#if not for them not giving two shits about damaging my vehicle

[fruitless-vain]

In a continuation to “my neighbours 50yo sons refuse to use her driveway and always walk up mine” I built a solid two foot wall of ice and snow between our houses so that they HAD to use her driveway

Instead of doing the easy thing and just using her driveway they decided to use their snow blower to break apart the entire wall just so they could continue to use my driveway (which totally makes loads of sense 🙄)

I rebuilt the wall and they decided to then dig out a walkway in her grass pressed right against my driveway. Okay fine! On your property finally! I’ll take it! So I started rebuilding my ice wall, but we don’t have much new snow yet so it’s like three inches high, on my driveway to continue to enforce the “drag dead deer up your own property and keep your scratch risks away from my new car”

Despite them literally creating their own path on their own property THEYRE STILL WALKING UP MINE WHAT THE FUCK

To top it off they’ve parked a trailer on the road as close as physically possible to my driveway and a good three feet away from the sidewalk so backing out and driving off is such a gd process rn

[persevereforahappyending]

A Legacies Secret |13|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You just wanted a happy life with your girlfriend but then Ghostface attacks, revealing long thought to be buried family secrets.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Stabbing, Attempted Murder, Murder, Death, Blood

Word Count: 3.4k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

You glanced to the side as some of the guys laughed and shoved each other. You shook your head; you weren’t really friends with any of them, but they were fun. You put your attention back on the large canvas before you, smirking as you raised the spray paint bottle to the brick wall. While the others drank and smoked weed, you tended to focus on the vandalism side of things, you didn’t do any major damage, it was paint, it would wash off, eventually. Besides, it was the high school, it’s not like you were hurting anyone.

Just as you began to spray another line a siren sounded and there were red and blue flashing lights. “Shit,” you whispered. You tossed the can aside and took off running behind the others.

While the guys ran to their cars or down the street you veered right, running behind the school. You kept going, running behind all the buildings next to the school. When you no longer heard sirens or saw any lights you slowed to a light jog and eventually stopped all together. You rested against a brick wall as you tried to catch your breath.

You looked around one last time before pushing off the wall, you shoved your hands in your pockets and walked towards the street. If you acted casual, then no one would suspect anything. Almost as soon as you stepped onto the sidewalk a police car appeared. Your head snapped to the car, and you shuffled your feet as you considered taking off again.

“Don’t even think about it,” Dewey’s voice came from the speaker on the car.

You rolled your eyes and raised your paint-stained hands. You locked them behind your head as Dewey got out of his vehicle. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic,” he sighed. “Is the whole hands behind the head thing necessary?”

“Don’t you think some light vandalism is a little below the sheriff’s pay grade,” you snarked.

“What can I say, I just knew you’d be involved.” You couldn’t help but smirk at that. “Let’s go.” He gently grabbed you by the arm and led you to the cop car. He made sure you ducked down far enough so you didn’t hit your head getting in the back seat.

The two of you rode in silence back to the police station. “Want to give me the name of your friends?” He asked.

“They’re not my friends,” you said.

“Right,” he sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.

You watched Dewey through the mirror, he was still treating you with the same kindness he always did when he brought you in. There was something different though, there were bags under his eyes, and it seemed as if he hadn’t slept in days. You slumped in the backseat, nothing to do put pick at the hole that was already there.

The one good thing about living in a small town was that you arrived at the police station in a matter of minutes. Dewey wordlessly got out of the car and opened your door for you. He once again gently grabbed your arm and led you into the station. You passed by the officer left at the station, he barely glanced up from his paper before rolling his eyes at seeing you again.

“Sit,” Dewey ordered when the two of you got to his office.

You slumped down in the chair across from his desk. You looked around, nothing was new, not like it had been long since you had been in this same position before. Dewey’s office was at the back of the station, but he generally kept the door open, and the blinds were always up so he could see out onto the floor and his officers could see him.

“What was it this time?” Dewey asked as he leaned against the front of the desk, staring down at you. He once told you he did this because he felt it created a more open dynamic, that it was more casual, and easier to talk than it would be if he was sitting behind the desk.

“Nothing,” you mumbled. You crossed your arms as you refused to look him in the eye.

“Come on-”

“Look can you just call my foster parents, I want to go home.” You rolled your eyes, you didn’t know why Dewey was trying to do this tonight, it was late, you weren’t in the mood for one of his speeches.

“Cut the bullshit,” Dewey snapped. You couldn’t help the way you flinched, your eyes instantly snapping to Dewey. “We do this almost every week, you’re sixteen,” you looked down at your hands in your lap. “I can’t keep protecting you.”

“Then don’t!”

“So, juvie, that’s what you want?” You glanced up to see Dewey’s disappointed glare. “Is it?”

“No,” you mumbled.

“Cause that’s where you’re headed if you keep this up. If you’re lucky!” You looked up at him, your eyes wide. “If they wanted, you could be tried as an adult.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t seem like enough. ‘I’ll do better’ wasn’t enough, those were just words. Words didn’t mean anything at the end of the day, actions are what matter, actions are what spoke the loudest.

“He came home drunk, again,” you whispered.  You glanced up to see Dewey’s furrowed brow. “My foster dad.”

Dewey sucked in a breath and nodded. He knew what your foster dad was like, he knew exactly what your life was like. “Did he hit you?”

You shook your head. “Left before it got that bad.”

Dewey sighed and took a seat in the chair next to you. “You don’t have to stay there, you know.”

You let out a humorless chuckle as you scoffed at just the idea of that. There weren’t any other options, you had to stay with them until you were eighteen and then they’d kick you out and you’d be on your own. “Yeah, cause I have so many places to go?” you snarked.

Dewey got up and made his way around his desk, grabbing something on the shelf behind it. When he turned around, he was holding a packet of papers. He leaned across the table, holding out the papers to you. You hesitantly reached up, taking the papers from him.

When you looked down at the papers you couldn’t help but furrow your brow. “Emancipation?” you asked, looking up at Dewey. “There’s no way I’d ever qualify,” you shook your head, tossing the papers back onto his desk.

“Not if you do the work,” Dewey said. He picked up the papers and held them out to you again. “You’re a smart kid, the only one who can pull you out of the path you’re on, is you.”

You reached up and took the papers back from him. You looked down at it. You had thought of it before, of course you had. Getting emancipated required a lot of work though, you had to have your living situation figured out, you had to have an income, you had to prove that you could be independent and support yourself.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you mumbled.

“First,” Dewey said. “This shit,” he picked up an empty spray paint can from a previous encounter with you. “Has to stop. No more. I don’t want to see you in that seat,” he pointed to the chair you were in. “Again.” You nodded, keeping your eyes on the floor. “I can’t keep giving you chances.” You nodded, you had gotten lucky every time Dewey was the one to bring you in, no one else would have been as generous. He got up and made his way to the door, resting his hand on the doorknob as he looked back at you. “You know the way out,” he said before leaving his office, letting the door close behind him.

You continued to stare down at the papers in your lap. Maybe Dewey was just having a bad night, maybe he really was done with you, either way, you needed to get your shit together. You were going nowhere if you kept going at it like you were, it was only a matter of time before you got caught up in something much bigger than a little vandalism.

You shot up in your seat, your heart beating erratically in your chest as you looked around. “Hey, hey,” Tara’s soft voice came. You calmed down instantly when your eyes landed on her. “It’s okay.” She gave your hand a comforting rub. You were at the hospital, you were still at Tara’s bedside, you guessed you had passed out from all the crying.

“Sorry,” you rasped out. You got up from your seat, moving to the little sink in the room to fill a glass of water.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” You leaned your back against the sink, resting your hands on the counter behind you. “How are you holding up?”

You shook your head; you had no idea how you were doing. “I hate this town.” You stared at the floor.

You felt Tara’s eyes on you, but you couldn’t look away from the floor. “Ask me again?” Tara whispered. You scrunched your eyebrows, looking up at her with a tilt of your head. “Ask me again.”

Your eyes widened when you realized what she meant. You couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your face despite your current situation as you made your way to her bedside again. “Run away with me?” you asked, leaning forward to stare into her eyes.

Tara nodded, happy tears filling her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered. You were already leaning in as she reached up with her good hand, resting it on the back of your neck to pull you closer.

You eventually moved to Tara’s other side, even though you couldn’t hold her hand anymore, you still wanted to keep your eyes on the door. You were in the chair, pressed against the bed as you ran your fingers through Tara’s hair. The two of you were watching some mindless TV, trying not to think about everything that had happened.

You rubbed your eyes tiredly; you could barely remember what sleep felt like. The only times you had slept since Tara’s attack had been in an uncomfortable position in a chair, passing out from crying yourself to exhaustion, and the few hours you had been knocked unconscious, though Tara told you that last one didn’t count as sleep.

You pulled out your phone when you felt it vibrate. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes when you saw whose name appeared on your screen. “Who is it?” Tara asked.

“Your sister,” you grumbled. You rolled your eyes again as you swiped to answer the call.

“Y/N,” Sam practically screamed into the phone as the phone got to your ear.

“Too what do I owe the displeasure Samantha?” you asked, unable to hide the irritation at her calling. The only reason you even picked up was because of Tara, you had no problem letting it go to voicemail.

“Ghostface is going after Tara.”

“What?” You shot to your feet. “How do you know?” You started pacing around the room, your eyes darting all around for anything that could be used as a weapon.

“Judy’s dead.” You stopped in your tracks. Your eyes were wide as you looked up at Tara. She scrunched her eyebrows, silently asking you what Sam was saying. “Wes too.” You shook your head, that couldn’t be, you had just seen both of them.

“Fuck,” was all you could manage to get out.

“He’s going after Tara.” Sam was clearly struggling with what she was about to say to you. You were sure it probably had to do with the fact that she told you to stay away from Tara and now she was calling you, telling you Tara was in danger. “Look I’m-”

“He’s not laying a fucking hand on her,” you cut her off. You didn’t need her apology; you didn’t want it. All that mattered right now was protecting Tara, that was your only concern.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

You clenched your jaw and gripped the phone in your hand tighter. “Whatever,” you hung up.

“What happened?” Tara asked.

“We need to get you out of here,” you said. You looked around until your eyes landed on the wheelchair.

“What’s going on?”

You rolled the wheelchair as close to the bed as possible, so you could get Tara into it without risking hurting her more. “Come on.”

“What’s going on?”

Tara grabbed your hand, forcing you to look her in the eye. “Ghostface.” Tara’s eyes instantly filled with tears, and she began shaking her head. The same fear you saw when she first woke up was back. “Hey,” you moved to her side instantly, gently brushing away the strands of hair that fell in her face. “No one is going to hurt you.” You stared into her eyes. “I swear, I’ll protect you. Okay?” You waited for her to nod.

You locked the wheelchair in place. As soon as you got your arms under Tara to lift her you heard a noise outside the door. You held your breath as you stared at the doorknob, waiting for whoever was out there to start turning it. You could feel Tara gripping onto you, her nails digging into your arm.

You moved quickly, getting Tara into the wheelchair as you continuously glanced at the door. No one tried coming in and you couldn’t hear a sound coming from the other side. The silence, which should have been peaceful, was anything but, you knew the second that door opened all hell would break loose. Sam said Ghostface was on the way, but he could have already been there. The only thing standing between Tara and Ghostface was you and you weren’t going to let him lay a finger on her.

You started to roll the wheelchair as quietly as you could when you saw the doorknob begin to jiggle. You raised a finger to your lips and moved across the room, so you’d be behind the door when it opened. Tara shook her head furiously, but you kept your attention on the door, you weren’t letting him get her.

As soon as the door creaked open you rammed your shoulder into it. There was a groan as the door whipped back into whoever was trying to open it. You quickly opened it, ready to tackle the person when you stopped in your tracks. “Richie?” you asked.

“What the hell?” Richie said, holding a hand to his bleeding nose.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Richie opened his mouth, but you didn’t know what he was about to say because behind Richie was Ghostface. “Look out!” You tried to warn him. Richie turned just as Ghostface brought down his knife, slashing him across the forearm.

Richie backed up, nearly tripping over his own feet before Ghostface grabbed him and shoved him against the wall. You kept yourself between Ghostface and Tara, straightening your back as Ghostface turned to face you. He tilted his head and twisted the knife in his hand.

“Move as fast as you can,” you whispered, glancing at Tara out of the side of your eye.

Before Tara could argue with you, you moved. Ghostface raised their knife, but you caught their arm as they tried to bring it down. You backed them up, slamming them against the wall. You heard the wheelchair begin to move behind you, at least Tara actually listened to you for once. Ghostface pushed back and you turned them, so your back was facing the door. You just had to stall them long enough for Tara to get to safety. You started to walk them back when they tripped over Richie’s feet. Ghostface crashed to the floor, their knife flying out of their hand.

You didn’t hesitate as you turned and ran out of the room. You got your hands on the wheelchair and began racing down the hall towards the elevator with Tara.

Something hit you in the side, sending you slamming into the wall, the force making Tara’s wheelchair tip over, and sending her crashing to the floor. You groaned, your eyes instantly widening when you heard Tara’s cries. You moved to go to her when you felt something pierce your side. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down, seeing a knife in your side. You lifted your head, staring into the white mask as Ghostface slowly pulled out their knife.

“No!” you heard Tara scream, though she sounded far away.

Ghostface raised their knife and waved it back and forth in front of your face so you could see your own blood coating the knife. They brought the knife down, shoving it into your left shoulder and giving it an aggressive twist. You screamed and brought your hands up, trying to pull their hand away from you. They ripped it out without a care and watched as you slid to the floor. Your right hand went to your shoulder as your left hand held your side, trying to stop the blood but it continued to seep between your fingers.

You tried to pull yourself up as Ghostface slowly walked towards Tara, he was taunting her, knowing she couldn’t crawl away. It sounded like Ghostface was talking to someone, but everything was muffled. You tried to move as Ghostface reached her, but you only collapsed to the floor.

You took away your hand from the wound on your side, reaching out as if you could get to them, as if you could stop Ghostface. Just as Ghostface raised their knife the elevator doors opened. You choked out a sob as Dewey raised his gun, firing several shots at Ghostface until they dove out of the way down another hall. Sam rushed to her sister’s side, helping her up and as gently as she could rushed her to the elevator.

