#it’s easier to say and there’s accents and slurring of words

[ghost-format]

Why do we spell it ‘asexual’ and not ‘acesexual’ or ‘acexual’?

Wouldn’t it make more sense, and give less confusion if it started with ‘ace’?

Idk, I’m just curious

[everyonewooeverywhere]

NSFW BLOG | MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

chapter 2 : dirty bastard

part 1 | masterlist

summary: when you come into his shop to get your boyfriend's car fixed, yunho can help but wonder what a hardworking, pretty girl like you is doing with someone so...pathetic. and maybe, just maybe, he feels like he could treat you better.

pairing: cowboy mechanic!yunho x female!reader

genre: non-idol au | strangers to lovers | angst | fluff (no smut yet, but there will be eventually)

rating: pg-13 (18+ for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually)

word count: 4.7k

content/warnings: pet names (sweetheart, doll), toxic relationship, yeonjun slander 😞 (again, sry baby)

notes: again, thank you @ateez-main-yapper for being my ride or die with this one 🫠 literally would have never finished this without her (and yes im gonna say that for every chapter get used to it ☺️💗)

The apartment was quiet for the rest of the evening. You’d stopped going to Yeonjun’s gigs ages ago, so you usually had the entire evening to yourself. It was nice, a relaxing way to wind down. It felt like you lived alone in this little apartment for a few short hours. After clearing away all the scattered beer cans and paper plates scattered around the living room, you could live in your little bubble of delusion. A single girl, just enjoying her quiet after a long day.

You tried to keep your previous argument with Yeonjun out of your mind. It wasn’t really a new one. He’d always been wildly insecure around any of your male friends, even though most of them were the boyfriends of your female friends, and it was a disagreement you’d had several times. 

He’d never acknowledge the hypocrisy of him having plenty of female friends who hung around him and his bandmates, though. Girls who either didn’t care that he had a girlfriend or simply didn’t know. Being the man that he was, you couldn’t help but assume the latter. 

No more Yeonjun thoughts. You told yourself. He was going to be gone the rest of the night, so it was better that you kept him out of your head. 

And as you watched the TV you found it was pretty easy to keep him out of your mind, especially when thoughts of another man slipped in so much easier.

The feeling of Yunho’s arms wrapped around your shoulders lingered. The way he’d held you so close and rubbed your back was so comforting. His soft whispers of reassurance floated through your head as if he was still there. As if he was curled up on the couch next to you, holding you because he knew it brought you comfort.

You were baffled at your lack of guilt over the fantasies of being cherished by a man who was certainly not your boyfriend, especially when said man had made it pretty clear that he would’ve made advances toward you had you been single.

But you couldn’t find it in you to care.

And when Yeonjun stumbled into the apartment at two in the morning, you were lying awake in bed. You felt the bed dip as he rolled himself toward you, drunkenly wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into him. “Mmh…Love you, baby,” you let him place a wet kiss on the back of your neck, “M’sorry.”

You didn’t pull away. Letting him hold you close. Imagining the slurring of his voice in a charming southern accent. And wishing the smell of alcohol on his breath was gasoline.

Yunho called you at noon the next day telling you the car was ready for you to pick up. He said that it had been a much quicker job than he’d first anticipated. 

His soft southern drawl floated through the phone's speakers, “You need a ride over? I can bring ya some coffee, too.”

A heartfelt smile spread across your lips, “Oh thank you, Yunho. But I think I’ll just have my friend drive me over... If you…happen to still be getting coffee, though…”

The sound of his chuckle made your stomach flip, “I’ll grab ya somethin’, Doll.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem. Send me your order and whatever your friend wants, and I’ll have it ready for you when you get here.”

He hung up not long after. Huffing and complaining that “Mingi’s being needy.” 

“Okay,” you let out a breathy laugh, “Bye Yunho. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“See you later, Doll.”

You felt an odd sort of guilt over how excited you were to see him, and you felt like you had to consistently remind yourself of your own relationship when you were around him. But it was so hard to mask the way he made you giddy every time he called you “sweetheart.” And nothing could compare to the way “Doll” rolled off his tongue.

You quickly saved his number in your phone before calling up your friend, praying that she was free so you wouldn’t have to call Yunho back and tell him that you actually did, in fact, need a ride.

She picked up in seconds, “Hey, babe! What’s up?”

“Hey Ro, you free this morning?” 

You heard an excited gasp, “Yes, please! I don’t care what it is. My mom set me up on another blind date, and I’m like ninety percent sure he’s her pastor’s son. And I’ve met the guy a couple times, and he really gives me the creeps. Please give me an excuse to not go!”

“Rosie, how many times do I have to tell you that you can stay at my place if you need to avoid your mom and her date choices?” 

“Babe, I love you, dearly. But there is no way I am sleeping on that couch of yours. I don’t think Yeonjun could keep it clean if he tried.”

You shrugged, “We could always kick him to the couch.”

“Yeah, not sure I want to deal with that, either.”

“Ok, well I actually need to go pick up his car from the mechanic today. Do you think you could give me a ride?”

She gasped again, and you swear you heard something thump against the floor on her end, “Oh my god! Please please please tell me you went to the shop I suggested!”

You laughed, “I mean, I didn’t really have any other options.”

There's a rushed squeal of joy, followed by the sound of her bedsprings crying out in pain as she launched herself off of it, “Hold on, let me put on a better outfit, and I’ll see you in like an hour, okay?”

“Take your time. There’s really no rush.”

“Oh no no no. There absolutely is a rush. Can’t leave any opportunity for someone to swing by and swoop Mingi off his feet before I get the chance.” You loved her dedication to this, “Hey, by the way…just out of curiosity, what color was his hair while you were there?”

“Uhh, it was platinum, I think,” clearly you hadn’t spent much of your time thinking about Mingi’s hair. Or any part of him for that matter. You had other things on your mind.

Her groan bordered on a moan, “Fuckkk, girl, he’s so hot. I need that man more than I need air.”

“Ok, well, finish getting ready, and then come pick me up, and you can get your fix! Oh! And tell me what kinda coffee you want.” 

“Alrighty!” Her excitement was clear as day in the tone of her voice.

She pulled up to your building a little over an hour later. Looking absolutely stunning. Her hair was perfectly done up, and she was wearing the purple cardigan and white pleated skirt she had bought when you two went to the mall last month. 

“You look cute.” You pulled her in for a hug.

A bright grin pulled at her lips as she squeezed you tight, “Thank you.” She leaned back but held onto your shoulders, “So do you!”

You smiled softly at her, “Really?”

“Yes.” You knew she’d never tell you otherwise, and you truly believed she'd never even considered that she could be wrong. But part of you really needed to hear her reassure you on it today.

She finally let you go after a few seconds and looked around the kitchen, “Where’s the coffee?”

“Oh! Actually the mechanic is getting it for us.” 

Rosie raised an eyebrow at you, “The mechanic is getting us coffee?”

“Mhm. He was actually so sweet yesterday. Drove me home, too, because Yeonjun refused to give me a ride,” You sighed as the events played through your mind, “Jun and I actually got into a huge fight in front of him, and he was nice enough to…check on me after it was all over.”

Her eyes were wide as she grinned up at you, “And he’s buying you coffee this morning?”

“Yep.”

She looked beyond excited at this knowledge, “Is he cute?”

“Rosie.” You glared down at her. 

“What? I’m just curious,” A giggle bubbled out of her throat

“Curiosity should have its limites Ro, I’m in a committed relationship” 

Rosie scrunched her nose and mumbled something under her breath. You couldn’t make it out, but you had a clue. There was no bigger Yeonjun hater on the planet than her. And as much as she tried to keep in underwraps out of respect for you, there was no hiding how deep her distaste for him ran.

But you placed a hand gently on her shoulder, gestured her to the door, “Come on, girl. Let’s go.”

As you pulled up to the shop for the second time in the past twenty-four hours, you couldn’t help but start to feel a little giddy. You fidgeted with your hands in your lap, trying to control your excited anxiousness, but you couldn’t deny the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach when that baby blue pickup came into view. 

“We’re here~” Rosie sang. Flipping down the visor to reapply her lip gloss in the mirror. She flipped it up just in time to see a very sweaty Mingi manually pulling open the garage doors. “Oh fuck.” She turned to you, “Babe, I love you, but will you be okay on your own?” 

The pleading look in her eyes made you giggle. “Go for it girl.” 

