#idk why i wrote it but it's here

[nancyqueerler]

Ronancetober Day 1 2: Ghost

I've been compelled to come back for a minute to write for ronancetober, so here's day 1/2 because I wanted to write for the ghost prompt.

Enjoy! And warning, this is kinda long and pretty angsty. Also it's set in an AU so no upside down (mentioning this in case some stuff don't make sense).

-----

The equipment was for show. Although it was an expensive sacrifice, Robin would not be able to make a living in Hawkins, Indiana, simply by claiming to be able to see ghosts. If anything, it would get her locked up at Pennhurst before she'd even get a paycheck. So, when she got the call from the library, she showed up with the EMF meter, digital thermometers, night vision goggles, and audio recorders instead of just her more comfortable patch-plastered denim jacket and jeans.

The numbers alone were enough to get her down there by sunset, but the witness reports had her shoveling her dinner into her mouth like a dog who sniffed a buried bone.

Robin mostly got calls for homes and abandoned buildings, but she hadn't gotten the library before—she was excited when they told her it was down in the archives. She had been there before in high school doing research for projects and always got chills, but she'd never seen anything. That made her curious, but it wouldn't be the first time that a ghost had hid themselves from her.

Walking into the archives, shutting and locking the door behind her with the key lent to her by the librarian, Robin was pulled four years into the past. When she put her hand on the railing that led down into the dust-filled room, it was ice cold. It was part of the report: after five p.m. and well past midnight, the room appeared to be insulated with blocks of ice. Robin turned off all her equipment and dove into the dark room.

At first she couldn't see anything, much less the wispy presence of a lonely ghost. She stuck one hand in her pocket and scrolled her fingers down the unchanged cupboards cramped with decades-old prints from local newspapers to the Weekly Watcher, which was notorious for endorsing crazy conspiracies. She would have smiled at the memory of discovering an article about Elvis being cloned by aliens if her nerves hadn't been jolted into action when she touched the cupboard marked "W.". It was cold—much colder than the rest of the otherwise identical sprawl of drawers.

Robin opened it and knew she wouldn't find the Weekly Watcher tucked between the other cassettes. She pushed it closed, stuck her other hand into her other pocket to warm it up, and walked to the microfilm readers.

The small room, filled with desks with banker lamps and book-swollen shelves that evidently hadn't been dusted in the past two decades, housed two readers. The sole distinction between the two readers in the center was the presence of a COMCAT black-and-white acrostic poster on the left reader's side, along with the presence of a ghost hunched over the screen.

Robin froze beside the entrance. Anyone else would have screamed bloody murder, but Robin felt relief. A girl sat on the stool, her finger depressing the scroll button while her other hand gripped the side of the reader, seemingly ready to explode it with her mind. Besides her relief, Robin was surprised at the sheer brightness of the girl ghost's body—she was practically corporeal.

It took Robin a second to recognize her as Nancy Wheeler, Hawkins High's ex-princess. The realization nearly knocked her off her feet, but her heart beat her to it and plunged straight through the floor like an anvil.

Nancy hadn't seen her yet, and Robin was really hoping she wouldn't. Robin hoped her legs would unfreeze before Nancy turned her head and saw her too. It was a sudden and horrible drowning of panic, gut-wrenching sorrow, and shattered memories that mended back together in striking speed.

Nancy Wheeler had died a year ago, a year before she graduated from Emerson, a year after the last time they had seen each other. Robin had gotten a call from Jonathan Byers on some lazy June afternoon when she'd been relaxing with the windows open, a cool breeze freshening her hot room. After the call, she didn't leave or eat or shower well beyond December. She never opened her windows again, but her room never stopped being cold.

Robin was about to turn around; she really was. She had willed something out of herself, something strong enough to lift her left foot from the ground. But then Nancy closed her eyes, took her finger off the button, slumped into her hands, and suddenly Robin couldn't help herself and fell to her knees.

Nancy did look at her then. Funny enough, she was the one frightened in the end. Her face jumped out of her hands, her whole body got shocked into a curl. She looked at Robin up and down, knees to eyes, and got dim enough that Robin could read the titles of the books on the shelf behind her. Robin hung her head.

"Robin?"

