#irs the goddamn same and you know it

[ithinkimnormal]

Sorry but It's actually so annoying how much people downplay the crucial role piltover's corrupt council games played in derailing jayce/viktor's work and pretty much putting shackles around their lives. The council is directly responsible for and directly FUNDING so much of the misery that happens in this show, before the story has even started. Before Powder ever finds the gemstone. They single-handedly doom half of the region to death.

Just during the show: Jayce wanted to create magic to aid and uplift the common people, the council wanted trade route instant teleportators to make themselves richer.

Jayce & Viktor wanted to work on technology to help miners and steelworkers and artisans who are trying to survive in the industrial hellscape of piltover and zaun; the council wants it shelved for another 20 years. (yes, heimer is part of the corrupt council - no matter how much his image is laundered by the fandom.)

They are inept and self-serving leaders, elected by themselves and their blood inheritances, utterly obsessed with ultimate profit. You can really see how parasitic their relationship is to the people at the beggining of act 1. Jayce is a token nameless life, so disposable to them that they were going to burn down all of his research and throw out all of his titles, making him not just a lower-house vassal but an EXILE, and the only reason why that doesn't happen is because they realize how much money they can suck out of his work.

This applies to Viktor too. See the way that Heimerdinger tells him over and over again that no other paths can be taken, he has 'fulfilled his purpose' and he should be content to die. See how Mel looks at Viktor like a bug she wants to squash under her palm when he rejects the idea of making weapons for council. See how they speak over him and only address Jayce, as if he's worth less than nothing.

You are only as valuable as the profit you're willing to create. You are a problem that has to be dealt with as soon as you refuse their orders. They have the power to ruin your life, and if they find an excuse, they will. This is a direct threat pointed at Jayce & Viktor during ACT2, when Jayce is pressured into becoming one of them to protect 'the bottom line profit' and, personally speaking, to avoid that ire being redirected towards Viktor. He's pushed into compliance and told a target has been painted on his back.

Arcane jayvik are doomed in big part not for wanting to do harm, but being forced to exist under the beck and call of billionaire leeches. They are both immigrants. They are both struggling to get a degree and keep themselves afloat and they want to help people so goddamn much but they have to keep postponing their dreams to serve uncaring masters. I really wish there was more fan content focused on these very real bonds of understanding and solidarity between them.

When Viktor says 'Jayce will understand' that's not a fluke; he's lived in this environment for years. He knows Jayce is being pushed down the same way that he is and that deep down they've been kept captive by the exact same people. When Jayce agrees that Viktor should do whatever he needs to do to keep himself alive, he means that from the heart.

[slowdivinqs]

Magnetism

Joel Miller x f!reader

joel photo by dinasawrus on pinterest, banners by cafekitsune

Summary: Having a steamy make out session behind the Tipsy Bison with a certain soft spoken Texan.

Warnings: 18+! There’s NO actual smut, just the make out session. Hidden relationship vibes ( they don’t wanna be caught ). Images in the header are just for aesthetic purposes. Subby Joel vibes but also not, we got a mix of both. Soft!Joel and Jackson!Joel. Can imagine either Pedro or Game Joel.

A/N: I’m back! I was so shocked by the love on my last fic, thank you so much! This one is really rushed and quick - the idea came to me because of a reel on instagram. Yeah.

Do not copy or repost my fics anywhere! No AI bots either, I will find you

Tommy’s put on Alice In Chains again for the fifth time Tonight.

Joel groans against you, but not like how he’s been groaning for the past 20 minutes. He’s irritated this time.

“Goddamnit. Someone oughta knock him over the head.” Joel mutters breathily, scowling at the back entrance to the bar like Tommy will sense his ire through the exposed brick and wood.

You take the time to admire his roused hair. Your head hits the outside wall of the Tipsy Bison with a soft thump, and your eyes are hazy and heavy from the sight of the man in front of you.

Joel Miller. Thee scary, grumpy, tense, asshole, tommy’s-goddamn-brother Joel Miller.

He’s a sight to behold. Flushed cheeks and, cutely, ears. Messy hair from your fingers and unbuttoned collars of typical flannel shirts.

All because you’ve been kissing him. Like teenagers, actually.

You’re not sure why you’re still standing outside the bar in the chilly air instead of being buried under his warm body screaming his name.

Well, that’s a lie. You do know.

It’s the sound he makes when his lips caress yours, the little sharp intake of air through his nose as he tilts his head to the side; nose poking your cheek. The way he groans as you bite his plump bottom lip when you dance your tongue back and forth with his.

The way he holds your waist like you’re all he’s ever wanted like he’s a man obsessed, possessed. Whatever you want to call it.

Your hands come up to rest just under his jaw, cupping behind his ear, and feel his hair tickling the tips of your fingers - guiding him back to look at you.

“Pearl Jam sounds the same sometimes,” you say to him, looking at his kiss swollen lips.

“You must be losin’ your hearin’, darlin’ girl.”

He looks drunk. Not just from Seth’s conspicuous beer, but from your kisses. His eyes are soft-blown wide, locking onto your eyes with a haziness that implies they actually want to flutter shut like they have been doing the moment your lips touch. His eyebrows are semi-lifted, not set in their usual, gravity-demanding scowl.

You run your thumb over his jaw, pulling him back to you so lightly it seems like magnetism. His brows furrow, eyes give in and flutter before he’s molding his lips against yours like it’s a drug. Groaning against your mouth as he rests his clenched fist on the wall just above your head. His other hand coming up to the soft skin underneath your jaw.

The sound of you kissing - the little smack and strangely erotic sound of salivating mouths moving together. His soft moans and heavy breaths pushing against your skin as a huff.

You don’t blame him, you feel drunk on this too.

The weight of your arms feels heavier when you lift them to wrap around Joel’s shoulders. Those damn, broad shoulders. You can feel the muscle of them along that soft inner part of your forearms, Can feel them shift and move as he leans in closer to wrap his arms around your waist and leave no atoms between you, his lips against yours like a lifeline - like it kills him every second they’re not.

He fucking moans when you grip the awkward-length hair on his nape.

You’re broken out of the haze by your screaming lungs, pulling away with a wet smack as you pant. Your fluttery eyes - damn it’s contagious - see your breath move through the cold air. The image of how your make-out must’ve looked from the third person, big bad Joel Miller kiss-drunk and desperate - your panting breaths mingling in the air around your faces as you two make kissing seem like something that is as erotic as straight sex outside of the Jackson bar.

You feel the arousal zing through your body before it drips out of you.

His scruff nuzzles against your neck, leaving the same burn you feel around your lips and cheeks. Everything is tingly.

“Joel, someone is going to come out here,” you whisper into the chill. Those lips of his don’t stop their sloppy caress of your neck, making you turn in his direction and try to contain a little noise you know will make him reckless.

He whines - whines - against your neck, not stopping his ministrations, only pulling back to kiss you again, eat you like it’s what he’s been waiting for his whole life.

“Then come back to my place“ he murmurs, but he’s lost in the haze. Almost as if he’s finally reached that hazy high from your mouth that he keeps coming back for.

You melt into him again, pulling him closer until you can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against yours. He’s practically a wall you’re holding onto. Breathing in and molding your mouth around.

There’s a loud squeak and a bang as the bar door opens and knocks against the wall, your hands are still around Joel’s neck as you both look over in surprise. Moments later Tommy’s thrown out right on his ass, which makes Joel laugh immediately.

Tommy looks over with a scowl before looking back to his friends who threw him out.

“C’mon guys!” he huffs, still on the ground

“You’re banned from the jukebox.” Seth grumbles before slamming the door right in Tommy’s face.

It looks like Tommy might go rogue, start a revolution against dictatorship of jukeboxes, but ultimately decides to take his comical frustration out on Joel.

Tommy turns to look at the both of you. Joel is still chuckling slightly, wiping the corner of his eye, still standing right up against you.

“Shut up. You’re busy suckin’ face when I needed backup.” Tommy huffs, wiping stones and dirt off his ass, grumbling to himself, glaring at the door - similarly to his brother - like he could take control of the jukebox with his mind and play Alice In Chains again like a poltergeist.

“Priorities, brother.”

Tommy lovingly gives Joel the finger, before grumbling and walking home, a hand on his probably bruised backside.

Tysm for reading! If you enjoyed pls lmk as well as reblogging! ◡̈

Tags:

[azsazz]

💐 Dad!Az anon!!

Putting your message here so i can add a read more, but like i said earlier i don't have any words 😭😭 this is def one of the best asks ive ever gotten before and i'm so so so glad you love dad az as much as I do!!

ugh, i love and miss the babies so so much. and i love you too because this message made me feel so many things that i'm still blushing from reading this!!

yes, the kiddies will someday be developed as my OC's...i have plans :)))) 💙💙

Hi Kiers! I have returned, alas, and I have come with me and my complete brainrot. (I am crazy) Without further ado, here is everything I have to say about Daddy!Az and the rest of the Legion. Some might be complete brain rot, while the others fall in the middle or are actually (somewhat) legible literary analyses! just so you know, this is really long. i tried adding a read more button but I don't know if that's available for asks? i distinctly remember it being available... but it is what it is😔

One More: 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦 SOME MIGHT SAY FIRST IS THE WORST BUT THIS FIRST ONESHOT TO START US OFF?? NOT THE WORST. FAR FROM IT, ACTUALLY. I don’t know if people say it enough, but I adore how you write smut. I have one emotion: 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦

Family Dynamic: First, I love how your first thought was to go “Oh hell yeah! Daddy!Az! I should make a story about the birthorder of the children!” GOLDEN. your brain has veins with gold flowing through them. COMPLETELY and utterly ASTONISHING how they just come one after the other it’s hilarious?? im reeling😭 AND IRS SO CUTE HOW YOU INCLUDE LIKE LITTLE EXCERPTS OF DOMESTIC LIFE ARE YOU KIDDING ME? THAT’S SO ADORABLE. what gets me most, however, is the last few paragraphs. It’s like, it completely encompasses the reader’s (our) content and it’s so accurate and beautifully worded I can’t help but commend you for it. Plus, Cassian’s immediate “Oh No” gets me everytime😭😭

Keep Me Satisfied: “Going to fuck so many into you, love. A whole litter, I promise.” GET. THE. FUCK. OUT. 🫦 i literally HAVE NO WORDS?? I have no words! I literally have NO words besides the sentence “i HAVE NO WORDS”?? GOT ME FUCKED UP, GOT ME FUCKED OUT, GOT ME FUCKED???? HELLO??? HAS ANYONE EVER TOLD YOU THE WAY YOU WRITE SPICE IS LIKE OTHERWORLDLY TYPE OF IMPRESSIVE?