She giddily slid out of the car and jogged up to the building, leaving you to gather your things with a bit more apprehension in your step. It would have been a bold-faced lie to say you weren’t nervous. Crushing hard on a stranger when you were already in a relationship made you a little sick with guilt. As much as you and Yeonjun fought, being unfaithful to him was the last thing on your mind. Regardless of how you felt about him, you trusted your own character that much at least.

You watched as Rosie and Mingi talked with each other. The flirting blatantly obvious from both parties. You were so glad to see her enjoying herself. Dating had been a nightmare for her because of her mother’s incessant prying into her life. And it had gotten so much worse as of late. Rosie turning twenty-five last month with still no signs of marriage was turning her mother into a bit of a monster. Setting her up with men with questionable histories just because she knew that they would want to get married fast and give her grandchildren. 

And while you didn’t know him, Mingi seemed like a great guy. He was absolutely her type, at least. She always had a thing for rugged car guys, so maybe his occupation was a sign from the universe herself that he might just be the one.

A knock on the window of Rosie’s car startled you out of your thoughts, making you drop your purse on the floor, tearing your gaze away from your friend. Oh. Yunho was standing outside smiling at you. You pushed the door open.

He tipped his head toward you in greeting, “Hey Doll, how ‘re you?”

“Oh…I’m alright,” you grabbed your purse off the car floor and finally looked up at him. He looked…good. Really good. Wearing another button up flannel and that same fucking beige cowboy hat.

He held a cup out for you, “Your drink.”

“Oh! Thank you.” You couldn’t help the heat rising in your cheeks when his fingers brushed your own. 

He glanced over at your friends who were getting very close as Mingi showed her the engine of a car. Yunho chuckled, “I’ll leave hers on the workbench. I don’t wanna interrupt that.” “That’s probably for the best,” you laughed, following him into the garage. 

He set Rosie’s drink down on the bench, taking the opportunity to lean down towards you, “He’s talked about her a lot, you know?” He lowly whispered in your ear. 

Pulling back, you fought the urge to shiver at his breath brushing your cheek, “Really?”

He nodded, “Spent a long time gettin’ ready this morning, too”

“Well, she was beyond excited to drive me, so I’d say it’s pretty mutual,” biting your bottom lip. Trying to hide how giddy that knowledge made you feel.

You both glanced over at them and saw Mingi’s hand on the lower part of her back as he reached to show her something inside the hood.

“I think that part’s pretty obvious.” He chuckled and turned his attention back to you, “Well, I got ‘er fixed up for ya.” He patted the hood of Yeonjun’s car. 

Your mind was so focused on the proximity of Yunho’s body to yours that you hadn’t even realized that the car was right behind you, “Oh my gosh. Thank you so much, Yunho. This has been stressing me out for a while. I’m so glad it finally got done.”

The whisper of a smile on his lips did nothing to mask the pity in his eyes, “It’s not a problem at all, Doll. You’re an incredible partner for getting it fixed for him.”

An awkward laugh escaped your mouth, “I sure try.”

“You’re doin’ great, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” you muttered. A little embarrassed by his flattery.

“And before I forget! I gave her a full detail for ya, too.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that…” But your heart fluttered, “What do I owe you?”

He shook his head, “It’s on the house.”

“What? Yunho no. I can’t let you do that.”  You started fishing in your purse for your wallet, “Please let me at least pay you for the work yo–.” You peered into your purse to see nothing but your phone, a tube of lip gloss, and a panty liner you kept on you for emergencies. You grumbled, “I forgot my wallet.”

Yunho laughed, “Then I guess that’s settled.” He swung open the driver side door, “Here, have a look.” 

“Thank you,” you sighed in defeat.

“Oh! Before I forget.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a little pink digicam, “Found this on the floor in the backseat. Figured you might want it back.”

He placed it in your hands and watched as you tentatively flipped it over. Running your finger gently over the power button, but not pressing it hard enough to bring the device to life.

“Let me go grab some paper work, and then you’ll be good to go. Alright, Doll.”

You nodded but didn’t look up, too focused on the weight against your palm, “Ok.”

The cold metal felt unfamiliar in your hands. Its shiny surface reflecting a distorted, pink version of your face back at you. Yeonjun had never been the sentimental type, and the little heart stickers covering the front were not characteristic of him. You rested the beaded strap in your palm, the pearly white and blue glass beads smooth to the touch of your thumb. The name "Camryn" spelled out in bold, white lettering on powder blue hearts.

Yeonjun had female friends, you knew that. They weren’t exactly the quiet sort, their chatter and laughter usually spilling out the windows of Soobin’s car when he would pull up to your apartment. You’d never seen them as a cause for concern. But what would they be doing in his car? Yeonjun never drove himself to gigs or bars or parties. He always had someone else drive him, so how did his friend’s camera end up in the backseat?

Slipping your hand through the beaded strap, you flipped the camera over in your hands. The black screen staring back at you. Your thumb finally pressed the power button, and you watched as the little screen lit up. Flashing a logo at you before the lens pushed itself out and the screen showed your boots below you.

Hesitantly, you opened the gallery. The first photo was a selfie of a girl in a mosh pit huddled close by three other girls who all grinned up at the lens. And as you flipped through the gallery a bit of relief began to creep in. They all seemed to be photos of a girl partying and enjoying nightlife with her friends. But you kept scrolling. 

And you eventually reached a photo of Yeonjun. He was grinning at the camera. Happier than you had seen him in years. You frowned at the photo, trying to recall the last time he looked at you like that. 

It only took two more clicks for you to reach the first video. You pressed play without even hesitating for a moment.

A giggle seeped through the small speakers on the side, the sound coming out muffled due to the camera’s poor quality. A girl, who you assumed to be “Camryn” was placing the device on a table, clearly aiming to film something. You heard a male voice come from behind her but you couldn’t make out any of the words. When she turned around, you could see Yeonjun lounging on the couch in front of her. His arms splayed out on the back of it. 

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for what you knew was coming next. 

And as you watched the scene play out, your fears were unmistakably confirmed. She slid onto his lap and let him wrap an arm around her waist.You couldn’t make out his voice, but the way he called her “baby” was impossible to miss.

You could feel your heart pounding out of your chest. The video kept playing, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away. The way he held her and cupped the back of her head made your stomach turn. Her jacket fell away, and he pulled down her dress, exposing her bare back to you. He was leaning in to kiss her chest when you watched as the camera fell forward on the table she’d propped it up on. Your view became obstructed but you could still hear the muffled sounds of her moans.

You dropped the camera from your hands, letting it swing as it hung from your wrist. Everything felt so heavy. The legs under you didn’t feel like your own. Everything felt disconnected. You couldn’t stop the shaking in your hands or the bile that rose up in your throat.

It felt as if the floor was crumbling under you, and when your knees gave out, you would’ve tumbled into the cool cement beneath your shoes if it weren’t for the pair of arms that caught you before you hit the ground.

“Woah woah woah.” Yunho’s voice came from above you, “Hey, what’s wrong?” You couldn’t even muster up the energy to look up and meet his eyes.

“Y/n?” You heard Rosie run up behind you. Yunho let her take you into her arms. She saw the camera swinging from your wrist and slipped it off. And seeing the video playing on replay answered any questions she would’ve asked you. “Oh babe.” She pushed the camera into Yunho’s hands and wrapped her arms around you tightly., “I’m so sorry,” she whispered into your shoulder.

Just the comfort and familiarity of her arms around you made you break down to tears. You gripped onto her shirt for dear life. She ran a comforting hand over your hair. Letting you cry into her arms. 

You had no idea how long she held you like that. But when you pulled away, Mingi and Yunho were clear across the other side of the shop, giving you your privacy.

Rosie wiped a tear from under your eye. “I asked Mingi if he could drive the car back,” she refused to even utter Yeonjun’s name, “I don’t think you should drive like this.”

You nodded, “Ok.”

“Do you want to go back now?” She asked apprehensively.

You took a deep breath, “Yes.” You didn’t have any other words. The sadness inside you was fading into anger, and you didn’t want anyone here to see that part of you.

Yunho came back over. He held the camera out to you, “I figured you might want this back. Might make it easier to…confront him.”

Your lips formed a tight smile, “Thank you, Yunho.” You looked up at him, missing the flutter in your heart that his eyes had given you just several minutes earlier, “You’ve been a really big help. I’m sorry you did all it for some asshole who…” You couldn’t say it out loud yet.