Robin fell onto her hands, a numb feeling rising all the way from her toes to her cheeks. Nancy's voice was still the same, albeit distant, as though hearing it coming from deep inside a cave just like every other ghost, but it wrecked Robin in every way it could. She shook her head, but she didn't know why. She couldn't look up at Nancy; she didn't want to, either. She didn't want to be there.

But then she saw Nancy's heels in the edges of her vision, and all it took was for her to blink for the tears to spot the floor.

"No," Robin whispered desperately. She shook her head again, the flood of two summers ago like electric eels unleashing into her nervous system. A spark of Nancy in her denim jacket; a spark of her in Robin's arms; a spark of what their first and last kiss felt like; a spark of Nancy in the rain carrying a bouquet turned to mulch.

It was enough for her to turn, cover her eyes, and run in the other direction. She didn't turn around even when she heard her name, loud and resonant enough to shake the ground. But when she reached the stairs, she couldn't get past the first step.

"Robin!" she heard again, and it was the worst feeling in the whole world to hear her name come from Nancy's lips after all this time. It didn't feel real, and it didn't make sense, like her mind was playing a horrible trick on her. The whole of her back turned ice cold, and she knew that meant that Nancy was right behind her.

Robin took in the coldest breath her lungs ever held and turned around.

Seeing Nancy head on took a blow to her chest harder than she had expected. The breath flew right out of her, but not a hair on Nancy's head moved out of place. Nancy's ghost was there in all her glory, hands curled into a steel fist, the dent between her furrowed eyebrows the same as it was always. She looked as beautiful as she did the last time Robin had seen her, and that twisted the knife in her heart until it erupted against her ribs.

Nancy spoke first. "Hi" was all she said for a while, probably because she expected Robin to say something in return. But Robin had become a coward who lost her heart and couldn't come up with anything worth what she was feeling.

Eventually, cutting through the thick cold tension, Nancy's features smoothed out as she said, "I've missed you."

Robin wished to be smite right then and there. She prayed for it, but the prayer turned into, "I've missed you too," half-way through. The watery smile it pulled out of Nancy was greater than anything a god could have ever given her.

Nancy tentatively raised her hand and drew it down Robin's jaw, feeling a biting chill that made her grind her teeth. She then pressed her palm over Robin's heart. It was the second greatest sorrow in all of Robin's life that she couldn't feel any of it but the cold pressure on her skin, but she figured she was the luckiest person ever to have had the luck to be graced by Nancy Wheeler after having been taken like a breath. I've you missed too was not enough to describe Robin's ache; she had missed Nancy like one might miss a misplaced lung.

She didn't leave the archives until sunrise, when the librarian lady had to have the door busted open. They found her curled up against the right microfilm reader, dried tears down her cheeks, and the ghost of a smile under her sleep-worn eyes.

[inkskinned]

okay is she being actually immature or is it just a woman over 30 expressing a human experience you find to be immature.

like yeah. at certain ages... let shit go. im not defending the real immature shit. im not defending the karen you're picturing. i worked in retail i hate those people too. (once somebody got mad at me because she didn't like how our winter window decor was a snowman smoking a pipe. i wish i was joking).

but men at 57 will write books about how 17 year old girls are soooo sexy. they will invent worlds where women have to be naked for "armor reasons." they will write songs that treat women as objects. people rush to defend them. meanwhile a woman at 35 will be like "heartbreak is hard, actually" or "i feel betrayed by a friend" or "i am struggling with something emotionally." immediately people will say stuff like this woman is 35 by the way. by the way this woman is SO OLD to be experiencing this. BY THE WAY.

im 31, almost 32. the other day a poet was blasted online because at her "big age", she had written a poem about feeling unloved. top comment was "this woman is 29 by the way." this woman is too old to still be useful, by the way. she has to behave better . maybe if she was a good wife and mother she could stop existing loudly, and the story could continue on without her. this woman has served her purpose, by the way. she's so cringe, by the way. at 29 - so old! - she still hasn't figured out that her existence should be one of shame.

[bixels]

The idea that uni protesters are "elitist ivy-league rich kids larping as revolutionaries" on Twitter and Reddit and even here is so fucking funny to me if you actually know anything about the student bodies at these unis. Take it from someone who's going to one of the biggest private unis in the US, 80% of the peers I know are either from the suburbs or an apartment somewhere in America, children of immigrants, or here on a student visa. I've heard about one-percenter students, but I've never met one in person. Like, don't get me wrong, the institution as a whole is still very privileged and white. I've talked with friends and classmates about feeling weird or dissonant being here and coming from such a different background. But in my art program, I see BIPOC, disabled, queer, lower-income students and faculty trying to deconstruct and tear that down and make space every day. So to take a cursory glance at a crowd of student protesters in coalitions that are led by BIPOC & 1st/2nd-gen immigrant students and HQ'd in ethnic housings and student organizations and say, "ah. children of the elite." Get real.