Hush Little Baby: This is like throwing the first ever blanket I had as a baby straight at me. It’s so familiar, and warm, and It makes me nostalgic because I was once a baby too (weren’t we all?), and I had the same wide eyes Azriel observed in his own babe. This oneshot makes me so happy, & I can’t fully articulate it

Here’s To Tradition Kiers give us a goddamn break or a glass of water to wash down the sugar challenge FAILED MISERABLY i look at nyx, giddy, and wren and all i want to do is CRY and HOLD THEM. I CAN���T EVEN LIKE… I DON’t KNOW HOW TO….ARTICUATE…I WANT TO HOLD. they’re like so little:(((( and im :((( i :((

You Too: I love your writing so much. need I say more. if I do then uhh err rhow do I get my thoughts out what if I just sscream in text AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Can’t You See?: IM CRYINGGGG WREN:( he’s such a sweet, sweet boy and when i first started reading this series i was really excited to see how he’d grow up and it’s just. wow. seeing him so happy makes me so happy. your writing makes me so happy “The little boy even tries to show off his own shadows, “Just like my daddy’s!” He sees both Rhys and Cassian watching with their own fond smiles, silently agreeing with every loving word pouring from the little boy's mouth.” PAUSE. I NEED TO CRY

Concord: I really like how you emphasize the bat babies innocence here. Unlike their fathers, from what I remember because I find it truly hard to focus when i read and like to listen to audiobooks as an alternative, the bat babies have a more stable childhood. theyre surrounded by safe environments, and they see that their parents have these funky little markings on parts of their body and they want to have that too. they hear stories of promises and the like and they want that too. they want what the inner circle have and so they try to ensure they get it and it BACKFIRES ON THEM THEYRE SO:( I feel😞 and WRENNIE ASKING IF NYXIE AND GIDDY CAN STAY FOR SUPPER ?!!!!! I CRY.

come back: 😞😞😞i 😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞love😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞the😞😞😞😞😞😞familyness😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞icryicryicry😞😞😞😞😞😞

Burning Man: Hi! You wound me with your writing sometimes. The utter devastation I feel whenever you write angst is inexplicable! There is truly nothing like it! I did like the comfort right after though. Dad!Az you are my roman empire😞

Promise: GET THE FUCK OUTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT I AM GOING TO CRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY IM SORRU ITS JUST SOMETIMES WHENEVER YOU WRITE ABT THE BABIES THEY’RE LIKE SO WONDERFULLY PORTRAYED.. l CRY I CRY I CRY ITS TAKING EVERYTHING IN ME NOT TO HOLD BAZ RN

Summer Daze: I love how you give us a little peek into Mama’s relationship with the other women, Nes in particular!! i love Nes and i hold her close to my heart so this little peek made me really happy. Especially at how cute her relationship with Cas is, even if its just brushed over:((( its so cute!!!!!! And Azzy kissing Mama’s belly:( that’s so sweet and tender

Two is Better than one: I. LOVE SCENES LIKE THIS. Where a character is thanking and worshipping the person that’s giving them children, blessing them with new life—an extension of love and care; it’s just so intimate and i treasure it and you write it so well it near kills me to stop reading😭 I really really like that addition:(

Taciturn: Punchign wall.😭☹️☹️😭😞☹️😞☹️☹️😭☹️😞☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞 baz they will never make me hate u “How come knoxie doesnt cry like Malos does” HELPPPPPP☹️☹️☹️☹️ “Its okay mommy, i’ll talk for him!” can we get more baz n knox pls. pls. thats truly so sweet.

In the House love built: the way you write smut is so intimate sometimes, and it’s so loving and you encapsulate the bond between mates so well. you’re truly worthy of all the attention you’ve received on this platform

The Calm Beneath The Storm: ☹️ pleaaaase i love how the childrens bonds are so evident and well written too and i just.i just cant properly sayhow much comfort i find in series like this and i cant properly say how much comfort i find in writing like yours ure so good kiers omf

Cuddle Me In: Jax is like living tylenol in a baby im not joking . he fixes ALL my headaches. hes so adorbsicles no one speak to me at all i cry i cry i cry☹️😞☹️😞☹️ punchign. wall

The Rowdy Bunch: Azriel really knows how to man up huh god he’s so fine in rhis one miss kiers u made him sso fine

The HoneyCrisp Grove: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 ARE YOU KIDDING ME THATS SO ADORABLE

Winter Wind: I just think it’s REALLY funny that you deliver honeycrisp grove and suddenly i get hit in the face with 💥BOOM ZUZU CRYING SO HARD HER VOICE IS HOARSE 💥BOOM MAMA GETTING STABBED BY A DISTANT RELATIVE 💥BOOM “help me” WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME. do u drink your readers TEARS for breakfast (this is my way of saying this story is well written and perfect)

Sticking Together: UGHH THIS IS SO:((( I WOULD LOVE FOR AN EXTENSION ON THIS!! like just seeing the #boys and their journey throughout windhaven would be so sad but also such an exciting read?? I hope we get to see how their bond grew because of it, or how it was maintained:(( i really like this story!!

Snatched: Complete rollercoaster of emotions btw. A bunch of ups and downs and round and rounds and i came out dizzy and dazed and possibly bleeding internally. W Eris I love him in this you portray him so well🙏🙏 And also once again. BAZ AND KNOX. GOD. MAKES ME SICK TO MY STOMACH WITH WARMTH.

No tricks, Just Treats: little knox is so precious to me. like he’s just so sweet. and also i remember you mentioning in the batbabies doc that wren, gideon, and nyx had the same dynamic as rhys, cas, and az so thejr costumes are a pretty good touch:D this is the perfect amount of fluff

In Ribbons:

“Baby, baby,” he begs, raising up as far as he can, voice lined with desperation and hazel eyes wide, “I didn’t mean to–” 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦 HELLO

Unwrapped: “Zuzu and Jax must be on waking you and your mate duty as they’re already climbing up into your bed. Your oldest daughter, ever the determined one, uses all of her strength to pull herself up onto the plush bed, only slipping once.” ZUZU GET BEHIND ME ILL PROTECT YOU 🤺🤺🤺🤺 HUZZAH shes so cute . i love zuzu so much, shes such a sweetie:(( your stories are like huge rollercoasters tbh one moment az is wrapped in ribbons and then the next the kids are fighting over presents and im here for it!! AND ALSO JAX AND AMREN & jax and rhys mention wow. god i love them i love how you put in effort to establish dynamics not only between the family but between the extended family too!?!

Into The New: I LOVE ZUZ SOOSOSOSMUCH:( she triggers fond memories of my own childhood. The way more of her dynamic with the orher members of the inner circle is expanded on in this story is so so sweet. I LOVE scenes where young characters see love blossom between people and KNOW that its love and WANT it but also at the same time i recall seeing an ask where you mentioned if Zuzu ever had a mate she’d think of herself as unworthy which … which is making me connect dots🙏 im trying to connect dots here cuz I SEE THE VISION but im trying to see the TRUE EXTENT OF THE VISION

Here for You: the Zuzu Rules Shirts?? I love Uncle Rhys😭 he’s so real for that tho. toss me one and watch me wear it with pride ??? i love the little things you add into your stories thatninclude the dynamic between characters:(( and also Zuz here being so happy and fulfilled makes ME happy and fulfilled. shes MY BABY.

Between Me & You: “This one’s for all the Jax girlies” ME🙌 JAX IS MY BOY🙏🙏 but also Baz calling Jax “J” is so corny and brother-core!!! (i dunno how else to describe it but i love it) also Bryaxis and Jax⁉️ FRIENDSHIP⁉️🙏 IM ALL FOR IT and i love how we see remnants of Jax’s journey into being able to control his power:((( i hope we get to see more of him (and Knox and baz . i love knox and baz)sometime!

The SafeGuard: IM TELLING YOU IM CONNECTING THE DOTS⁉️🙏 read:. im tripping over protective father azriel and giggling like a complete fool

Warrior Status: I. LOVE. WHEN. YOU. WRITE. SCENES. LIKE. THIS. ITS SO… IRHFJDJD LIKE WHEN YOU GO MORE IN DEPTH INTO THE LORE AND HOW NEW GEN IS HANDLING THE BLOOD RITE AND HOW THEIR PARENTS TRAIN THEM FOR IT IS MAKING ME HRISIDOOD ITS MAKING ME SO HAPPY but also wow. wow um the tension here is real. i always expect a rollercoaster of emotions whenever i read your writing and yet im blown away every time. i love baz, he seems to be capable of more than even he knows, and i hineslty hope theres more content so we cannall see how he’s faring:)

About Last Night:

“If we get caught,” Gideon defends, before adding as an afterthought, eyebrows furrowed, “And she’s not my girlfriend.” LOUDDDD INCORRECT BUZZER❌❌❌❌❌ W W W WRONGGGGG WRONG. EVERYONE KNOWS‼️ i love how giddy is the one who suggests going to autumn primarily to see his girl. it’s very cassian core to me as much as cassian himself disapproves😭 and KNOX’S LITTLE ‘im sorry’ PLEAAASEE THATS SO FUNNY

Torrential: This was actually the first story I read about the batbabies:) I was like, “oh my gosh who is Knox? I didn’t know there was a book out for next gen………… “ i was like genuinely so confuzzled. and this was like a few weeks ago. i didnt even know rhat Knox was an oc but I had, and still have a raging crush on him😞 I truly hope that you take the next gen and turn them into full fledged original characters of yours, i’d love to see them developed to their full extent especially with the teaser i get in this fic. like hello? Knox? River Keeper?? Okay I see you!! THE WAY YOU PORTRAY KNOX HERE UGHHHHHHHHHH HE’S SO LIKE UGHHHHHHHHHH UGHHHHHHHHHHHHH😡😡😡 (positive)

“His lips pull high into a wicked smile. One side curls higher than the other and it’s the first imperfect thing you’ve noticed about him, yet it still makes your breath hitch.” woo that got me. that got me good. you’re excellent

Our Souls Are Stars & Mine Is Forever Yours: kiers your BEAUTIFUL BRAIN is BRAINING again. this is my favorite scoop of content for the batbabies. Maude & Giddy are truly so adorable, and you really did a good job at sparking chemistry between them both. Maude trying to calm Gideon down, Gideon leading Maude to the famous balcony I CRY. I WEEP. HEAD IN HANDS. I WAILLLL I WAIL IN JOY IM SO? YOURE SO GOOD AT WRITING KIERS HOLY FUCK?!?! YOU NEVER FAIL TO IMPRESS ME

to my heart: ouuuuu… okay i see you kiers….i love this oneshot, it’s like really sweet but in a quiet subtle way and i love it when oneshots are like that. Knox’s banter with Malos, knox waiting for a reply… Kiers genuinely bless your heart

Undercover: Jax, Knox, Baz. you will always be the number one’s of my heart. NOW THAT THAT IS DISCLOSED CAN I PLEASE SAY I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE CHARACTERS PINING. LIKE JAX THIS WHOLE ONESHOT IS JUST “grrrrrrrrrrrrr dont you notice me?? 😡😡” and “wait nevermind its not time yet☹️😞☹️” at the last second and hes just so cute in this oneshot but i feel so bad for him (can we get the batbabies dapping eachother up to commemorate the jax and knox interaction in this fic yall!?!)

Jax uses his powers at a party: Heehehehhehehehehehehhehehehe wowwwwwwwwwwww hes like protecting her from afar heheheheh i giggled

Jax finds out Knox’s mating bond has been found out: I LOVE THE CALL BACK TO THIS IN UNDERCOVER. I want to see how the whole family reacts to Knox’s mating bond in the future, hopefully!! It’d definitely be very chaotic, especially if it’s the whole family!!

Bryaxis calls Jax a friend: “There's this boy at my school. His name is Montauk. He always gives me trouble, pushing and shoving me, calling me names…" Jax trails off, his tiny hands clenching into fists, "But I've felt his true emotions, and he's just a sad, scared little boy too."” :((( the “too” at the end im inconsolable. I want to hold each and every one of your next gen characters. pls.