He shook his head, “I didn’t do it for no dirty bastard like that. I did it for you, Doll. Because that’s only the smallest fraction of what you deserve.”

You could only muster out another small “thank you” before Rosie was leading you to her car. And you watched as he stood in the garage door and watched you both drive away.

The numbness was starting to wear off by the time Rosie pulled her car into the lot below your apartment. You could feel the anger seeping into your blood as she parked and turned off the car. A million explanations for why your partner of six long years would cheat on you playing through your mind like a broken film reel. 

He’d stopped being attracted to you when your long work hours stopped you from putting as much effort into your appearance as you used to. 

He’d only stayed with you so he’d have a place to sleep and food on the table. 

He was using you. 

He never really loved you.

You wished he’d never really loved you. 

Gently, she grabbed your shoulder to get your attention, “Do you want me to come up? I’ll wait outside the door if you’d like. Or do you want me to wait down here?” 

“Can you just wait here?” 

She nodded and gave your shoulder a light squeeze, “Ok. Call me if you need me. I’ll be right there.” You couldn’t even formulate a response before you slid out of her car. Mute with anger as you rode the rickety elevator up to your floor. Racking your brain over and over and over again for some sliver of a reason for how he could do this to you. After everything you’d done for him and everything he’d put you through. After everything you’d been through together. Memories of the days back in college when you’d spend long nights out together at bars and crash out on the couch in each others’ arms swirling together with the anger swelling in your chest. Making you sick with distress and confusion. 

Where did it all go wrong?

When you stepped through the door, the quiet air of the apartment felt so unfitting for your swarming thoughts. Of course, he was still asleep. 

But not a sliver of your existence cared when you threw the bedroom door open, letting it slam back against the wall. He didn’t stir. In fact, he didn’t even show a single sign of life until you kicked the bed with the toe of your boot.

When did everything you’d given him stop being enough?

He groaned and lifted his head to glare at you, “What the fuck?”

He had to have loved you at some point, right?

“Get up.”

Where did that end?

“Oh god, what did I do now?”

How did those two carefree lovers end up here?

“Get. Up.”

He sat up and reached into the nightstand for a shirt, “Will you save the nagging for one fucking second? I have a headache.” He pushed himself up from the bed with a huff, striding past you to get to the kitchen, “Is this about yesterday? I don’t want to talk about that right now. Not like you ever fucking listen to me anyway. All high and mighty think you’re better than me beca–” 

Every bone in his body froze when he saw the camera sitting on the kitchen counter. He snapped out of his daze, realizing a little too late that you’d followed him out of the bedroom, and had been staring at him from across the counter. Watching his whole body stiffen in place.

Guilty. 

“Who is she?”

“Who the hell are you talking about?” 

Liar.

He wouldn’t even look you in the eye. Gesturing vaguely at the dusty pink digicam. “What even is this?” 

“I am not in the mood to play stupid games with you. Who. Is. She?”

“Do I have to say it twice? I don’t fucking know.”

Did he think you were an idiot?

You slammed your hand down on the countertop, trying to stop yourself from screaming for the neighbor’s sake, “Will you fucking stop!? Turn around, look me in the eyes, and tell me you’re not fucking cheating on me!”

Maybe you were an idiot.

His shoulders slumped in defeat. “She’s just a groupie. Comes to our shows sometimes.” He turned to you, mood shifting to desperation, “It wasn’t anything serious, I swear. We never did more than kiss. She doesn’t mean anything, baby please.”

An idiot for buying into his apologies and excuses for so, so long.

You were thankful in that moment that you were still too numbed by shock to cry. A bitter laugh bubbling out of your throat instead, “A groupie? You don’t fucking have groupies, Yeonjun. And there is practically a sex tape on that camera. Don’t play dumb with me.”

“Shit, baby, come on. I’m sorry. It really didn’t mean anything. I was just drunk and stupid and got caught up in the moment.”

You were done. 

“Stop! Stop lying. Stop making up excuses! I don’t care! You cheated on me Yeonjun! That’s the fucking issue here!” You paused to take a deep breath, “I don’t care why. I don’t care what the circumstances were. I don’t care how bad you feel. I care that I’ve spent six years making sure you have a roof over your head and food on the table without you ever having to lift a finger, and instead of a ‘thank you, baby’ all I get is you fucking around with other girls.”

He grabbed your hand, and you let him bring it up to his lips and kiss your knuckles. Beyond numb to the feeling.

“We’ll work this out, baby. I swear. I’m so sorry. I’ll help out around the house! And I’ll start looking for a job I swear.” 

You nearly scoffed. 

“That’s great, Yeonjun,” and you saw him get excited at the prospect of winning this, “But you can do that somewhere else.”

Panic rose in his eyes, “Baby, no. Come on! We can work through this.” His hands started shaking as they held your own, “I can’t lose you.”

“I want you gone by tomorrow afternoon.”

“What?” He froze, “What the fuck? You’re kicking me out!? Where do you expect me to go?”

“Fuck if I care. You should’ve thought about that before you cheated on me. For fuck’s sake you should’ve thought about that before you decided to put your pathetic excuse for a band before me. Before us.”

Anger flashed across his face, and he dropped your hands as quickly as he’d held them. “You know what? Fine. You were never anything but a bitch anyway. You never supported me or my music. At least she knows talent when she sees it.” 

The sound you made was more than a little unnerving, laughter ringing through your small apartment. “Nice to know you already prefer her over me. Hope she’s got room for you on her couch tonight.”

He ignored you completely. And you watched as he threw on his shoes and stormed out of the apartment. Slamming the door behind him. You had no idea where he was going, but you didn’t care. It would only take you a couple of hours to pack up all his stuff, and maybe you could leave it at the curb so he’d never have to step foot in your home ever again.

But as his footsteps faded down the hallway, silence enveloped the small space. You could feel the anger collapsing in on itself.. The pain you’d been bottling up for the past couple of hours finally overflowing. And the man who you’d spent years of your life trying to “fix” couldn’t have cared less about anything you did for him. 

He couldn’t care less about you.

And as you sank to the floor of your kitchen, you felt the weight of all the time and energy you’d wasted on him. Of all the tears you’d shed and money you’d spent. All the love and youth you’d given. And you knew deep down it was as much your fault as it was his.

ok cowboy: @saintriots @ateezswonderland @fairyofhueningkai @acetyu @kyeomofhearts

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[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I have a question, I have a speech/language disorder called Cluttering and I wanted to give a character it as well, but I'm unsure how to go about implementing it in the actual writing. Would writing the dialogue as the character speaks be best, or is there another way that I can incorporate their disability that is easier for the reader to understand?

Hello,

As a general rule, it's best not not to spell things out as they would sound to make it easier for the reader to understand it. Here are a few ways you could tell the reader-

The narrating character describes something she says as rapid, maybe kind of excited, that she pauses on occasion, that her words may blend together as she seemed to rush, and other things like that.

You can also try typing what she's saying. Let her speak and try to avoid doing it phonetically if you can avoid it, but maybe point it out during her speech cues, such as "Take this as the sentence," her hurried speech slowed for just a moment, "Like, if she's talking and, y'know, she's pausing like happens when she talks but filling those little pauses without even really thinking about it."

Maybe someone will notice traits that are definitely something impacting her speech. Maybe they hear her slurring and think she's either on something or super tired, or they mistake her speech pattern for an accent (I've gotten Toronto quite a few times.) Maybe they assume she's nervous or excited. Maybe they catch what can be seen as a peculiar stutter and assume she just has a stutter.

If she trails off, write her speech "Doing something like, like slowing down..."

Here's a video about a woman who has cluttering patterns, and the channel it's posted on does have other examples. You can hear her pausing, filling, trailing off and trying to disguise that she's trailing off, and that she speaks rapidly, to the point she can be a bit hard to understand, but her speed also fluctuates. She also interrupts herself a lot, which could be her rephrasing or could just be a habit.

If you're the type of person who can more hear yourself cluttering when you're listening to a recording of yourself, maybe try recording a video of you talking about something and think of how you might describe it without typing phonetically. Maybe speak for a short amount of time and try to write out what you said using the tips above to get used to writing her speech like that.

You can also just say that she has a habit of cluttering speech along with all of this. Readers may need to look it up, but it works.

The key to typing speech quirks, whether it's accents, articulation disorders, expression disorders, or other things, is to tell rather than show. If you show a speech quirk, it becomes hard to read and understand. But if you tell the reader by giving them examples of what her speech sounds like, the message will get across easier, as will what she's actually saying.