Dewey rushed to your side, he swung an arm around you and helped you to your feet. He whipped around with his gun when he heard a noise, but it was just Richie coming out of the room, a hand to his head from where he was hit. Dewey put his other hand around Richie and began struggling to help the both of you to the elevator.

As the three of you passed the hall Ghostface ran out, slamming into the three of you, making you crash to the floor again. Richie stumbled back to his feet, his eyes widening in horror as Ghostface dragged you back by your feet. He stood above you, and you could only stare up as he raised his knife.

The next thing you knew Ghostface was thrown back, crashing into the cabinet display along the wall. You turned your head to see Dewey with his gun raised. He kept his gun trained on Ghostface as he ran to your side. He didn’t bother flinging an arm around you this time, opting to just drag you by the back of the shirt towards the elevator.

Dewey finally let you go when he reached the elevator, letting you slump against the back wall. Tara dropped down to your side, resting a hand on your shoulder. Sam dropped down next to her, helping put pressure on your wounds. Richie was slumped in the corner, holding a hand to his bleeding arm. Dewey pressed the button for the first floor as he stood in the doorway.

“The head,” he whispered.

“What?” Sam asked, furrowing her brow as she stared up at Dewey.

“You have to shoot them in the head. Otherwise, they always come back.”

“Who gives a fuck!”

“I do.”

You Dewey held your gaze as he stepped back out of the elevator. You shook your head, you tried to move but your body just wouldn’t cooperate. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“N-n-no,” you whispered, coughing up some blood in the process.

Dewey gave you a sad smile before turning and walking back to Ghostface. You shook your head as he raised his gun at Ghostface’s head who still laid motionless in a pile of broken glass. When Dewey stepped closer, the broken glass cracking beneath his feet Ghostface’s arm shot up, stabbing Dewey in the gut, making him drop his gun.

“No!” you screamed, tears instantly feeling your eyes.

The last thing you saw before the elevator doors closed was Ghostface standing tall above Dewey, raising their knife as they prepared to stab him again.

[tinydefector]

Interface Rust Disease

I wanna thank @penny-anna for letting me use this idea, I didn't use it for all the characters and some are shorter than others but I had alot of fun working on this and might do some others if people want other characters.

On another note, I live!!, got sick been working horses and had Christmas, got a new year's party I'm heading to tomorrow so wanted to finally get this finished as it's been sitting in my drafts for a while now.

___________

Word count: 5k

Warnings: mention of sex/interfacing, medical check ups, robot STDs

__________

Shouting can be heard off in the distance, the few bots that were in the west wing gave each other side eyes and looked to Ratchet in concern. "Motherfucker!" A human voice yells. "Which one of you fuckers have been tampering with my car!, there's rust on it and I know for a fact that it's one of you!" They point at the mechs, not enjoying whatever prank they were playing on them.

Ratchet startles at the sudden shouting, nearly dropping the tool in his servo. He whirls around with a scowl as he hears the angry human accusing his comrades. "Now you listen here!" Ratchet growls, stomping towards the shouting human while waving a wrench menacingly. "I won't tolerate that kind of language or baseless accusations in my medbay! If you have a problem, you can bring it to me in a civil manner and we'll get to the bottom of it. But bursting in here, hurling insults, will get you nowhere!" 

The old medic glares down at the human, grip tightening on his wrench. "So I suggest you calm yourself and explain what exactly is going on with your vehicle, without all the colorful language if you please."

They let out a collection of angry noises, but all the other mechs are dead silent and still as they watch Ratchet and the human in their standoff. First Aid watching the showdown in slight excitement. "My car has some sort of alien rust in the undercarriage and it's spreading rapidly! There was nothing there two days ago!" They spit out as they cross their arms. 

Ratchet frowns, lowering his wrench as he listens to the human's explanation. Rust spreading rapidly on an Earth vehicle was definitely odd and concerning. He nods, "Alright, let's take a look at this rust and see what we're dealing with." Ratchet gestures for the human to show him the affected car. As they walk, he glances around suspiciously. This had the makings of some kind of prank pulled by one of the more immature mechs in the base. But he wouldn't make any accusations until he saw the damage himself.

"What kind of car is it?" Ratchet asks conversationally as they walk. He was still grumbling inwardly about his clinic being disturbed, but he pushed that aside to focus on the task at hand. Strange rust required his full attention. They state the make and model, its mileage. Until they reach the area where the rest of the humans who frequent the base had their vehicles parked. "Right there, any idea what's caused the rust or what shit head decided to tamper with my car? " they call out while pointing to their car.

Nothing on the outside gave any signs of rust but Ratchet knew better than that, and he was now having suspicion on what it might be. But why was it on their vehicle? The human lifts the hood of the car showing the advancing rust. Ratchet's optics widen as he gets a closer look at the vehicle and recognizes the telltale signs of IRD. 

He shakes his helm, rubbing his temples where he can feel a processor ache coming on. "Primus give me strength," he mutters under his breath. Turning back to the human, Ratchet's  tone drops into the stern doctor voice. "This appears to be a case of IRD - Interfacing Rust Disease. A...cybertronian STD, in layman's terms." 

Inside, Ratchet cringes. This was not a conversation he ever wanted to have with one of the humans. But the rust had to be stopped before it spread further. "I found rust on my car, I thought the twins thought it might have been a good idea to prank me with something." They begin rambling before they stop, processing what he had said. "Wait, wait your telling me a Cybertronian fucked my car!" They nearly yell, catching the attention of men and mechs around the Ark.

Ratchet holds up his servos in a calming gesture as the human begins to yell again. "Easy now, no need to make a scene," he says evenly. "It appears one of the, ahem, friskier mechs around here took a liking to your vehicle's make and model. It's not unheard of." Ratchet shakes his helm and sighs. "I know you're angry, and you have every right to be. But right now, we need to contain this outbreak. IRD can spread quickly if left unchecked. I need to do a full scan on your vehicle and start tracking down the original carrier."

He gives the human a sympathetic look. "I promise I'll buff out any lasting damage once the rust is treated. And I'll be having strong words with whichever mech defiled your car.For now, let's get your vehicle into quarantine. The sooner I can analyze the strain, the sooner we can get it treated” They huff and grumble before sighing. "OK just please fix it, I'll see if Red alert has any info, I know he likes having hidden cameras around the place, but what happens if it didn't happen in the base?" They finally ask.

"I know it's not ideal, but it's the quickest way to track down the source. Once I analyze it, I have my suspects narrowed down considerably. Just try not to think too hard about the methods, yes?" He gives the human an apologetic shrug. "I've been a medic for a long time, not much phases me anymore. Rest assured I will handle this professionally. Now, let's get your vehicle into isolation before this rust spreads further."

__________

Optimus Prime

Ratchet looks over the list of Autobots scheduled for their medical checkups with a weary sigh: It was going to be a long day examining everyone for signs of the IRD outbreak. But it had to be done swiftly to contain it. Ratchet grabs his tools and sterilizes the med bay berths before coming his first patient. "Optimus Prime, please report to the medbay for your routine examination."

This was going to be uncomfortable, but Ratchet was a professional. He would handle the examinations with his usual detached bedside manner. Still, he cringes inwardly at the thought of inspecting his commanding officer and friend for interfacing rust. This IRD outbreak was turning out to be quite the embarrassing hassle.

Optimus Prime makes his way to the medbay, a slight sense of unease stirring within him. He has the utmost trust in Ratchet's expertise, but he still didn't enjoy trips to the medical clinic; the medic's solemn tone does not escape his notice. As he steps Into the medbay he meets Ratchet's gaze. "Ratchet, what seems to be the issue?" Optimus inquires, his deep voice rumbling with a mixture of concern and curiosity. He knows the medic would not summon him without good reason, and he braces himself for whatever news or examination Ratchet has in store.

"Optimus, thank you for coming promptly. Please, have a seat on the berth." He gestures to the examination table. Optimus complies, seating himself on the berth and looking at Ratchet expectantly. The medic takes a moment to steady himself before meeting his leader's gaze.

"I'm afraid we have a sensitive situation. There has been an outbreak of IRD . I need to examine everyone on base thoroughly so we can identify and contain the source." Ratchet watches Optimus closely for his reaction, knowing this would likely be as uncomfortable for the Prime as it was for him. But it had to be done.

"I know this is far from an ideal, old friend. But I promise to handle this professionally and with the utmost discretion. We need to stop this outbreak from spreading further, I apologize for the invasive nature of this. But I'm sure you understand the necessity, for the health and safety of all in the Ark."

Optimus listens to Ratchet's explanation, his expression shifting from concern to a tinge of embarrassment. The mention of an "Interfacing Rust Disease" immediately puts him on edge, knowing the intimate nature of the condition. He clears his vocalizer before responding, his deep baritone vocals betraying a rare hint of discomfort. "I see. This is indeed a delicate matter." Optimus pauses. As much as he wishes to avoid such an intrusive examination, he recognizes the imperative need to contain this outbreak.

With a solemn nod, he meets Ratchet's gaze, his optics conveying his trust in the medic's abilities. "You have my full cooperation, old friend. I understand the necessity of this procedure, and I will submit to your examination without reservation."

Optimus shifts slightly on the berth, steeling himself. The medic collects his scanners and tools, then turns back to Optimus. "I'll start with a full frame scan, then move on to a more thorough examination of your interface array and surrounding mechanisms."  Ratchet starts slowly waving the scanner over Optimus from head to toe, watching the readings closely. So far just the expected baseline readings, but the detailed inspection had yet to begin.

"Try to stay relaxed, this next part will require closer contact but I'll maintain your modesty as much as possible." Ratchet keeps his tone clinical. With great care and precision, he manipulates Optimus' interface paneling, checking around seams and crevices for any early signs of corrosion or rust deposits. The examination is intimate but the medic remains focused on monitoring for any anomalies.  

After long kliks of awkward but necessary handling, Ratchet steps back with a relieved vent of air. "All clear, the scans and physical examination show no signs of infection. Thank you, I know it wasn't pleasant." Optimus gives a slight nod before leaving in a hurry, most likely to go hide away in his office and try to bury himself in work. 

_________

Ironhide

 his next patient one that Ratchet wasn't looking forward to, Ironhide. 

Steeling himself, Ratchet comms the gruff old warrior. "Ironhide, please report to the medbay for your routine examination."

It isn't long until heavy pedesteps signal the Weapons Specialist's reluctant arrival. "This better be quick, Doc, I've got a shooting range session with the Youngsters." Ironhide rumbles impatiently. 

"Have a seat on the berth and we'll get started." Ratchet gestures brusquely, in no mood to argue. Ironhide huffs but compiles, seating himself on the exam table with a glower. "Alright, let's get this over with."

“There has been an outbreak of IRD . I need to examine you thoroughly so we can mark you off the list of potential carriers” Ratchet starts while moving about. Ironhide immediately bristles. "Rust in my interface array? No chance!" He slides off the berth, waving a dismissing hand. "I'm clean as a whistle, Doc, don't need any exam."

Ratchet rubs his temples. This was going to be even more difficult than he thought. "Now hold on, Ironhide. I know this is uncomfortable, but we have legitimate evidence of an IRD outbreak on base. Just this morning, we found rust deposits on a human's vehicle consistent with trans-species transmission."  

Ironhide's optics widen slightly but he remains skeptical. Ratchet continues firmly. "Which means one of our mechs is infected and interfacing indiscriminately. We need to identify and contain the carrier immediately before this spreads further."  

"I explained the sensitivity of the situation to Optimus and he complied with an examination without hesitation, for the good of the team. I ask that you do the same." Ironhide shifts on his pedes, looking distinctly uncomfortable at the mention of Optimus' exam. He grunts reluctantly. "Fine, Doc. If it's that serious, I'll do it. But this better not leave the medbay, you understand?" 

Ratchet nods. "You have my word. Now please, have a seat so we can get started." After a moment's hesitation, Ironhide sits back down on the berth with a grumble. Ratchet thanks him and begins prepping his scanners, hoping the worst of the arguing is over. Ironhide was prickly but ultimately reasonable, once the gravity of the situation got through his thick helm.

Ratchet's spark sinks as the test results come back positive for IRD. Ironhide...is the carrier? He meets the gruff mech's optics with a grave expression.

" Ironhide. You are infected with an active IRD strain." Ironhide looks stunned, then reddens in embarrassment and anger. "That's impossible! I haven't-" He cuts himself off, glancing away shiftily.

Ratchet's optics narrow. "Ironhide, this is serious. IRD could devastate our already small numbers if left unchecked. I need you to be honest with me, how long have you had a Rust deposit?."

Ironhide won't meet his gaze, shuffling on the berth. Finally he mumbles "...about 4 human weeks now..." Ratchet vents harshly, displeased but unsurprised at the admission. "Alright. Well now we know the source. I'm putting you in quarantine until we flush your systems and you're no longer contagious." 

Ironhide starts to protest but Ratchet cuts him off with a sharp wave of his wrench. "No arguments! This ends now before someone gets infected! Honestly Ironhide, I'm glad it wasn't one of our own you infected but use your processor Mech!"

Ratchet vents tiredly, glad to have identified the carrier but dismayed it was someone as respected as Ironhide. This would be an awkward truth to contain...

"So...lonely and bored, hm? No one around to 'interface' with you properly?" Ratchet asks with a raised optical ridge.  Ironhide scowls, embarrassment rolling off him in waves. "Ah lay off Doc, you know how it gets."

Ratchet chuckles. "I certainly do. Still, you couldn't find a nice mech to 'transfluid transfer' with instead of that poor human's car?, i guess at least you haven't transferred it to an9ther mech which is a relief, "

Ironhide looks even more flustered, if possible. "It...seemed like a good idea at the time," he mumbles lamely. Ratchet just shakes his helm. "You have no idea how angry they were to find 'rust deposits' all over the undercarriage." Ironhide covers his faceplates with a groan. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up Doc. I fragged up.”

"At least my interface drive still works properly for my age, unlike some rusted old medics I know..." Ironhide grumbles under his breath. Ratchet snorts, unmiffed. "Oh please, my spike is plenty calibrated, I just prefer not to wear it out like some mechs."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" Ironhide retorts with a smirk. 

"Better than what you tell yourself every lonely night in the berth, i have a conjunx" Ratchet fires back smoothly.