Uncle Cassian’s reaction to finding out Jax wants to be friends with Bryaxis: Cassian is my spirit animal. and i LOVE the way you portray him 😭 he’s so funny i feel like he’d bark if I told him he was my spirit animal

What if Zuzu had gotten her wings clipped at the Steppes? I CRY I CRY I CRY I CRY. UGHHH how you detail Azriel’s devastation and at the same time Zuzu’s acceptance TEARS THROUGH ME. Zuzu is such a strong character and theres nothing to thank for that other than your immaculate writing skills

Zuzu Gets a Cat but it loves Azriel the Most + Wren, Baz, and Zuzu work together to try and convince their parents to get a second cat: I wholeheartedly believe wren, baz, and zuzu were probably nicknamed the triple trouble primarlt because of their tendency to pull shit like this and i LOVE it its so funny. I love your writing sm

I don’t know if you can tell, but I have an actually very secure AND VERY!! NORMAL attachment to this series. And I don’t have anyone to thank but you for writing it and writing it so beautifully; you truly have a gift and I know that it will get you a bunch of amazing opportunities in the future, or even now. I can feel how much work and effort goes into your writing, and the fact that you share it is an honor in itself and I’m so glad to have stumbled across your blog. You are an amazing writer. I look forward to reading more of your writing, not just for Daddy!Az—although I’d love for more of him—but even without him, I’d still love every piece of yours. I honestly hope the next gen characters become characters you take under your wing and develop, I would love to see more of them and they’re such interesting characters already. They’re so cool. You’re really cool too, Kiers!! I hope you don’t mind it took so long to get back to you, I was balancing cleaning my apartment and binging your writing:D I don’t regret anything. Reading your writing feels like a reward after every hard day. I hope to see more of you on my dash, Kiers!!! Keep writing, with your skills and your beautiful mind—it’ll no doubt help you in the long run. You’re really cool:)

xoxo,

-💐 (the one from about a week ago)

[ikkosu]

So you know when you wear shorts in summer in a car with a leather seat that your legs stick to it sometimes? I've actually almost fallen out of car bc of that. And because of this experience, may I request this happening to the reader with any autobot of your choice?

THROUGH the glaze of the windshield, traffic churns at a slow, steady pace. Pistons chuff, creak and groan; beaten down by the glare of the sun, little by little the mottled blurs of car start to file out.

Everytime, you think you're going to wrangle out of this hellhole — a wide gap-like opening, blaring out like the heavens for freedom — you find yourself stuck in another junction, relapsing in the same fucking problem.

Stuck in the same place. Between mesh metal of blistering, practically burning from the sun, hot cars.It also doesn't help how raw to the bone hot the weather is.

Heat is seething through the Aircon. You're practically drenched, and the discomfort of having an already wet shirt matted to your wet spine is exacerbated by the goddamn ire before your eyes.

There's a truck, in front of you.

A very old truck.

And, fast?

Not it's greatest virtue.

A lump of irritation bites its way through your teeth. The backside of the truck sputters with black fumes. You're about to relinquish the title of an honorable citizen, when the radio warbles with a staticky breedle.

"You're getting sweat all over the seats, pipsqueak." Comes his sardonic chuff. The insignia lits up with every sass induced spool of his words.

At that you lift up your thighs, a kind of schlap followed after as a result of very sweaty skin latching on leather.

"Suck it cop-bot," You pat the steering wheel. "That's what you get for having shitty air conditioning."

A growl revved up from the engine. The wheel whirls away from your touch three-sixty at max speed.

"You can't expect me to accept the blame, can I? When all there is out there under that— that blisteringly — whatever you call that slag of a weather, is hot fraggin' air."

You blink at the sudden venom in his tone. Prowl's usually, eh usually, the type to keep it down when he's about to lose it : a scowl and a sharp tongue is good enough for lacerating the source of his ire.

For him to snap? Yikes. That takes a lot. A hefty lot. Even with Smokescreen, concierge of shenanigans — worst he's got is a swift chuck to the brig and cleaning duty for a year. And, that's just with a scowl and a low, steady tone.

Guess Cybertronians aren't immune to hot days, either huh. Sun's that bad.

"Is it getting to you too, Prowler?"

"What do you think?" He bites back. "Look at the thermometer. It's exceeding above the usual range of what a normal temperature should be. It's draining up the power in my cooling fans which drains up my fuel, which drains up energon. Which, at this moment, is scarce."

"Hard times, Prowler." You shake your head solemnly. "Hard times."

"You don't get a say in this." He grits out.

The car leers forward with a sudden jerk and your forehead kisses the steering wheel. Not the flat surface where the insignia lies but the edge. You know, the round handle? Bubbles of pain shoot out from the spot and you groan.

"What?" You whined. "It's already hot enough with my ass sticking to your seat — you can't leave me with any more bruises worse than this, alright?"

"Then keep that mouth shut. Or I'm shutting it off for you."

" We're stuck in traffic, though." You grope the steering wheel, grinning at the irritated growl of an engine when he tries to steer it away.

"Will you cut it."

"Hunkering down on a quick brawl in the street doesn't really contribute to the whole," You waggle your hands. " bots in disguise, kind of thing. Not really your style. Doesn't fit you, prowler. Doesn't seem to fit the muse of a..." You trail off, playful and purposeful with your tone. "...law enforcer."

He's quiet for a moment.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh."

He laughs : a quick sarcastic 'hah' and a chuff.

"Get out."

Yep. There, it is.

"Duly noted."

Your fingers wrangle the door knob. And, as soon as you struggle to pry it open you realize Prowl is keeping it locked.

"Where'd the angry coppa go?" You huffed.

"Oh, you'll see."

"Open the—huh?"

Your fingers grasps the open air, twitching around nothingness. The momentum propels you to slide off your sweat-lathered seat, lurching forward and face first into the hot, concrete road.

[wxnheart]

Hello wonderful author. May I mayhaps request a ghoap + reader NSFW peice please. Maybe one that focuses on how Simon loves to make the reader watch him and Johnny 👉🏽👈🏽, or maybe it's reader taking control and making Ghost watch 👀. Johnny deserves a reward mayhaps.

Lol that one request that was like "mm ghoap" had me thinking things

Also keep up the good work! I like being able to sit back and relax and read your stuff!

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐳𝐚, 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐚𝐩𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

...Because who watches the Ghoapwatchers? (the title may or may not have been an excuse to use this. please don't judge me. a lot. lmao)

Simon smoking can mean one of three things: he's anxious and/or pissed, he's just had some good fucking sex, or... he's anxious and/or pissed. And Simon is pissed.

At whom, might you ask? Well, rejoice, baby, because it ain't you this time even though he still wants to chuck that Live, Laugh, Love sign out of the fucking house. No. Simon's ire is reserved for Johnny, your resident killer Golden Retriever, and only Johnny.

And why, might you ask? Well, your cutie patootie lover boy happened to go and get himself hurt on the latest assignment. A routine one, goddamnit. It was unnecessary. Completely and absolutely unnecessary. And un-fucking-acceptable. At least in Simon's eyes.

Johnny argues that it was only a scratch (he's slightly downplaying it) but Simon doesn't give a fuck because only a scratch doesn't cut it. You got hurt, Johnny. End of story. And Simon's anxiety is through the fucking roof right now so a smoke has to suffice. But it doesn't. Nah, not this time.

Simon who puts out the last of his cigarette while staring Johnny down. You don't know what to do so you keep quiet until he tells you to take a seat next to Johnny. You started to protest until a single look made you shut the fuck up.

Simon who straddles Soap. Because what the fuck? Johnny would put up a fight if not for the fact that the bigger man has him pinned down and... oh. Oh shit. Their dicks are aligned. Wait, wait, Lt.—

Simon who starts to slowly grind against Soap's lap, eyes burning holes into the smaller man's. Soap feels the telltale signs of arousal, that fiery pit in his groin, and your eyes widen at what's taking place. Oh, yes. Johnny's about to get fucked silly in a second. You knew from experience.

Soap whose brow furrows the harder he gets and Simon doesn't stop. Knowing the fucker is just as hard as he is and FUCK—"Lt., wait, I—" "What did you tell me, Johnny?" Ghost doesn't stop grinding against him, doesn't do shit but grind and stare meanwhile Soap's falling apart at the seams. If his mind wasn't turning to mush, he'd be pissed but goddamn.

Simon who forbids you from touching yourself because the last thing you're gonna do is get your rocks off alone. You actually do protest this time ("Simon, what the fuck?") and Simon cuts a look at you, the same look he gave Johnny. The same look that tells you he's gonna fuck you just as silly when he's done with lover boy here. Aw, shit.

Soap whose words are lost to his moans and he's well on his way to soaking the crotch of his pants. And Simon doesn't stop. Not at all. Simon continues and it's like he's expecting an answer. "What did you tell me, Johnny?" Ghost emphasizes it with a particularly rough grind this time, enough for Johnny's already sensitive and leaking dick to throb and oh, god, Lt...

"I—shit, I—said I'd be—I said I'd be careful, Lt." Attaboy, soldier. "...Were you careful, Johnny?" The friction is too much. Simon rubs against him faster, puts a little more pressure on him, and it's a miracle he can even talk let alone think at this point. You're biting your lips, wringing your hands because you wanna touch. Yourself, them, it doesn't matter. You wanna touch and suck and fuck and... suck, fuck, and touch some more.

"Were. You. Careful. Johnny?" Punctuated with his hips. Every. Single. Word. And poor, poor Johnny, lost to the lust. Almost close, what the fuck are you doing to him, Lt.? "—NO," he manages to choke out in between gasps and moans and shit, he feels it coming—

—Well, he felt it coming because just as soon as he answered Simon, the mean bastard got up. Got up and left Johnny hard, crotch soaked with precum, and "What the fuck, Lt.?!"

Simon whose stare is both placid and intense; you'd be forgiven for thinking he's nonplussed. Except there's an obvious tent in his pants. Simon who stares you both down before simply saying "Bedroom." And he walks off. He doesn't look back. Doesn't have to. You'll be there. He's got you right where he wants you.

Soap who doesn't miss a beat, grabs your hand, and pulls you alongside him. Right behind Simon. Right to the bedroom. Yeah, it's about to be a long fucking day. And night.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Entirely Unconventional

Part 10: Once, And Again

Enjoy the show? Have a fun night? Did you and König recover?

Nicht so süß und unschuldig kleines Kätzchen

Damn fucking brat

“Hey LT!” He felt pain behind his eye, the sudden sharp twitch had come within seconds of his mind registering Soap McTavish’s voice, and the weight of another trip back to that hell-hole in the middle of the same desolate state.

That armoury and artillery compound they’d invaded had been secured, everything inside was transported. But the man who was funnelling money into the operations in the middle of God knows where, was still hiding. Captain Price had given the objective, for the two of them, to head back to that place and flush him out.

The man who had funnelled money into this compound, this storage facility for munitions and artillery, was squirrelling himself somewhere in the backwoods and rural properties of the villages and farmlands. It made him both an easy target and a little rat bastard hiding in the crawl spaces of abandoned farmhouses.

“Looking forward to going back, sir? S’been nearly two months since you saw her last! You wanna make a stopover?” Soap’s suggestion was as much of a jest as this emotionless exterior as it was a genuine attempt at getting the cold Lieutenant to relax.

It was your fault, you had done this. You had started this fucking problem with your fingers, and your moans. The sound of your pleasure had centred itself in his mind again, a reminder of the passion that was thickened by the bond of being each others soulmates.

You, and your damn masturbation habits, had broken the straw that kept their own hunger at bay.