Mod Aaron

[vintagestarlight]

Drunk

Pairing: Soap Mactavish x gf!reader

Summary: Soap goes out for a boy's night with Simon and has a little too much to drink

Word Count: 934

Warnings: none

A/N: took a little longer to get his one out but here ya go :) my requests are open for all characters I write for

Little shorter than I usually write them but I how you enjoy! I tried including more of his Scottish accent so I tried making it accurate! Beware of typos :)

You were snuggled up on the couch watching your favorite reality show with Finn, your and Johnny's border collie, curled up and dozing by your feet. Johnny had gotten back from leave almost a week ago and spent the first few days with you. Tonight though, he went out for a guy's night to the bar with Simon so it was just you and Finn until Johnny inevitably is driven home. Your Scot didn't drink often, but when he did he definitely goes all in.

Suddenly you heard a car door shut and heavy footfalls approach your front door. You got up when a knock sounded and you open it to find Simon standing on your front porch. Johnny was hanging off of Simon's arm and Simon was trying to support him as Johnny rambled on loudly. "He got shit-faced at the bar so I wanted to bring him home," Simon grunted. "I woulda called but I didn't want to bother you," he added. "No that's okay thank you Simon," you said, stepping out and grabbing Johnny.

You wrapped his arm around your shoulders and with a final thank you and goodbye to Simon, you shut the door behind you. "Why, aren't ya a pretty lass!" Johnny exclaimed. "Not as pretty as mine though," he continued, seeming to forget your relationship. "Oh yeah? Is she really that pretty?" You laughed, playing along with him while you steered him toward the bedroom. "Aye! I never saw anyone quite as pretty as her," he affirmed, his words slurring together.

When you got the bedroom you set him on the bed with a flop. You unlaced his shoes and pulled them off his feet and dropped on the floor of the closet. Johnny kept on talking but you couldn't understand much of what he was saying, his words slurring together too much. "It's too fuckin' hot in 'ere!" He complained and you turned around to see him peeling off his shirt. You picked out some clean sweatpants and a t shirt and set them on the bed. "Come on let's get the rest of these clothes off of you," you said, your hands reaching for his belt to help him change his pants. "Fuckin' hell woman what'd I tell ya!" He practically shouted, shoving your hands away and jumping to his feet; although he teetered slightly.

"Johnny!" You said, shocked; he had never raised his voice to you ever, even when he had a little too much too drink. "I already told ya! I'm taken!" He continued. "Johnny what are you talking about?" You asked, slightly bemused. "You oughta be ashamed of yerself trying to fool around with a claimed man," he huffed. Deciding it would be easier to just go along with it you gently pushed him back onto the bed to get him settled. "I've got the prettiest hen waiting for me back home lass," he said, his thick accent getting thicker as he mumbled. "And I'm going to marry her one day," his head fell back against the pillows and in no time at all Johnny was snoring.

Your hand stilled as you were pulling the covers over him and looked at your sleeping boyfriend. You quickly brushed the thought away and covered him with the sheets.

Soap woke up the next morning, groaning and covering his eyes to shield them from the sunlight filtering into the room. The room spun slightly as he sat up and his head throbbed. He couldn't remember much of last night after he and Simon left the bar. He looked over at your side of the bed and you weren't there; smells of eggs and sausages frying told him you were in the kitchen.

He flipped the sheets off of himself and saw on his nightstand were a couple of pain relievers and a small glass of water. You were a saint he thought as he took the pills and gulped down the water to battle the nasty hangover. The bright light hurt his eyes so he squinted as he stood up to change out the jeans he obviously slept in before brushing his teeth. He slowly made his way to the kitchen and saw you cooking breakfast.

"Good morning," you smirked, taking in his disheveled appearance. "How do you feel?" You asked. "Like shite," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around you from behind and nuzzling his face into your neck. "I didnae say anything daft did I?" He mumbled into your neck. "Hmmm....you did tell me you had a pretty girlfriend waiting for you when I tried to help you get changed," you mused. And you told me you were going to marry me. But you kept that to yourself.

"Sorry for being so drunk," he apologized, wondering what all you had to put up with. He started getting dizzy so he sat himself at the kitchen table watching you. "Don't worry about it," you planted a kiss on his cheek. "Maybe this will make you feel better," you smiled, and placed a full Scottish breakfast(minus the mushrooms because he didn't like them) in front of him. "Ya really spoil me Bonnie," he said before digging in. You ate with him and couldn't help but let your mind wander to what he had said the previous night. And I'm going to marry her one day. That's what he had said and you wanted to marry Johnny more than anything but he just said that because he was drunk. Right? What you didn't know was that hidden in Johnny's nightstand was an engagement ring that he bought the first day he met you.

[honkytonkdyke]

hi i’ve just learned that will graham is a southerner from louisiana this is not a fucking drill. okay i think it makes sense that he went to new orleans. but i think because it says he moves there he probably wasn’t from anywhere with a lot of cajun influence so probably northern or central louisana closer to mississippi or maybe east texas but i think since he grew up poor the first makes more sense. i think it’s easier to lose an accent that isn’t cajun and i think it makes sense with the way he annunciates we really don’t see him slurring his words in the show and i think that’s because he probably had a really thick accent and is trying to cover it up. he annunciates his words very clearly and purposely and i’m going insane i need write a fic

[sardonic-the-writer]

—tangy

SUMMARY | this was supposed to be a simple, relaxing mission. all of that had been thrown out the train window as soon as you saw idiot one and idiot two

PAIRING | tangerine x reader

REQUESTED | no

WARNINGS | spoilers for bullet train, hit men, mentions of murder, guns, ect

WORD COUNT | 1.7k+

AUTHORS NOTE | fell in love with tangerine while watching bullet train. what more is there to it

🍊 MASTERLIST 🍊 NAVIGATION 🍊 RULES 🍊

Confined spaces certainly makes the job easier for you.

You were able to observe everyone simultaneously. Being everywhere all at once. Sitting idily in a corner inconspicuously, sipping on a drink while pretending to read a newspaper. All the while watching as people fidgit with their fingers and mingle amongst nearby passengers. Keeping tabs on who leaves and who enters and how many times they do it.

In fact that's all you had been planning on doing for the next twenty four hours. Enjoying the ambiance of the lovely modern train as you waited for your mark. Probably opting on getting up to lure the target into a bathroom stall, slitting their throat once the lock had been clicked. An easy job by definition, especially for you. Practically a vacation handed to you on a silver platter.

That's why you almost choked on your fizzy drink when they walked in.

You'd never forgot a face. Not once. That's part of the reason you made for such a good hit man. Show you someone's high school picture once, and you'd be able to pick them out in a crowd forty years after it had been taken. And when I say pick them out, I mean with a gun. Preferably from a rooftop. Probably from a rooftop.

So you recognized the leather jacket and blue suit almost immediately. After all how could you forget. Your annoyance for them had been all but solidified in concrete the moment the loud one had shot your leg in Russia, his twin just watching. That cast was a bitch to lug around for half a year, and everytime it thumped against the staricase in your house you cursed the both of them.

Suppressing a groan, your eyes cautiously watched from behind the pages of a comically large larg magazine as Lemon and Tangerine walked down the isle of the train compartment together, facing each other while bickering quite loudly. Or at least doing what you assumed was to be bickering. Knowing them, they probably just used that many curse words in a casual conversation anyway.

"I've told you a thousan' times, bruv." You listed to Lemon slur his words with that thick accent of his, practically spitting fire at his twin. "It's Thomas The Tank Engine. Not Thomas the Train. Get that in ya thick skull."

"Oh well, ex-fucking-scuze me. I didn' know I'd be gettin schooled on a fuckin kids show today, twat." Tangerines eyeroll was all but audible in response. He ignored as fellow passengers swapped offended looks with each other at their language. You'd imagine he'd be flipping them off if he wasn't so busy basically biting his brothers head off.

They were nearly past your booth now and out of the train car, your fingers tightening around the reading material in front of you in anticipation. For a moment you thanked whoever had given the both of them such long legs and speedy strides, happy as long as they were out of sight. Didn't matter that they would still be on the train. As long as they didn't see you, all was well.

So of course they would choose that moment to stop right in front of your fucking seat. The urge to stand up and kick them both in their asses was only increasing. Not that it wasn't already high up there in the first place.