Ironhide barks out a laugh at that. "Alright alright, enough banter at my expense. Just fix me up."

________________________

Ratchet vents slowly, steadying himself for the next examination. "Jazz, please report to the medbay." After a few kliks, the saboteur strolls in as if he had been waiting near by, visor bright and a casual grin on his faceplates. "Wassup, Doc bot? Ya called for me?"

"Have a seat, Jazz." Ratchet gestures to the berth, then launches right into explaining about the IRD situation, knowing Jazz would not take gentle persuasion. Jazz's visor flashes in surprise. "Woah, rusty spikes? Ain't heard of that in vorns..." He trails off, then shrugs and hops up on the berth without further prompting. "Go ahead and scan away, Ratch. Gotta do what ya gotta do."

Ratchet nods, mildly surprised but grateful for Jazz's easy cooperation. He proceeds with the examination, starting with a full frame scan. Jazz stays still and quiet, visor following Ratchet's movements curiously but no wisecracks or questions. The scan is clear, so Ratchet moves on to the intimate inspection. Jazz doesn't even flinch as his paneling is manipulated, seemingly unaffected by the awkwardness of the situation.  

In short order, Jazz is also cleared and hops off the table. "All good, Doc bot?" At Ratchet's confirmation, Jazz nods and shoots him a finger gun gesture. "Glad to help out. See ya around!" And he departs as smoothly as he arrived.

Ratchet shakes his head wryly. Leave it to Jazz to take even the most uncomfortable exam in stride. He logs the results, then wearily calls the next bot on his list...

As Jazz turns to leave after his examination, Ratchet calls out to him.

"Jazz, hold on a moment. I have something else I wanted to ask you, regarding...personal matters." Jazz pauses and looks back over his shoulder, visor glinting curiously. "Oh yeah, Doc? What's on your processor?" Ratchet shifts a bit, unsure how to broach the subject delicately. Finally he decides the direct approach is best. 

"It's about you and Prowl. I know you two are...close." Ratchet raises an optic ridge meaningfully. "I want to be sure you are taking proper precautions, especially with this IRD outbreak happening." Jazz's visor brightens in understanding and he chuckles. "Me and Prowler? We're careful, Doc, don't you worry. Been together a long time now, we know how to mesh safely."

His voice takes on a more serious tone as he adds "But I appreciate you lookin' out for us. Wouldn't want my mech getting scrambled spike, you feel me?" Ratchet nods, satisfied with Jazz's answer. "I had to be sure. This outbreak could spread rapidly if we don't contain it. But I trust you two have things in hand."

Jazz gives him a casual salute. "You got it, Ratch. We'll be extra careful for now. Thanks for the check-in." With a parting wave, Jazz saunters out of the medbay. Ratchet watches him go, glad to have confirmation the two officers are being responsible. Now, time to call in the next bot.

______________

If Jazz has IRD

Ratchet's optics widen in dismay as Jazz's test results come back positive for IRD. The easygoing saboteur was the last bot he'd expect to be a carrier, but the evidence doesn't lie. "Jazz, I need you to return to the medbay immediately. Your test came back positive."

Jazz almost bolts into the medical bay, visor flashing in worry  "Positive? But how, i'm positive i aven't got any rust build up or nothin!" Ratchet frowns. "Be that as it may, you are infected and contagious. We need to start you on aggressive anti-rust treatments right away."

"Try to remember any recent interfacing partners, no matter how casual. Tracking the source is key to stopping this." Ratchet says gravely as he starts spraying Jazz down. Jazz looks thoughtful as Ratchet questions him about recent partners. "Honestly doc, it's just been me and Prowler for vorns now. We're exclusive as they come."

Ratchet frowns. "But the rust had to come from somewhere. Are you sure you haven't interacted with anyone else, even casually?" Jazz shakes his helm. "Nah mech, I got all I need with my Prowler. I ain't cheated on him or fooled around."

Ratchet vents heavily. "Then I don't understand how you contracted this, unless..." His optics widened in realization. Jazz looks at him curiously. "Unless what, doc bot?"

"That human's vehicle...did you and Prowl get intimate anywhere near it?" Ratchet asks pointedly it wasn't uncommon to pick up a rust stain from a random object, even more common on earth had the car had rust beforehand and now it had progressed to IRD due to Jazz catching it.

Jazz's visor brightens as his mouth hangs open remembering. "Ohhh scrap!" Ratchet sighs, pinching his nasal ridge. "You two need to be more careful where you interface!"

_____________________________

Prowl

A short while later, Prowl enters the medbay, doorwings held high and posture straight as always. "You wished to see me, Ratchet?" Ratchet gestures to the exam berth. "Have a seat, Prowl. I'm sure Jazz informed you of the situation."  

Prowl's doorwings twitch slightly as he perches on the edge of the berth. "Yes, he briefed me on the details. An uncomfortable circumstance, but a necessary precaution."

Ratchet nods, relieved Prowl is being reasonable so far. "I appreciate your understanding. I'll be as quick and professional as possible."

Prowl simply inclines his head in acceptance. "Do what needs to be done, Ratchet." 

When the test comes back positive it has Ratchet rather stunned as he looks at Prowl. Thinking it had to be a glitch in his system. Was Prowl the culprit? Or had Jazz had it and given it to him. Had one of them interfaced with the car that was currently riddled with IRD. 

Nonetheless, the results don't lie. Ratchet leans heavily on the console, processor racing over how to handle this sensitive situation. Rubbing his temples, Ratchet looks over to the SIC. "Prowl, your test came back positive. You have interfacing rust disease." 

Prowl's optics flare in shock before he regains control of his expression. "That...cannot be. There must be some mistake." Ratchet shakes his helm before walking over with the results  "I ran it twice. You are infected." He fixes Prowl with a stern look. "I need you to tell me exactly how this might have happened."

Prowl is silent for a long moment, gaze darting away in what Ratchet swears is guilt before he finally speaks. "There was...an incident off-base. With a civilian vehicle. I believed it to be unoccupied at the time. I wasn't aware it was one of the humans on base until cycles Ago" 

Ratchet vents harshly. So his suspicions were correct. This is a serious breach of conduct from the normally uptight SIC. "Alright Prowl, listen closely. I will keep this discreet and between us, no one else is to know of this.  Here's what we are going to do..." Ratchet outlines the treatment plan, quarantine procedures, and future disciplinary action for Prowl's conduct. It's an incredibly awkward conversation, but a necessary one to contain the spread of this outbreak.

___________________________

The twins Sunstreaker & Sideswipe

Ratchet vents heavily as he checks his list and sees the next two names: Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. The dreaded "terror twins", as the other Autobots called them. This was one exam Ratchet was not looking forward to in the slightest. Still, it had to be done. Best to get them both in and out as quickly as possible.

"Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, report to the medbay immediately." Ratchet commend. 

Eventually the twins stroll in, Sunstreaker looking irritated and Sideswipe with a cheeky grin. "What's up Doc Bot? You rang?"

Ratchet crosses his arms. "Have a seat, both of you." He states before they comply, Sunstreaker growling and hissing at Sideswipe to stop bouncing around. Ratchet launches into explaining about the IRD outbreak, and is met with predictable outrage.

"No way am I letting you poke around down there!" Sunstreaker shouts, while Sideswipe just cackles. Ratchet rubs his temples as a processor ache builds. It takes nearly a full lecture and argument before he finally convinces them to submit to the exam. 

"One more thing. The contamination we detected was on a human's vehicle. I need to know if either of you have been...interfacing...with any of the indigenous population's machinery."

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe freeze, optics wide. Then they immediately round on each other. "It was you, wasn't it!? Couldn't keep it in your spike plating around the fleshies!" Sunstreaker shouts accusingly at Sideswipe. He knew Sideswipe got along well with the humans even on occasions flirting with them. 

"What!? I don't go near those cars!" Sideswipe retorts. "You're the one with all those weird kinks, I bet you fragged one of their cars!" He argues back pointing a digit at the golden yellow mech. The two descend into bickering and shoving as Ratchet looks on incredulously. Finally he steps between them with a roar.

"Enough! It doesn't matter which one of you glitches did it, the fact is it happened! If I find out you two have been violating the humans' vehicles again, I'll weld your spikes to your afts!"

Ratchet vents harshly, anger simmering through his lines. He makes a mental note to examine the security footage, determine which twin was the likely culprit, and recommend punishment to Prowl. 

As he runs the test the two mechs bicker and make fun of each other. Pointing out paint marks and such as Ratchet takes samples and runs scans. "Hold still, you glitch!" Ratchet snaps as Sideswipe squirms away while he's trying to take a sample. 

"Not my fault, Sunny's ugly face is putting me off!" Sideswipe cackles.

"You wanna see ugly? Look in the mirror, afthead!" Sunstreaker shoots back.

"What's this paint transfer on your thigh plating, Sideswipe?" Sunstreaker sneers. "Been grinding on the native's vehicles?"

"It's from that silver firebird we raced last week, spikesucker!" Sideswipe retorts. "At least I can get some action, unlike you!" Ratchet finally loses his patience. "Enough! One more word out of either of you and I'll dismantle your vocalizers! Now sit still and shut up so I can finish this!"

The twins fall sullenly silent under Ratchet's withering glare. Ratchet vents harshly and continues the invasive examination. Finally the console beeps with the analysis complete. Ratchet checks the results and vents harshly, spinning to face the twins with a thunderous look. "One of you glitches IS infected! These sample results just came back positive for IRD!"

________________________

Sideswipe  with IRD

The twins go still, optics widening in shock. Sideswipe immediately points at Sunstreaker. "I knew it! It's gotta be him!" "What!? Don't try to pin this on me, I'm clean!" Sunstreaker shoves Sideswipe Hard. 

Ratchet steps between them again. " We'll have to run targeted scans on your interface arrays to isolate whichever one of you is the carrier." Both twins squirm at that but grudgingly comply with the invasive scans. After tense kliks, the results finalize - and it's Sideswipe that tests positive.

Sunstreaker crows in triumph while Sideswipe whines "No way, that's impossible!"

Ratchet crosses his arms sternly. "The scans don't lie. Sideswipe, you have some explaining to do. And we need to start containment and treatment immediately before you spread this any further."

Sunstreaker hovers nearby, arms crossed and expression stony. He refused to leave his twin's side despite not being infected himself. Finally Sideswipe breaks the silence in a small voice. "Am I gonna be okay, Doc? This isn't gonna like, permanently damage me right?"

Ratchet vents softly. "You'll be fine, Sideswipe. The contamination is surface-level on your equipment. I can flush your lines and replace the infected components, the rust hasn't set in to seriously"

Sideswipe relaxes slightly. "Oh good. Cause I can't be my irresistible self if my spike doesn't work right, you know?" He laughs weakly. Sunstreaker just huffs. "This is what you get for not being more careful where you stick that thing." "Yeah yeah, lecture me later." Sideswipe waves a hand dismissively. "So how long am I gonna be quarantined, Ratch?"

"At least 2 orns." Ratchet replies. "To allow sufficient time for the decontamination and replacement procedures, and ensure you are no longer infectious." Sideswipe groans dramatically but doesn't argue further. Ratchet finishes sealing off the area then starts preparing for the intensive but necessary treatments. He shoots Sideswipe a wry look. "Let this be a lesson to you in safe interfacing from now on."

As Ratchet starts Sideswipe's treatment, he gives the frontliner a stern look. "What in Primus' name possessed you to interface with one of the humans' vehicles anyway? You know that's strictly prohibited."

Sideswipe squirms. "I dunno, I was overcharged one night after a party and that sleek little sports car was just sitting there, seemed like a good idea at the time." Sunstreaker smacks his brother up the back of the helm. "You idiot! I can't believe you were so stupid." He glares accusingly at Sideswipe. "This better not get us thrown in the brig, I am NOT sacrificing my time or getting benched for your depraved actions."

"Ow! Okay okay, I'm sorry!" Sideswipe rubs his helm sullenly. "It was a dumb thing to do. But come on, you can't say you've never been tempted to fool around with any of their hot rides." He yelps as Sunstreaker smacks him again. "Don't even try to drag me into this. Just accept you're a moron and be glad Ratchet can fix your mess."

___________________________

Sunstreaker with IRD

"Well well, looks like we found our culprit." Ratchet gives Sunstreaker a withering look. "You've got some explaining to do, mech." Sunstreaker scowls defensively. "It's not my fault! How was I supposed to know those 'Cons had rusty spikes?" 

Ratchet vents harshly. "You were interfacing with Decepticons? Are you glitched in the helm!?" Sideswipe cackles gleefully. "Ooooh Sunny's in trouble! Who'd you 'face, the Constructicons?"

Sunstreaker's plating flushes with energon. "No! It was just the stunticons, alright!? Motormaster said they were clean!" Ratchet resists the urge to bang his helm on something. "Of all the idiotic, reckless....do you have any idea how dangerous this is!? For you, for everyone on this base?"

He jabs a finger at Sunstreaker. "You are confined to quarters until I sort this out. And if I find you've endangered anyone else with your stupidity, I'll have you in the brig faster than you can say ‘Mercy’!" 

Sunstreaker looks properly chastised, mumbling apologies “I need to know exactly which Stunticon you were with." Ratchet huffs out optics staring Sunstreaker down. Sunstreaker stops, shoulder plating hunching as he looks back with a sullen expression. "Do I have to say? It's embarrassing."

Ratchet crosses his arms, entirely unmoved. "You brought this on yourself with reckless behavior. I need all the details to contain this outbreak. Now tell me, who was it?"

Sunstreaker mumbles something inaudible, scowling at the floor. Ratchet's optics narrow. "Speak up!"

Finally Sunstreaker spits out "Breakdown, alright! We've been meeting up sometimes after battles. But he said they were all clean! And i got frisky with one of the sports cars on Base is that what you want to know!" Ratchet vents harshly, shaking his helm. "First rule of dealing with Decepticons - never take them at their word. You're damn lucky to only have IRD and not something worse. And damn lucky i can fix that car you scuffed up" 

He points sharply at the door. "Now get out. You're confined to your quarters until I clear you." Sunstreaker ducks out swiftly, plating still flushed in embarrassment. Ratchet logs the details with another heavy sigh. ___________________________________________________

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1. mirror in the sky

Landslide | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Series Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: An unexpected encounter with Joel Miller jump starts a series of events right out of your wildest dreams.

