!” 

He gestures around, the updated and safer Ramshackle a clear difference from the poor squatter Yuu used to emulate, “You can't even bullshit me and say you don't have money now!”

“...” Yuu stood with their hands pressed together, lips resting on their interlocked fingers as they tiredly glared at the floor, “Ruggie if I threw a fucking Thanksgiving dinner will you get the fuck out of my house and let me sleep?”

“Yes.”

“You are so lucky you did this shit on the 1st, we've got three weeks to plan this dumpsterfire-RUGGIE!?”

Ruggie had quickly hoisted Yuu over his shoulder, fireman carrying them out the door and into the early morning, “Sorry, Ramshackle! Just gettin’ some insurance from your boyfriend!”

Azul had been just as confused and startled when Ruggie banged on his bedroom door at 7am demanding he draft up a contract between him and Yuu regarding their promise. A conversation that led to a contract that was painfully vague. An issue Azul tried to bring up but Yuu simply stated wasn't worth the trouble of explaining and to just do what Ruggie asked.

(“Is this what I do to you guys? Is this What I'm like? Why do you love me?”

“For many reasons, please just tell me what's happening.”

“Naw, this is more fun.”

“Alright…”)

Only a week after that incident, during a housewarden meeting, did Yuu call everyone to attention. They stood, going around the table and passing out invitations tied close with golden ribbons to the other wardens and the vices that had managed to be in attendance.

Vil opened his invitation first, squinting his eyes at the ornate yet bold script and reading aloud, “You are formally invited to the first annual Ramshackle Thanksgiving Dinner…what is Thanksgiving?”

Yuu clicked a button on the room's master remote, calling down the screen and turning the projector on to show a PowerPoint. She moved the projector control panel to the front, putting their flashdrive into it.

Riddle sat up straighter in his seat, pointing toward the set up in anger, “You did not file a request to use the projector!”

“Riddle, let me cook. This is the only way I could think to explain this and I have a magically binding contract with Ruggie.”

Leona groaned, letting his invite fall to the ground, “Is this what Ruggie’s been yapping about for the past four days? He's been hounding my ass to just agree with whatever you propose and I have half a mind to say no out of spite.”

“...”, Yuu pressed a button on the panel, a slide coming up showcasing an obvious stock photo of a feast, “Thanksgiving is a holiday from my world where you come together and eat so much you pass out.”

“...You have my approval.”

Idia spoke up, giving Leona a side eye while he held his own invite like a wet rag, “Wow, folded that fast, huh?”

“I'm depressed, not suicidal, Shroud…”

Yuu clicks to a new slide, showing another clear stock photo of a family all gathered around a dinner table, “As stated, it's a family-based holiday. Immediate and extended family all come together to share a meal, catch up, and just have a general good time and maybe watch some football.”

Idia frowned, the very idea of his extended family all in his home being nothing closer to a waking nightmare.

Another slide, hand-drawn images of two people; one dressed in an all-black traveler’s outfit of an olden Queendom citizen and a Republic Native in a large headdress*, “It started back when the pilgrims landing in America and had their first successful harvest with the help of the Native Americans. And now we just…don't talk about that.”

Trey tucked his invite into his jacket, raising an eyebrow, “Why?”

Yuu clicked to the next slide, showing the Native now scribbled out with red ink and the traveler smiling evilly as she mumbled, “Oh, the stealing of land, assaulting of women and children, the deliberate spread of disease, and erasure of culture-”

Riddle spoke for them all, eyes wide at the various horrors Yuu was seeming to brush past, “The what?”

Yuu clicked the button again, showing a new text slide that (annoyingly) used comic sans as the title font, “Anyway, your jobs. We're gonna do this fast because I have to beat Sebek into submission after this meeting. And just to explain, we're doing what is technically called a ‘FriendsGiving’. It acts more like a potluck instead of a traditional Thanksgiving.”

Jade raises his hand, “I think we'd like to hear more about the apparent deliberate spread of disease?”

Pulling out a collapsible pointer, Yuu smiled and clicked on a new slide to slap it against the screen, “Riddle, you're allowed to bring a store-bought dessert. But your main job will be to yell at everyone to behave and then call to the meal once it's prepared. Actually, Riddle, take notes, everyone will need it.”

Riddle sighed heavily, taking out his notebook and scribbling down notes that he would have to copy and deliver to the others.

The pointer hit against the screen more aggressively, Yuu glaring directly at Trey, “Trey…you bring dessert.”

“I'm not so sure I want to celebrate a holiday involving the desecration of a culture…”

“You bring a dessert or you will be hunted for sport.” Their pointer smacks against the screen again, “Cater: Gay Cousin.”

Idia looked at the screen in confusion, watching as even Riddle was tripped up before writing down what was said, “Is he… is he bringing a gay cousin or-”

SMACK “Deuce, he can bring an egg dish. I can't trust him with anything else. Ace, the family member that no one wants there but shows up anyway.”

Trey was already thinking of what dessert he wanted to bring, making a list in his mind of what the group would like the most, “Do…we invite Ace or do we just bring him with us-”

SMACK “Leona, your job is to hog the TV and watch sports. Just really manspread it on the couch; be even better if you fell asleep while watching it but won't let go of the remote.”

While he didn't agree nor disagree, Leona gave Yuu a look of annoyed bewilderment.

Vil spoke up, his own face pinched in confusion, “This is a food-based holiday, correct?”

Yuu was either willingly ignoring them or she actually was focused on dealing out her strange tasks. The pointer once again slapped at the fabric of the screen, “Jack, something…maybe a nice vegetable side or a pear-themed dish. No chicken…in fact, no meat. He can't be trusted. Ruggie.”

The room was silent as Yuu looked at the screen, a brief pulse of rage in her eyes before inhaling deep and releasing it, “Anyway. Azul, you're in charge of managing the drinks for the evening. We want a decently diverse but small selection of alcoholic and non-alcoholic to pick from.”