It was one too many bands that had snapped, and that pressure led to both Ghost & König experiencing the first rolling snowball of desire. The first initial shove that made them crash into each other, devouring the other with lust, all because you couldn’t keep your fingers out of your pussy.

And now, all Ghost could focus on was the need to have König pinning your hands above your head, trapping you. Giving you no room to leave, so Ghost could return the favour and devour you wholly.

His traumatic past couldn’t stop him from wanting to unleash his deeply seeded desire to fuck, to crave and taste and unleash his fated passions upon you.

“Fucking hell, you don’t fucking quit.” Ghost’s ire was vehement, his eyes stormy and dark. “Goddamn wanker!”

Soap held no more fear of Ghost than he did König, knowing that both his commanding officers were feeling the effects of their little soulmates late night excursions. The late night hours that had driven them crazy, has made the two men cantankerous, although Soap was more amused than not.

“We got leave soon, LT. Heard my little bird Em say your American spitfire is coming to visit for a few weeks.” Soap grinned in the way he usually did, like he had no real care in the world or any real-world consequences waiting for him.

John Soap McTavish was the kind of man most of them wished they could be. He still wasn’t jaded from what they saw, he wasn’t bitter and closed off. He had this natural youthfulness to him that had followed him all his life. He still had the ability to feel like a kid, like someone who wasn’t battered, bruised and dragged through hell.

Johnny was one of the lucky ones, one of the soldiers who had someone waiting for him at home when he went on leave. Johnny had someone who was writing him letters and caring for him with the intensity of a well-known lover. No matter what happened, Johnny had his wife to lean on.

Ghost was bitter, he was closed off and inflexible to love. Even when he was awarded two soulmates who could be everything he needed, he was still unable to see how he deserved them. In his mind, he was damned, and they were damned with him. He didn’t think he would ever feel free enough to endure such love.

“You got somewhere to go, Johnny.” Simon’s voice was less guarded now, more honest and natural. “Don’t take that for granted, don’t fuck it up!”

“You do too, LT!” Soap called back, nodding his head in Ghost’s direction as if to extend the invitation without having to say it.

Ghost was silent, he had revelled in the silence that stymied them both. He had endured the quiet and flexed his fingers around the hilt of his knife. He squeezed and let go, squeezed and let go, until he felt his resolve regaining itself.

There’s no where for a place like him; like them. They’re phantoms, shadows more than people now.

No you’re not, you never have been. Your voice countered his, and Ghost verbally hissed from the gentility. It was unwarranted, it was a direct attack on the shell he had surrounded himself with.

Damned fool, you’re gonna burn with us

We’re connected, whether you like it or not. You’re mine, I’m yours.

And you’re damned for it. You’re breakable, it’s inevitable. He was condescending, of himself and of König’s dependency on you, the three of you all meant to be twisted and broken together.

It was innate, it was their future.

What you want, we could never give you. We could never give you the future you want. Ghost’s voice went through your head, and König’s. We’re not meant for it. We’ll only break you.

It all felt like a step back, like he was land-sliding further from this new openness. You had broken off pieces of their guard, and Ghost in his fear of losing something real and true, again, was trying to shove it all back together.

You were silent, for a moment, and then your voice echoed in his head. Soft like a bell or whistle, yet with the ability to further crack that detrimental shell around his heart.

It's amazing how someone can break your heart, and you can still love them with all the little pieces.

Silence rang out, the bridge that bonded the three of you was silent.

And Ghost remained in that silence, his eyes staring ahead as he fixated his attention upon the wall of the helicopter. Transportation back to the States, back to that hellhole had begun, their task to track down that little worm was started.

You wouldn’t be an ocean away, you wouldn’t be across the world. You would be within his fingertips. And Ghost, irregardless of how hard he wanted to keep you at a distance, was drawn like a moth to a flame.

Damn him, damn himself to hell, he had to see you.

To spite himself.

To spite every damn bone in his body that hated you, that absolutely loathed you, he wanted and had to see you. It was innate, it was incredulous.

Simon Riley could’ve cursed you, he could have damned you with every breath. He didn’t need you, he didn’t want you, he had no use for you.

Yet, your ability to make the ice around the old soldiers heart chip away was beyond what he could control. If it were up to him, to Ghost, he would have frozen his heart in a cryogenic chamber away from yourself and König.

But damn you, damn you American woman with all he had in him, Simon Riley couldn’t turn off from you.

He was driven, by an unseen force, to find you. Despite the warring denial that they required you, that they wanted you, Ghost thought about Soap’s advice.

“You know you’re thinking about it. About seeing her. Trust me, LT...showing up to see her is exactly what you need.”

“Not happening, Johnny. We have a mission.”

Still, the thought was tempting.

Fuck, you better be around. His thick gravelly voice echoed in his own head, a thought shared with you as he let that shadowed and tiny piece of him have a small victory.

Regardless of how scared shitless, he was over letting that tiny little piece of hope win.

************

Simon Riley was not damaged, not like he had thought. Rather, he was traumatized from events of the past, and the cruel hands of fate handed to him.

You knew that, you had been warned of that, but you’d never fully understood to what extent he had hated any chance of happiness.

It was clear that of the two, Simon & König, König had been less physically damaged a than Simon.

You had seen more of König than you had of Simon. You’d seen more of his memories than Ghost had allowed you to see, with much of König’s thoughts and memories centred around his home life in Austria & Germany.

Not only that, but you’d seen the memories he had of his mother, the blood sweat and tears that she had shed for her little boy.

Young König, who wanted so desperately to go on school trips, leading his mother to prevent herself from eating food to save him money. She had done everything she could to give him the ability to go.

You had seen his memories and the bullying he suffered from being a poor boy who was bigger and taller than all his classmates. The kind of bullying that made König develop social anxiety that followed him all his life.

You saw his memories, and he had seen yours. He had seen your love of being on the water on a sandy, smooth beach and the crystal-like water that stretched for miles.

It was Devonshire Beach, someplace that had you had adored and craved to be at, a place where you were endlessly wishing to be at every chance you got.

You had been able to communicate your love for that place, the place where you were most comfortable and happiest. That place where you had longed to be day after day, week after week.

König had seen your memories of your short-term relationships that never gone anywhere for your fear of being taken too far emotionally into something that was doomed to fail.

You and König had created a new level of this bond; Ghost and yourself were still at a crawling point.

“I can’t wait for you to get here! Ugh, there are so many places I want to take you!” Em’s excitement bled through the phone as you’d pinned it between your ear and your shoulder.

“Three weeks in Scotland away from work, what a dream.” You were ragged, you were tired, and you wanted to go to bed.

Upon approaching your village townhouse, you dug your keys out from your scrub pockets, twirling them around your finger twice before you stepped up the porch.

Though it had been more than 12 hours since you left, you’d felt as if it were just seconds ago since you stepped outside for your shift.

Your keys were stuck in the lock, as usual. You jiggled the keys in the lock, grunting your irritation and annoyance, your ire for the damned thing.

Your frustration grew, and you’d just managed to turn the key to unlock the door when you heard audible footsteps behind you. You turned your head and cast your speculative gaze behind you, a squeaky shriek ripped from your lips.

“Y/N-” Johnny Soap McTavish was less than three feet behind you, with one half of your soulmates in tow.

Your immediate reaction was to strike him, your fist balled as tightly as you could manage, and you’d driven it into his shoulder. Though it hadn’t actually hurt him, Johnny still cursed under his breath and rubbed his arm. His blue eyes were narrowed, annoyed at you for striking him, and causing him minute pain.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! What are you doing here?!” You screeched at him, panic and fear rushing through you at the sudden appearance of them on your porch. “Do you have a death wish?! Do you know how many people have guns here?! You could have been shot!”

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” You were only aware of Em still talking when she raised her voice through the phone, reminding you that she could hear everything.

“You almost became a widow!” You struck Johnny again, anger coursing through your attack on your best friend's husband.

“Johnny! You didn’t shoot him did you?” She chirped with wonder, while you glared heavily at the two men.

“You got a minute?”

“You could’ve been shot, you idiot!” You struck Johnny again, only once being aware of Ghost’s eyes on you, and the striking blue eyes alight with amusement.

Strike him again, love

“You—!” Your eyes darted from Johnny to Ghost, your soulmate looking deadly and intimidating, like a demon at night.

He had stood behind Johnny, wearing that familiar skeleton mask and the black eye paint around his eyes.

He was dressed head to toe in black tactical gear, starting with a thick Kevlar vest and a balaclava beneath the mask. He hadn’t gotten rid of his weapons, not a single one, but rather he had kept them on to give himself a more intimidating appearance.

Honestly, despite his aggressive look, having Ghost appear on your doorstep wasn’t even close to the most negating experience of your night. Despite his intense distaste that he seemed to have for you, seeing him here was almost relieving. It had almost heartening to see him, to have him this close.

Even if he would rather not adhere to this bond, you were happy to see him again. Regardless of how they scared the shit out of you, having Ghost here was almost exhilarating.

Being in the presence of your soulmate, irregardless of his feelings for you, was affecting you almost as intensely as it had the night you met them.

“What,” your voice had taken a hard edge, your eyes narrowing in on them, “are you doing here?!”

Johnny grinned, boyishly, in a manner that made you irritated. His natural penchant to be a man riddled with good-natured humour, and humour at others expense, had been vexing to say the least. But no more than his ability to also make you forget your qualms with a man like him.

Johnny would have been a good friend, but you couldn’t have handled someone like him continually trying to get under your skin.

“I guess we need another favour.” Johnny’s voice first caught your attention; however, it was Ghost that had kept it.

Another look at him, and another remembrance of his size, was yet again capable of producing a sort of enchantment that took hold of you. He was at least 6’4” if not 6’5” and seeing him in person, for only the second time, had reiterated your feeling of being a sprout compared to him.

Between Ghost & König, you felt like a little sprite, a little gaiety creature surrounded by giants and beasts. Hell, even compared to Johnny, you felt short.

“Ghost.” You spoke his code name, far more airily than you wanted to.

You were captivated by him, and his aggressive nature. He was your soulmate despite denying you and attempting to push you away, and want was only natural. The desire to be around each other, to hear each others voice and grow deeper connected, was only natural.

Fate was not to be ignored, fate was not going to let any of you, not the three of you, part from the other. You were, and always would be, connected and bound together.

You were watching Ghost, and he was watching you, his chin tucked ever so slightly. His eyes had narrowed, minimally, and his fingers flexed around the gun he held in his hands. The tension between you was skyrocketing, thick and heavy, and bubbling over with desire and mutual need.

“You want some privacy-“ you struck Johnny again, as hard as you could with everything you could.

“Y/N! Did you kill my husband?!” Em’s voice was far more panicked than before, concern for her husband's well-being at your hand was not understated.

“Not yet.” You reassured her, though you felt tempted by the idea of murdering her husband. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“We had to deal with something—“ Johnny trailed off, ending the half-sentence abruptly. You thought it had been the end of it, and then you heard him speaking again. “Gonna let us in, love?”

“You don’t call me that.” You grit your teeth and bend down to gather your thrown items, ultimately standing and bundling them in your arms. “Why are you here? Didn’t think they allowed stop-offs when you’re doing the military’s work.”

“Got a job, went sideways. We only have an hour, two at max. Can we come in?”

Your eyes had been caught by Ghosts’ again, and your heart racing. There was such a draw to him, beyond the fear and the apprehension, you just wanted to be around him.