Chapter Tags/Warnings: age gap (approx 13 years), past baby sitter, TV show basis, grief & loss, trauma, anxiety attack, consumption of alcohol

Notes: AHHHHHHH I'm so excited for this! I've been sitting on top of a no outbreak version of these two since before I posted the first chapter of Woman! How appropraite that I bring you the first chapter of Landslide on the first anniversary of Woman. Thank you all for all of your love and support this past year!

What?! @guiltyasdave beta read this?! I never would have guessed that! (love you xoxo)

Words: 3844

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist

You don’t know how you make it to the Austin suburb unscathed. You shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a vehicle, muchless driving an extra 20 minutes, but you need to be home. Not your lonely, one bedroom apartment in the city- but home where mom is cooking dinner and dad is watching the football game, where dad keeps it a chilly 68 inside despite the heat. 

The tears come in silent waves on the drive over, but by the time you pull into the driveway, sobs pound at the dam, waiting for it to burst. As soon as the key pulls loose from the ignition, you stumble out of your car, almost tripping up the front stairs. You have to see your parents. It repeats on a loop in your fucking mind. Everything will be fine once you see them. You go for the door knob, but it's locked. Panic scratches at your throat. You try it again, expecting another result. The front door is never locked. 

Your palms collide with the hardwood door. “Mom! Dad!” You can’t seem to draw in satisfying breaths. Your face is drenched in tears and sweat as the panic and Texas heat work in tandem against you. 

It doesn’t cross your mind that they might not be home. Your parents are boring. They’re stuck in their habits. They’re always at home on Thursday evenings. It is Thursday, right? You lost track of time during your shift. It was never ending. 

Your palms sting. It feels like forever, but finally, the door opens. You fall forward. Hands shoot out to steady you. “Woah, there.”

That’s not your dad’s voice. It stuns you just enough to make everything in your body work for a minute. “Joel?” What’s he doing here? Where are your parents? You just want to hug your mom and snuggle on the couch with your dad like you’re 6 years old again. Did something happen to them? The panic comes back double, your body shaking this time. “Where are my parents?” The tears are blinding. “Where are they!”

“Holy shit, Sweetheart.” Joel pulls you inside the house.

You stumble over the threshold falling into him. He slams the door behind you, his arms tightening around your shoulders. “Why aren’t they home? They’re alway home.” You’re hyperventilating. You know it, but you can’t stop it. 

Before Joel can answer, your legs give out. He barely avoids tipping over and landing on top of you. Somehow, he manages to lower you both to the ground without any major damage. 

“They left for their anniversary trip today.”

Fuck, so it was Friday. You’d forgotten all about their 30th anniversary trip. You’d spent more time inside the ER than out of it the past few weeks, picking up as many shifts as possible. Trying to avoid the approaching Anniversary. The one that came just weeks after your parents’.

You try to repeat the words in your head. They’re okay. They’re halfway to Europe now. It does little to help soothe the ache in your chest. 

Joel runs his hand up and down your back. “Shhhhh, it’s okay. Everyone is okay.” He pushes back the hair that sticks to your face. Your sharp intakes of breath eventually die down to sporadic and shaky. “That’s it. Deep breaths.”

Eventually you settle, letting your head rest against the door. Your throat feels tight, your sinuses stuffy, and your chest aches. 

“Stay right here. I’ll bring you some water,” Joel says. 

He’s gone before you have the wherewithal to thank him. 

You wipe the mixture of fluids on your face away with the back of your hand: tears, sweat, snot, probably some drool. God, you must look a mess right. You eye the tissue box across the room but the thought of moving makes your brain hurt and your muscles sting. You wipe the back of your hand discreetly against the clean scrub pants you changed into before leaving work. 

Joel comes back into the room with a glass of ice water. Condensation drips down the sides teasing your drying throat. He grabs the tissue box without a second thought.  

“Here.” He sits back down on the floor with you, carefully handing you the glass of water.

You thank him, making sure the glass doesn’t slip through your fingers. The water is cool and soothing against your scratchy throat. You don’t think, tipping it back further until your worn out esophagus can’t keep up and you sputter, choking on the water. It spills from your mouth, following the lines of your throat until it dips under your neckline. 

“Woah there, slow down.” Joel takes the cup from you as you cough. “We don’t need you choking today too.” 

You can’t help the little uptick of your lips as you struggle to recover. His care and concern is sweet and- no, he’s 13 years your senior, you chide. You gave this stupid crush up last summer the morning after the Randolf’s pool party. You’d woken up and were flooded with the memories, the lines you swore you’d never cross. Thankfully, Joel was either an oblivious son of a bitch, or you were more subtle than you remember. Whichever it was, it doesn’t matter anymore. You are over Joel Miller. 

The dark green shirt that stretches around his biceps doesn’t phase you. Neither does the tool belt slung low around his hips, or the fact that you’re alone in your parents home. Your brain pulls you out of the thirsting that you are not doing, and focuses on that detail. “Joel, what are you doing in my parents’ house?”

“I’m renovatin upstairs.”

Something about that strikes a chord within you. “The 25th anniversary bathroom renovation?” You smile and Joel almost looks relieved to see you return to the version he’s used to. 

“Except it’s the bedroom now too. I think your mom called it interest.” He laughs. 

“Sounds about right.”

“Now,” he props his arms over his knees. “What are you doing here? I thought you got too good for us and moved into the city,” he teases as he nudges you softly. 

You roll your eyes, but the light squishes out when you close your eyes. The images play on repeat behind them. Your heart rate surges again, you feel your breath begin to quicken. 

Joel’s hand lands on your knee, the other cups your neck. “Hey.”

Your eyes snap open. His soft brown ones are closer than you’ve ever seen them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’tve asked.” 

You sign rubbing the tension from your neck. “I just worked 36 hours straight.”

“Holy fuck, isn’t that illegal or something?” 

You shake your head. “Discouraged, but the ER was a madhouse, just one thing after the other. We had a big trauma come in and none of us felt like we could leave. I got a few hours sleep at the hospital before my scheduled shift started.” You’re starting to feel the come down of the past few days and your panic attack. 

Joel looks concerned, like he’s looking you over for any physical injuries. Something that would explain your panic. 

You don’t let him ask anymore questions. “We had this car accident come in- yesterday? I can’t even tell you when.” You can’t get the knot out of your neck. You groan in frustration. 

“C’mere,” Joel motions you over. “I’ll get it.”

You listen, too tired to fight it or over analyze it. His thumbs dig into your tight muscles. You catch the moan before it falls out. “A couple UT students.” 

You contemplate spilling details, but they’re covered in blood, marrying with last year’s events. You can still feel the blood soaking through your scrubs. 

Joel pauses before catching a knot in your shoulder. You gasp in pain, but it feels good too. “Shit, did I hurt you?”

“No, keep going.” You say, and he listens. “They got hit by a drunk driver.”

Joel sucks in a breath. You know he’s thinking back to last fall, the accident that turned your family’s life upside down. It’s the only thing you’ve been able to see since the call came in, so eerily similar to last year. The surrounding events. The injuries. You were working the ER when they brought Carter’s mangled and bloody body in. You watched, helpless to do anything as your friends and colleagues tried to bring him back. You listened as they declared time of death. Even now, you hear the ringing of the flatlining monitor in your ears. 

Joel pulls you into a tight hug, your arms hanging limply at your sides. The exhaustion is just too much, but you appreciate it. It helps, makes you feel less alone. “Thank you.”

“Course.” He gives you another squeeze. “Let me finish working out your back.” 

You oblige, tension melting away as his fingers work toward your spine and then downward. You’d been on your feet for the better part of 2 days, and that was the least of it. 

You let out a long, deep breath, body beginning to settle. “Where’d you learn to do this?” You lean into his hands to increase the pressure. 

“Got real good at ’em when Pam was pregnant with Sarah.” You’re not sure you’ve ever heard Joel mention his estranged ex-wife so casually. 

“God, can’t imagine what would possess a woman to leave hands like yours.” The words slip out before you even have a chance to think through the implications of everything you just said. 

His hands stop moving, palms flat against your lower back. Heat rises to your cheeks in mortification. “Shit, Joel. I’m sorry. Obviously that’s not even an actual reason to stay. Like you have Sarah and that’s an actual reason and I can’t-“ Laughter cuts off the words cascading from your lips. 

You turn around to find Joel leaned back, his chest shaking as laughter comes from his belly, filling your parents' quiet home. You swear you even see a tear or two come from his eyes. One thing is for certain, Joel Miller is not stressed right now and he certainly wasn’t bothered by your comment. Quite the opposite actually. 

It’s contagious as the smile passes over your face. Your chest begins to shake. Mostly, you’re enjoying this rare sight. His crows’ feet crinkle at the corner of his eyes. Your heart skips a beat but you rein it in. 

Joel wipes the side of his eyes. “Pretty sure I was supposed to make you feel better.”. 

“You did.” 

“Glad to hear it.” He groans as he rises to his feet. “I’m getting too old to sit on the floor like that.” 

He offers his hand. You take it and he pulls you to your feet. “Thank you, Joel.”

He nods. “I need to get back to work. I told Sarah I’d be home by 6 tonight.” 

“What time is it?” 

Joel looks down at his watch. You took Sarah into the city last fall to get it fixed for his birthday. “Just past four.” 

You stare up the steps, contemplating staying in your childhood bedroom tonight. You don’t have the energy to make the 20 minute drive home. Your energy is draining by the second. 

“You need sleep, and probably a shower.”

“Showered at work.” The stairs look like Mount Everest to your weary bones. “Think I'll crash on the couch.”

Joel sees it. “You’d still have clothes here?”

“There’s a set of pajamas I left at Christmas in my old room.”

“I’ll get them for you.”

“Room with-“

“The pink walls.” He chuckles, stomping up the stairs. Guess it was obvious seeing as you’re the only girl. 

You’re standing in the exact spot he left you in when Joel gets back. Your sleep shorts, and thin top in his hands. “Thanks.”

“No problem, and if you need anything while you’re here, just come over. Sarah and I will be home all weekend. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll stop by at some point. I’d love to see her too.”

You hadn’t seen Sarah since her soccer tournament this spring. You’d lived with your parents for almost a year after graduation before moving into the city to work at the only Level 1 trauma center in the area. 

Joel nods then stomps back up the steps. You change in the bathroom before folding into your parents' oversized sectional. It smells like comfort and all things nice. You can hear Joel working in your parents’ space upstairs, but it quickly fades as the darkness takes over. 

You wake up disoriented, not sure where you are. It’s completely dark around you, but you pull at little threads as they’re given. You’re definitely not in your bed. You can’t hear the city noises below your apartment. You sit up only to be greeted with a splitting headache. You’re in your parents' home. Everything comes filtering back through your brain. You shudder. You don’t want to think about it. 

You shove the blanket off your legs in a pursuit of water and advil. You don’t remember pulling a blanket over yourself, but quite frankly, you could’ve done anything in your sleep deprived state. The water dissolves the cotton in your mouth, but does little to dull the aching in your skull. You’ll have to wait for the drugs to kick in for that. The stove clock says it’s 2 am. 

You wander back to the couch, but the moment you lay down, the restlessness sets in. You toss and turn but your body says no. Finally, your headache has reduced to a dull ache, barely noticeable in the grand scheme of things. 

You know you need more sleep. You should probably sleep for 24 hours straight after the shift you just had, but you sit up again, brushing your hair out of your face. This is ridiculous. Your sleep schedule is already fucked up enough as is. Maybe you should start working the night shift. 

You pace through the dark house. You know the layout like the back of your hand. Your mother hasn’t so much as moved the furniture since you moved into this house when you were 6. 

You step out on the porch for air. It’s cooled down some. You contemplate driving home, but the peacefulness of the neighborhood is comforting. You can almost ignore the ache in your chest, pretend your brother is still alive. 

Across the street, you catch Joel’s TV playing some corny action movie through his big living room windows. You catch the outline of his head, the rehearsed movement of bringing a bottle to one’s lips. He’s not asleep.  

Your heart beats a little heavier in your chest. He had said to come over if you needed anything.  Right now, you need company. It might be the lack of sleep, but your bare feet hit the asphalt without a second thought as you cross the street. Your brain doesn’t even register what you’re doing until you knock on the door. 

You contemplate running away. Who doesn’t love a good game of ding dong ditch? You certainly did in your heyday. Why not relive the glory days when you ran this street?

The door opens pushing away all of the swirling thoughts in your mind. The cicadas play white noise in the background leaving your sole focus on Joel’s concerned brown eyes and your raging pulse. 

“You okay?” 

“I just- I saw your TV on. I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.” 

He gives you a soft smile, stepping aside. “Come on in.”

You exhale almost in relief, stepping across the familiar threshold. Part of you eases, but another tightens up. You’ve spent so many hours in this house, many late nights here, but never with Joel, with him watching you with such concern. Heat flares up your neck. 

“Can I get you anything? A snack? A drink?”

“It’s two a.m.”

“You’re the one who knocked on my door.” Joel teases.

“You told me to come over if I needed anything.”

“So what do you need?” The hour of the night scratches at his voice, sending a charge through the air. 

Your eyes snap up to his, knowing he didn’t mean anything by it other than to be kind, but it doesn’t help the way your skin prickles. You swallow down the lump that forms in your throat. “Company.” Joel smiles at you. Your eyes dart down to his lips. “And some water, please.”

“Coming right up.” He turns for the kitchen before you can do anything foolish. 

You rub your eyes, hoping to clear your head. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, it runs through our mind. Your inhibitions are lowered after the high flying emotions of the day. You can’t fall into his arms. They’re not open for you, not like that. 

You settle into the corner of the couch, pulling your knees to you chest as the familiar smell envelops you. A cheesy action movie plays lowly on the tv. Joel isn’t too far behind, passing off a glass of water as he eases onto the middle of the couch, arms spread across the back of the sofa. He doesn’t say anything, returning his attention to the tv. You appreciate that he doesn’t ask too many questions. He’s just letting you be. 

You attempt to watch the movie, but it’s bad, almost endearingly bad, but Joel seems to enjoy it. He’s the thing holding your attention. Joel is a good distraction. You’ve never gotten the chance to admire his profile in this way, this close, this undisturbed. If Joel catches on to your staring, he doesn’t let on. He lets you study. 