“I have no issue with that, though I'd like to know what the final menu will consist of to make a proper selection for wine…also. Is there a reason Jade and Floyd's names aren’t on this list?”

Jade spoke up, “I was also wondering. You are aware that my brother and I are in Mostro Lounge’s kitchen more than Azul is. We'd be best to bring dishes since most of the attendees are not so…culinarily inclined.”

Yuu had been poised to slap their pointer to Kalim’s name, pausing and looking over their shoulder to Jade, “Oh, You're not allowed to participate in prep.”

“...” Azul leaned forward in his seat, making a point to also scoot away from a now blank faced Jade, “You want us…namely me…to tell Floyd he isn't allowed to participate in a group activity that almost everyone else is allowed a hand in?”

“Yes.”

“...Do you not love me anymore?”

SMACK “Kalim-”

“Answer me?”

“-You will actually be securing a tableware set for the festivities. Nothing insane; simple but with a hint of fancy and lots of serving platters and bowls. Crystal or China is traditional, but I'll let you pick what you think would be nice within reason.”

Kalim had perked up, a story about how he had the perfect gold and gem-encrusted dish set dying on his tongue as he thought Yuu's request over, “Don't you…have a room in Ramshackle filled with tableware you found? It was some pretty nice stuff from what Cater told me…”

“Oh yeah. So after some further investigation, turns out all of that was just cursed and Sam has since confiscated it from my property. The cutlery was fine though, so we're good on that front, but if you find something to match the table set, get it.”

“...Okay!” Kalim quickly pulled out his phone, looking up tableware and just how many types of serving platters there were.

SMACK “Jamil.”

The look the vice gave them already showed how tired he was; a holiday based solely on hosting and seemingly meticulous planning of decorations and food prep sounded like an average day in the Asim household, making nothing new nor relaxing to Jamil.

“Do whatever the fuck you want.”

“Parden?”

“The actual task you'd normally be assigned is ‘Day-of Cooking’, but I'm not going to do that to you. So just…show up or don't. Take a nap the day of honestly, me or Kalim will bring you a plate.”

By the Seven, he loved this girl…

SMACK “Vil, you bring a salad. That is all I can trust you with.”

The Pomefiore head stopped looking at his nails with half-lidded eyes, glaring at Yuu's impassive expression, “Do you believe in my cooking skills so little!?”

“Yes. Though, I do have a secondary job for you. It’s to make sure, everyone is within dress code for the meal-”

Leona spoke up, folding his arms with a scowl, “Hold on, you never said there was a dress code-”

Vil raised his hand to Leona's face without looking, promptly silencing the other warden, “What's the dress code?”

“We wanna hover around the casual zone, but not informal. Best option is to be smart casual just tipping into business casual.

Vil had pulled out his own notebook without prompt, writing down notes and sketching out silhouettes of outfits, “Color scheme?”

“The holiday color scheme is fall theming, the warm tones with pops of purple and green. You don't need to follow color tones for the meal, though. Just make sure you're dressed for like…a nice dinner.

“My nice and your nice are two very different things, but noted.”

Rolling their eyes they slap the pointer to the screen, “Epel is allowed to bring anything apples are used in. Which is my way of saying he’s bringing pork tenderloin.”

Jade raised his hand, now fully glaring toward Yuu, “Funny how your friends are allowed to bring dishes.”

“Jade, you can’t be fucking trusted to not put poison in the food. So to be fair, Floyd isn’t allowed to help out either.” Yuu looks toward Rook, fluttering their eyelashes as they tapped his name gently multiple times, “My dear ex.”

Rook smiled back, leaning against the back of his hand and fluttering his eyelashes back, “Mon vieille amor?”

“You have the most important job of hunting down a massive turkey for us since that will be the centerpiece dish of the meal.”

“A hunt!?” Rook stood up so fast his chair slammed into the floor, “I shall make haste!” he raced out of the room, leaping from the window and disappearing around a corner outside.

Vil sighed, writing the last of his outfit ideas before packing up his items and walking out of the room, “Riddle, please forward your notes to me. I'll be free for style suggestions should anyone need them.”

Yuu calls out to him, “A salad! You're bringing a salad!”

Vil's middle finger was flashed just before the door closed behind him.

Rolling her eyes, Yuu turned back to the screen, “Idia, your job is to show up.”

“I'd rather not-”

“Too bad, it's mandatory. I already texted Ortho.”

Idias's tablet dinged from his hands. Looking at the screen his face pinched. Ortho was already sending him smiley emojis and rapid-fire messages on how excited he was to design a new shell and take photos of the upcoming group dinner. Sprinkled in were pleading and pensive faces begging that he agree to come and didn’t try to weasel his way out.

Glaring over his screen, already typing out a reply to Ortho's multiple messages, “You're a bitch.”

“Wear an actual outfit. Malleus.” SMACK.

The fae was still looking contently at his invitation, nodding as he already understood what Yuu was asking of him, “I'm aware of my job.”

“He can not know.”

“Lilia will only be made aware as we are dressing for the festivities.”

“You are one of the treasures of my life. Silver is tasked with making bread rolls for the dinner. Sebek is going to be helping me make the rest of the menu the night before/day of.” Yuu put the pointer back in its collapsible mode, putting the screen back up and clicking the projector off.

Leona raised an eyebrow but said nothing when Yuu had grabbed a stapler sitting beside him.

Riddle was too busy double-checking his notes, but Trey attempted to stop Yuu as she walked past, “What…what do you have there Yuu?”

“As stated at the beginning of my presentation, I have to go beat Sebek into submission and we have a rule now that I'm not allowed to use a brick anymore.” Yuu waved the stapler around, “So I’m going to use this instead.”