[half-oz-eddie]

I do enjoy the awkward holiday party fix-its

But I also like awkward holiday party where Buck and Tommy snark at each other because of built up tension, pain and sadness and argue their way back into a relationship.

Imagine they're at a holiday party at Chimney and Maddie's and Mara is telling Maddie about this boy in her class having a crush on her.

Buck chimes in and tells her "hey, I wouldn't bother. What if he breaks up with you and then never talks to you again and it breaks your heart?" And he cuts his eyes at Tommy who was literally minding his business. He only walked into the kitchen to grab a beer.

"Or." Tommy chimes in, "He tries to rush into things and his impulsiveness scares you."

"What if he's impulsive because he's scared too? Or he got a little too excited? Maybe a little communication could go a long way!"

Maddie's eyes widen when Buck's voice raises a bit and she drags Mara out of the kitchen, leaving these two clowns alone to settle their issues.

Tommy grabs a beer and starts to leave the kitchen.

"Oh, leaving again? Seems to be what you do best."

Tommy sighs in annoyance and turns to Buck. "Buck, I just...not here, okay?"

"Fine. Meet me in the bathroom then."

"What?"

"I can't get through this night unless we talk. Why did you even come? You should've known I'd be here."

"Why do you think I'm here? I thought...it would be easier to talk to you here. Offer you some closure."

"Closure?!" Buck exclaims incredulously. "I don't want closure, Tommy. I never wanted to close anything. You left." His voice begins to break. "You left."

"Buck. I did what was best."

"For who, Tommy. For you?"

"Weren't you doing what was best for you when you wanted me to uproot my entire life and move in with you?"

"What are you talking about? I was trying to-"

"Uncle Buck!" A small voice calls up for him.

Buck looks down, his frown quickly flipping into a smile.

"Hey, Jee!"

"Uncle Buck, can you pour me some juice please?"

Buck kneels down and smiles at her. "And how many cups of juice did you already have?"

"Um...2!"

"If I give you a third cup, your mom and dad might get mad at me." He gently ruffles her hair. "When you have too many cups of juice, you race around like a little speed demon!" He playfully tickles her and sends her on her way. "Go play with Mara, okay?"

He stands upright, his smile fading as he glares at Tommy.

"I was trying to have a future with you." He continues on.

"It felt like you were rushing us to the end." Tommy crosses his arms and looks away.

"No. You did that all on your own." Buck swipes Tommy's beer and begins walking out the kitchen. "But..later, right? Since you don't wanna talk right now." He snaps, gently brushing past Tommy.

Tommy grasps his arm and turns Buck on his heel, forcing him to look in his direction.

Their eyes lock in an intense battle of whose pooling tears would trickle down first.

"Don't do this to me, Tommy." Buck's lip trembles. "I don't wanna spend Christmas without you."

Tommy shakes his head, squeezing his glistening eyes shut. "I don't wanna spend any holiday without you, Evan. For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel lonely anymore. You filled such a huge void, I lived everyday afraid you'd empty it again."

"I never wanted to do that. It didn't just feel like forever Tommy. That's exactly what we were. We...we fit together."

"I guess I didn't feel like I fit into your life."

"And you're wrong." Buck points upward.

Tommy glances up, smirking at the mistletoe.

"If I kiss you, this better not be the last one."

"Again. You walked away. Not me."

"Fair enough."

Tommy pulls Buck in for a kiss. Everyone saw, and everyone passes a $10 bill to Hen.

[nep2unee]

Compilation of all the angel^2 edits I’ve made

[sommerregenjuniluft]

evan and regulus frolicking like they're frotting in bed making out sloppy style about to fuck to the sounds of their boyfriends fighting outside

jfkdkfkdkf STOOPPP (this escalated, NSFW)

Regulus comes back into the living room, mug of steaming tea in hand and he rolls his eyes as soon as he, too, hears James and Barty where they're still out on the balcony arguing, cigarettes long stubbed out in the ashtray.