At some point, your mind takes over again, reminding you of the brother you no longer have, of the deep cavern in your soul. It doesn’t pour out of you like it did earlier with the fury of a hurricane. This is more like a peaceful stream, tears silently gathering in your eyes, falling with little fanfare. 

Joel’s hand falls to your knee, squeezing it softly. It’s the only acknowledgement from him, but it’s what you need. Long after your tears are gone, Joel’s hand stays, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against the inside of your leg. 

Some line makes Joel chuckle as he shifts further into the couch. Your legs have fallen out in front of you, one brushing his thigh. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this close to him, unless you count last summer when you got drunk at the Randolf’s party. Embarassment floods your system, making you withdraw your legs slightly. 

Joel’s brow furrows, head turning to you. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod, not sure you’re convincing. “I’m just shifting.”

He gives you a once over from top to bottom. Your stomach dips. You know he means nothing by it, but your body doesn’t get the memo. As if to make matters worse, Joel slings his arm back over both your legs, pulling them over his lap. It tugs you closer, pressing more of you against him. Nothing about it is inherently sexual, but your body is on fire. 

You can smell him. The mixture of fading old spice and the ever present smell of dirt that has seared itself to him. You can’t take your eyes off his profile now. You’re close enough to count his eye lashes if you wanted to. In all your life, you never though you would be this close to him, with his hands on you. 

It’s not like that. It’s not like that, you repeat in your head because it’s not. Joel would never look at you like that. He’s too good of a guy. He’s just showing you comfort, but you can’t stop looking at him. The temptation to make a move so close, it’s hard to ignore. It’s not like that.

It’s like your brain is running a million miles a second, taking Joel in, his proximity, while clinging tightly to the thread of self control that keeps you from closing the gap.

Then he’s looking at you and he’s so close. Lights from the tv flicker off his brown eyes, drawing you in further. It wouldn’t take much effort to press your lips to his. Before you can stop yourself, years of college party instincts take over and you kiss him. You kiss Joel Miller. 

It’s a soft, lingering kiss, and then your mind forces you to withdraw. Joel sits still as a statue. He didn’t really kiss you back, but he didn’t push you away, and then it all comes crashing down. This isn’t some fucking frat party. He’s not a peer. This is Joel Miller. You spring to your feet. 

“Shit- fuck, Joel. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Your hands tangle in your hair. “I should go.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Joel stands. His hand cups your elbow, head stooping to be at eye level with yours. Tears shine in your eyes again. 

“It’s not actually.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, desperate to stop them. You’re not sure you can handle more tears right now. 

“Sweetheart, I promise. It’s not a big deal. You’re goin through a lot.” 

Your shoulders drop with relief. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He smiles. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight if you don’t want to be alone. I’ll take the couch.” 

And you want to say yes so badly. It sits on the tip of your tongue. You imagine what it would be like to curl up under his sheets, be immersed in him, but you swallow the quick response down. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay at home.” 

Joel nods. You think you catch some relief in his eyes. He probably wasn’t looking forward to sleeping on the couch. He scratches the back of his neck. 

“I don’t know how long you’re planning to hang around, but you’re welcome to join us for breakfast tomorrow. Sarah usually makes pancakes on Saturdays. I’m not a huge pancake person, but she loves it.”

You decide at that moment Joel Miller is a saint. You just made a fool of yourself. He shouldn’t want to see you again, let you around his kid, but he invites you over for breakfast, offers up his bed. 

“I’ll think about it.” You walk to the door. “Thanks. For everything.” You mean it too. 

“Of course. It’s what neighbors are for.”

You laugh. “Pretty sure this goes past the moral obligations of being neighbors.”

Joel shrugs. “You’ve been the one steady female influence in Sarah’s life. Pretty sure it goes past the moral obligations of being a babysitter.”’

A smile ghosts over your lips. “Goodnight, Joel.”

You open the front door. The wood of the front porch is still warm against your bare feet. Joel leans against the door frame. “Night, Sweetheart.” 

You wave, dashing across the street. You know you’re imagining it when you feel Joel watching you until your parents front door is shut behind your back, but you never hear his front door close. 

Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

I carried over the taglist from Woman. If you were tagged and no longer want to be, please let me know! If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!

[hislittleraincloud]

Ranting about Screen Rant again

Here I was looking for more info about that Abrams-Powell-Ortega vehicle when this shit came up ofc

J.J. Abrams's big break didn't come with Lost, it came from ALIAS, with Jennifer Garner (and Victor Garber). It gave Bradley Cooper his first big job, too.

To "forget" something like this is insane, given how rabid the "normie" fanbase was in their utterly thrilling weekly spy mystery in which we could all participate in. (More on that in a sec.) We needed something like this, because it hadn't even been 20 days since September 11th that the show premiered.

And we looooooved Jennifer Garner as Sydney Bristow. LOVED HER. I have the Sydney Bristow Blue Suit (iykyk) Funko in my closet (LOL).

That was her star rising, but then she got trapped by Ben after Daredevil and the rest is fun but hokey family fare history with 13 Going on Thirty and Yes Day with the Mogwai.

I was obsessed with ALIAS and had two websites for weekly recap and screencaps (and back then this was difficult...downloading one episode of ALIAS took more than 24 hours on AOL dial-up internet...now it takes about 3 or so minutes for HD copies). I liked making pretty and functional websites relevant to the shows I stanned, and I legit stanned this show at the time online.

yAnd J.J. Abrams was going to make use of the new web as it was back then, because he included/directed a web puzzle for the fans to busy themselves with. I was one of those fans who loved this kind of multimedia interaction, so I dove in without hesitation (it brought interactive connectivity to fans and shows before social media)

This info is 23 years old but I can attest to its veracity, particularly this part:

Both. It was both, because I hate sanctimonious and self-righteous dicks, and some of the top players in that Yahoo Group were such dicks. Ultimately there was anything massive to be gained in this game, aside from the clues relative to the storyline and the next episode. But there was popular one dude/player who was particularly obnoxious about the game, so I decided to fuck with him and in turn, fuck with the rest of the idiots around him. It was specific beef, but it's 23-year-old insignificant beef that is now an amusing memory of how I created a handful of websites, masked their identities, created "false" clues about the storyline, and then conversed with a few of them on AIM to drop the clue and send their brains into a wild goose chase.

Except the chase wasn't so wild.

Underneath the big SD6🇺🇸 v K-Directorate🇷🇺 race for the Ripoff Da Vinci's artifacts, the big mystery plaguing Sydney at the time was what happened to her mother, so in my romantic fandom brain I surmised that Sydney's mother was probably Russian K-Directorate (isn't that always the case), which lent to Jack Bristow's complex detachment to his serious attachments. I Photoshopped photos of Victor Garber/photoshopped what looked to be like his old passport photo tacked onto a note in Russian (among other photoshops; I was operating under K-Directorate, so everything was Russian) and stegged other photos with the clue to make it all the more believable and they ate it up until the next few episodes where I suddenly stopped giving them fake clues out of simply moving on (the damage was done LOL I had them watching their AOL AIMs like nerdy little wannabe spycrafters 🤣 HI... IT'S ME...I WAS THE PROBLEM).

But even to that day of the game's knowledge on Avery's site, they still couldn't confirm that the clues were indeed fake because my clues about Sydney's mother were vague. Very vague (including the AIM messages I responded with). And it all worked out in the end, even if there was a quiet dismissal of what I did because they realize that they'd realized that they'd been trolled/misled.

I was a literal Russian troll. 💀

Anyway, thank you, Screen Rant...for this latest opportunity to ramble that left my hand hurting again. I still have other drafts to finish. 🥲

TLDR: J.J. Abrams's (Jennifer Garner, and Bradley Cooper's big break) was ALIAS, not Lost.

[mediawhatwiveswatch]

The Wives Watch: Supernatural S2 E4-7

People seem to like our weird reactions! Season 2 continued! Lets-a-go!

S2E4 - She Slayed, She Snapped

Episode lowkey kinda sad. Our poor boys

No texting and driving Angela <3

Their mum was only like 29 when she died?? Dean is almost the same age as her??

Dean's older than his mum was when she had him??

The boys are gardeners at heart, as long as the garden contains weapons and/or spirits

Arguing through a grieving 3rd party lmao

Student accommodation in the states is fancyy

Me when my roommate fills our shared living room with her professionally taken headshots

I don't think Sam understands how to engage with porn?

Dean stealing some girl's diary is mad. Personal space buddy

Sam really said "I'm fine burning my dad, but a girl? Absolutely not"

Guessing game - Is girlie a ghost or a sociopath here to prove Dean wrong?

Unexpected 3rd option - Zombie Episode Babyy!

Good brother Sam <3 Dean listen to the brother

Did you hear me? Its a necronomenon (Dean play this song with a fucking beat!)

They really committed to talking about porn this episode?

"HI LINDSEY IM HOME" Angela said calmly

Do they not teach scissor safety to these people? They are not gardening tools or stabbies >:(

Get snapped on brotherr

Angela go vroom

S2E5 - The Ceiling Babies Are Back At It

hahaha Gun Magazine. I get it

A murder! A suicide! A sink!

Dr Badass in the building lets go!

Jo's down baadddd poor girl

How many outfit changes do these men have??

"Murder's not in your bones" Give him time to grow into it

Dislike Suggestion guy immediately. Literally introduced to him leaving some girls house. Icky implication absolutely not

This guy is worse than telekinetic stabby guy. He had a reason at least

Dean is an OJ truther good for him

The team has finally gotten someone who is good at lying!

Evil Twin Episode! Surprised it took this long tbh

Bro's called Anson Weemes of course he changed it. That's enough reason to become a murderer

Who needs to ceiling women when you can dam them instead!

If we had two nickles...

Daémön mention! Plot time!

S2E6 - Invest in Renters Insurance

We spent a lot of time googling where states are

Congrats on cold open girl fighting for her tenants rights

Are american walls Like That or is this flat awful?

Nebraska is for Lovers 🌽

"It's not because your a girl, it's because you don't know what your doing" @ me next time Dean

My darling partner witnessing part of a scalp get pulled from a vent: "Hair extensions!"

Does demon damage count as wear and tear?

Dean? Doesn't know how to sleep comfortably? Sir?

"First thing you think of when you think of your dad" followed by a blank stare of Trauma by Dean

HH Holmes! First episode based on Some Guy?

Why does Dean know what cloroform smells like? Are you okay?

The ooze lowkey looks like jam. Peanut butter and ooze sandwich

Did the guy who plays Sam just actually IRL break his arm or are they just committed to making him useless for a bit?

Uh Oh John is causing problems from the great beyond

HE WASNT EVEN A GOOD HUNTER WHEN HE WAS ALIVE

S2E7: The Gang Goes To Jail

DUN DUN

All the lies compiled in the intro lmao

They finally got got. Sam's pre-law better come in useful

Either they're better at lying than we expected or things are about to go badly

Update: Sam's pre-law isnt useful. Learn to not speak to cops without a laywer Samuel.

"Oh no he's going to touch her and get his fingerprints on her" *cuts to police stood behind him*

Imagine making out with someone mid murder investigation where someones SPINAL CHORD WAS VISIBLE

Big fan of the brothers being little shits <3 its what they do best

Writing down the great escape just to annoy the cops lmaooo

Ghost girl got cask of amontillado'd

Who would've guessed that the cop who attacked an inmate is also a terrible person? Who could've forseen this

Sam knows suspiciously too much about police vehicles....

Dean says ACAB

"Shes a good lady" "FOR A COP"

They're doing alot of references recently

Things are ramping up in the Sam and Dean emotional turmoil department.

{{9% through the series}}

[goth-oatmilk-latte]

Hi there

I'm so sorry about your car, and- about everything that implies. I was in this same situation just two weeks ago (except i was the c*nt responsible for the accident and fortunately there was no damage other than to our cars).

I don't want to intrude, and I'm not waiting on your answer, I'm just throwing a few ideas out, ok?

Do you have any PTO available that you could take, just so you can breathe a little? Is there a public transportation that could help you? (Not necessarily going all the way to your work but maybe reducing the distance?) I don't know how insurances work where you live, but can't you get a car replacement from them? Until you can have a new one? Have you tried looking for solidarity groups, on Facebook or whatever? Can't your relatives help you out, not necessarily with a vehicle, but maybe by giving out whatever money they could spare so you could try and use it where you most need it?

Good luck with everything. Sincerely. Sending you love, and support. Life is fucking twisted some times.

PTO doesnt particularly help me out here, because I'd still be stuck. I could take a few personal days but it wouldn't do me any good.

our public transport is terrible. I'd have to walk a mile to the bus stop that would be the line to my work, and it doesnt really run at times that work with my hours at work, and theyre not negotiable.

I dont mean to sound rude but you must be new if you're asking about my family. they literally dont care if I live or die. my own mother hasn't spoken to me in almost 4 years bc I held her accountable for the abuse and neglect in my childhood and my stepdad stands with her. my dad is dead. my sisters never gave a shit about me, and my stepsiblings are narcissists who also tried to extort my mom and stepdad for cash so no. I have no "relatives."

replacement is iffy. the guy who hit me's insurance is taking my rental tues, idk what mine will let me do bc the last time this happened, I found a car and bought it within the same week bc I was paid out and I already owned my past car so I kept 100% of the funds and dumped it into my down payment.

I dont really wanna join a group I want revenge. most people disagree with me on revenge in any aspect where I've been wronged so I dont really want to hear hundreds of other people tell me to be grateful im alive or whatever.

[pucksources]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚎: 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚕 𝟷 — "𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚜" 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜

from the first volume of the taz balance graphic novel! Some nsfw sprinkled about, i tweaked some of the lines from the original dialogue for better starter lines. change pronouns around if desired! if a multi, please specify muse !!

I have proficiencies in vehicles

Trust me, if the law hastles us, i’m the guy you want at the front of the wagon!

Bor-r-r-r-ing! No thank you, not for me.

I’m studying my cantrips!

Just say masterbating, we get it. “Don’t come in, mom! I’m studying my cantrips!”

It’s kinda tough to see… but I think shit has gone south.