My take on Pilgrims and Native Americans in Twist

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 13

Hello!!! We are back for another lovely chapter of this fic. It's still going strong and I have hit Act 3. I don't know how many chapters of that there will be, but I'm to the happy parts of the story. So yay!!!

In this we find out who our little elf is, and Steve makes an instant friend. Then he tries sushi with disastrous results.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Pt 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

~

Steve watched as she turned in slow motion and her eyes go wide. She then threw her hands over her eyes.

“I’m sorry to disturb you!” she shrieked. “Please put your shirt back on!”

He huffed out a laugh and then went over to the dresser and pulled out a old t-shirt. “There, I’m all dressed. Now tell me who you are.”

“I’m Robin Buckley!” she squeaked. “I’m sixteen and about to enter my senior year of high school, my Uncle Justin got me the job as a PA for the band Corroded Coffin, but my mom was worried about the band taking advantage of me, so she insisted I stay in Hawkins. Which worked out great because I got the task of sneaking stuff in your hotel room, which is also great because I’m super stealthy!”

Steve smiled, immediately taking a liking to her. “Wow that was a lot. Nice to finally put a name and a face to the person who keeps sneaking into my room while I’m showering.”

Robin blinked for a minute before she realized the implication of that. “Oh shit! You must have thought I was a creep or something. God, I’m so sorry!”

“Something like that,” Steve said, tilting his head and chuckling. “But now that I’ve met you, it’ll be easier to drop stuff off whenever and not have to wait for me to be gone or out of the main room.”

“You don’t mind that I can just walk in?” she asked in confusion.

Steve shrugged. “The cleaning staff do it all the time. Unless I put out the tag that says do not disturb, they just come in to do their job. That’s how I made friends with Carla and Juan. They’re teaching me Spanish!”

Robin blinked at him for a moment. “You’re learning Spanish from the cleaning crew?”

He walked up and flopped on the sofa, kicking his feet up. “Juan is teaching me all the swear words first.”

“Wow,” she said, sinking into a nearby chair. “Don’t you have other friends that come see you?”

Steve shook his head. “All my friends abandoned me when my dad caught me and my boyfriend on the sofa making out. I can’t tell anyone else where I am because my dad could find me and beat the shit out of me for not leaving town like he wanted.”

“Wait...” Robin said, “Are you Steve Harrington?”

He reared his head back in confusion. “I mean yeah, weren’t you told who I was?”

She got up and pushed his feet to the floor to sit on the sofa next to him. “Holy shit, dude. No one knows where you’ve been. There have rumors about you still being seen around town, but your like a local cryptid or some shit. All anyone knows is that you’ve been laying low.”

Steve sat up straight. “Wait, really?” He burst out laughing. “I guess being registered at the hotel as Steve Munson is really doing its job.”

“Yeah,” Robin said enthusiastically, “even my mom thinks your his cousin. She’s been broadly hinting that I should accidentally meet you so you can date me.” She snorted. “Which even if you weren’t over eighteen, sorry you’re not my type.”

“Yeah, what is your type?” Steve asked. Robin pursed her lips and looked up. “Come on, who am I going to tell? Eddie and the band are about to be out of communication because they’re traveling out of country.”

“Girls.”

He snorted and then snapped his mouth shut. “Sorry. Um...like I just told you I was caught with my boyfriend and you were worried about telling me you like girls?”

She blinked at him for a moment and then gave a snort of her own. “Oops!”

Steve shook his head. “Hopeless. Just a couple of baby gays in the most backwater town in the whole fucking state. At least you can tell your mom that you’re not my type.”

“That’s true,” Robin said cocking her head to the side. “She didn’t want me traveling with the band because she was afraid that they would prey on a teenage girl. Like I feel like I would be safer with them then some stranger in a hotel room, but...” she shrugged.

“Mom logic,” Steve said, nodding, “can’t argue with it and can’t make it make sense either.”

Robin threw her arms in the air. “Exactly!” She looked around the room and spotted the presents she was supposed to have leaving for him.

“The presents!”

“The shower!” Steve shouted at the same time and they both went running. Steve to the bathroom to turn of the water and Robin to grab the boxes from the sidebar.

They met back in the middle. Robin shoved the boxes at him.

“I want to know what’s in them,” she said brazenly. “I’m not allowed to peek and I really want to know about everything Eddie Munson is sending you.”

Steve laughed and shook his head. “It could be sex toys you know. Are you sure you want to see what’s in here?”

“Yes!” she huffed and smacked his arm. “Now open it!”

Steve opened the first box and inside was a beautiful yellow floor length robe with a note that said, ‘For that hot divorceé look!’

Robin raised an eyebrow at him. “Care to explain that one?”

“I was feeling down a couple of days ago because I was bored,” Steve explained trying not to laugh, “I said I felt like a divorceé who had taken her husband to the cleaners, but now was only left with riches and no company.”

She looked around the fancy hotel room like she was properly seeing it for the first time. She took in all the brass fittings, black marble, and leather furniture. It was pretty, but it was very much not a place someone lived in, only visited.

She couldn’t imagine staying here for as long as Steve had been here. “Oh.”

Steve shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with her pity. So he opened the other present. It was a much smaller box, he had wanted to open the big one first because he guessed it was probably clothes.

Inside was small golden music box that when he opened it it had a little yellow bird singing “Birdhouse in Your Soul” by They Might Be Giants. Only blue canary was swapped for yellow, mangling the song a little, but Steve was touched.

“What is with all the yellow stuff especially the yellow birds?” Robin asked as he handed it to her. She had spotted a lot of them as she looked around the room.

Steve laughed and told her about how he met Eddie, highlighting especially the part about wearing yellow in the middle of a metal concert.

“Oh my god!” Robin said roaring with laughter, “I think I would have shriveled up and died of sheer embarrassment if that was me.”