"I don't give a bloody damn when ya smart ass people half the time you bastard. Here me complanin? Nope." Lemon popped the p at the last word, pointing a finger at his companions chest. "But no one, and I mean no one ya cheeky fuck, bad mouths Thomas in front of me."

"Right. And what you gonna do about it, fruit boy. Stick a diesel sticker on me when I ain't lookin?"

"I just might. An don't call me fruit boy. You're the one who came up with those names in the first place 'member?"

Your muscled tensed up in preparation when Tangerine suddenly whipped around to you, dragging Lemons attention along with him. The cool metal of your gun brushed against your fingertips as you slowly reached under the trains table for where it was hidden. Maybe this time you'd have an excuse to shoot them in the legs. Send them a hallmark card in the hospital afterwards. Something cheep and tacky. You were petty like that.

"Hey, mate, mind reminding my buddy here tha' grown ass adults don't watch the cartoon channel and he's due for a visit to the loony bin?"

You just glared at him and his stupid fucking 90's porn stache, frown deepening as you watched recognization well up in his eyes.

"Hang on." Your hand twitched with the urge to rip his tounge out of his mouth as it ran across his bottom lip. "I know you—"

"Oh for fucks sake."

You hopped up, abandoning your cozy little corner in turn for dragging him by the lapel of his now wrinkled suit into the connecting cabin of the train cars. You imagined that if they hadn't been so surprised by an innocent looking samaritan dragging their asses along, you would be sporting two new holes in the side of your head.

"One job! I had one job and the two of you had to muck it all up!" Words hissed out of your mouth like steam from a gas can as you dropped your grip on Tangerine and turned away from him, revealing your own gun nonchalantly. They were both quick to draw their own, stances stiff and confused in contrast to your loose but annoyed one.

"Ay I recognize you now." Lemon looked over at Tangerine, gesturing his gun to you loosely. "Russia. A broken leg. James the train, 'member?"

"Would you stop it with the Thomas the train shit for one fffuckin moment?" He hissed back. "Yeah I remember 'em. But that dosent explain what the hell their doin on this train now does it?"

"Nothing that concerns you." You saved them the trouble of yet another fighting match. "And wait, James the train?"

"Yeah." Lemons eyes brightened slightly while looking at you. As if happy someone was asking him about his interest in the train show without attempting to shit on it. "A James. Impatient but gets shit done. Kinda determined too."

You blinked.

"Okay now I like him." You turned your gun over to Tangerine completely now, the man's eyes widening as he sputtered slightly.

"What?!"

You shrugged with an unbothered and downward turn of your lips. "He complimented me. Plus he wasn't the one who shot me in the leg."

"Come-fucken-on that was not a fucken compliment!!"

"I dunno bruv." Lemon shrugged, mirroring your earlier action. "It kinda was."

"Yeah, alright I definitely like you now."

"Oh come off it you bitch! Help me out here or I'll fuckin kill you before they shoot me!" Tangerine spat. You listened as Lemon snickered.

"Hey. I'm good at readin people wha' can I say. And they certainly aren't lookin to shoot any of us right now. That's not a very Jamss thing of them ta do." You sent Lemon a kind thank you—to which he returned it with a your welcome. Tangerine was left alone to seethe in anger.

"Stop that before you blow a gasket." You made a face, referring to the way Tangerines jaw clenched as if he were attempting to chew glass. "Your brother here, Lemon, is right. I don't really feel like carrying your lifeless body across this train right now. I just want to get my damn job done and then go see a cherry tree grove or something."

He grumbled whilst Lemon preened at your recognization of his correct assumption.

"Besides. I'd hate to shoot you in the face and ruin your best asset. Would really ruin my day more than it already has been." A loose sigh made it past your lips. "Fucking up shit is more your style anyways."

You could tell Tangerine was struggling with being of the receiving end of such a blatant compliment and insult on the same time—practically picking through his brain for a measurable response. Either way he was about to run his mouth, and you'd wasted enough time on the job already.

"If I see either of you pass by through my train car again, it better just be that: passing through. Anything else and I am not afraid to end up leaving a few people with ringing ears. Capishe?" The gun in your hands was nodded at strictly, the not so hidden threat being left out in the open for all to interpret.

"Loud and clear mate." Lemon grinned.

"Good. Now scram."

"Hold on love—"

"Call me love again, and I rip that mustache off and shove it straight up that ass of yours. Now ta-ra, or whatever pricks like you say." You were already leaving, so sadly you didn't get to see the look on Tangerines face as you walked off, really just wanting to finish that drink you'd left behind now. Although you wouldn't complain if you were to find something a bit stronger than soda. Especially after that.

The twins waited until you were out of the connecting room before either of them went to speak.

"You know." Lemon clamped a hand down on Tangerines arm with a toothy grin. "If I didn' know any better bruv, I would say tha' you have a thing for them. Not everyday you get a compliment on your ugly mug."

"Must have hit your head boarding. And get ya fucken greasy bitch ass hand off me." He snarled, swatting his brothers hand off his shoulder. "They just threatened to kill me for fucks sake. And I them!"

"I dunno. They seemed like they're a little partial to oranges themself."

"It's tangerines idiot! Tangerines!"

"Whatever. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

[sippywippy]

my friends comments on tf2 characters just by appearance

ft. ssome slurs we can say and ummm not kind nor important nor helpful language ^_^

scout

meowmeow : minecraft youtuber, british, ugly looks like my old stepdad, no facial hair makes him uglier, only faggots shave

woof : replied with chat gpt telling me to leave her alone

soldier

meowmeow : he looks like a strawberry dipped in chocolate

pyro

meowmeow : FUCK ME -> why are his pants so low hes like those black people

woof : i genuinely think he looks like a hey mamas lesbian

demo

meowmeow : his gun looks like a dildo

woof : "its easier to fake a smile than to explain why youre sad" ahh sticky note😭 🙏 🙏 🙏 🙏

engineer

meowmeow : Dude all these characters look like theyd have big dicks i wanna ride them & why are his feet so long

woof : defending scaramouche with her life in another channel

heavy

meowmeow : word girl sandwich man (chuck), why does he have a syringe on his gun

woof : he looks likw he gets men pregnant idk

medic

meowmeow : why does he look like a flayed rabbit in this picture

woof : nothing

spy

meowmeow : he looks like a monkey HE LOOKS LIKE HED HAVE A NEW YORK ACCENT

woof : isnt francw like anti muslim why is he wearijng a mask he clearly has one of those like hostage porn kinks

sniper

meowmeow : he looks like the guy that shot himself

woof : too racist for tumblr

miss pauling

meowmeow : shes like those 3d animations with the cum all ovwr the walls and everything

woof : SHE LOOKS LIKE LILY FROM LILYS GARDEN

EXTRAS

saxton hale

meowmeow : he looks like some guy from a farming mobile app i think

woof : is that the guy u have on mudae (i dont sadly)

burly beast medic

meowmeow : 🤤 licks

woof :

ok thanks

[olath124]

✨️TELL ME ABOUT YOUR OCS✨️

Random shot from my... At this point scary big stash of shots. And brace yourself... It's long.

♡Name: Violet Wright.

♡Nicknames: V, just V.

♡Age: 32

♡Pronouns: She, her.

♡Sexuality: Pansexual. Doesn't care about the gender, has to feel the ✨️vibe✨️.

♡Hair Color and style:

Her natural hair color is dark brown, but she always dyes them in turquoise with pink accents. She varies a lot with her hairstyle. Usually, she keeps her hair long but mostly tied up in buns. Only when she feels really comfortable she keeps her hair down. Since she’s with Kurt she wears her hair more and more often down, preferring softer and more feminine hairstyles. After the surgery, she’ll cut her hair short and return to her natural color, but she’ll grow it back and will go back to her turquoise and pink color. 

♡Eye Color:

Her natural color is green, she tries to keep her Kiroshi as close as possible to her real color.

♡Height: 165 cm (5’5”)! Short queen! But well, Hansen canonically is 5’9”, so he can suck it!

♡Body Type: She’s athletic. She’s used to running around a lot.

♡Personality:

Violet would say normal. She’s a bit skittish with relationships, a bit insecure, very irrational and volatile.

Really affectionate, needy and whiny with those she really cares about.

♡Tattoos:

A tattoo Misty designed for her with a mandala on her neck. (I want to redraw it and make it more like a big peony, tough, we’ll see! Yes, Violet is a big WIP)

♡Piercings: Many on her ears, nothing else.