Evan grins, lifting the blanket as Regulus lets himself plop down and snuggles into his side.

“What’s it about this time?”

Evan snorts, nuzzling the black curls behind Regulus’ ear, “You think I know?”

Regulus shakes his head, like a disappointed old grandpa and Evan’s grin widens.

Outside, Barty makes an incredulous noise, half rising from his chair before he sits back down, trying to talk over James’ continuous arguing.

Regulus makes a soft groan in irritation, tipping his head back against Evan's shoulder. There’s a triangle of moles right under the hinge of his sharp jaw, teasing Evan to put his mouth to good use.

“It’s never nothing with the two of them,” Evan murmurs, warm breath ricocheting off Regulus’ skin and back at him.

It makes Regulus tilt his head back down, eyes narrowing and searching for something in Evan’s expression. He hums a little, sinking lower into the cushions and Evan’s embrace.

“Think we should keep ourselves busy, don’t you?” Evan says, catching Regulus’ eyes skipping down to his lips, “Who knows how long they'll be at it this time.”

Regulus doesn’t say anything but he tips his chin up and he lets Evan hook one of his legs over his lap without fuss. Evan watches the line of his throat move when he swallows, “You smell like lemons.”

“And limes,” Evan corrects with a grin. “You're off your game, whiskers. Something distracting you?”

Regulus’ slack expression slips into a glower and Evan chuckles, bumping their noses together. “I spooned some of Barty’s protein yogurt after dinner when he wasn’t looking, too busy nagging at James while they were doing the dishes.”

Regulus snakes a hand under Evan’s t-shirt, caressing the skin, “’s it taste anything good?"

The tiny devil on Evan’s shoulder does a little happy spin, “Why doesn’t the chef try for himself?”

Evan happily swallows the little pant betraying Regulus’ indifference before their lips connect.

He doesn't even have to goad him, their tongues nudging immediately as Regulus eagerly parts his mouth.

It's a wet slide of lips and Regulus’ short nails digging a little desperately into the side of Evan’s ribs when he sucks Regulus’ lower lips between his teeth.

James lets out a loud string of spanish curses outside, slamming a fist into what must be the metal of their balcony railing and Regulus sucks in a breath against Evan’s cheek and oh, is Evan having fun on this beautiful Friday night.

More kissing, hands grabbing and shucking away clothes and when Evan tugs Regulus closer by the hip he makes an entirely too sweet needy noise that goes straight to Evan’s cock.

They keep licking into each others’ mouths, Barty’s and James’ aggravated voices a quiet muffle in the background, and Regulus keeps making these little noises, squirming in place and adjusting his hold on Evan again and again, fingers clenching and unclenching and Evan can’t help himself but grin into the kiss.

It disrupts their rhythm and Regulus makes a complaining grunt that tells Evan he’d roll his eyes right now if he wasn’t currently busy eating Evan’s face off.

He’s so cute Evan wants to take a fucking bite out of him.

Or maybe finger him until he squirts all over the couch.

Evan gives him a lingering kiss on the cheek and then works his way down his neck and Regulus is restless, shifting around and then his fucking knee slides over where Evan is rock hard and he stutters out a truely embarrassing groan for it being a fucking knee.

But Regulus is an angel because he moans in response and slides his fingers into Evan’s bleached curls like it’s second nature whenever he needs something to hold onto.

“Evan,” Regulus speaks up, voice husky and eyes a little glassy when Evan lifts his head to look.

“Reg?” Evan says sweetly, cocking his head, before he goes back to the mark he was about to suck into the pale expanse of his throat.

“I’m– mgh,” Regulus swallows, out of breath, “Can you—”

Evan’s lips twitch into another smile, “Huh? Pardon, I can’t hear you, bébé.”

Regulus huffs but he makes another obscene noise when Evan trails his fingers up the inside of his thigh, dangerously close to where Evan already knows he wants him.

Another of his complaining noises—Evan lets out a snicker against the soft skin and gets a shiver in response—and then, “Want your fingers.”

“Want my fingers, love?” A gentle bite into the tendons of his neck.

Regulus arches, nodding against the cushions, “Please.”

And who is Evan to deny a polite plea as sweet as that of his lover?

Regulus’ sweats, that are actually Barty’s, get discarded. He isn’t even wearing any boxers, nom de dieu, and then Evan is slipping the tip of his middle finger through where Regulus is sinfully slick.