“That would assume I had any dignity at that point,” Steve pointed out. “My dad had tossed me out, I lost my job, and all my friends. If there were better places to get drunk in this god forsaken town, I would have gone there.”

“Have you tried getting another job?” she asked, tilting her head the side. “Like they can’t all be afraid of your dad.”

He just shrugged. “I guess I never thought about it, really. Just been trying to keep away from him.”

“But he’s been out of town for a couple of weeks, right?” Robin pressed. “Do you really think he’s going to come back and hound you just for trying to get a job?”

Steve shrugged again. “You don’t know my dad. His colleagues call him Mad Dog because he’s as tenacious as a bulldog and twice as mean. If he gets it into his head that I must be ran out of town, he’s going to do whatever he can to make it happen. He only left town because Chief Hopper stonewalled him.”

Robin wrinkled her nose but didn’t say anything.

Steve showed her all the other presents Eddie had gotten him and she was delighted with each one. But especially the necklace.

“Well now there are two birds in this cuckoo nest,” Robin said proudly. “Robin and Canary.” She held out her hand and Steve took it with a smile.

“So does this mean you won’t be sneaking around my hotel room from now on?” he asked with a lopsided grin.

She burst out laughing. “I might do a little sneaking for old times sake, but yeah. I’ll make sure to announce my presence from now on.”

“Good,” Steve said with a huff. “Get out of here so I can shower.”

She laughingly did as she was told, Steve shaking his head the whole time.

~

After Steve got out of his shower and bathrobe secured tightly at his waist, he sat down with the want ads. He had long since gotten a subscription to the newspaper for the movie times and funny pages. But now he could use it to see if anyone was hiring.

Because as much of a loud mouth asshole, Tommy had been, he had a point. He couldn’t just sit around and wait to be be rescued by Eddie. There was no guarantee that Eddie would continue to fund Steve’s life style after the band returned from their tour.

He flopped on the bed with a red pen and the newspaper open in front of him. He scoffed when he saw that Family Video was still looking to replace him, even though it had been six weeks since they fired him.

He really didn’t know how to do much. His main jobs had been being a lifeguard at the rec center and the Family Video job his dad forced him to take so that he could ‘learn how to be productive in society’ or whatever bullshit he had spouted at the time.

So he immediately disregarded anything that required typing or phone skills. With it being summer again, he could probably get his old job back at the rec center but then he would most certainly run afoul more Hank Tippets of the world. Which would be more trouble than it was worth.

There was the new mall.

Maybe he could find work there. He circled a couple of other places but decided his best bet would be the mall. He threw the newspaper aside and rolled over on his back.

He was hungry and tired and just wanted to forget about everything for awhile. So he got up and ordered food. This time was going for something different. Sushi. If he didn’t like it he could always order something else.

Steve needed to try other things and if it wasn’t on his dime or his parents forcing him to try it, why not? He couldn’t do raw oysters. But that was probably because he was six at the time and his mother forced him to try it.

Never doing that again.

He also ordered an appetizer just to double hedge his bets. He knew from the description that it was raw fish and rice. He wasn’t going into this completely blind.

The sushi arrived with his weird side of garlic mashed potatoes. Sue him, the potatoes were his comfort food. They were almost as good as the ones as his Auntie Sophie made. The recipe his mother would kill to get her hands on. And probably tried.

Look, he tried. He tried them with the brown liquid-y stuff, the red paste, and green goo. The green goo made his mouth burn like nothing he had ever experienced in his life. If he hadn’t tried the red paste first, he would have assumed it was all that bad.

So he tossed the rest of the sushi back on the trolley and begged for them to take it away and replace it with ice cream. Anything to stop the burning.

Eddie tried to be sympathetic when Steve told him that night, but Steve could tell the other man was trying so hard not to laugh.

Never again.

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt

9- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

10- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @blondie1006 @sadisticaltarts

[corazondebeskar-reads]

fall, with you: part four - thanksgiving

Joel Miller x gn! reader

main masterlist |mini-series masterlist | prev

words: 2.3k

summary: the new world may be hell, but you still have things to be thankful for.

warnings: pre- and post-outbreak, death, cordyceps, loss, grief, outbreak day, fluff weaponized for angst

note: anything in italics is either during or post outbreak. everything else is pre-outbreak. this story is not told chronologically and skips around a lot. i'm experimenting for fun.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Nate finds you exactly where he thought he would. In the kitchen of your new home, packing your backpack. 

“No,” he says bluntly. “Nope. Nuh-uh.”

You turn on your heel and stare at him. “It’s not up to you.”

“Was he abusive?” 

You’d fine back to packing and freeze to look up at him again. “No. God, no.”

“So what was it? Cheated? Ran over your dog?”

“No, it wasn’t anything. It’s none of your fucking business.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he spits, knocking your bag off the table. 

You sneer. It’s not the first time you’ve butted heads like this. Neither of you has a great trauma response, given the whole apocalypse thing. “I decide where we go,” you snarl. “You don’t.”

“Not this time. Not when we’re finally somewhere safe. Somewhere normal. I have never questioned you, I’ve never even complained. Just followed you across the goddamn country. But unless you have a good fucking reason, like he’s some psycho ex—“

“He was the love of my fucking life,” you snap.

“I mean it, sugar. I know it seems like I’m bein’ impulsive but I swear I got a ring waitin’ back home,” Joel said, thumb stroking your cheek as his hand cradled your face, thick fingers warm and gentle against it. “I ain’t ever been more serious. You’re the love of my fuckin’ life. Say yes, baby. Marry me.”

“What’ll Sarah say?” You blurt. 

He grins, crooked and fond. “See, that’s what I mean.” He kisses you, slow and tender, and you melt into it, almost forgetting why you’re sitting on the ground in tears to begin with. 