I get the whole “wink wink you’re gonna be rich” vibe, but it came across as kinda murder-y.

Right! I’m… precepting…

Dude! You scared the bejeezus out of me!

Suck it up, because this is the way the game works.

It’s dangerous as hell out here, you better cowboy up.

Their warcry isn’t very creative…

I’m with you, my man! I’m always anti-tarrying! 

I guess we should go after him?

Nah, I’m good out here.

Well that sounds… nifty…?

So! How was the ominous clanking cavern?

I don’t want to talk about it.

That’s okay, I really didn’t give a shit.

Heckie darn, a cave in. Can’t get past that!

I would actually heartily recommend you turn around, this is not a great place for tourism.

Oh, excellent! I was just starting to establish a rapport!

To be fair, he wasn’t as cool as you were! 

Loooooook, my dude… I think we have gotten off on the wrong foot…

Everything’s chill my dude, prommy! 

See, now THAT’S impressive!

You weren’t kidding, you ARE dangerous! 

Smell you later! 

Oh, I’m gonna have to give you ten embarrassment points of damage… aaaaaaand ten psychic damage.

Wonderful! Now I got a pee stain!

Don’t you worry! I’m perfectly fine!

Is that… sniff sniff… roasting meat?

I need to take a knee after hawling your sorry ass…

You just HAD to go and shoot poor old [name], didn’t you? What’d he ever do to you?

Are you always so judgemental?

I’ll let you leave here alive if you do one teensy-tiny thing for me.

Hey, uh, I think this might be a trap.

Oh yeah, my dude, we’re killing everybody… Okay, maybe not kill everybody.

Gods, I love it when we plan shit out.

Okay, as you seriously going to try and befriend everything that tries to kill you?

YOU THREW MY WOLF IN THE FIRE! THAT WAS MY FAVORITE WOLF!

I cast CHILL THE FUCK OUT!

Why, it’s my dear friend, whatever-your-name-is!

Do you need any money? Can i just sort of give you everything i have?

Hey! Heeeyyyy, look at me. Look at this face. It’s [name], this is [name] talking. Would I lie to you?

All I want you to do is help me… and give me a little gold. Or maybe a moderate amount of gold. Or a lot. It’s really whatever you feel comfortable with.

You’ve cleaved the final gerblin! … Cleft? Cleavered? Clefted…? He’s fucking dead, alright? I’ll buy a thesaurus before the next battle. 

Boy! I wish I hadn’t needed to murder them! 

Save them? Before teatime? Never! 

[ name ], since we’re friends here — best friends, I would say! Lovers, maybe? Time will tell — what happened here?

Man, [ name ], when you charm someone, you charm the HELL out of them! 

Oh great, he’s a douche. [ name ] is a douche.

We’ve been wandering around here for two hours! 

We should have a map, a good ol’ adventuring map. It’s pretty standard operating procedure.

Whoever designed these caves has no sense of feng shui! 

Maybe she thinks your tractor is sexy, but you’re no longer welcome here!

[stcnefruit]

— open starter.

status - open to all, but pls read my rules and mobile about (pinned post) first before interacting. don't like my starters. muse - vasti inaiê souza gonçalves, sculptor, potter and printmaker. bisexual, uses she/her pronouns. human, thirty. tag linked in source. wanted opposites (in order of priority) - m/nb/f, 30+. mocs (muns/muses of color) preferred. wanted connections - literal strangers, an ex, fellow artist, someone they haven't seen since sixth grade, as long as they're a little richer than vasti is (and not related) go literally batshit plot - they're on their way to personally deliver one of their commissions but they haven't slept well in over 48 hours (they've slept enough to not get pulled over, they can drive) and really should have hired a truck or sent it through the post but hey they've done it before and the client is right across town (or city, cough) so it shouldn't be too bad right? they'll make it except you just kind of yk. rear-ended them at the stoplight and their shit's in the trunk bc it couldn't fit in the back seat and now you might have just fucked shit up if that packing wrap isn't as good as it's marketed to be. potential meet cute with insurance problems and career threatening happenings basically, what could be better than that

— she hears it before she feels it, the way the body of the car lurches underneath her at the street corner. the rattling in the back is too loud for her to ignore, and she's already doing inventory on what she has with her. registration papers, house keys, studio keys, that flat tire kit she's never had to use in her life and hopes she won't have to now, the delivery— oh God, fuck, the delivery. in the trunk. surrounded by a shit ton of bubble wrap and cling film and whatever the fuck else she wrapped it in at 3am two days ago and placed it in its box, but last she checked no flat tire makes that kind of sound like the kind where there's a bit too much metal and you know in your gut you'll need to call your insurance company. both of them, in her case, if the vehicle in her rearview mirror is giving anything to go by. que se lixe isso, this is not a good day. her blood pressure was not made for this. neither was her neck, for that matter, but she doubts there was enough speed behind the impact to cause any whiplash worth worrying about. she unlocks her phone as she steps out, car door slamming closed behind her, insurance already on speed dial. as a precaution she takes a few photos of the other car's license plate, now neatly tucked (along with the front bumper) just barely under her chassis—she is not paying for this shit if she doesn't have to, especially if the driver in question has enough money to be driving a car like that right into her sedan and especially if they might have just jeopardized her commission. three months, hundreds of hours, possibly damaged in her trunk because it's the one day she didn't have her morning coffee and decided to put it there instead of the backseat, bubble wrap or no bubble wrap. yeah, she'll milk every last penny from that payout while she's at it. might as well be pissed for a reason. 'hey,' she says, coming up to the window as it rolls down, 'i'm sorry, this is going to sound so completely fucking obvious and i know this and you know this but i think you just rear-ended me? and there's something in my trunk that i really need to get out and check on before this day goes any further to shit than it already has so if you could please try and back the fuck up, it would be much appreciated. juro o túmulo da minha mãe.' her mother is alive, thank you very much, but it's not like they need to know that in english or portuguese. // @indiestarter

[spenglercore]

Tell us about the Big Damn Heroes incident where Ilse almost murdered Piotr

So, to start with: Piotr is the kind of guy who would rather suffer himself than let other suffer if he can help them. The man has a heart of gold and it's gotten his ass kicked more than once in his life. He's got a strong sense of justice and loyalty and would give you the shirt off his back or take on someone he knows is going to beat the shit out of him if means you'd be spared the harm.

At some point in his late twenties he joins the army as a tank mechanic and serves in both Korea and part of Vietnam. In the latter conflict, he gets set to a forward repair base when their foreman is KIA. He's slated to take the guy's place temporarily until his replacement arrives, and while he's there they end up having to go on tank recovery in hostile territory.

Now, retrieving an M48 Patton tank is almost always going to be An Affair in and of itself, depending on just how badly damaged it is. And if it was damaged enough that it couldn't be driven back to base, that means you've gotta send people out to get it, which requires a tank recovery vehicle (usually just another wholeass tank modified for towing) and also possibly do any repairs that it might need to even make it towable, and do so in the field.

This is what Piotr and his guys are doing when they discover it was a trap and they walked right into it.

So bullets are flying and people are diving for cover, of which there isn't much. Piotr is the guy in charge as far as the mechanics go, and he knows that the longer they sit there the more losses they'll incur. Yeah, they've got a guy on the radio yelling for backup, but between that moment and when backup actually arrives, IF it arrives at all, is an unknown quantity and a lot can happen in that time frame. Their best bet is to get to the recovery vehicle and beat a hasty retreat, while hoping the VC don't have any anti-tank weapons.

So this motherfucker decides that it's his job to get the recovery vehicle unhooked from the tank they were gonna recover and pile as many guys into it as possible while providing moving cover for anyone else so they can get out of the middle of things and into a more defensible position. Of course, this is a dumb idea, but Piotr can be dumb as a box of rocks at times. He's a machinist, engineer and mechanic, not a tactician.

He gives his dog tags to another guy, says the classic 'tell my wife and kid i love them' line, and then runs off. Miraculously, he's not instantly hit. Instead, when he gets to where the two vehicles are hooked together, he runs into an enemy soldier. Once again, he miraculously escapes injury or death by bayonet and instead brains the guy on reflex with the mini sledgehammer he had in his hand. Being close enough to see the effects of a hammer on a human head and watching the guy die is not something he was ever prepared for, and it's here that he locks up and gets hit. Not only does he get perforated, but his left knee takes a decent piece of shrapnel right to the joint and he gets a pretty nasty concussion and goes down.

Backup does arrive, and being concussed and panicky because holy shit he's been hit, Piotr gets uncharacteristically combative and gets his ass sedated before he's flown out to a MASH unit where he's patched up. But when he starts to come out of sedation, he's still combative due to having a traumatic brain injury and keeps saying his last name isn't Spengler, it's Kowalski, so not only can they not immediately verify his identity, he gets put in a medical coma for a while and is expected to recover but have chronic problems at absolute best.

While he's out, a clerical error occurs where he's mistakenly listed as KIA, and the corresponding letter is sent out to his wife, who is understandably distraught. Luckily, the day after she gets the letter, Piotr is brought out of the coma and it turns out he's just one of those lucky sons of bitches who recovers completely from the brain injury and nobody really knows why or how. And once he's been awake for a day or so, he finds out that he was mistakenly listed as dead and goes 'Oh fuck I need to call my WIFE.' Which he does, and when he explains that this whole mess is because he was trying to be a hero, he gets chewed out in German loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear.

Not long after that, he finds himself on his way home on a medical discharge because the cartilage of his left knee got pretty fucked up and he's no longer fit to serve. But rather than a warm welcome, Piotr is greeted with a halfhearted slap across the face and another tirade of German as Ilse goes off about what an ass he is, how he scared the shit out of her, about what a dipshit move that was taking off his dog tags and trying to be a hero, etc etc. The ride home is quiet and tense, as is getting settled in for the evening.

Once everything is put away and they're behind closed doors though, he pulls Ilse in for a hug and apologizes for putting her through so much. er emotions finally come out and she just sort of collapses into the hug and cries. Seeing her crying over the whole thing has more of an impact on Piotr than her being pissed enough to slap him; he goes to sometimes comical lengths to avoid causing her distress or otherwise upsetting her or making her feel bad, even on accident, and knowing that he did it anyway really eats at him for awhile.

Over the decades though, the time Ilse almost murdered her husband for being a shit idiot becomes something of a running joke.

Along with the time he got goaded into going streaking on a motorcycle.

[thenixkat]

Booster Gold 1986 issue 22 ah damnit the Justice League International guest stars. damn. hate that save yer fucking sister Booster, there's other fucking superheroes on Earth if no one fucking notices the kaiju so be it. Saving yer sister helps stop their invasion plans

ya know what this situation wouldnt be as bad if Booster had asked for some fucking backup instead of tryiing to keep all the glory to himself

Skeets argues that its better to save the thousands of people in danger b/c its doing the greatest good rather than throw those lives away to save one person that Booster cares more about

which is also fair

Booster begrudgingly goes to do the right thing while tasking Skeets with saving his sister, b/c this is a two man team even if Skeets is smol and puntable ok but seriously Booster ass is super flat in some of these shots

long back boy Skeets rescues Michelle from the draining machine but is too smol to carry her

I wonder how Skeets feels about Michelle cause… she doesnt treat him like a person or a friend. She treats him like a robot that works for Booster and that Booster's being a bit weird treating Skeets like a pal

Apparently Booster did call backup from teh worst Justice League and they're here now

and some what do you call it? American jingoism from Captain Atom about Rocket Red speaking his native language

My biggest question is why the fuck do writers working the JLI forget that the Bug has combat abilities and is not just a vehicle for transportation. Other than fuckers dont reserch shit and refuse to use the fucking mecha to its fullest extent

also you know someone different than the shitty JLI writers are here since at least fuckers give a fuck about Guy Gardner's brain damage the writing with teh JLI still isnt great since teh Booster Gold writer is attempting to make them in character with teh JLI comics and those comics have shit characterization

also the Bug actually does have at least one internal room if fuckers read old Blue Beetle comics since it kinda needs one what with the whole amphibious vehicle thing if a fuckers wants to leave the Bug while its underwater without flooding the vehicle

and while this is happening someone is robbing Booster Gold. Also Booster has Swiss bank accounts to avoid paying taxes/hide funds from teh government

they deal with the putty giant by having Booster climb inside of it and blow it up with his expandable force field after finging out that it 'isnt a living thing' yes Booster you probably should have sent yer sister through the gate to get medical attention supposedly she's doing rather poorly

I called it. Michelle dies saving Booster. Knew I smelled a fridging in the works

yeah… Booster should have sent his sister threw the gate initially Booster blames himself for his sister's death. I can see it but also where the fuck was his backup during all that? No one decided to go with him through the portal to help save his sister?

[seat-safety-switch]

Sure, the newspaper calls them “eco-terrorists,” but that’s a bit of a self-interested position coming from something that is printed on trees. If anything, they should be thanking the weird gang of environmentalist guerrillas who come down every spring thaw from the mountains. They don’t really do violence, either, except against industrial equipment (that I later harvest the turbos from at the junkyard.) In fact, most of what they do is plant trees. Lots, and lots, and lots of trees.

You might not think that planting trees is very intimidating, and you’d be right. As the members explained to me one night at the bar, it’s all about where you plant them. A tree is impressive up top, sure, but if you pick the right breed of them, you’ll find that the roots are made of some truly boffo shit. Thick enough roots will split open the foundation and basement of, say, the offices of an oil and gas disinformation trust, and lead them to spend a bunch of their money on sump pumps and concrete pours instead of giving air cover to billionaires.

Normally, it takes decades, even centuries, for a tree to get big enough to cause this kind of damage. Turns out that up in those mountains, they’ve got themselves some kind of fucked-up bioengineering lab, making angrier, fiercer varieties of local trees. Ones that have a voracious appetite to spread and spread and spread, and which will eventually, if left unchecked, destroy all of human civilization. So naturally I was interested in making friends with them, in case they had any leftover vibratory tumblers, or ultrasonic cleaners, or two-stroke lawn equipment at this lab.

Unfortunately, the classic downfall of activism has struck me. Despite the fact that all of my vehicles are made up of recycled garbage, they produce enough smog, backfires, tire particles, and unburned gasoline clouds to qualify as a miniature Exxon Valdez. Once again, an unnecessarily rigorous purity test has denied this activist group a valuable ally. For instance, I could break down in front of the newspaper offices again, blocking their delivery trucks, which are diesels. And then I could steal the turbochargers out of those trucks.