He throws his head back with a moan that Evan feels reverberating down his spine and then Regulus is looking at him with big, silver eyes. Wide and needy and dark brows furrowed and, fuck, so fucking wet for him Evan simply slips in two fingers at once.

And maybe he shouldn’t have. Honestly, should have taken it easy—Usually he’s the last out of the four of them to lose his patience but with Regulus looking at him like that?

Evan presses their lips together, heated and rough, and Regulus welcomes him happily. Makes a high-pitched noise when Evan curls his fingers before starting a slow pace of pumping in and out, thumb drawing slow, teasing circles around his cock.

Suddenly there’s a sharp noise from outside, one of their garden chairs scraping against the tiles of the balcony and then the door flings open.

“—the fuck do you think you’re goin’?”

“If I’m gonna have to listen to your fucking bullshit only one more second I’ll start to get violent, B. Reg is still pissed we didn’t get the blood stains out of the—”

“Fuckin’ pussy. I told you to– oompf,” the sound of someone walking into another body, “James?”

“Shut up.”

“You- fuck you. I’ll—”

“B, look.”

“—fucking destroy you, P- oh.”

Evan peeks over the back of the sofa to see James and Barty standing dumbly in the middle of their living room, expressions slack and balcony door wide open behind them. He crooks his fingers again and Regulus whines brokenly, throwing his head back, mouth parting in a perfect little o and Evan watches James eyes bulge behind his glasses and Barty’s tongue lolling out.

Can’t help himself when he grins menacingly, tilting his head and thumbing over Regulus’ cock again, making the man beside him arch.

“I- you seeing this, Crouch?”

“You fucking bet I am, Jamie.”

“Since when have they- How long were we out there?”

“Dunno but I do know I’m not missing another second of this. Budge up, Rosier. You’re going to get your dick sucked so good.”

“Fine with me as long as you do it ass up,” James murmurs lowly, “Gonna fuck that wrong opinion right out of you.”

Barty scoffs a laugh, “You wish.”

“Then dibs on Regulus riding me.”

“You—”

Evan shakes his head and chases the delectable noise slipping out of Regulus when he slips in a third finger.

[ganondoodle]

so, inspired by the warm welcome the captain received with that rough doodle i posted, i made an updated design for Ki'ita as well (basic and with clothes)

i removed the piercings she had bc considering that they spend the majority of their time in arctic waters i think having metal directly in your skin is a bad idea, no matter how thick your blubber is; i also gave her typical white markings a green hue bc ... i liked how it looked and makes them stand out a little more

(i will not repeat what i wrote on the post about the captain but wanted to add a bit of more info about Ki'ita herself)

(i dont have ALL of their backstory done yet but) the captain and Ki'ita worked together in another organization, one in which the father of the captains child also worked at, before being betrayed and barely managing to escape, after which the both of them founded their pirate crew (possible name is the Solar Pirates bc of their solar powered boat stuff); since the captain had her daughter shortly afterwards Ki'ita managed most of the organisational matters at first, including the construction of their base on an abandoned island they had initially fled to

over the years they invented the solar powered ships that allowed them to gain control over a large part of an important trade route, leaving normal ships (mostly) alone but attacking those of hunters and similar, rescuing demons and mutants, even some humans from them, most of which also join the crew and it quickly lead to them becoming their own little community

Ki'ita does not like to spend alot of time among large groups of people, no matter how much she cares about them, and her originally being from norther lands gave her the idea to explore, and if viable, do underground missions in those norther areas to disrupt the infrastructure the hunters had built in recent years and overall keep the crew informed about things that may otherwise stay hidden; with each of their travels her time absent from the base increased but the patience of the captain is wearing thin so its likely a serious talk is underway on Ki'itas third solo mission she nearly died due to entanglement in abandoned nets made by hunters from an unknown material that she could not break, the massive scars on her tail especially come from that, only surviving bc the date they were supposed to return to the crew had passed and the captain grew to worried about her and made the entire crew rush into an emergency search, including the captain herself and her toddler, who were not suited for the cold climate just like the rest of crew, taking a huge risk that Ki'ita still feels ashamed of for causing; they stayed within the base for a whole year afterwards, not just to recover but also as a silent apology, taking time preparing herself to ensure theyd not get into a situation like that again