“Whaddya say, sugar? You gonna be mine? Gonna make us a family?”

As if you could say anything else. “Yeah, Joel,” you murmur, “I’ll marry you. Of course I will.” You wait a beat. “You really got a ring back home?”

“Sure do. Whole speech planned out ‘n shit, too. But I couldn’t fuckin’ wait anymore.”

You let out a shaky laugh, a crooked grin of your own. “Y’ain’t supposed to get me gifts on your birthday.”

He puts on a fake pout. “You’re my gift, baby,” he says, lip twitching as he fights the smirk. 

You shove him away playfully. “Gross. You old sap.”

He laughs, head tipped back. “What can I say? It’s all for you, sugar.” 

You’re horrified to find tears burning in the corner of your eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” you mutter. 

But he’s right. He’s right, he’s right, he’s right. You can’t drag him back out into the wilderness, to another failing QZ, to inevitable death. This is a town, a community, a home.

A chill is just starting to settle over Jackson, the hint of a frost in the early morn, when Tommy Miller turns up on your porch. 

You open the door after several beats of insistent knocking, and the man stands there in the flesh and blood, looking just the same but twenty years and a lifetime older. 

“Does my brother know you’re here?” he says, eyes as wide as the early November moon.

“Who’re you? Does my brother know you’re here?” 

You let out a strangled cry and spun around, sponge raised as if it would frighten the intruder. But you recognize him from the photos all around the house and relax, grimacing as soapy suds drip down your arm. “Nah, I like to break into houses and do the dishes,” you drawl. “You must be Tommy.” You introduce yourself and realization dawns on his face. 

You fumble for a towel to dry your hand before proffering it. He takes it and matches your firm handshake before scratching the back of his neck, looking sheepishly to the side in a mirror of his older brother.

You can’t say anything. Your mouth gapes open, but nothing comes out. It really is him. Not that you really doubted it, because the evidence was kind of indisputable, but there he is. The man that was to be your brother in law getting mud all over your porch. 

Finally, you just shake your head, stepping aside to let him in the house. 

He comes in and starts pacing, tracking clods around the living room. 

“Tommy Miller, you take your goddamn shoes off in my house,” you scold.

He freezes and looks up at you. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and suddenly you’re being smothered, stifled in the bulk of his jacket as he wraps his arms around you. “ Jesus Christ.”

Nate chooses that moment to clomp down the stairs like a herd of horses. “Is that him? Damn, he’s not your type at all.” 

You start to laugh. It sneaks up on you, silent at first, shoulders shaking, until it’s bubbling out of you. Maybe it’s a little hysterical, but you’re allowed, you think.

There’s a plan. Tommy insists. As much as you’d like to pretend you can avoid running into Joel, the fact is that this town is small and collaborative. You can’t avoid anyone. 

So. There’s a plan.

Tommy breaks the news to him gently at their weekly dinner. Ellie comes by later to swap comics with Nate and reports that Joel had stood up and left, bypassing his jacket and going straight out the door. No expression, no words, nothing. 

It could have been worse. You expect fully that he doesn’t want to see you, doesn’t want any reminders of before. Of Sarah. And truth be told, you’re not that thrilled to have been forcibly dragged down memory lane, either. 

But Tommy’s a persistent bastard, and so it happens anyway. He calls your name, flagging you down as you stand with your tray in the mess hall, looking for a seat. The man sitting across from him whips around, head turning so fast you can almost hear his neck crack. 

Where Tommy Miller has grown into the apocalypse with relative ease, the same cannot be said of his brother. Joel wears each year, each loss, each kill in the lines of his face, the cold of his eyes, the set of his jaw. You stare for a moment into the hazel eyes that used to crinkle with laugh lines, that used to darken with hunger in the deep night, that used to be your safe space. 

But there’s none of that now. The wrinkles on his face speak of more stress than a human body should reasonably endure. His eyes darken with something so anachronous to your Joel that you can’t even identify the feeling. And there’s no mistaking them for anything soft or safe. The lips that used to map every inch of your body are twisted in a scowl.

You don’t realize your hands are shaking until your drink spills, knocking you out of his thrall. Abandoning your tray on the nearest surface, you bolt. 

Born and raised in QZs, it became painfully apparent that Nate was terrified of animals. And seeing how that wasn’t really sustainable in a town like this, you’ve taken to slowly introducing him to the fluffier, nicer critters. But now it’s time. 

You’ve got to teach him to ride.

Horses are the worst. They’re big and tall and wrong , he says, like someone was trying to put them together and kept messing up but was too lazy to fix it. “And they know too much,” he adds, standing four feet away as you saddle up the gentlest mare in the stable. 

You snort. “The fuck does that mean?”

“Look at their eyes. Their cold, dead eyes. They know things. Secrets.” 

You roll your eyes. “Sure. They know secrets. My dad’s horse knew a secret,” you say with a conspiratorial grin. “He used to wait until my daddy turned his back and then he’d pick up his Coke between his big teeth and throw his head back.”

Nate stops in his fretting. “Your dad’s horse drank Coke?” 

“Yep. Little conniving sneak, he was. Absolute troublemaker. But Penny here ain’t gonna give you a lick of trouble.”

It’s not long before he’s comfortable in the saddle, if not thrilled about it. When you finally join him on horseback, you’re a little more nervous than you want to admit. It’s been twenty years, after all. 

But it feels familiar. “Just like riding a bike,” you mutter. 

“Maybe I’m not the expert since I’ve never been on a bike, but like logistically, this has to be very different,” Nate says. 

After your ride, you send him off while you untack and groom the horses. You’ve hung up the reins and are reaching for a brush when someone else’s hand bumps yours. “Oh, sorry,” you start instinctively and recoil when Joel pulls his gloved hand back sharply. 

It’s too much, in the little tack room, this close, this distant. 