[theknightlywolfe]

Adding:

1) this is what your hazards are for, the instant the crash stops you, turn those babies on. Hazards had never come up during my written test for the learners, the driving instruction I got from a driving school, or the driving test when I got my first license but boy howdy in my first crash not turning them on got me and the other driver a lot of flack.

2) even before phones had cameras in them I carried a one time use camera in the car just for crashes. Take pictures of everything. Their car, your car, the other driver, the surrounding area, debris, everything. I have been sued over an accident, those photos given to my insurance got it thrown out. And I do mean take a picture of the other driver, you never know when their information is fake.

3) I have been in two crashes, one with a teen at fault for not braking properly at a red the other when the other driver and I pulled out of our parking spots at the same time and had a small fender bender so equal fault (I have the car cam video to back this up and you bet I downloaded it ASAP), that weren't. Neither one of these two caused more than $500 damage and were at such low speeds that injury wasn't on the table. Now technically these aren't crashes, they're bumps, so if they happen just remain calm and don't freak out. Do everything the way you would with a crash on site, but hold off on calling your insurance. Often a dent in the fender is not worth getting fixed or is such a cheap fix that it is less than your deductible and will only raise your rates to call in. If you freak out you will raise the likelihood of the other person seeing an opportunity to go after you or you will raise your rates for the next three years for no good reason.

4) GET THE OTHER PERSON'S INSURANCE INFORMATION. Get their phone number, take a *picture* of their license, get their email. This is what is meant by "exchanging information". Send a text to the phone number they gave you and have them respond right then and there before you both leave so you know it is real. Same with an email they give you.

IF YOU ARE THE VICTIM OF A HIT AND RUN:

1) Stay at the crash site, but pull to the shoulder if possible. Turn on your hazards.

2) Call 911, inform them that you were just in a crash and the other driver fled the scene. *Hit and runs are illegal*. Answer dispatcher questions as best you can and truthfully.

3) Take note of what you can remember of the other car and driver while you wait for the police to show up, in an app, on paper, whatever. Just do it while your memory is freshest. If you have a dash cam, review and download the applicable video so you can provide it to the police and your insurance. Text someone you trust to let them know you were just in an accident and are waiting for the police/medics. If you need someone present to help you with the police, call them.

4) When the police show up, give them the information you recall about the event itself and the other vehicle and driver. Let them know you have cam footage if you do.

5) Get the police officer(s)' name and badge number and a way to contact them, phone number or email. Which station they work out of is not a bad idea either.

6) Give them a way to contact you that you will actually check. They should, and you need them to, send you a police report on the incident. If the police say they don't plan on filing one, they are a piece of shit and you need to *insist* upon it. You need it for your insurance, and again, fleeing the scene of an accident is a crime. If they even hint that they are not going to file one get the station they are at so you can go in and file a complaint. This may not seem important, but I cannot tell you how many robberies and car jackings I have had cops laugh at the victims and say "tough, deal" to. But, again, you need that report for your insurance.

7) When the police (and medics if applicable) step away from you, and they will to go do their own things, that is when you call someone to come get you or to let them know what happened, or whatever if you didn't already do this while waiting after calling 911. Also a good idea to call your mechanic to see if they are approved by your insurance if your car is still drivable. If you have AAA, good time to call to arrange a tow if the car isn't drivable anymore.

8) When the police say they are done is when you call people to say you had an accident and are going to be late, post to FB, etc. This is not the era to risk annoying the police.

[demons2003]

My Boys (Chapter 38)

Series List

Y/n's pov

"Come on! Let's go!" Dustin yells as he drags Steve and I over to a vehicle that they must have stolen. I laugh at his yelling and the thought of them stealing and lean further onto Dustin. "God Y/n. Need you to straighten for me," He snaps a little. I laugh harder and exclaim, "But you're saving us and being so bossy about it. You're growing up!" Steve laughs with me. Dustin practically throws Steve and I into the back of the vehicle, clearly done with our shit. Erica throws Robin in right after and they both get into the front of the vehicle.

One of them drives off very quickly which causes the ride to be very bumpy. "Jesus, slow down!" Steve slurs at the two of them. "Yeah, what is this, like, the Indy 500?" Robin slurs back. "It's the Indy 300," Steve corrects her. "No, keep going fast!" I drunkenly yell in between, falling back into Steve's arms. "No, dingus, it's 500!" Robin yells at Steve. "It's 300!" Steve yells back. I lean further into Steve as Robin compromises by saying, "Let's say a million." We all laugh at her while I hear Erica ask, "What is wrong with them?" "I don't know," Dustin yells back at her. Steve wraps his arms around me and gives me a kiss on the top of the head. "Ew, so gross," Robin says dramatically. Steve and I laugh but before we can say anything Erica yells, "Dustin, watch out!" "Shit!" Dustin yells before hitting something, causing us in the back to fall into the grate between us and the kids. We all groan and Dustin asks, "You guys all right back there?" We groan in response, and I try to sit up more.

The three of us lay where we are and Erica and Dustin jump out and open the back door of the vehicle. "Come on. We gotta go, now," Dustin snaps at us. "Come on! Get out!" "Let's go!" Erica and Dustin yell at us at the same time. We try to sit up and move, Dustin grabbing onto Steve which causes Steve to yell, "Ow!" From the force and being on top of Steve, I fall forward and fall onto the group. "Dammit Dustin!" I yell while laughing a little bit. Erica grabs onto my arm and pulls me back up. "Thank you Little One," I smile at her. "We're coming! This sucks," Steve yells and whispers. I laugh at him and grab onto him and Robin when they are both standing. We all laugh and Erica pushes on our backs. "Come on!" She yells. We laugh harder but let her push us into the room. Dustin presses a few buttons and then the room starts to go up.

Steve, Robin and I all move around drunkenly while the force of going up tries to pull us down. We all giggle and let the force move us. "Hey! You look like you're surfing!" Robin exclaims when Steve stands in a surfing position. "Omg yes! You do!" I agree. "Surfing! Yeah!" Steve yells out. I look up excitedly at Dustin and Erica, only to find them looking at us confused. "I'm a natural! Check it out!" Steve yells. I laugh and Robin and I both grab onto a hand each. We look at each other and smile, letting go of Steve's hands, which causes him to lose his balance and fall over. Robin and I laugh at him and hug each other happily. "Wipeout!" Robin and I yell over at Steve at the same time. Steve joins in on our laugh but Dustin moves over to him and looks concerned, putting his hand on Steve's forehead. Robin and I walk over to them as Dustin says, "He's burning up." "You're burning up," Steve comes back with. I laugh a little but sit down next to them both. "One sec, one sec. Steve, Steve." Dustin says, doing something to Steve that I can't focus on. "God, no," Steve says as he tries to push Dustin away from him. Dustin looks into Steve's eyes, pulling the skin on the top and under his eye, hurting Steve in the process. "Don't damage his pretty face Dusty," I wine to him.

Dustin looks confused at me then turns to Erica. "His pupils are super dilated," He tells her. "Maybe he's drugged," Erica points out. Dustin turns back to Steve and Steve raises his arm to boop Dustin's nose. I giggle at the interaction and place a hand on Steve's shoulder. Dustin lightly pats Steve's cheek and asks, "Steve, are you drugged?" "How many times Dad? I don't do drugs. It's only marijuana," Steve sarcastically answers, booping Dustin's nose again. I laugh at him as Dustin says angrily, "This isn't funny, okay? I need to know what they did to you. Are you gonna die on us?" Steve laughs at him and boops Dustin's nose again. "We all die my strange little child friend. It's just a matter of how... and when," Robin says in an ominous voice. Dustin looks shocked before turning back to Steve and I to say, "They're gonna be looking for us up there, so I need you to tell me where you parked your car. Either of you." "Oh, can we make a pit stop at the food court?" Steve asks, looking up at me with puppy dog eyes. "I would kill for a hot dog on a stick," Robin replies. "Ooooo," Steve and I say at the same time. "All right. Yeah, food. Yes, you can have as much food as you want, but only if one of you tells me where your car is parked," Dustin aggressively tells me and Steve. "Uh-oh," Steve says. "Uh-oh?" Dustin questions. "The cars are both off the board," Steve tells him. "What?" Dustin asks, not understanding what he's saying. "They took our keys. The Russians, they took the keys. Like, forever ago," Steve explains while Robin laughs, Steve joining when he finishes. "That's a bummer, right?" Steve asks Dustin.

The room finally stops moving Dustin pulls on Steve to get him up. "Let's get out of here," Dustin sighs. Robin and I quickly get up as well and Dustin and Erica start walking out the door. As the air hits all of our faces, Steve, Robin and I sigh loudly. "Oh, my god, that tastes so good. Ah! Y/n, Steve, can you taste the air?" Robin exclaims, licking the air. I lick the air as well and smile widely. "I taste it! I taste it!" Steve yells in answer. I laugh with them and lean heavily on Steve, almost knocking him over. The gate in front of us starts to open and Dustin yells, "Shit! Come on! Come on!" Pulling us to a set of doors. Robin yells out okay over and over while I ask, "Why are we running?" Steve opens the door and Dustin pushes us all in. Robin and I look at each other and burst out laughing while Dustin and Erica push the three of us somewhere.

Erica and Dustin break into a run and Dustin yells, "Come on!" Waving back at us to move. We all stand there looking at them before they run back to grab our arms and pull us away from the door. "Where are we going?" I ask them both after a while. "Just trust me," Dustin replies. Steve laughs at him but doesn't say anything in reply. "This is so fun!" Robin exclaims, pushing against my shoulder. I laugh at her and say, "Oh yeah, now we just need some ice cream." She laughs with me and we wrap one arm around our shoulders.

Dustin finally picks a door and looks around before whispering, "All clear." He walks through and the rest of us follow behind him. Steve, Robin and I are trying to hold our laughs in, not really knowing what was going on. As we start making our way into what I believe to be a theatre, Steve grabs some popcorn from the bin. I laugh at him and he looks up at me with a cheeky grin. Dustin opens the double doors and we look in to find Back to the Future playing. "Come on," Dustin whispers and starts to run to the front of the theatre. We get to the front and Dustin points to us and then the chairs while saying, "You three sit." "No, no, no! These seats are too close!" Robin complains. I nod grumpily while Steve agrees with, "Dude, these seats blow." Dustin leans towards us and snaps, "Then don't watch the movie." Steve passes the popcorn bucket to Robin over me and faces the other one to me. "We wanna watch it though," I wine to him while shoving some popcorn into my mouth. "Then watch it," Dustin snaps at me. I'm surprised by his outburst and put my hands in the air as surrender. The guy behind us shushes him and we turn to glare before going back to Dustin. "Whatever you do, don't... go... anywhere," Dustin tells us. "Fine, Dad," Steve says and Robin and I snicker at him. Dustin rolls his eyes and he and Erica move to another set of chairs a little further away from us.

Steve, Robin and I stuff our faces with popcorn and look up at the screen to try to watch the movie. "What's happening?" Robin asks, leaning over me so Steve can hear as well. "I have no idea," Steve says. We look up in amusement and I try to concentrate on what's happening in the movie, though the ligths are really destracting. I quickly look over to Erica and Dustin to see Dustin gone and Erica engrossed in the movie. "Hey, I'm thirsty, lets get out of here," I whisper, starting to slowly get up and walk to the back. Steve and Robin nod and both grab a hand each and pull me out of the theatre. We exit the dark room and I notice a water fountain and run over to it. I take a massive drink and Steve pushes me out of the way to have one as well. I groan and lean against the movie poster next to Robin. "That's amazing," Steve whispers as he lifts his head from the water. He starts to go for more as Robin rambles, "So, like, I wasn't totally focused in there or anything but... I'm pretty sure... that mum was trying to bang her son." I laugh and Steve asks, "Wait, wait, the hot chick was Alex P. Keaton's mum?" "Yeah, she was. I think," I answer. "But they're the same age," Steve points out. "No, but he went back in time," Robin explains to him. Steve snickers and asks, "Then why is it called Back to the Future?" "He has to go back to the future because he's in the past. So, the future is actually the present, which is his time." Robin explains to him. We look over to Steve to find his mouth open in amazement.

"Wh... What?" Steve stutters after a second. "No, no, it's my turn. You've had enough," Robin wines as she pushes Steve from the fountain. Steve walks away from Robin and I and stares off into the distance. I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist and put my head on his shoulder. "Wow," Steve whispers. I look up as well and notice all the pretty lights up on the ceiling, similar to the ones in the movie. "Oh this is so cool," I whisper to him, squeezing him a little. "Hey Robin. You gotta check this out," Steve whispers, turning to Robin for a second. Robin moves over to us and Steve points up, "Check this... The... The ceiling, it's beautiful." I smile and whisper in Steve's ear, "You're beautiful." Steve chuckles and little and places a kiss on my cheek. "Oh, wow," I hear Robin say. I look over at Robin and watch as she spins around a few times. I look back to the roof but everything starts to move, even though I'm standing still. I groan a little and let go of Steve for a second. In an instant, we are all running towards the bathrooms and leaning over a toilet bowl each. We all throw up the contents of our stomachs, including the drug, hopefully.

After a few minutes of puking, we all flush our toilets at the same time. I lean my head against the wall of the stall as Robin tells us, "The ceiling stopped spinning for me. Is it still spinning for you two?" I open my eyes and say, "All good over here." "Holy shit. No," Steve whispers in the next stall. I slowly stand from my stall and make my way over to Robins, seeing her laying weirdly. I laugh and lay the same way, back on the floor and feet and legs against the wall. "You think we puked it all up?" Steve asks us. "Maybe. Ask us something. Interrogate us," Robin replies, the last bit in a Russian accent. I laugh at her as Steve asks, "Okay. Interrogate you. Sure. Um... When was the last time you, uh, peed your pants?" "Today," Robin replied. I look over at her and whisper, "Same." "What?" Steve asks in disbelief. "When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw," Robin says. Steve laughs, whispering, "Oh my god," while Robin answers, "It was just a little bit, though." I laugh with the two of them as I whisper, "When you were both screaming." Hoping that neither of them hears me. "Yeah, it's definitely still in their system," Steve whispers to himself. Robin and I laugh at him while Robin slides up, getting closer to the toilet.