(before departing on their next mission the captain gifted her a sword with the blade made from the material of the net, a wooden handle, bc of the cold, and a blue wrap around it reminiscent of the captains striking blue teeth; a reminder of what had happened, a means to defend herself when their strength and teeth are not enough, and also a promise to always return again)

the oldest members of the crew know Ki'ita well and treat her like an old friend, among the newer members she has more of a .. cryptic status, the mysteriously absent vice-captain who only appears every few months or so out of thin air, throws a big party, sleeps for a few days and then vanishes again, the only hint to when they will return soon again being the captain getting noticably grumpier

(OC art, Ki'ita, she/they)

[myokk]

For writers:

What’s your favorite piece of writing you’ve done, and why??

Idk I just woke up thinking about this & now I’m curious!!! & may or may not be compiling a tbr based on your responses since I really haven’t had the time to read any hl fics yet🫶🫶🫶

[jessmalia]

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES 1.01 Pilot

[frownyalfred]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson Characters: Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne (Mentioned) Additional Tags: Post-Killing Joke, Explicit Sexual Content, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Fantasy, Consensual Somnophilia, First Time, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Barbara Gordon in a Wheelchair, Barbara Gordon Needs a Hug, Protective Dick Grayson, Mildly Dubious Consent, Canon Disabled Character, Vibrators, no beta we die like jason todd, Vaginal Sex, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping Summary:

It’s a rapidly-devolving fantasy, made real and unreal in Dick’s tired, post-patrol voice. His armor hits the floor, and she can identify the pieces by sound alone. Gauntlets, chest plate, greaves --

[looloolands]

I'm seeing a lot of interesting takes about Loser, Baby and I just want to throw in my two cents and say that it's not a "quit your bitching, you can't fix it so stop trying" song but rather that it's a "you're not alone" combined with "stop pretending to be someone you're not" song.

It is undeniably goofy stupid for the writers to compare Husk and Angels situations, with the only real similarities being that they sold their souls to "psychopathic freaks", but to say that Husk is accusing Angel of bitching and moaning in this scene is a little... disingenuous? It feels like kind of like a deliberate misunderstanding of the scene because of the comparison that it comes from. Yeah, it's a dumb writing choice, but it's not what the song is saying.

To me, "Loser, Baby" is Husk saying "yeah shit sucks, but you aren't alone and you need to stop acting like you are." He spends the entire episode telling Angel he's acting fake and putting up a mask and it's here, after he's upset him enough to send him running off to spiral, that Husk tells him it's okay to be himself and that he wants him to and that he wants Angel to be himself with him. Husk doesn't pretend to be anything he isn't and "Loser, Baby" is him telling Angel that he doesn't have to either. He doesn't have to be alone with it all either. They can be "losers" together and be happy while they lean on each other for support with someone who understands (which I really wish was written better).

The execution of the whole idea and message of the song isn't the best, but it comes across well enough in my opinion.

[judasgot-it]

Hiii! I suddenly had an idea like a vision or something tehee

imagine after a party (idk, hunting dogs celebrating another victory) and s/o’s feet hurt for her heels so tecchou noticing, carries her on his back. sorry if it was simple

btw Can i call you Judy and be 🪻anon?

You've gifted me a nickname and all I did was ignore you. I think the best thing that should be done is that I write your ask and that you beat me (jk please don't I'm just a writer. but ily flower anon that nickname is so sweet u have full use to call me it <3)

Scenario: Husband! Tecchou carries fem! reader around while at a party (TW for reader being a little drunk at some parts lol)

1 k words

Kiss Me - Sixpence None The Wiser

1:15 AM

The work party was still raging on.

Fukuchi and Teruko were screaming a duet into the karaoke machine, some sort of anime intro that Tachihara complained only old people would know.

Jouno was surprisingly still in the room, forcing some poor chef to make another batch of some overly complicated dish that apparently only Jouno could appreciate. There was a gun on the table, although surprisingly it wasn't pointed at anyone yet.

You could breathe a sigh of relief at that.

All you were looking for now was Tecchou. He had gone missing around half an hour ago, doing who knew what. He was the one thing keeping you alive at this party, considering how you were one or two drinks away from either passing out on the floor or just trying to take yourself home.

Your feet hurt, what else could you say? Maybe you were a little bit too drunk right now since you were sad over where you had placed your shoes. They were somewhere in the room, you were sure of it.