“You wanna come in?” Your question was aimed at Johnny, but looked at Ghost, and then turned back. “Your cut looks good, healed okay. You have another?”

“Not me. Got time?” Johnny’s grin seemed permanently affixed to his face, another layer to the charming Scotsman.

“I do now.” You mumbled under your breath and turned back to your door, opening for the three of you.

“If you murder me...” you looked back at Johnny, your stomach flipping end over end. “... I’ll haunt you.”

“So paranoid, lass.” Johnny’s retort was airy, and he was clearly amused, though you hadn’t seen the humour in it at all.

“Are you allowed to be here? Aren’t you on a time constraint?” You questioned them both as you stepped inside and waved them in.

There was hesitancy on both, parties, neither of them immediately wanting to step into your house.

Though Johnny was more receptive to coming in, even he had waited a moment before he stepped over the threshold and entered your place. As he had, you dropped your bag down onto your floor and kicked off your shoes. You flicked on the light switch and cast another look back at the two of them.

Both were wearing tactical gear, although Ghost seemed to have more, and while you could see the flag of their respective home countries on each of their uniforms, you were drawn to the UK flag on Simon’s.

“You can come in, maybe explain why you thought it was okay to give me a heart attack.” Your invitation was both ambiguous and intimate, depending on the two men who heard it.

Johnny had spared no effort to step into your townhouse, almost needing to step sideways with his gear; however, Ghost hadn’t been so eager. He stood on the other side of the door, staring you down with piercing blue eyes that struck deep into your soul.

And as you got a better look at both of them, you noticed the distinguishable sight of blood. Soap had seemed to be better off than not, with the man only receiving specks of the hemoglobin on his arms and forehead; however, it seemed like Ghost had a gash on his arm.

It didn’t look deep, but it was open, and it needs to be taken care of.

You didn’t want to know the details of how it happened, you didn’t think you could stomach the idea of it; however, you knew it must’ve been a sporadic event. His sleeve was ripped, torn or cut to find the wound, and there was already dried blood around his gash.

“Shit.” You winced at the sight of it, knowing that this was the explanation for their sudden appearance at your house. “You need that looked at, and it needs to be sewn.”

“Thought we should make a house call. Em gave me your address.” Johnny set the rifle in his hands down, much like Ghost had, and started undoing the Velcro straps of his Kevlar vest.

It is unclear to you why you didn’t notice before, why you hadn’t seen the wound on his arm and the missing portion of his sleeve, but now that you had, you knew you needed to fix it.

You didn’t need details, you hadn’t wanted details, and even if you had, you doubted they would tell you. Or at the very least fabricate a lie like Em.

That’s what you expected, that’s what you had anticipated, however you were once again surprised when Ghost had stepped forward toward your couch, littered with folded clothes you had forgotten about, and spoke with a gruff thick accent.

“Dealing with leftover shit, damned bastard set traps.” His gruff British accent had a surreal affect on you, the visible tremble of your hands and the definite acknowledgment of how attractive you’d found it, mentally at least.

It came naturally to your mind, and settled into your thoughts warmly.

An innate desire to hear it again, whispering the same kind of sexually fuelled words that had been uttered on the night that you had gone out drinking. It had been a turn on for you that night, the uttered sounds fuelling your need to find self-pleasure, and that had been shared with the two of them.

And you’d just as easily found yourself captivated by his thick British accent, and König’s German one.

“I have a habit of asking doctors for extra supplies just in case. I have surgical thread, I can sew it up.” You spoke quickly.

You were far more anxious being in your house with these two men, one being your soulmate, than you were in the hospital room with a crowd of them.

There, you felt standoffish.

Here, it felt intimate.

“I’ll just...” you glanced at the folded clothes, thanking your self-preservation for hiding your underwear in stacks of scrubs instead of keeping them out.

Still, you’d felt momentarily embarrassed by the state of your clothes folded and left out, and you’d quickly picked them up and set them back in the basket.

You’d wanted to put them away before you’d gone to work and never had the chance, your morning starting chaotically by your phone alarms failing.

“I’ll be right back. Umm...sit, make yourselves....just sit.” You turned away from them and headed toward the stairs, grabbing hold of the railings. You held onto both as you climbed the steps to the bathroom, stepping inside and opening the cupboard to the left.

You grabbed your first aid kit from the bottom shelf and tucked it under your arm, using your free hand to grab the antiseptic and gauze. With everything you needed, you headed back downstairs and to the living room, side-eyeing the two of them as they were in very different positions.

While Johnny was unceremoniously draped across one of your second hand armchairs, Ghost was standing near the couch, however he wasn’t sitting. He was staring dead on at a picture of you when you were younger that was taken at your favourite spot in the world.

Devonshire Beach was at the cusp of a massive lake, one that stretched for miles upon miles. The water was warm and relatively clear, with a sandy bottom. The lake had remained shallow enough to touch the bottom for what seemed like a mile before your feet wouldn’t reach, and the soft sand had continued well onto the shoreline.

In the picture you were seven or eight, covered in wet sand with a wide grin on your face and the sun at your back. You had just come out of the water after spending all day at the shoreline, and in the water, and there was no shortage of happy weeks there.

Devonshire Beach was one of the only times and places you’d actually enjoyed being in your dad’s presence. Every other time, you’d found ire for the man who would rather spend time with his girlfriend than his child.

But when he took you to Devonshire Beach, and let you run wild, you were truly happy. When you were in that water, on that beach, your father's indiscretions didn’t matter. You had the water, you had the sand, and you had the endless lake to spend your time in.

“That’s my favourite place in the whole world. I spent weeks there every summer when it was my dads turn to take me.” You set the first aid kit on the coffee table, talking to both of them, but mostly Ghost, as he had looked at your picture.

“I try to go back once a summer for a few weeks. Honestly, if I could live there, I would.” Your small conversation attempt with the roguish soldier was one-sided though you knew he, and König, acknowledged what you said and thought, when you felt that flourish of warmth in your body.

You thought of it, of the lake and the beach that you loved. The untouched source of happiness you experienced with your divorced father, and the soft glow of the sun. You were sharing that memory with them, all while Ghost was studying the coutures on your walls and Johnny looked like he was sleeping.

“I have the first aid kit, I can fix your arm.” You broke the silence and drew his attention away from the pictures on your wall, back to yourself.

His eyes had been striking, impossibly bright against the dark around his eyes and the bleached skeleton mask. He had turned further to face you, only taking two long strides to the couch, and sitting down almost silently.

“This might hurt,” you reached into the first aid kit for the kit of needles you had, as well as the gauze and wipes, “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Ghost was silent but observant.

He had extended his arm to allow you access to the gash, and a better look at the tattoos he had on his arm. You had taken a brief look at the ink marking his skin, the story of each tattoo simultaneously cohesive and almost.

Although you knew there was some meaning to them, to him, you weren’t going to ask.

“I’m sorry if this hurts.” You apologized prematurely and dabbed the antiseptic wipe against the edge of the wound first, watching him carefully for any indication that it hurt.

“Does this feel okay? Does it hurt? Am I hurting you?” His answer, predictably, came through your mind.

Doesn’t scratch the surface, love

“I don’t have any numbing gel or cream, so this might hurt more—“ you were cut off, rather abruptly, by his thick accent verbalizing his state of mind.

“I’ve been through hell, this is nothing.” His blue eyes bore into your own, and there was a cathartic minute where your gazes had been locked on each others.

Heat, intense and deep, had struck you like lightning. It was powerful and all encompassing, an internal combustion that was directly rooted in your fated bond.

Soulmates intertwined with each other in every captivating way.

Eventually, you dropped your gaze and finished cleaning the gash on his arm.

You had exchanged the antiseptic wipes for the surgical thread you’d taken from one of the doctors there. While there was no trauma bay, nor really, or any surgery rooms, a few of the doctors that worked there also worked in the city.

And they had known you wanted to stock up on your own miniature medical stash at your place. All it took was a conversation, a simple favour the next time they were in the city hospital, and at least one would try to abide by your request.

As you threaded the needle, you hummed a song under your breath. You worked quickly to tie and cut off the excess, only to hesitate before you made the first mark.

“You’ll tell me if it hurts, right?” Your concerns for him, about hurting him, were high. You hated the idea of not having some numbing cream or gel, and without freezing it could be incredibly painful.

With his silence, you had started the process of stitching his wound, weaving the needle and the medical thread in and out of his skin to close it again. You worked in silence under the weight of his icy gaze, a slight tremble to your hands as you worked.

You hadn’t been this close to him in months, not since you’d first met him, and he was intimidating. He was built like a mountain, with his height and weight relative to his thick size and strength. He could easily kill you with his hands, and everything else about him was just as pertinent to terrifying anyone he came across.

“Are you okay?” You questioned Simon again, doubling down on your insistence that you hadn’t wanted to hurt him. “Simon..?”

You sat up on your haunches and reached for his mask, fingertips grazing the hard shell before he stopped you. His hand snatched your wrist and squeezed enough to make you startle. His eyes narrowed, and though you couldn’t see his mouth, you figured he might have been scowling at you.

In exchange, you had tried to tug your wrist away, stumbling forward as he held you firm. He had leaned down, drawing himself closer and allowing you to see the darker flecks in his blue eyes.

“I never take my mask off.”

“I’m sorry!” Your voice was tight, squeaking almost. “I won’t touch it again.”

Johnny, to his credit, had noticed the shift in tension and flipped himself right, placing his boots on the ground. His own wondering gaze had flitted between the two of you, and his lips had become pursed.

“Y’okay, Y/N?” There was a protectiveness, a kind that would be present between a brother and sister.

“I’m fine. I’m almost finished.” Your hands shook, and you felt real fear, real apprehension. You worked as quickly as you could, tying off the rest of the stitches and giving it a final wipe with antiseptic.

When you were done, you threw everything back in the first aid kit and zipped it shut, hastily returning it back to the bathroom.

You’d almost hoped they’d have been gone by the time you returned, both were still present however they were getting ready to leave. You shuffled into the living room, still on the edge of fear, with your heart racing.

“The stitches need to stay in for 4–14 days, depending on how fast you heal. You could cut them yourself, but if you have a medic or doctor on your...base or wherever—“

“Thanks, Y/N. You’ve said our asses twice now.” Johnny had finished securing his Kevlar vest, and the Velcro that kept it in on place, and then he picked up his gun. “Three weeks in Scotland, yeah?”

“Mandatory time off. I haven’t used my vacation hours and they won’t give me anymore.” You explained softly, not being able to look at Ghost for longer than a few seconds. “Plus it's been almost 4 years since I’ve seen Emilia.”

“You mean for more than 12 hours.” Johnny added, stretching his arms above his head. “She’s excited for ya, been talking nonstop about you and her going out for your birthday.”

I forgot about that, your thoughts betrayed you, 25 in two weeks

Birthday? When is your birthday, schätzchen? König’s voice had crackled in your mind, his question softened.

“Apparently 25 is a big deal.” You furrowed your brows and crossed your arms over your chest. “I don’t celebrate my birthday usually.”

“Please for the love of God, humour my wife.”

Johnny practically begged, teasing her endearingly. “Let her take you out.”

“Mhmm.” You nodded and hummed, watching Johnny leave your house first, stepping forward to clsoe the door behind them. “I promise I’ll let her drag me out.”

“I love my wife, I’d die for her, but sometimes...” Johnny grinned, only minutely serious, and then he glanced back at Ghost. “LT...?”