I notice and slide up next to her, grabbing onto her hand. "Oh..." Robin sighs before saying, "All right, our turn." "Okay. Hit me," Steve says. Robin looks over at me and smiles. I look confused but she looks forward again and asks, "Have you... ever been in love?" I look shocked at her and look down at my hands. He loves Nancy but he said he loved me. Did he tell  me the truth that night? "Yep. Nancy Wheeler. First semester, senior year." Steve admits to us, imitating a gun. I wait for him to admit more but Robin says, "Oh my god. She's such a priss." "Hm. Turns out, not really," Steve says. Robin scoffs and squeezes my hand while asking, "Are you still in love with Nancy?" "No," Steve quickly answers. "Why not?" I ask him, hope filling my chest a little. "I think it's because I found someone who's a little bit better for me," Steve admits. He chuckles and continues, "It's crazy. Ever since Dustin got home, he's been saying, 'You know, you gotta find your Suzie. You gotta find your Suzie'." "Wait, who's Suzie?" Robin buts in. "It's his girlfriend. He met her while at camp," I explain to her. She nods while Steve admits, "To be honest with you both, I'm not 100% sure she's even real." I scoff and say, "He doesn't lie to me though." Steve rambles, "Hmmm true. But that's not... that's not really the point. That doesn't matter. The point is, this girl, you know, the one that I like, it's somebody that I... knew before high school but stopped talking to her while at school. And I don't really know why I stopped. Maybe cause of stupid decisions that I made or cause Tommy H would've made fun of me or... I wouldn't be... prom king. It's stupid. I mean, Dustin's right, it's all just a bunch of bullshit anyways. Because, when I think about it, I should've been hanging out with my girl the whole time." Tears fall from my eyes as I squeeze tighter to her hand. Is he really talking about me or am I going crazy?

"First of all, she's hilarious. She's so funny. She's protective of everyone she loves. She looks badass when in danger, which really shouldn't happen as much as it does. Since I've been with her again, I have laughed harder than I have laughed... in a really long time. And she's smart. Way smarter than me. You know, she can crack, like, top secret Russian codes with her best friend and... You know? She's honestly unlike anyone I've ever even met before. I can't understand why I left her," Steve rambles further. I lean into my legs that I'd pulled them up and start silently crying over his words, Robin rubbing a hand up and down my back to soothe me. "Y/n? Robin?" Steve asks after we don't reply to anything he's said. He taps on the stall and I lift my head. "Did you two just OD in there?" Steve asks a little worried. "No, we're okay," Robin whispers for the both of us, pulling me back into her arms. "We are still alive," She tells him while brushing my hair out of my face.

Robin sighs a little and I notice Steve's feet come under the stall and he slides himself under it. "The floor's disgusting," Robin says while he slides under. "Yeah, well, I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so..." Steve says before he notices the tears running down my face and looks at me questioningly. "Are you okay baby?" He whispers, wiping away a tear that falls. I nod and get out of Robin's arms to be in Steve's. "What do you think?" He whispers down to me. I look up and ask, "You talking about me or Robin?" We all laugh and Steve shakes his head. "You baby," He whispers. I smile and kiss him on the nose. "Cause you gave me so many compliments, you need to know that you look so fucking sexy when you're killing things with your nail bat," I whisper to him, hoping Robin doesn't hear me. Steve laughs at me and kisses me on the cheek. "What do you think of this girl?" Steve asks, looking up at Robin to see her reaction to all of this. I look over at her to find her smiling softly at me. "She sounds awesome," Robin whispers. "She is awesome." Steve whispers down to me." I smile up at him and bury myself deeper into his chest, finally feeling safe after the day we've just had.

After we stay in silence for a bit Robin randomly says, "Listen, Steve. It's shocked me to my core, but I like you. I really like you. But I'm not like your other friends." I look up at her, realising what she's gonna say and grab her hand for support. Steve looks confused but before he can ask anything Robin asks, "Do you remember what I said about Click's class? About me being jealous and, like, obsessed?" "Yeah," Steve nods, me completely confused about when they talked about this. "It isn't because I had a crush on you. It's because... she wouldn't stop staring at you," Robin explains to him. I look up at his face but he just looks confused about what Robin is trying to tell him. "Mrs Click?" Steve finally asks her. Robin laughs at his stupidity and says, "Tammy Thompson. I wanted her to look at me. But... she couldn't pull her eyes away from you and your stupid hair. And I didn't understand, because you would get bagel crumbs all over the floor. And you asked dumb questions. And you were a douchebag. And... And you didn't even like her and... I would go home... and just scream into my pillow or Y/n's." "But Tammy Thompson's a girl," Steve states, still seeming a little confused.

I grab Steve's hand with my free one and give it a squeeze. "Steve," I softly whisper up to him. "Yeah?" He asks me. I look over to Robin to find her trying to hold back tears while looking at Steve. A switch seems to go off in Steve's head as he whispers, "Oh." "Oh," Robin and I say at the same time. "Holy shit," Steve breaths out, leaning back with me still in his arms. "Yeah. Holy shit," Robin says, seeming defeated a little. We all sit in silence for a bit, Robin and I trying to give Steve space to think but I could see the panic starting to rise in Robin. "Steve... did you OD over there?" Robin eventually whispers, using Steve's joke from earlier to lighten the mood. "No, I just, uh... just thinking," He tells her. "Okay," Robin whispers back, moving a hand into her hair to play with it anxiously. "I mean, yeah. Tammy Thompson, you know, she's cute and all, but... I mean, she's a total dud," Steve tells Robin. I laugh, 'cause I knew that already, while Robin defends Tammy, "She is not." "Yes, she is. She wants to be, like, a singer. She wants to move to, like, Nashville and shit," Steve says. "She has dreams," Robin continues to defend. "She can't even hold a tune. She's practically tone-deaf. Have you heard her?" Steve fights, Robin rolling her eyes at him. Robin laughs when Steve starts to sing the way he thinks Tammy sings. Robin and I laugh at him and she tells him to shut up. "She does not sound like that," Robin still defends. "She sounds exactly like that," I tell her, Steve nodding and laughing with me. "You sound like a Muppet," Robin disses Steve. I laugh more as he says, "She sounds like a Muppet. She sounds like a Muppert giving birth."

We all laugh at the statement as Steve starts to sing again but in Kermit's voice. Robin and I join in and Steve exclaims, "Exactly!" "I know!" Robin and I yell at him, laughing along with him. The door bangs over and I look over to see Dustin and Erica walking in. "Okay. What the hell?" Dustin snaps at us all. We stare up at him but just laugh harder. Dustin rolls his eyes and pulls me up from Steve's lap. "Wait no," Steve wines, reaching out for me and giving me puppy dog eyes. I laugh at him and give him puppy dog eyes right back."We told you to stay put!" Dustin snaps, reaching over and pulling Steve up as well. We all just laugh at him and follow after Erica and Dustin again.

[calcichel]

Okay, I need to do something about The Locked Tomb, because I read the first book and immediately decided to stop reading. But I keep seeing amazing art and posts about the series on Tumblr, so I’m hoping someone here can help persuade me of why I should give this series any more of my time. Spoilers after the cut…

The ending of the first book was such a betrayal. Months later, I am still pissed off at the author. I haven’t read the second book, but I skimmed through it enough to see what I was dealing with in terms of story structure, enough to continue being incredibly angry about way the first book concluded.

We spent the entirety of the book getting to know Gideon, learning to understand our protagonist, see what she sees, and feel what she feels. Harrowhark is there, and she’s lovely, but she’s only lovely through Gideon’s eyes. We don’t know her otherwise; I only love her because Gideon loves her. With no experience of living inside her perspective, the audience doesn’t have investment in her as a protagonist - she is illustrated solely as a love interest, and we are invested in her as such. To spend an entire book building up the relationship between these two, cultivating Gideon as a character, feeding us the type of slow-burn details that would keep this ship alight across several books - and then to keep the love interest but to kill off the protagonist, is BONKERS.

From a literary perspective it doesn’t make any damn sense. The protagonist is the lens through which we see, know, or care anything about the world! Our emotional bond to them is the bond that keeps a reader reading! Every other character in the book, until we get some time in their heads, is ultimately just part of the protagonist’s environment. Character deaths are meant to evoke the reader’s sorrow and sympathy for how they affect the protagonist! To kill off the main character is to kill off the emotional bonds that have been the heart of the story! Everything that I was looking forward to uncovering - the secrets of Gideon’s past, her strength, the progression of her relationship - every story element that the reader becomes invested in is about the protagonist in some way. You can’t just remove them all and keep going. That’s not how any of this works!

The right way to do this as a multi-protagonist series would have been to keep Gideon around (so we actually give a shit about anything that happens) but to give us the next book from the perspective of another character. We’d have the tether of our previous bond while we build up investment with our new protagonist. Then you can kill off the first protagonist. To just sever our bond with the current one and expect to want to jump to a new one is just so disrespectful of our time investment. And it’s presumptuous! This author is saying, “Gideon is just a handy vehicle to get this bigger story started; we don’t need her anymore, off to the next character!” That the author has expected us to become so attached to Gideon’s environment that we’re willing to keep carrying on living in it even when she’s not there, is crazy to me.

And so I also can’t believe that everyone doesn’t feel the same!! I come here to Tumblr and I keep stumbling across this fandom, and it blows my mind. These people kept reading the series even after being robbed of every emotional scaffold the first book built. It doesn’t break their heart to carry on with Harrowhark and leave Gideon behind. Why is everyone else not as pissed off about this as me??

I really can’t imagine what could persuade me to continue with the series after my trust in the author has been damaged so badly. But I’m interested to hear your thoughts if you’re someone who has continued reading the series. How do you go on, with the understanding that the emotional tethers you build as a reader are not necessarily those that are foundational to the story? Do you have to read in a state of emotional detachment? Am I just missing something here? Please help me, because I am still tormented, and it seems I will only remain so as long as this fandom exists on Tumblr.

[fattestwriting]

Harley, but she's 1000lbs heavier and it goes on her bottom, Harley wasn’t kidding about having pear shape body but boy, her entire asscheeks taken over entire sidewalks (weight: same, vore: nope, gassiness: extremely)

(This is a direct sequel to my last Harley Quinn post, which can be found in #fwstory )

--------

"Well shit."

Harley struggled to push her ass out from between the two buildings she was stuck in.

"Of all the places for Ive to stick me, why'd it have to be in what must be the narrowest god damn street in all of Gotham City!"

It takes a couple of minutes, and a lot of sweat, but she finally slides her enormous ass cheeks free with an audible pop. Considering that between her frantic panic up in her house and the practical marathon she just finished forcing her building sized asscheeks out of an alleyway, Harley had just finished doing more exercise than she had done in the entire week since she let Ivy start feeding her, and it was noticable. Her ass was drenched in sweat, reflecting like a snow capped peak, and her clothes (a beyond stretched pair of shorts and her typical checkered top) were completely soaked, an upsetting truth she realized too late before trying to wipe her forehead with her top. Not only did she flash whoever hadn't run away yet in the street, but she was faced with a nose full of a whole new kind of stink- her BO.

She scrunched her nose before dropping the shirt and giving up on drying off at all. She raised her armpit just to reassure that, yes, she smelt that bad, only to get a whiff and realize no, she smelt even worse. But the sewage smell that eminated off of her wasn't like her cloud from earlier- which is to say it was familiar, comfortable, welcome, and more than a little bit of a turn on for her.

*PPPTHTHTLLLLLLLRRT*

Speaking of her escapades upstairs, Harley's stomach hadn't gotten much better, even after the door shattering display she just went through. Finally realizing how much she needed to relieve herself, Harley began walking.

Once she entered a more populated area, there was chaos. She had struggled to fit in an empty street, with her ass always hanging a good few inches into the car lane. But when she encountered a crowd, it was noticably worse. She felt tens of people touching up her ass, most of which were honest mistakes as they bumped into the white wall that had manifested before them, some of them acts of violence against the slow moving, terrible smelling, sweat slicked clown ass, and a few were honest to god fucked up pervs who couldn't help but hug a sweaty musky wall of an ass. All of this was nothing compared to what happened when Harley tried to dodge and weave around these people, however.

Unaware of the true immensity of her rear, Harley tried to avoid people like your average kind citizen, only to completely obscure the vision of an oncoming car. Harley didn't even notice the pile up of vehicles ramming into her plush ass, nor was she aware of the commotion this caused in the people who saw it, who began frantically running around, resulting in more bumping into Harley's ass.

*PPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTHHHHHLLLLLTTTTT*

All the little nudges and jiggling finally resulted in Harley's belly letting loose another blast of brown vileness. Immediately the stench was apperant, but Harley didn't react to it this time. The citizens around her, however, did. They began coughing, wheezing, and crying, all of them doubled over. Harley barely even noticed this, however. She was too focused on the fact she was almost at her destination, a perfect place to let loose the rest of her farts.

Eventually, she made it. After thousands of cars wrecked and probably millions of dollars of property damage from her wrecking ball ass slamming into buildings and cracking the sidewalk, she made it. Harley stood before the Joker's old lair, the stupid amusement park. He had rebuilt it some time before he had become the mayor, but she wasn't going to have it. She was going to show just how much she had grown as a person by destroying his iconic visage... Again.

When she reached the front doors of the place, she lowered her shorts (no panties, of course. Girl is lucky she isn't walking around with her dick out at this point considering how fat her ass is) and made a point of pointing her ass at the Joker's face. After some light kneeding of her stomach, it began. Immense growls and gurgles eminated from deep within her bowels, until finally, from her two house sized asscheeks it came.

*FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTLLLLLLLLLLLLLTHTHTHTHTHTHHHHHH*

She let loose the biggest fart she could, pushing on her taught stomach until it was once again flat against her body. She didn't even need to turn around to know the entire park had been levelled, if not worse. The sound must have been heard from space for how loud it was. And as Harley took in a whiff, she figured it had to have been smelt from there too. Despite the smell and the fog being a million times worse, she realized she didn't mind it. She really didn't mind it. She didn't mind it so much, she reached down to calm her throbbing erection.

"And the worst part about all of this? I'm not even empty!"