Joel’s eyes on you, taking you in and trying to parse the you now from the you then.

Joel’s eyes on you, roaming, craving.

Joel’s beard scratching against his glove as he rubs his chin.

Joel’s beard scratching against your belly on his way down.

Joel, with you, in a barn, sweaty after a long ride, bundled up against the creeping winter. 

Joel, with you, in a barn, sweaty after a long ride, bundled up against the creeping winter.

Your head is spinning. You take a staggering step back, wavering.

You wake up on a cot in the clinic.

Nate’s sat in a chair by your side, picking at his nail beds and trying not to look worried. He relaxes minutely before getting pissed when you confess to the doctor that you haven’t been eating much. You don’t keep much at home, nobody really does, and you’ve been avoiding the mess hall for reasons that you don’t need to say out loud. 

They let you go with a scolding about the dangers of doing activities without proper nutrition, like you don’t know that, like you haven’t been starving in the wasteland like the rest of them at some point.

Tommy stops by with a frankly absurd amount of soup. “Heard you had a little fall today,” he says. 

“Whole town know I’m a klutz now?” you joke half-heartedly.

He gives you a look. “Nah. A big grumpy birdie told me.”

You cringe. 

“Look,” he says with a sigh. “Come by our place for the harvest, okay?”

“Come ‘round our place for Thanksgiving,” Joel says. 

“I can’t intrude,” you protest.

“Ain’t intruding on anything, baby. We want you there. But I gotta warn you, we do things a little different. It ain’t your regular Thanksgiving fixins, okay?”

“What?”

“We’re doin’ a harvest dinner. Kinda like Thanksgiving. There’ll be a lunch at the mess on Thursday but we’re havin’ family ‘round that night.” He sees you open your mouth and keeps going, ignoring you. “I don’t want to hear it. And just so you know, he suggested the invite. So.” 

And then Tommy leaves you with more questions and more soup than you know what to do with.

On Thursday, you drag your sorry ass to the mess hall for the lunch, determined to give Nate another holiday experience. You didn’t need to work yourself up, though, as Joel is nowhere in sight.

You wish you had thought earlier to ask what to bring, but it’s been a long time since you’ve dined at someone else’s table, and food ain’t been for sharing in just as many years.

“What should I bring, if it ain’t traditional?”

He thinks for a moment. He wants to tell you to bring your sexy self and nothin’ more but he knows you won’t go for it. “Bring popcorn,” he says finally.

You had. And you do. Cooked on the stove the old-fashioned way. It’s a risk, god, you know it’s a risk. But you walk into Tommy’s house with a heaping bowl of lightly buttered popcorn.

You walk into Joel’s house with a heaping bowl of butter-laden, salty popcorn, and Sarah cheers. She takes a handful before retreating deeper into the house where Tommy is setting the table and Joel is in the kitchen, hard at work over the… toaster. There’s a stack of buttered toast on a platter beside him and he’s adding to the pile. 

“Hey, sugar,” he says, pulling you by the waist into his space, chasing your lips with a kiss. “Thanks for bringin’ the popcorn. Ain’t Thanksgiving without it.”

“If you say so,” you say. “Where do you want it?”

“On the table is fine,” he says.

It takes you a minute, as you stand in Joel’s dining room, staring at the eccentric assortment of what can loosely be defined as dinner. There are a few bowls out, overflowing not with stuffing or mashed potatoes or casserole. No, there’s little pretzel twists and what looks like candy. You set the popcorn down in an empty spot and it unlocks in your brain with a snap.

You turn on your heel and go back in the kitchen. For a moment, you’re distracted by the scene in front of you. Joel and Sarah are delicately swirling whipped cream in excess atop strawberry ice cream, taking turns squirting some in their mouths in between and then scolding one another playfully.

“Are we having a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving?” you ask.

Sarah beams. “I told you she’d get it,” she tells her dad. 

Joel opens the door at Tommy and Maria’s. He looks down at the bowl in your hands, and you suddenly think you’ve made a terrible mistake. There’s a taut, hefty silence where you’re both just staring at the bowl.

He moves, both hands up toward you in a jerky, sudden motion that has you flinching back. It doesn’t deter him. It was like the action was pressed behind a coil and now that it snapped, he can’t stop. Newton’s Law, and all that.

His rough, calloused palms engulf either side of your face, his chapped lips smashing against your unexpecting ones. Your heart could be halfway to Dallas by sundown with how fast it’s galloping in your chest. It only takes a moment before your hands are on him, too.

“C’mon, not over the popcorn,” Nate gripes, snatching the bowl away and going inside to find Ellie, leaving you in Joel’s embrace.

the end

[codename-adler]

5 and kevseth then? (I forgor to add the characters in the other ask Im sorry)

- @constelationprize

@constelationprize WITH PLEASURE. (never be sorry)(let ME be sorry for how late this is......)

Do Not (Help Me)

AU in which Riko almost got Seth killed, but he survived, though he is now severely injured.

Kevin undoes Seth's shoes for him as the rest of the Foxes leave the dorm, Neil and Matt walking away from the bedroom with puzzled looks but refusing to get involved.

Seth stays put on his bed, eyes nearly bulging out as he watches Kevin carefully slip the shoes from his feet and putting them away neatly by the nightstand. It takes a few moments for words to come to him. Insults and questions battle it out on his tongue, but feeling weak, feeling inferior, banged up as he was in front of the Son of Exy, curses win.

"The fuck are you doing," Seth bites out. Kevin stares up at him, dead serious.

"What does it look like? I'm taking off your shoes, because you obviously can't with your fucked arm," Kevin replies evenly, moving to Seth's socks next.

Seth jerks his feet away from Kevin's hands, uncomfortable and lost, but the abrupt movement causes pain to shoot up his shoulder and neck, and down his back. Kevin catches him before he falls off the bed.