You watched him standing just outside the doorway, his eyes once again boring into yours. As you stepped forward to close the door, one solid hand had pushed you back against the doorframe, and another cupped your chin.

His hand was large, fingers partially obscured by gloves that were cut off at his first knuckles. He had stepped close to you, trapping you between his body and your door. With one hand cupping your chin and his unrelenting eyes keeping your gaze hostage, you were breathlessly waiting for...something.

Tension was climbing, and it felt as if everything else surrounding you had become dull and stagnant. You couldn’t tear your eyes off him, you were unable to stop your heart from beating wildly.

Slowly he leaned in, closer and closer until his voice was nothing more than a whisper to you.

“Shouldn’t have scared ya, love.” It was as apologetic as you imagined he could get. “Fixed me good.”

“Don’t....get shot or anything. At least not before you get to an actual doctor.” A dry, humourless sound was heard between you, and then his hand tightened on your chin.

“LT! We gotta go!” Johnny called out from the front steps of your place, urging Ghost to leave.

Another moment, brief as it was, and then he pulled away. “Have a good night, love.”

He stepped away from the front door, watching you with intensity until you closed the door behind them and switched the lock.

[problemnyatic]

You have to choose love. I'm sorry, I know. I know it hurts. I know you're upset, you deserve to be outraged. Your pain is real and deeply unjust. But you have to. You have to choose love.

There's too much hurt in the world. Too much bitterness. The powerful have built an inconciecable machine that turns all human suffering into unimaginable wealth, and it us hurting all of us. It has taught us to hurt each other.

We can't let it continue. We can't keep lashing out at each other. We can't keep making enemies of our siblings in pain. We have to choose love. We have to.

We have to forgive each other. Not entirely, we don't have to forget our pain, but we have to forgive enough to see each other as more alike than separate. We have to forgive each other for being taught to cause hurt.

I'm not your enemy. You aren't mine. There are people poisoning our planet en masse, killing our mother earth, erasing whole cultures, stripping human rights to keep us disempowered. We can't let ourselves become each other's enemies, even when we hurt each other.

Your pain is real. You deserve better. We all do. But we'll only achieve better if we save our ire for the real bigger fish. We can't keep fighting over the details, we all already agree on the most important part: we deserve better.

Language will always be muddy, we won't all speak the same meaning into the same words. We're gonna step on each other's toes, hurt each other deeply, even when we mean to be gentle. We're going to make mistakes along the way, we'll be misguided. But we have to forgive. We have to choose love.

I know this is preachy, I know this is vague, I know this is corny. I know. I'm just.. scared. I'm terrified. Every day I see so many like-minded people on here who would sooner tell one another to kill themselves than agree to fight for our common causes because of deeply held presumptions of character built on superficial things. I see people declaring anyone who finds joy in the wrong things, the wrong labels, to be as good as an abuser, as the very people who've put the boot on our necks in the first place.

I see so many people see the state of our world, the abysmal status quo, and respond by pouring a deep righteous passion into delineating who of us is a worthy enough aly and who is effectively a walking incarnation of their ideological enemy.

We'll never be able to achieve the unity we need to take our rights back if we're so quick to make teams and choose sides. I know, I know that a lot of these things actually matter, I'm not trying to dismiss the significance of any of these things.

What I'm saying is that, despite these conflicts, we need to swallow our differences and choose to love each other enough to focus not on the ways in which we are divided, but on our unity in oppression. Every LGBT person is threatened by any of us having our rights taken, we are a family. Every internet user, proship, antiship, vanilla, kinky, artist, lurker, all of us are threatened by attacks on privacy, by the advancement of censorship of any kind.

We can sort out our grudges when there's time. But I can't help but think too much is too dire for us to let ourselves choose to fight each other as enemies when we're all in such similar need of better.

We need humility in the face of error. We need to let go of the fear of being wrong, of having believed the wrong things, fought for the wrong causes, of having hurt other people. We need to release our guilt, for no amount of it will ever heal a wound inflicted, reverse an error made. We need to see even our enemies as human, even the worst of us as human. We need to remember that we, and others, can always make a choice.

Everything is so, so goddamn scary. It's hard to know what to believe, and who to trust, and who and what and where is safe. And I think that the answer has to be love. We have to love recklessly, we have to be kind no matter what. We have to trust ourselves to change, to be capable of change, of being accepted for changing, we have to trust each other to mean well, to accept us when we try to improve. We have to give second chances, we have to seek the humanity behind each other's actions, and seek to connect with it.

I love you. I want to make a better world with you. Even if we believe different things, I want your life to be easy. I want food in your fridge, I want joy to be an old friend you can always count on being in your daily life. I want rest for you. I want sleep to come easy, I want you to feel safe. I want you warm in the cold, and cool in the heat. I love you.

[workingforitallthetime]

oh ok actually girl rutger offering to marry adam for citizenship

anon this is perhaps the most delicious ask that has ever arrived in my inbox. i got it just as i started a long drive and i immediately turned off my podcast and allowed my brain to simply bask in this premise for an hour straight. here we go…

our story starts three years from now, when the gang’s all reunited at phil’s wedding or something like that. around the table at the reception, everybody’s asking adam about his second contract with anaheim. he’s bitching about how there’s some massive cross-border tax hit he’s taking on his contract value because he’s filing as single. [please suspend your disbelief so we can have a good time here, okay?] the boys tell him he should just get married, he can find a wag easy enough. i don’t want a wag, adam says, she’d expect all kinds of shit. he likes living in anaheim with luca, he likes spending his money how he wants to spend it, he doesn’t want a goldendoodle or the hassle of a wag.

rutger returns from the bar with a tequila soda in hand and slides into her seat. you should marry rutger, someone says, she’s not a wag. “goddamn right,” says rutger. “what are we talking about?” adam explains the tax thing and rutger says sure, she’s up for it. it’s not like she has a boyfriend to get in the way. she wants a cut of the tax windfall, though, since adam’s second contract is poised to be a lot richer than hers.

their families shrug and roll with it. the mcgroartys were going to visit ontario this summer anyway, so the fantillis invite a few extra people over for dinner, drop a couple grand on flowers, and bam, they’ve got an impromptu backyard wedding. because this is my story and i get to have whatever i want, pat brisson and brendan are there. pat's not gonna miss two clients getting married, even if it's just a tax dodge.

it’s important that you know that rutger has an absolutely outstanding casual white wedding dress. slim skirt, tailored sleeveless midriff top, suntanned abs on display, one of those fancy ponytails with a section of hair wrapped around the rubber band and the ends curled just so. also white adidas slides.

adam watches rugter make her way down the aisle on her dad’s arm, a bouquet of peonies tipping sideways in her grasp as she reaches out to give fistbumps to their friends. when she reaches adam and he takes her hand, she gives him a big scrunch-nosed smile, like this is a joke just for the two of them, like this is the most fun she’s ever had in her life.  he thought it might feel awkward or weird to fake-marry rutger, but it just feels… easy. maybe because they’ve been friends for so long. probably because it’s just fake.

nolan moyle gets ordained and performs the ceremony, because this is my story and I get to have everything I want. they swap silicone rings (v practical for hockey) and rutger gives adam a kiss on the cheek.

they take a series of wedding photos just in case the IRS asks any questions. after a couple of prom-looking poses, adam tries to scoop rutger up in his arms for a picture, honeymoon style, and she elbows her way right out of there. "don’t fucking do that," rutger says, 'i’m not your wag." she’s a pro hockey player in her own right! Not some wife who gets carried around by her husband. got it, adam says, sorry sorry.

nothing much changes now that they’re nominally married. they still train together part of the summer, go on the same getaways with their friends, have dinner together whenever winnipeg plays anaheim. they definitely indulge a little more on those dinners, get a really nice bottle of wine that rutger makes adam pay for out of his tax savings. all their friends know they’re not seriously married, so it’s not like they even have to keep it a secret when they discreetly hook up with other people. In a weird way, rutger finds she actually feels a lot better about dating now that she’s got a husband. having a shitty first date or a bad hookup doesn’t make her spiral about dying alone and unloved anymore. funny how that works.

the pieces finally start coming together for anaheim, and adam makes the playoffs. the jets don’t. rutger goes to adam’s home games in the first round, because it would look weird if she didn’t, even if she’s still licking her own wounds about another shitty season in winnipeg. adam calls her as she’s packing. he’s really, really sorry, but troy terry’s wife says to bring light-wash jeans and wedges.

rutger has murder in her voice. “please tell me they did not get me a wag jacket.”

"i’m so, so sorry," adam says. "dani got your measurements from the equipment manager. she said it’d be weird if you didn’t have one. they look pretty sick…" he trails off.

rutger asks, dangerously quiet, “does connor have one?” no, adam says, sheepish. they both know connor’s going to be in his usual dark suit, discreetly tucked away in a suite out of view of the cameras, masking his fury about watching mason in the playoffs while the blackhawks continue to suck. exactly what rutger planned to do, with maybe a little less fury and a few more bud lites.

rutger’s voice gets more brittle. “does trevor have one?”

���actually yeah, adam says. it’s not like she can wear it while she’s playing, but she made dani get her one anyway. rutger rolls her eyes. fucking figures. trevor will probably wear it in the dressing room afterwards, just strip off her pads and prance around in a wag jacket with drysdale on the back. fine, rutger says, ungraciously. you fucking owe me so big for this.

it's humiliating, to be shuffled off to the wag box with eighteen other blonde women when rutger’s worked her whole life to be down on that ice. the broad shoulders of her jacket stand out in the row of tiny little identical black leather jackets on the garment rack. even olen zellweger’s figure skater boyfriend looks more at home than she does. she puts on a brave face for the social media photos, though, and once the game starts it’s easy to get swept up with cheering for adam. she wants this for him more than any of these other girls wants it for her man. rutger knows what this means in a way they never will. when adam scores the go-ahead goal, she screams herself hoarse.

at intermission she takes a selfie with her back to the bathroom mirror, holding her phone up to her shoulder so adam’s number is in the frame and tilting her chin so the ends of her ponytail tickle the gold-trimmed fantilli lettering across her shoulder blades. it’s obvious from her profile that she’s smiling. she texts the photo to adam as a peace offering.

the notif is the first thing adam sees when he checks his phone after the game. He opens the photo and immediately hides the screen of his phone flat against his chest, his entire body going tingly like he just got an unexpected sext. he knows better than to tell rutger it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life. he even waits until she leaves town before he makes it his lockscreen. he can do that. that’s his wife, right?

the ducks only get a taste of the postseason that year. the offseason comes too soon, and this year it feels different. not on the ice – skating with adam’s just as fun and challenging as ever. he doesn’t ever take it easy on rutger, and that's what she likes about him. but off the ice it’s different. they remind each other more often: hey, we’re married, right? like when adam stretches out on the bench seat of the boat and rests his head in rutger’s lap for her to swirl her fingers through his damp hair. or when rutger steals adam’s favorite gray hoodie and snuggles up next to him by the firepit. and finally, quietly, when they’re the only ones left at the end of the dock on a moonlit night, and adam tips up rutger’s chin and kisses her.

as summer comes to an end, they’re making real plans. how adam can stay an extra night in winnipeg when the ducks come through town, where they’ll go for the all star break, whether it’s possible to spend christmas together. but then the last weekend they spend together before training camp, rutger catches a glimpse of adam’s lockscreen and everything comes crashing down. that’s how adam likes her, huh? just another identical blonde with his name on her back? what the hell is she doing here, planning to be adam’s wag? she deserves better. she’s got her own career. she deserves somebody who’ll cheer for her. there’s plenty of girls who’d be happy to be adam fantilli’s wag and he can goddamn go and find one of them.

rutger storms off to winnipeg and channels her righteous fury into a career season. she and adam don’t go out to dinner when they’re in anaheim. She cross-checks him instead.

two weeks later, when the news comes out that adam’s torn his [insert muscle or tendon of your choice] and he’s done for the season, rutger knows she didn’t cause it, but she feels vaguely guilty anyway. especially when team usa comes calling for [insert best on best competition of your choice]. adam should be there for team canada, but he won’t be. even if being married didn't work out, rutger’s always had the most fun competing against him, and they won’t have that this year.

adam shows up anyway. He goes to [insert european country of your choice] with rutger’s family, and he meets her on the concourse after games, and he gives her achingly specific compliments about her play, and he says the right sympathetic but not patronizing things after finland beats team usa in OT to take the top seed in their group.

when team usa wins gold, rutger sees her own red white and blue jersey among the families on the ice before she realizes adam’s the one wearing it. she skates toward him slowly, clutching the flag around her shoulders like a protective shell. “good game,” adam says. His voice is a little hoarse, like he’s been cheering for her.

rutger touches her fingertip to the little American flag temporary tattoo on his cheek. “looks good on you.”