♡Any definable features such as: Birthmarks, Scars, Freckles, Beauty Marks, Accent when they talk, Lisp, Natural slurring of words, Walk with a subtle limp, ect.

She has a bunch of birthmarks on her face (not really freckles) and many different scars around her body. On her right leg now she has a scar in a shape of “K” that the two dumb-dumbs keep refreshing now and then.

♡Hobbies

Does killing Maelstrom and Scavs count as a hobby? If not, she likes to cook (with poor results because she can’t really follow instructions and tends to improvise). Only, and I mean it, only when she’s alone (or well, with Johnny at most) she sings. She’s actually not bad at it!

♡Gang/Occupation {Mox, Max Tac, etc}

None. She’s a free merc. 

Who are we kidding? At the end she’s with Barghest. Or at least under their protection.

♡Do they smoke?

She started to smoke with Johnny. Now she smokes with Kurt. Not really a habit, she smokes only if she’s stressed out or if the person she’s talking to is smoking.

♡Do they drink? Is so, what's their poison of choice?

As with smoking, she’s a social drinker. Doesn’t drink alone, but loves to drink in company. She rarely gets drunk, though. Doesn’t really like to lose control, only to get tipsy to make social interactions easier!

♡What do they usually wear on a normal day?

Synth-leather pants, a t-shirt or a top, a synth-leather jacket, sneakers, or boots. She loves black and blue stuff.

♡What do they wear when they "Get dressed up"? And what would be considered a "special occasion" to them {such as an "Oh they're gonna be there so I have to look my best." Or an "It's our anniversary".}

A special occasion is when Kurt asks her to get dressed up. She doesn’t care about dresses too much, but she likes it when he buys her dresses and asks her to wear them. Her favorite one is a short blue velvet dress, with a deep cleavage and exposed back with little dainty silver chains that cover the cleavage.  Maybe because it’s his first gift to her.

♡What do they smell like? {For example: they smell like cinnamon flavored liquor, cigarettes, leather, and motor oil.}

Blood, sweet and jasmine. After she got her shit together mostly simply jasmine.

♡How do they walk? Do they sway their hips? Do they walk with a sense of determination? Do they bounce as they walk? Etc.

When she doesn’t think of it she walks almost as if she’s hiding. Always keeping her surroundings under control, finding possible hiding spots or advantage points. When she’s in a good place or feels protected she’s straighter and more confident in her stride.

♡Are they more of an early bird or a night owl?

An always exhausted pigeon. She doesn’t have fixed hours and sleeps whenever she can. Used to sleep in the morning but with Kurt she got used to waking up (at least briefly) at 6 to have breakfast together and a morning talk.

♡If you had to use one word to define them, what word would you use?

Impulsive.

♡What words or catchphrases do they say that's unique to that character?

For everyone probably some kind of swear: “Fuck!” Or “Fuck It!”

For Kurt… they have a ritualistic phrase she uses when she needs him to be rough with her and it's: “I want you. I need you. I'll always be yours” (the final part may vary). So it's her phrase in his eyes.

♡Favorite Season

Winter.

♡Favorite type of weather {Thunderstorms, sunny, etc}

She likes those cold winter sunny mornings. She’d love to see the snow, but not a thing she’s gonna see in NC.

♡Do they have someone they're with relationship-wise? If so, who?

Yeah. Where she’s at in (my yet unpublished) writing she’s officially with Hansen. In the published part they are together only in his head XD.

♡Main Ship/Pairings

Kvio. So yeah, Kurt/Violet.

♡Side Pairings

Do I have to count them??? Between official characters only, Vio has been with: Jackie, Judy, River. Not Panam because she’s not interested (but damn, Vio tried hard!). There’s also the weird thing she has with Johnny. If she never met Hansen they would have probably end up together.

♡Favorite/Self-indulgent Pairings

The favorite remains Kvio… The self-indulgent is an Aon/Vio/Alt sandwich XD! 

♡How do they show affection to their loved one?

TOUCH. She don’t generally like to touch people… But with people she likes she’s very touchy. Not in an extreme way, but if she’s close to a person she loves she’s probably touching their arm, or slipping her hand under their or laying her head on their shoulder. She is really affectionate and really needs a lot of physical contact.

♡How do they sit in a chair?

Normally? But usually quite comfortably, legs slightly open or a leg over the other. Definitely not feminine or elegant

♡How do they sit in a chair {uncomfortable version}

Legs closed, straight back, probably fidgeting with her hands.

♡What do they wear to bed?

T-shirt and underwear. But she’s been gifted a blue silk nightgown and she likes it too. She still thinks it’s too fancy for sleeping in it, though.

♡How do they usually sleep? {Side sleeper, back, fetal position, backwards, nest sleeper, blanket mountain, etc}

She starts in fetal position, or all cuddly, she ends sleeping on her back, sometimes she throws her arms and legs around.

♡How do they sleep in a place they don't know? {Can't due to anxiety, in small bursts of sleep that are short lived, holding themselves, etc}

If she's in a “safe space” the same as usual. If it’s not so safe she wakes up now and then checking her surroundings. She also is very receptive to any possible sound.

♡Do they have to have a form of "white noise" in order to sleep? {The sound of a fan, the sound of rain, the sound of a city, etc}

No, but she appreciates the sound of the waterfall behind Kurt’s bed a lot.

♡What's a place they go to feel comfortable, that's their "spot" they always go when they're upset?

El Coyote Cojo, Misty’s shop, or Viktor’s clinic. Like a stray cat who makes a tour of her favorite places for food and cuddles.

♡What do they do when they're nervous? {Fidget with jewelry, pick at nails, bite nails/lips, play with knife/zippo lighter, etc}

If she needs to fake it, she focuses on something repetitive. Like the tap of her finger on something. If not she usually avoids other people's eyes and tries to make herself invisible, she tends to do things with her hands but it's more uncontrollable.

♡What is their "tell" for lying?

She tends not to watch people in the eyes when she’s lying about something personal. If it’s professional stuff, though it’s quite harder to tell.

♡What is their favorite color?

Turquoise and blue.

♡Favorite flower/plant

Peonies.

♡Favorite sweet of choice

She's not really a sweet person. But well, who doesn't like chocolate?

♡Do they have any pets? If so, tell me about them

She had Nibbles, but with her erratic schedules she preferred to leave him with Misty.

*Takes a deep, sad breath* Violet Norris is technically her pet. And well, Shark Norris, too. If Kurt really has a “Proudest Shark Daddy” shirt, she has a “Proudest Shark Mommy'' shirt. Just to freak her out. That shirt is always in the laundry basket anyway. And if she wears it she becomes extra clumsy and spills something on it.

But of course, she's not allowed to tinker with the aquarium or to feed them without supervision. Not that she would anyway.

♡What are their triggers {If they have any}? If so, what calms them down?

The only real trigger for her is the feeling of abandonment or the fear of losing people she cares about. Only realizing that she’s not being left alone, preferably with physical contact calms her down.

♡If they could visit anywhere in the world, where would they go and why?

She… doesn’t know! She has seen very little outside of Night City and Atlanta, so the world… It feels so overwhelming. 

♡What is their favorite comfort meal?

Mama Welles’s food. Doesn’t really matter what!

♡Do they have a food they hate?

Food is food, she could eat everything. But well, she doesn’t love industrial-made food, but that’s what she eats the most anyway.

♡What is their favorite {non-alcoholic} drink?

She likes Tiancha Pomegranate.

♡What are their plans for the future {if they have any}?

She doesn’t make plans for the future. But if she could she would keep everything as it is. Living in the Black Sapphire with Kurt, doing gigs without being completely swallowed by them.

♡What's a song that "fits" them?

There’s a whole playlist…

But if I had to choose one this is her song.

♡Give me 5 facts/random bits of information about them

She once cooked a cake that tasted like fish. She still doesn't know what went wrong that time. Poor Jackie, it was for his birthday.

Still has a shark plushie and a T-shirt Kurt gave her when she was 3 years old. She couldn't sleep without both when she was a kid.

Violet secretly likes both Shark and Violet Norris a lot. Mostly because they bring out a silly/boomer side in their owner she didn't know before.

Violet can't dance. For real. She simply wiggles her arms around without any coordination.

She knitted a sweater for Nibbles. Never finished it though.

♡Give me their backstory {can be long, or brief.}

Born in 6th Street’s turf. Her father killed her mother, but she doesn't remember most of it. It was gruesome, though, so that even a 15-year-old Kurt was shaken by it at the time. He killed her father and she was under his protection for a few years until he joined the army. In one day she lost both her best friend and her mother because he used to lie about her death.