It was a really emotional endeavor, enough that you felt tears start to come to your eyes thinking about where you placed them. You tried to wipe them away the best you could, trying to not hit your face with the pair of shoes you were holding in your hands.

You walked across the room, hoping to find your husband in the crowd of very important government people whose names had lost you at that moment. Thankfully no one approached you, although maybe it was because they were all as messy as you were.

Tecchou was one of the tallest people there, and even on your tippy toes, you couldn't find his messy chestnut hair in the sea of heads. The feeling of panic started to settle quickly, your heart almost beating outside of your chest - your husband could be almost anywhere.

You turned around, feeling your tongue fall into your throat as you still couldn't locate your man. Wiping your wet eyes, you watched as a man approached you - tall, with messy chestnut hair.

Swallowing deeply, you tried to compose yourself as you saw his eyes land directly onto yours. Against your will, your eyes began to well up with tears once again.

Your feet guided you, rushing towards him like a bullet.

There was no thought as you wrapped your arms around him, your face buried down inside of his red suit. You sighed with relief as you felt your cold nose start to warm up against his body, the air you breathed our fanning against the cold skin on your cheeks as you nuzzled deeper onto him.

“Oh, there you are Angel.”

Two hands pulled at your arms, their warmth shocking your cold skin into goosebumps. His fingertips danced along your skin, callouses massaging your skin all the way up to your shoulders.

“I was looking for you. I was starting to think you got lost.”

You looked up as you said this, blinking innocently up into his honey eyes. He leaned his head a little bit away to stare at you, the tattoos on his cheek blending in with his long eyelashes.

Watching them twitch made your lips curve up, how they perfectly melted in together. You took one of your hands and pulled his face to look down at you properly, his brows pinching as he took in the full sight of you.

“You're so pretty Tecchou. Do you ever hear that?”

He smiled at those words, leaning closer into your hand.

“You told me that on our wedding night, actually.”

His brows pinched again, his gaze looking downward once again.

“Angel, why aren't you wearing your shoes?”

His words took a little to sink in, you still too busy watching how his beautiful face pulled apart as he said those words - the tattoos underneath his eye moving just underneath the small creases from his smile.

“Hmm… My feet hurt.”

You other hand lowered itself, cradling his waist as you swayed to the music that played throughout the room. It was easy to ignore the horrible singing that accomidated it, as you instead focused on the strong muscles that were barely consealed underneath Tecchou's suit.

He barely budges, only swaying slightly as he let you have your moment - watching you with hooded eyes. His steps were small, his heels clicking lightly against the tile of the dance floor.

“You know, if your feet hurt I can just carry you around.”

Stopping, you looked up at him, looking at his face carefully. His eyes held no lie, seeing as he was always a truthful man.

“Are you sure about that?” It was always polite to ask in your mind, even when you were challenging one of the strongest men you knew.

“I can lift twice your weight, you know that angel.“

A small smirk spread on his face as he said this, his eyes poring through your figure. His hands traveled down to your waist, squeezing you gently.

”I wouldn't break a sweat at all, if that's what you're worried about.“

You didn't have time to react as you stomach did twists, Tecchou manhandling you into a bride carry with ease.

”Oh my god, Tecchou!”

It was impossible to hide the joy in your words as he carried you, continuing the dance you had started earlier with ease. He hummed along softly to the song that still played, ignoring whatever wailing words were coming out of a horribly drunk Fukuchi's mouth at that moment.

It wouldn't ruin yours at the very least.

“What? I'm not going to let you walk around while your feet hurt.”

He danced with ease, completing a lazy waltz with you in his arms. His soft locks were lit up by the chandelier above, turned into a soft caramel from the light that shone through the strands. They stuck up in all sorts of directions, forming a creme brulee halo around his face.

You brought one of your arms to wrap around his neck, bringing your fingers to sift through the longer strangs of his hair. It was soft, almost an estactic feeling to have something so ethereal under your hand.

“You're so gorgeous.”

His face was closer to yours, his nose nearly brushing against yours. You giggled, stealing his air as you did so.

“I think you said that to me on our wedding night, handsome.“

His lips were pressed against yours, his handsome face blocking your vision for the rest of that night.