"Would you stay still for two goddamn minutes?" Kevin grinds out.

"Why? Why are you helping me?"

Kevin removes his hand from Seth's uninjured shoulder, slowly. They stare at each other, for too many beats too long, before Kevin looks away, eyes falling to the ground. His jaw flexes, words fighting on his tongue, too. He has one chance here. One. He can be the bigger person, or he can be Riko.

"Your life is not worthless simply because you are less talented than me. And all that."

Seth's eyes widen with anger. "Who told you that."

"Neil."

"Fucker."

"You're right, you know," Kevin continues, arming himself with patience.

"I don't give a shit," Seth replies angrily, eyes rimmed red.

"Then let me talk. Won't hurt, right?"

"Could hurt a whole fucking lot, actually. But hey, do as you please, your majesty. We both know you’ll do what you want anyway. It’s not like I can run anywhere, can I? Your shitty existence made sure of that."

"Exactly. My existence. I… brought this on you. And I didn’t understand. I didn’t… I didn’t give a shit. Now you’ve been targeted. Hurt. It is not the first time this has happened. I walked away once, and I’m still paying the price, but not as much as he is. Getting him out will take… time, if that is even possible. You, on the other hand, I can manage."

"Fuck you."

"Later. For now I’m offering you a deal. A chance to prove everyone wrong about who you are, what you deserve, what you’re worth. I can train you as hard as Neil. I can make you go Pro with absolute certainty. Court, that’s debatable. We’ll see how much of yourself you give me," Kevin pushes on. "You get revenge, recognition."

"Oh yeah? And what's in it for you, huh?" Seth taunts, feeling all too vulnerable.

"Absolution."

[rosenclaws]

Since you're taking requests again, mayhaps some Charlie content 🙏 Dealers' choice when it comes to the prompt. I'm just starved for content of my favorite loser.

“Don’t pretend like you’re not happy to see me like this.”

“You are more than you think of yourself. You’re everything to me.”

wc: 660

600 follower drabble masterlist

a/n: I went with my favorite (angst sorry charlie!!)

This was really the last thing you expected to deal with at three in the morning on a random Tuesday. Seeing your ex boyfriend show up at your doorstep with a black eye and a bloody lip.

"Charlie." You sigh as you stand at the door. He's leaning against your door frame. He tries to smile but winces when he irritates his eye.

Silently you step to the side and let him in. He collapses on your couch as you go and find your first aid kit. You haven't had to use it since, well since you two broke up. You don't bother asking what happened this time. You already know what happened. He owed someone money and he got beat up for it.

"Hey baby." Charlie smiles tiredly as he sits himself up. You gently climb onto the couch next to him. You don't answer him as you gently dab at his face. It's deja vu as you think back to the times you've had to do this before.

"Shit." He hisses as you apply alcohol to his eye. "Sorry." You whisper. Charlie smiles, hearing your voice again was music to his ears. He can feel the disappointment radiating off of you. He wants to apologize but the truth is he isn't sorry. He missed you so bad. He needed to see you. After you finish patching him up you get him some water.

"What are you doing to yourself?" You ask sadly.

He feels a irritation grow as you look at him. Those same damn eyes that make him crumble. He can't stand them, they stare right past into his soul, into the deepest most insecure part of him.

"I'm fine." He slams the glass down onto the table. This was a mistake.

"Fine? Is that what you call showing up at my doorstep with a busted face?" You press as he gets up. He walked out on you before but you won't let him again, at least not without an explanation this time.

"Don't pretend like you're not happy to see me like this." He snaps.

"Like you're not happy to know that you were always right about me."

"What are you talking about!? Charlie I was in love with you. Win or lose. You were the love of my life!" You shove his chest out of anger. When will he get it in his thick head that all you ever wanted was him.

"Charlie, you are the love of my life." He lets out a frustrated yell and falls back onto the couch. His face in his hands.

"You are more than you think of yourself. You're everything to me." You sit next to him. Legs touching as you rest your hand over his. His fingers lock with yours as he relishes in the feeling of your touch. It's been so long. He ran because he was angry, jaded, he was spiraling and he'd be dammed if he took you with him.

"I shouldn't be baby, I'm no good for you." You roll your eyes and grab his face. Forcing him to look at you.

"Shut up Charlie." You know what he thinks of himself. He's a loser, he's washed, he can't do anything but make stupid bets and false promises. But you never saw him like that. He was always your Charlie.

"Come on, it's late." You grab his hand and stand up.

"We can talk in the morning." Charlie lets you drag him to your bedroom, almost in awe that you're letting him be here with you.

He crawls in next to you. His arm wrapped tightly around your waist as you bury your face into his chest. He knows he's got a lot of groveling left to do, that you aren't going to forgive him this easy but fuck he missed you. If this is the start of your forgiveness then he'll spend as long as it takes until he makes it right.

[moongothic]

You know when I originally suggested that maybe Dragon is the one who gave Crocodile his scar and/or took his left hand --if only because [Dragon not recognizing the big scary man with a baby when he was supposed to go see his wife, assuming the worst and acting accordingly] would make for an A-Class tragedy and great fucking drama (something which I would expect to see in One Piece)-- I wasn't fully convinced with the idea, I just considdered it just another option on What Could Have Happened between those two to get us where we are ...But the more I think about it, the more I've started to kind of believe it. And for two key reasons, first being kind of everything we know about Whitebeard, and the second being the basic logistics around the suggested scenario to begin with