“for today I guess,” adam says. His cheek lifts under her finger when he smiles. without his skates, rutger’s almost as tall as he is. rutger kisses him, and kisses him, and keeps on kissing him even when adam scoops her up off the ice, honeymoon style. she wraps her arms around his neck and kicks one skate into the air, and doesn’t protest one bit.

[ripgray-moved]

sorry. the way i'm just so sad right now?

peter ALWAYS feeling sidelined and like an 'extra' in other people's story despite the momentum he gains in improving his own life. he quite literally always just feels like he's, at the most, the sidekick.

is never really appreciated for his wit, humour or talent?

the way he is jester-coded as a character, and so people never dig too deeply with him because 'he must be alright, he's cracking jokes like no tomorrow'.

he does so much to help people in the apocalypse verse and he's continuously rewarded with ire, ignorance, sometimes outward hostility and distrust. and YES, a lot of that is to do with the cult; it would have to be, because otherwise it's just cruel for cruel's sake because peter is ANY COMMUNITY'S sense of HEART?

he's just so sweet. so goddamn caring despite his rough edges. and he literally fights to stay alive— WHEN HE TRIED TO TAKE HIS OWN LIFE PREVIOUSLY BECAUSE HE COULDN'T BEAR TO FUCKING LIVE IT— so that paimon can't seize control of his vessel and unleash hell on earth?

DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND HOW F U C K E D U P I AM OVER THIS GORGEOUS MAN? HIS SOUL IS SO FULL OF HOPE FOR OTHER PEOPLE, PEOPLE HE DOESN'T KNOW, YET HE NEVER REALLY SHOWS HIMSELF THE SAME GRACE, NOR DO PEOPLE TREAT HIM AS IF HE'S DESERVING OF IT.

literally name a more iconic survivor. i'll wait.

[kickingitwithkirk]

Restless Man

Summary: Beau Arlen finds himself in the middle of a case with more twists than a country road.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Reina Cetanwakuwa-Stanley

Word Count: 417

Warnings: cursing, show level violence, derogatory remarks (some in native languages)

Square Filled: @jacklesversebingo -"Well, that went great."

A/N: The inklings for this started the first time I heard Jensen singing Restless Man. This work is partially from historical information and canon elements from the Big Sky series.

*Set after the series finally 3:13 That Old Feeling.

A/N II: All Native American words/sentences in this part are Cheyenne or Lakota resourced from freelang.net and glosbe.com *some algorithmically generated on these sites.

*Translation:  vé'ho'e-White people/member of Caucasian race

PROLOGUE 

Beau Arlen steps out of Dewell & Hoyt Investigation Agency into the bright morning sunshine that’s deceptively masking the crisp nip in the morning air signifying winter isn't far off.

Slipping on his sunglasses, he gazes across the street scrutinizing a group gathered outside a lawyer's office. Judging by their attire, they’re from the country club set except for one hidden under a Stetson and duster. 

The now permanent sheriff of Lewis and Clark County hears the door open as Denise Brisbane, the agency’s indispensable assistant and his incorrigible flirt, comes out. “Ohh, that can’t be good.”

 “Who’s the bigmouth?”

“Holland Stanley.”

“As in running for state senator Holland Stanley?”

“The same. Along with being involved in other various enterprises. Looks like the Stanley patriarchs' will reading isn’t going over well.” They continued watching when Holland noticed them redirecting his ire, “What the fuck you gawking at? Goddamn noisy vé'ho'e!” The accompanying rude gesture was the last straw for Arlen.

He starts off the curb when Denise makes a squeaky noise and grabs his arm, “Best not to have a public confrontation. You don’t want the Stanleys as enemies, trust me.” She glances back across the street and the Stetson-wearer nods at her in acknowledgment. 

“Thanks for the update, Pop’s,” Arlen hung up with an amused chuckle, “so someone called in about Holland raising holy hell over someone named Rain or…what’s with the faces ladies?”

“No faces here,” Denise says with a fake, innocent expression. She glances at her boss, Cassie Dewell, for backup and sees it's not happening. “Okay, there might be something.”

“What might be something?” 

They all turn to see Jenny Hoyt, Cassie’s business partner and Arlen's undersheriff, come in noticing everyone acting off and calls them on it. “Okay, what’s going on?” Cassie decides to take one for the team, “Denise thinks she saw Reina Stanley outside the lawyers across the street.” She watched her partner's composer shift coolly asking, “You sure it’s her?”

“I know it’s been like a decade since anyone has seen her but,“ Denise stopped when Hoyt did that thing with her mouth when irritated. Before Arlen could ask what the deal was his phone went off. “There was a bank robbery in Jefferson City…” Hoyt doesn’t wait for him to finish and turning on her stacked bootheels storms out yelling, “I’m driving!” 

“Ladies,” Arlen says hastily exiting and when they hear Hoyt’s Bronco peel out Denise says, “Well, that went great,” to which Cassie just shakes her head.

tbc

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx  @lyarr24  @flamencodiva  @lassie-bird @nancymcl  @spnbaby-67  @leigh70

Dean/Jensen:  @thoughts-and-funnies  @stoneyggirl2  @akshi8278  @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

@deans-spinster-witch

*tags open if interested

[randomsloredrops]

Random's Lore Drops - Flowey, the Psycho.

Obligatory 2:30 AM post (please help I'm an insomniac I think), so here's lore drop on the flower that nobody really mischaracterizes. That's right, IT'S...

Flowey the Fucker- I mean, Flowey the Flower. Yes, I went out of my way to find a sprite by toby fox that wasn't the exact same, so uh... bow-wearing Flowey lmao. Anywho, Spoiler warnings, so don't stay if you haven't played the hit game Undertale by Robert Fucking Fox. Or, at least, I think Fucking is his middle name. It'd be funny as shi- Oh yeah, I'm writing. ANYWAYS, Flowey the Flower is the antagonist and literally the final boss for two of the main endings (but one of them isn't actually Flowey). Or, well, "two", not including the fact that there are, like, fifty neutral endings with the same boss. Now, if you don't know much about him, he's a psychopathic, sadistic talking golden flower with no SOUL. Literally, he is SOUL-less, and so, he is soulless. That's basically his whole premise. His backstory is (SPOILER-FUCKING-WARNING) that he is Asriel Dreemurr, son of Toriel and Asgore Dreemurr, resurrected after his demise, but this time as a sentient flower due to a DT experiment gone wrong. As Flowey the Flower, his whole shtick is to be as deceiving as possible, acting as a fake tutorial in an attempt to kill you at the start of the game, using you so you can reveal the SOULs as you fight Asgore and weaken him to kill him, using you as bait in order to bring all of the major characters together so he can capture all of them and absorb their SOULs, along with the human SOULs, and finish you off, shattering Asgore's SOUL at the end of a genocide route in order to prevent you from leaving the Underground (since, knowing us, we'd just wipe out all of mankind), and also... well, that's all I can remember, really. Within the genocide route, he almost immediately mistakes you for Chara right after informing Toriel about her cars extended warranty that she couldn't pay since she was in the Ruins and thus sending the IRS after her, while it only takes a whole pacifist route for him to refer to you as such, as he usually just goes and refers to the player as "you" or, in the most Flowey way possible, "IDIOT" in the neutral route. He IS capable of feeling emotions, such as annoyance and anger, boredom, it's just so muted that he's almost emotionless, and due to this, has CANONICALLY murdered the ENTIRETY OF THE FUCKING UNDERGROUND MULTIPLE TIMES OVER, (and somehow people say Asgore is worse for killing only 6 human kids, when, in theory, Flowey has killed many more monster children) ranging from the most random Monsters ever, and despiseable Monsters, like Jerry, or Icecap, to Monsters like Toriel, who is, theoretically, as he is Asriel Dreemurr, but as emotionless flower, HIS OWN GODDAMN MOTHER. His whole reason as for why he wants the human SOULs in a Neutral route is to "become GOD", and in the Pacifist route, he just wants to do everything all over again, from the beginning, back when he and Chara were still alive. Because remember, in Pacifist, he STILL mistakes you for Chara until after you win against him. ...Oh, and remember, UTY isn't actually canon, so canon Flowey (as in Undertale canon, not UTY canon) doesn't know who the fuck Clover is. That's about it.

[symbioticsimplicity]

What are some Hazbin Hotel/ Helluva Boss head canons you wanna share? (Yes, I AM asking for you to ramble to your heart's content about the blorbos!)

I love you so much. 💚💚💚💚💚💚

This got real long so its going under a read more.

Hazbin Headcanons:

The sigils that float around Alastor when he uses magic are not actually a part of his powerset. They're part of the leash on him.

Lilith is not in Heaven relaxing, she's spying on them

Husk hasn't preened his wings properly in years and its actually a big part of why he's so goddamn grouchy

Lucifer has the same problem but make it part of why he's so depressed

Charlie has wings but even she doesn't know that yet

Alastor DOES have a deer tail but he either keeps it hidden inside his pants so it can never been seen or continually removes it

Angel can in fact spin webs but hates to because its fucking weird and instinctual and he does not like having his thorax out

Angel is venomous

Contracts by nature nerf the sinner they're attached to unless otherwise specified, and by that logic almost every member of the Hazbin cast are significantly stronger than they're aware of. With the exception of Husk, who held onto his power, and Alastor who knows EXACTLY how much power he's missing.

Valentino legitimately loves Vox but it isn't mutual (the IRONY)

Velvette doesn't change hairstyles, she changes her whole head

Lucifer’s blood is both addictive and toxic to demons in the long term. It tastes like apple cider and FIRE

Alastor absolutely hates it, he tried it once and it was far too sweet for him

Music is ACTUALLY a legitimate form of magic in the Hellaverse and particularly powerful because it can have unintended effects and it is irresistable.

Alastor IS redeemable (ask me about this only if you want the essay)

Helluva Boss Headcanons:

Millie was a prison guard at the jail Moxxie and Blitzø met through.