Since then she hated living there but didn't know what else to do until she ran into Valentino's turf at 13.

She was lucky enough to meet Jackie and become friends with him. He introduced her to his mom and friends. The first time she felt loved like in a family. They eventually got together from 15 to 18. But she didn't love his affiliation with Valentinos and to avoid being sucked into another gang she broke up with him and moved to Atlanta. She moved back after 5 years. Jackie was no longer with Valentinos and they started to work on gigs together as friends. They never got back together, though, in truth they really weren't right for each other.

That's until the Heist and everything else (which happens a lot of years later).

She met Kurt again, but they didn't recognize each other and hooked up. After they found out who the other was, everything seemed terribly (and a bit freakily) right and perfect. (The truth is that if they did know beforehand they would have lost every inch of sexual tension between them xD)

Now they're mostly together. With ups and downs because communication is hard for both of them.

♡Free Space! Give me any sort of extra information about them you'd like to share

Really, I think I've exhausted everything xD

~

Template from @vincentmatthews, template here. Have fun !

Can I tag people??? Of course I'll tag people!

Obviously with no pressure.

@ouroboros-hideout @blackrevell @cybervesna @cyberholic77 @streetkid-named-desire

@astellehope @dustymagpie @sofia-in-nc @theviridianbunny

And everyone who wants to!

[goodluckclove]

Migration Patterns - Bug Oath

Our setting: a shitty motel in I think Washington? At like past midnight.

Characters:

Katy Delaney, a non-magic user, soft butch girl failure, perpetual big sister

Jeff Delaney, Katy's transmasc youngest brother, previously estranged, a fireman in Nebraska. Non-magic user.

Fern, a deaf birthright (genetic witch) and former Navy Seal.

****

The whole blood brothers thing must’ve been from one of the chapter books her brothers were so fixated on. Something borderline offensive to indigenous cultures, and yet also detailed enough for two stupid East Coast tweens to decide it was a good idea to cut their palms and press the wounds together. They waited until the first time Katy was assigned to babysit, which ended up making it a super fun night for her.

She should’ve taken them to the hospital. Or, at the very least, she should’ve told her parents. Katy didn’t do any of that. Maybe if one of them started convulsing or foaming at the mouth, sure – but for the most part they just looked smug. Katy handed them each a Bandaid and quietly shared the rest of the ice cream with her sister at the time, thanking her for having a shred of intelligence in her little blonde head.

But that was something Jeff wanted, even that early on in life? He wanted to mush cuts with his brothers in a blood oath like vikings in a historically-inaccurate choose-your-own adventure book?

Jeff rolled on his side to face Fern and idly scratched at his stomach. “A blood oath is a thing mighty warriors do to...to pledge loyalty and alliance and stuff. It’s not magic, but…” his flushed face turned wistful. “There’s – like – a cosmic, universal masculinity to it. Someone else’s blood in your veins – another life in your life, no womb required. For people to choose that – together. I always thought it was powerful.”

Katy’s blood was probably fine. At this point it was primarily vodka rather than plasma, but didn’t people say that that alcohol is a disinfectant.

No, she was only thinking this because she was drunk.

Or this was the best possible time to do a ritual like that?

No. Fuck, I’m so drunk.

Fern tapped Jeff’s arm to get his attention, then pointed at themselves. Jeff blinked, then scoffed. “Oh yeah!” He said. “You could be a blood brother. Absolutely. You don’t need to be a man to value masculine ideals. It’s – it’s like clouds. It’s just up there.”

This made no sense to Katy, yet all the sense in the world to Fern, who nodded very seriously. And after that there was no room for thinking, as Fern suddenly touched Katy’s knee and filled her head with a barrage of drunken, broken words.

We do it wedo it wedoit we doITWEdoitWEDOIT –

Katy scrambled away from the touch, startling Wilford. She stupidly swiped her hands across her face as if doing so would allow her to physically wipe the words from the inside of her brain.

“Ah,” she slurred. “Fuck. Jesus. Fucking – ah.”

“Sorry,” Fern spoke in what they previously described to Katy as a deaf accent.

“No, it’s…” Katy idly mussed her hair, groaning softly. “God, my head feels like it’s filled with moths.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and staggered up to her feet. Muttering to herself all the while, Katy went to her purse and pawed through the clutter inside.

Edgar always made comments about how messy her purse was. It had about a dozen different pockets and compartments, each and every one of them occupied by receipts and wrappers. If Katy cleaned out the literal garbage she’d be able to find what she needed so much easier. She wouldn’t hold up the lines at coffee shops while she rifled for her wallet or a handful of loose bills. In a time like this, she’d be able to find her –

“There it is,” she muttered.

Jeff chuckled from back at the bed. “What is it?”

When Katy went out drinking with her friends from the Den, she liked to drink her beers two at a time, using the lip of one bottle to pop open the cap of the other. It was a fun party trick in her eyes, but when Edgar went joined the group for the first time he approached her during their next shift together and shyly offered that she take their Swiss army knife.

It – It isn’t one of the really nice ones, they explained. But it has a bottle opener and a corkscrew. It even has scissors, which I think is neat.

It was a real, official Swiss army knife, not one of the cheaper knockoffs that would do the exact same thing. By the time she looked up the model and realized that he’d given her a seventy-dollar tool for free because he mistook her party trick as an act of necessity, a year or so had passed and he refused to take it back.

Katy slid open the blade – not the largest one that was reserved for cutting slices off of apples when she wanted to feel cooler, but the smaller one that she considered pointless for most situations. For this, however, it would be perfect.

She turned around and held up the knife, blade pointed up. Jeff and Fern stared at her in silent incomprehension. It took a little longer for the dots to connect through the sticky, saccharine murk of vodka and rum. Fern caught on quicker than Jeff and let out a single, satisfied laugh.

“What is it?” Jeff looked at Fern, and then at Katy, and gradually started to realize what was happening. “Oh. Oh?”

Silent in her growing pride, Katy just walked to the dingy bathroom and switched on the light.

“Oh,” she heard Jeff say. “Oh shit.”

It was a tight fit to get the three of them in the same tiny bathroom. Fern sat on the lid of the toilet, while Katy knelt awkwardly in the tub and Jeff sat on the tile floor between them. He had his knees pulled up to his chest and grinned with a hint of sleepy vacancy.

“Are we really doing this?” He whispered.

No. Yes. Oh god, my head.

“I’m not cutting my palms,” Katy said. “My palms are my moneymaker.”

“Your palms are your –?”

Fern held up their hand and enthusiastically pointed at their thumb.

“Huh?” Jeff’s eyes brightened. “Yeah! Yeah, thumbs will work.”

“Wish I had a wet wipe,” Katy murmured.

The three of them huddled together and stared down at the dull blade. The lights above them buzzed like an ancient, wise insect, and the heating vent on the floor near the door hissed softly.

Jeff held the orb in their hand and gave it a shake. “I have a little Forbidden Apple left. I could pour that over the blade because, um, it’s alcohol. For disinfectant.”

That didn’t sound right. Was that right? Katy closed her eyes tight and tried to manifest Edgar’s presence, just so she could tap into their judgment while hers was thoroughly blacked out.

In the back of her head she knew they’d be yelling at her if they were here. But what would they be saying? There was no way to tell. Which meant this was probably, maybe, potentially fine.

She made some space in the tub so Jeff could empty the rest of his cocktail over the knife. Katy twisted the blade to make sure it was fully covered, which felt good and also Incorrect. But then she looked at Fern, seeking something, and saw them nod solemnly. The way you might when listening to really good jazz. And that felt – not right, maybe. But it felt like something.

“Okay,” Katy said. “So I guess I’ll just…”

The metal of the blade was cold against her thumb. Was this a good idea?

She thought of her brother’s face, wistful and longing.

Katy thought of Leanne, so young and yet already so burdened by the world.

With a small degree of pressure the tip of the blade punctured Katy’s thumb, sending a rippling shock of pain down arm. Her mouth swelled with saliva and tears sprung to her eyes. She deepened the cut just enough, sighed, and passed the knife to Fern.

She didn’t look at Fern and Jeff while they cut their thumbs. Instead Katy just stared down at her hand as the blood seeped from her thumb and down her wrist and forearm. It was warm. Thicker than expected.

This is what Katy’s blood looked like.