By which I mean; if Dragon had indeed gone to see his wife so he could deliver their newborn baby to Garp, but instead came face-to-face with a man he had never seen before but who just happened to have the exact same and very specific facial scar as his wife and/or the same god damn hook... Like I can't say he SHOULD be able to recognize Crocodile instantly, but also, surely either of those features would make him stop for a moment think and/or talk before he'd jump into action, let alone if the man had both the scar and the hook. Of course, there is an argument to be made that maybe Crocodile had a smaller hook originally that no longer fit on his wrist after getting jacked so maybe Crocodile just wasn't wearing any hook at all, and a missing limb isn't an unusual disability on its own, at least not enough to faze Dragon. And who knows, maybe the two were supposed to meet on a dark and stormy night, in which case between the low light and the rain it could've been hard for Dragon to see any scars on Crocodile's face from a distance. These are both reasonable arguments, absolutely. But, as I have mentioned a few times before, sometimes the path of least resistance might be the most likely option as far as story speculation goes. If Crocodile had both his hands and no scar on his face, then Dragon wouldn't have had any way to immidiately and instantly recognize Croc (aside from his fashion sense) as he would've been missing (what we would now considder) his most distinquishing features. Which would it much easier for Dragon to jump into action and attack the strange man without a second thought.

And then there's Whitebeard. Whitebeard, who was kind of famous for stomping rookie pirates only to invite them to join his crew as his "sons", but who also had a weird thing about not having women in his crew (his nurses aside), because he believed "women do not belong on a battlefield". For one, that actually kind of supports the "Crocodile is openly trans" theory because, again, how the fuck would Croc have been pre-t AND stealth as a Wardlord getting his shit kicked in by Whitebeard? Like it's not impossible, as we have discussed many times before (and that is not the point of this post!!), but once again it would be easier to just assume Crocodile was still living as a woman at this point in time. And indeed, that could answer the question of "why would Whitebeard not invite Crocodile into his crew to be one of his children like Ace and everyone else?". If Croc was still living and presenting as a woman at this point, Whitebeard would not have even wanted him in his crew. (Sidenote but since Whitebeard seemed to have no issues with Jinbei hanging around the Moby Dick despite being a Warlord I don't think Crocodile's Shichibukai status should've had any impact on WB's ability to invite him to his crew. To be fair though, Jinbei did join the Shichibukai much later so it is possible WB could've just changed his position on the subject over the years) And that leads to this question; if Whitebeard has that kind of views on women, then would he ever go as far as to severely injure and scar (someone he viewed as) a woman right on their face? With an attack that could have very easily chopped Crocodile's entire head in half like a god damn burger bun if he weren't careful? Do you think Whitebeard would have chopped Crocodile's left hand off and left him permanently disabled if he viewed him as a woman who shouldn't be a fighter to begin with? Yes, to be fair, we do not know the circumstances under which Crocodile challenged Whitebeard into a fight and what kind of a pirate Crocodile had been up until that point, what his reputation had been and if he had done anything in particular to invite Whitebeard's wrath (much like Kid and Barto with Shanks). Like for all we know he could've done something truly heinous and fucked up enough that Whitebeard thought teaching him a lesson was justified.

Just, looking at all of these notes together, I can't help but to feel that it's actually very plausible Dragon could be the one responsible for one of Crocodile's injuries if not both (if Crocodad Real).

[queenoftsage]

Is it just me, or do I find it...

EXTREMELY beautiful and satisfatory, to watch Park Shin Hye, beating the shit out of a scum bag?!? [a douche bag of the male presenting type.]

It's... I am set for this! I am looking forward to next week's episodes!

This new character of hers is giving Jang Man Wol, Nanno, and Go[Ko] Moon Young if they became one entity ... in HELL.. lol.

AKA- Justitia go get em GIRL!

I'm not even joking how much I'm sitting there laughing my ass off and bouncing on my chair like a giddy little child watching this shit.

Have we found something that's up there with 'Hotel Del Luna', 'Girl From Nowhere', and 'It's Okay To Not Be Okay'!?

... I hope so.

[gxlden-angels]

Bro I hate fundamentalists and culturally-fundie parents they'll say shit like "spare the rod spoil the child am I right haha yea my parents used to have to beat my ass with a switch almost everyday but I sure did learn my lesson" but like??? no you didn't??? you were hit multiple times for something you very obviously did not, in fact, learn

Like studies about how harmful even lightly spanking children is aside, you're literally contradicting yourself?? Some even admitted they got worse as they got older cause they wanted to see how far they could push their parents before they got punished

And studies not aside, you're gonna get child raising advice from the same book that tells you to stone your wife if her hymen doesn't break on your wedding night instead of the decades of research we have now?? Just say you're a bad parent and move on my guy. Skill issue

[hiding-under-the-willow]

Evil campy old men with extreme facial hair, government connections, a desire for world domination, a penchant for red eyewear and extravagant coats, a silly queer-coded sidekick character, and a vendetta against animal children Town, population: These Two Assholes

I love being 100 years late to trends and have wanted an excuse to draw these two together for so long. The funniest part of working on this drawing was looking up reference pictures of Abbot and being met with a picture of Robotnik because apparently every other bitch who has consumed both of these pieces of media has looked at them and decided they are the same guy in different fonts

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Of my 2% capacity to be attracted to anyone, my type is like 90% women, 5% pretty men and 5% men you would swear are super fucking manly, and never questioned being straight and cis, but are now suddenly *stressed* that they can't figure out why their attraction to me [fully socially interpreted as a woman and labelled that way up until relatively recently] feels incredibly fucking gay

[anto-pops]

I'm not gonna lie, Ao3 being down all day feels a lot like the burning of the Library of Alexandria

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[mistystarshine]

Salvation on the Radio is once again being flamed because I didn't excuse or dismiss Adam's actions on my Adam redemption fic. Incredible.

[quilleth]

I'm going to need a dlc to go fist fight mystra, mizora, and zariel. IDK how we get to deal with Shar or Vlaakith so might need to throw them in there too.

I'm on a quest to fight some gods, devils, etc for fucking with my friends. Like no, fuck off. You already had a chance to not be a dick, now meet me in the fucking pit bitches.