Octavia's powerset is routed in precognition, but she hasn't begun to explore it enough yet to have realized that

I don't think this is a headcanon exactly but I'm manifesting Loona/Tex/Bee

Fizz tops

Verosika still has lingering feelings towards Blitz and she is PISSED about it

Stolas has been watching that same soap opera since he was a kid

Literally none of the other sins like Mamon its not just Ozzie

MOST of the sins are cool with each other, or at the very least like coworkers about things

Its possible to BECOME a Sin since in this verse they're not fallen angels

The current sins are (mostly) not the original demons to hold those titles

Blitz's Dad is still alive

Striker is demi and TIRED.

If he had taken the deal, Striker actually would have followed through with what he'd told Blitzø

At the circus, Blitzø didn't actually have a room (was given to Fizz though he wasn't originally angry about it) and often times he slept in their horse stable. The horses would let him sleep on them and its a big part of why he loves them so much

Fizz also fucking hates Blitzø's Dad

The agent that got possessed can now see demons as they are despite glamoring

Blitzø is actually genuinely hilarious he just has this issue where if he TRIES to be funny he CANNOT do it.

Moxxie doesn't cuss because his Dad cusses A LOT and he sounds too much like him when he does

Millie is one of those people who is good at literally anything they try the first ir second try and it pisses off both Blitzø and Moxxie, but Moxxie at least tries to hide it because he loves her.

Loona is ticklish as FUCK but if anyone ever learns that, they die

Octavia actually wishes she had a sibling

Millie is the only person who doesn't think Striker is all that hot and does not understand the hype

[bohemian-nights]

I think the most aggravating thing about the Michaela situation is that Jess Bronwell did that genderbend to appease HERSELF. She's so utterly vile and selfish its insane. She ruined a story. She took away the opportunity from a dark skinned black man to play someone that everyone in the ton (even his own SILs) deem as handsome and crush-worthy but at the same time isn't a shallow person but one dealing with a lot of internal vulnerability and guilt. That sort of layered story, she STOLE that from a black man and not only that but she made sure John, Fran's other dark skinned love interest was done dirty too with the implication she doesn't actually romantically love him. That's not even getting into the amount of people who feel they are being cheated representation through seeing Francesca's infertility and grief/finding love again storyline. Things that media doesn't tackle with nuance or commonly at all. That said, I doubt Jess would ever have given Francesca's story the depth it deserved either way. Requires too much nuance she doesn't possess.

Then as other anon mentioned: casting Masali SIX YEARS in advance. Flying her out from South Africa. All the absolute STUPID decisions they made to make SURE Jess' fanfiction became canon: all to avoid making Sophie a black woman? And now Masali will have to deal with the ire from fans who are rightfully mad? That said most Franchael fans have been heartbroken yet really respectful about Masali which is more than I can say about Jess Bronwell's fans who have been lapping up this change and acting as if their beloved male characters weren't problematic and that Michael in the books was a misogynistic demon and his fans are homophobes in denial. Like pls. They also keep bringing up the "he was a colonizer" and as a brown woman I have to absolutely LAUGH at that. This is fiction. Michael Stirling isn't real and isn't actively colonizing the subcontinent just like racism has magically disappeared in regency England. Retconning what he was doing the years he was avoiding Francesca is far easier than gender bending the whole goddamn character. He could have been off traveling on a grief sabbatical or whatever but acting like they changed him because he was any more problematic than Anthony or Benedict or Colin is laughable. And its usually fans of those 3 who are yapping too. I wonder how they'd feel if these 3 male characters had been swapped into women?

And you know what im concerned about? They still haven't mentioned who's season is next. Benedict meets the lady in silver at the masquerade. But it takes him some good long while (2 years?) to meet Sophie/find her. So either they're gonna avoid the time skip entirely... or they're actually doing the insane thing of making Francesca's story next because Jess Bronwell has no guarantee she'll even get to tell her self insert fanfic otherwise. I'm not sure. The hints were very strong about Benedict being next season. And if Shondaland wants Bridgerton to get renewed they'll have to bring the numbers next season which means Benedict. Francesca certainly won't bring those views especially not after pissing off book fans. But also I don't trust how off the rails the plan for this show has gotten.

Chris Van Dusen had his problems but at least he never would have pulled this shit. Its clear to me that Jess is both pandering to fans with the Benedict being pan storyline and also pandering to her own self insert fantasies with genderbending Michael. I'm utterly disgusted with her and Shonda. I'm also shocked the publisher for Julia Quinn's books even let this happen considering the sale money they make with tie ins too. If nothing else, I believed this mess wouldn't happen because it would impact that symbiotic relationship between streamer and publisher.

Everyone angry about this change has every right to be and its so so valid. Idc what the "popular" opinion is. Its a very narrow-minded self serving take and celebration for those (usually white) people who are excited about this.

Everything you said 👏🏽I really can’t express enough how shocked and utterly disgusted I am by everything. Honestly all I can say is that if anyone is unhappy with this bs fanfiction, don’t give them views next season. It’s not even a fun watch anymore.

[unreadpoppy]

.

I'm not upset because I didn't get the role I wanted. I'm upset because of everything else.

Because I've been on this group for 8 years, I'm currently the person who's been there the longest and I feel invisible. I feel like I'm always the second option.

'Cause I keep getting told how 'important' i am to the group, and how 'good' and 'talented' I am, but I'm always fucking side lined. "Oh but we need strong voices in the ensemble, we need someone who knows what they're doing to help the others" well goddamn it I'm fucking tired of being that person, and not getting a fucking chance ever under the spotlight.

And like sure, I could take it when it was small roles, but after three years in a row where your name is not called, where you're pushed to ensemble for the same reason, it gets fucking tiring.

Because yes, the ensemble is important, but I also feel like I'm not developing any of my skills in it, so yeah, it does bother me.

And it feels especially more fucked when you know favoritism is happening. Because everyone who has private singing classes with the vocal coach gets either the role they wanted or a role. And guess what? I HAVE SINGING LESSONS WITH HER, since 2022 and still I get the short end of the fucking stick every goddamn time. Even my friend pointed out that it was weird that every one of her students got that favoristism but I didn't. (and i'm bringing this up because she always plays a big part in deciding the roles, and this time around, it was practically only her who chose who plays what).

And also, I even discovered that this one prick that nobody likes (including the coordinators) keeps getting good roles because he's autistic and if they don't give him something, he's gonna freak out, so they give him a good role for that. And then I'm not supposed to be fucking pissed.

Especially when like, I was sick, I wasn't going to audition that day, I only did it because the vocal coach asked me to, and despite everything, I still think I did a good job (and it was an audition in front of everyone else and even the others told me I had done well and thought I would get the part) and then I got home and had to listen to my dad tell me shit. Fuck dude, I was beating myself down for it but I found a recording someone did of the auditions and I saw mine and it truly wasn't that bad.

I know I'm always number two, because every fucking time someone skips rehersal, it's always me they call to cover for them. And every time someone decides to leave, it's always me that gets their part. So I am good enough to do things I'm just not good enough to be the first choice apparently. And I'm not even the one that fucking realize this. It was my friends from there. They were the ones that began saying they didn't like how I was treated, that I was never given a chance to shine. They're the ones who get really pissed at this bullshit. And it's them, my parents, and even my fucking brother who could give less of a shit about this, even he gets bothered.

And my fucking god, what adds salt to injury is that even when I swallow all my feelings and work my ass off to do this shit, I BARELY get a fucking "hey brenda, good job". Just fucking nothing, while I see people who have gained the ire of the entire cast because of their attituted get praised time after time.

I guess my problem is that I let myself wish, right? Because I keep wishing and hoping that I'll get noticed and the universe kicks me on the goddamn stomach again and again.

Call me selfish, jealous or whatever but god fucking damnit I got the "rejection feels worse" condition and I'm fucking tired.

[featherlouise]

this is totally not me giving you an excuse to talk about Hollow's feelings toward Radi 👀

Ohohoho

Hollow’s feelings are pretty complicated towards Radi to say the least.

Like, on one hand, they’ve been raised in a kingdom that’s being ravished by her infection. Innocent people, sometimes even children, are essentially being tortured because of her anger towards their father. She’s aiming to destroy EVERYTHING they hold dear and EVERYTHING they want to protect. They absolutely should hate her, right??

On the other hand, the Radiance has been inside their head for months, and past the constant vitriol she spits about the “pale usurper,” they can tell she’s grieving. Not in a way anyone should support or course, but they can understand that she was in a very similar position to them once. Watching as her people were taken away from her, while she could do nothing about it, until she was discarded like a forgotten toy.

She went from being her people’s light, to “the old light,” to nothing at all. They can understand the pain that comes with being forgotten, and it’s a secret fear of theirs that once they’re sealed away, nobody will remember them. It’s a fear they know intimately, and it’s one the Radiance has witnessed come into fruition.

But on the other OTHER hand, they ADORE their father, their little sister, the kingdom and all its people. They don’t want it to be destroyed, so they’ll do whatever is necessary to ensure it doesn’t happen.

THEN when they encounter Hornet in the hallway, they can feel that Radi wants to attack her. As far as she’s concerned, she’s just another obstacle on her way to eliminating the true source of her ire.

Bc you’ve gotta understand, when you get to the point that you can be considered an ancient higher being like the Radiance, your morals aren’t anywhere near the same as those of mortals, AND she’s been seething alone in the dream realm for millennia, so at this point she’s willing to do anything to get her revenge. As far as she’s concerned, PK stole her children and destroyed everything she loved, and she wants retribution for that.

But. When they start begging, she basically makes a deal with them to spare the rest of Hallownest so long as she gets to kill the king.

It’s kind of, if not a moment where the ‘benevolent light’ that the moth stories talk about peeks through her anger, then a moment of humanity, where she chooses to spare a child who is the kin of her enemy instead of eradicating every trace of the wyrm from the kingdom.

(Of course Hollow never ends up going thru with it bc they definitely don’t trust Radi to keep her word)

I REALLY wish I could explain it better than that, but basically

If they had to choose between the Radiance and Hallownest, they’d naturally choose Hallownest, but they can understand the Radiance’s anger and relate to her fears in a way that makes them not truly want her dead.

I also think Hollow is a strong believer in second chances, they’re too goddamn nice for their own good

They’re also the only person (so far) to have survived being infected, so they’re currently the only living person who is intimately familiar with the way Radi’s anger feels and the way she justifies her actions

This isn’t very coherent so some of this will probably end up being scrapped but this is basically all the thoughts I have regarding Hollow’s feelings towards Radi at the mo lmao

[robotclownindulgence]

the mountain goats - no children

cabinet man from lemon demon

a father's lament from poor mans poison

the moss from cosmo sheldrake

little lion man from mumford & sons

No children: already in my library

At least I think so? I haven't listened this song in quite a while. This one feels sooo goddamn cathartic to just scream out loud in your car ir when no one is around. It's just kinda hard for me to casually listen to

cabinet man: already in my library| ok this is really good

Classic. Sometimes you just have to listen to songs that describe one specific-ass scenario. Though I don't listen it very often now, I still come back to it from time to time

a father's lament: it's ok

poor man's poison is really hit or miss for me. This one moves more towards miss, but the lyrics are good enough and well written enough for me to remember them

the moss: already in my library

god I used to listen to this song so goddamn much! Again, though I don't listen to it a lot now I still love it a lot. I don't really know how to describe this song's appeal in particular. For me it kinda sparks the same kind of curiosity from when you are a child and hear an urban legend for the first time? Like therr's so much more to all the stories mentioned in the song and we have to figure it out for ourselves

little lion man: not my thing

Sorry, I could never get the appeal of this song