[youling-the-ghost]

copper – a bubbamiah ficlet

As their lips met for the last time, Bubba tasted copper and tears on his tongue. word count: 653

Bubba couldn't believe his eyes at first. The red that he caught in the corner of his peripheral vision must've been an optical illusion, a cruel joke that his senses decided to play on him. He gave the same excuse for the choked gasp that echoed from behind him.

But when he turned and saw Jeremiah with his hands over his abdomen, blood gushing out from a deep stab wound, Bubba felt his heart drop to his toes. A deep overwhelming nausea washed over him; his stomach churned, his head swooned, the world swayed from side to side, but none of that was important.

Bubba moved without thinking. Within a blink of an eye, his hands were stained with wine-red that seeped into every crevice of his fingernails and cuticles and palms and the back of his husband's neck was moved so that it sat atop his knee.

The Cube was long gone, hidden behind walls—symbols of its cowardice. A cry escaped from Bubba's lips, something so strained and animalistic and so painful.

"Oh god—no—"

Blood spilled from the spaces between Bubba's fingers. It was warm, but it didn't stop his fingers from trembling.

Bubba's jacket fought back as he struggled to take it off. Something trickled down his cheek. He couldn't tell if it was blood or tears.

The jacket finally came off and Bubba tied it around the wound with unsteady hands. The green fabric immediately bled crimson.

"Where's the medical area?"

Jeremiah shook his head. "It's no use."

"I ain't givin' up on you!" Those words came out as a strained sob. Bubba swallowed, but the bile stuck in his throat remained.

"Those damn Cubes—they've got a psychic link or whatever—" With every word he spoke, Jeremiah's voice weakened and his breathing grew more rough and uneven. "If I die, they'll think you're dead too."

"Don't you dare!"

Jeremiah smiled weakly as a thin stream of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you die."

The jacket was barely stopping the blood. Bubba shook his head until it hurt as he pressed his hands back over the wound. "I ain't givin' up on you," he repeated.

"Live," Jeremiah said, his voice unable to go louder than barely above a whisper. His chest rose up and down, the tempo frequent and inconsistent. "Live, and go back to the farm. And don't you dare let those damn Cubes kill ya."

There was something in Jeremiah's eyes—melancholy, fear, but above all, determination. Bubba softened the hand that pressed against Jeremiah's side.

Bubba took a shaky breath. "I love you, 'Miah," was all he could manage.

Jeremiah chuckled. The sound faded away like a leaf being blown in the wind.

"I've always wanted you to call me that…"

A hand wrapped around his neck, and Bubba was pulled into a kiss. Bubba kissed back, knowing that this was the last time.

He wrapped his arm around his husband's back for the last time, deepened the kiss for the last time, brushed his thumb over Jeremiah's cheek for the last time. Jeremiah smiled against Bubba's lips for the last time, and Bubba smiled back for the last time.

The kiss left a lingering taste of copper and something else, something more brackish, on his tongue.

The hand around his neck fell onto the ground and Jeremiah's eyes glossed over. Bubba pulled away. The copper taste remained.

The rising and falling of Jeremiah's chest lulled. Bubba pulled Jeremiah's head to his chest and sobbed.

By some miracle, Bubba survived the war. The farm waited patiently for their return, but only he returned. Time more or less healed everything—at least, that was what Bubba told those around him.

The truth was, no matter how many times he brushed his teeth or how many pills he took, he couldn't get that damn copper taste out of his mouth.

[murdockhawkeye]

yk i kinda wish miss chatham was in the later seasons still. like imagine if we got an episode of them visiting the retirement home

i can see it now. they lose miss chatham somehow while in there, and then end up on their own side adventures

lewis is acting like he's found his people and he's invited to the next bingo meet by a gladys. or multiple gladys's. while on the opposite end of the spectrum, rikki gets into a fight/rivalry with some old lady

and cleo and emma end up being wrangled into helping one of the seniors, only for emma to end up transforming into a mermaid and for the senior that they were helping, to see it

and then because for whatever reason this came to mind, it turns out said senior is julia's ex karl, who apparently lives at the same retirement home as miss chatham

he almost gets his camera out for old times sake, because he hasn't changed much since they were teenagers, but then miss chatham gets her tennis racket out

suffice to say. they end up walking out with pocketful of old people candy and also a bunch more lore/info from miss chatham. idk

[b4kuch1n]

making of a feathered thing

[httpiastri]

biggest congrats on your birthday ollie, i have a feeling this year will be good to you <33