“You guys ready?” Jeff spoke, his voice hush with drunk excitement.

The three exchanged glances that were simultaneously woozy and ripe with anticipation. Each of them were bleeding from the thumb, twisting lines of deep red that resembled roots seeping from their bodies. Katy’s head buzzed. She cringed a little bit, imagining what it would feel like when the three of them pressed their cuts together.

They did. It was not good. It was warm and wet, solid and yet far too giving, like accidentally touching a glob of fat in the grease trap. Usually Katy would try and stifle her disgust, but she was on the wrong end of the bell curve when it comes to alcohol consumption and had no restraint in her at the moment.

Fern made a noise of disgust. Jeff snickered quietly.

“You like this?” Katy asked him.

“No,” Jeff laughed. “No, no. This sucks.”

They fell silent, bloody thumbs mushed together. The whole point of this, from what Katy’s brothers explained to her, was that they now had each other’s blood flowing through their veins. Was that something that would happen on its own? Katy wiggled her cut thumb against Fern and Jeff’s provoking startled gasp-groans out of both of them.

“I don’t know!” Katy laughed nervously. “I don’t know what to do now.”

Jeff sucked in some air and whispered low. “We must take the Bug Oath.”

Katy opened her mouth and had to fight to get out the words. “The Bug Oath?”

“It’s from the book! Repeat after me,” Jeff cleared his throat and spoke with his voice at its most booming and masculine. “We are men.”

Fern and Katy locked eyes. They both turned to Jeff.

“It’s metaphorical,” he explained.

That was about the most reason they’d get at a time like this. So Katy repeated the words. She didn’t think Fern would join in, being that they never had a taste for speaking out loud. It surprised her, then, when she heard her guard echoing Jeff’s words a few octaves louder over her own voice.

Jeff beamed. “We carry the beetles and shield the ants from the sun.”

Katy and Fern repeated his words.

“Sister slug and brother butterfly.”

What the fuck was this book about? Katy wondered.

“They flow through us as my blood now flows through yours.”

She scanned Fern’s face for signs of equal confusion and found none.

“Forever and ever,” Jeff said. “Until bugs are all that remain. So let it be.”

He took a deep breath. Katy mimicked the action without really realizing that was what she was doing. Then they all lowered their hands, and apparently that was it.

Each of them took a turn at the sink to wash their hands. Katy spent the longest there – not even scrubbing as much as just letting the tap water run through her fingers. Thinking of Brother Butterfly and Sister Slug.

Her reflection cringed. How many blood borne diseases were there in the world? Would she know if she had one? What about if Fern or Jeff did?

She turned off the tap and headed back into the main room. Jeff had a large first aid kit pulled out from the truck, and was just finishing bandaging Fern’s thumb. He touched and turned their hand with the most care possible. Katy watched from the doorway and thought about his particular hue of masculinity. It brought to mind one of those vast fields they drove through, something that looked innocuous from the surface but was actually teeming with life. It would be a wheat field, or at least a sea of grass dry enough to burst into flames if it got hot enough.

“Sit down, Kitty,” Jeff gently commanded.

How many cuts and scrapes did Katy patch up for her baby sibling? She used to weep at the impact of any injury, and would only be placated by a unicorn bandage and a barrage of kisses on the top of the head. Jeff, on the other hand, had no problem navigating her cut and making sure it was properly tended to. It was such a stark contrast from her foggy memories that she assumed he no longer had a grasp on that part of his life.

With her cut patched up, Jeff pressed his hand against the back of Katy’s head, bent over, and kissed Katy’s forehead once, twice, three, and then fourth time. The exaggerated mwah of each smooch was achingly familiar to her. In a buzzy, drippy, buggy state, Katy found herself sniffling.

“Ah, Kitty,” Jeff cooed.

Katy wiped at her eyes. “Y-You’re a good guy, Jeff,” she managed.

Jeff grinned easily. He seemed calm, but the hand in Katy’s hair trembled slightly.

“I know,” he said.

The three of them ended up sleeping in the same bed that night.

---

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fuck it, guess we both aint' shit

a/n: sorry this fic took so long y'all i am so slow when i write. for context, i solely write before i go to bed and pass out with my phone attached to my head this was a request a while back when i was still active in bg3 circles lol so its been going for MONTHS at this point. i dunno how folks crank this shit out that's like a super power. anyways im playing skyrim now!!!!! im working on two fics, one skyrim and the other f:nv, because i love love loveeeee beatrix russell and also want my ttrpg character to have several enjoyable moments in her sad life. stay tuned! it may be a while for those to come out, so i appreciate y'all being patient. coops accent in this story is based on my own, im from the Appalachian region of virgina!! just to note we tend not to say the first letter of words. at least that was my accent and my experience each southern person will be different :)) please enjoy and let me know if you have any ideas, i'm always grateful for those.

ps. sorry for the long a/n lmao

(my doc says this is 19 pages!! my longest to date lmaooooo.)

general notes: named insert (fo1 character!!), doc is brown :))), i tried to stay pretty neutral with gendered language but doc has a pussy and boobs (sorry for being vulgar. it helps to specify their parts so you know what you're getting into) as always its a smut, and ooc cooper, i'm getting my feel for him, drugged sex, cannibalisim as a metaphor, barely disguised breeding fetish, restraints and rope play.

During the warmest months of a farming season you often asked yourself, why. 

Why did you decide to choose NCR sharecropping in the first place, and what made you so god damn lucky to leave Nevada alive. 

You had started off a trek from the high walled dunes of the new republic’s deserts for a more opportunistic place in Colorado. High walled mountains kept off raiders, but kept in heat and snow. So you worked tirelessly on the outskirts of a small settlement, modeled after a historic town out of a western film. 

Recently you received Brahmin from a trade deal which made planting significantly easier to do.

Brahmin dung was also good for another thing as well. 

Jet. 

Your tidy lab always stunk of fertilizer and smoked out herbs, this was a small production thing so the allowance to vary was there. You sun-dried the patties first, stacking the briquettes between bushels of dry and wild herbs, this would be burnt out and condensed into pressurized containers, if not mixed with a bit of water for easier spray abilities. 

This is where your actual money came from; compared to that farming was a hobby. You had a regular client coming in for a shipment. This one-a favorite of yours for a bit. Perhaps not for his “aesthetic appeal” though his sallow and gaunt skin holds echoes of the handsome man he was previously. 

No.. 

You liked his voice (though faux it was), and his bright teeth(stained with a yellow, making them seem more manilla if anything), the way his hat held over his brow (you could never see his eyes), the perch of his thumbs tucked into his belt (an odd position at that.), and the corners of his smile lines. With each step you took towards him, the professional in you took five steps back. You had half a shock at one point to care for him when he randomly appeared piss drunk at your step. The way he curled into you as his speech slurred, or the odd way he made himself comfortable on the couch. 

He told you you smelt nice that day. You sent him along with a packet of sober up pills and hangover meds.

You pressed down on the seed bed with a glove tugging at the carrot rooted in the Rocky soil. 

“Sonofabitch!” You cussed out as you tugged. You took a couple more stabs at the dirt again, loosening the ground around it. 

Your breathed in the deep blue sky surrounded by miles of mountains, the plains you resided in like the bottom of a welded goblet. 

You wiped the sweat off your brow, the chunky glove absorbing most of it. You tugged up the loosened carrot and tossed it into a small bin filled with produce. You stood up brushing off your overalls of excess soil. 

You carried the bin off, jumped by a hoarse whistle from the pasture. 

“There you are sweetheart!” He held a hand over his head, in greeting. 

“Hey you!” the ghoul gave you no name, so you referred to him in vague suggestions.

 “You certainly arrived early! What's the occasion? Could you help me with one of the baskets, Hun’?” 

He trotted over, the click and jingle of his spurs followed behind him. He hoisted one over his shoulder with ease. “Am I not allowed to see my favorite doctor? I found myself wandering about the area, supposed I'd drop by…I do know when I'm not welcome though.” 

“It would be awful rude of me to not accept your company.” You teased in return. He rolled his eyes, lugging the bins of produce to be sorted and sold up your porch steps. 

“Need a place to stay?” You didn't look up, as this generally came as a routine question. 

“Same as always.” He confirmed, stomping off the dirt from his boots. 

“Mind me changing then, hun?” your words didn't reflect affection, but showed shallow familiarity in them. 

He shrugged, “‘pose not, m’ gonna have a smoke on the porch.” 

“Take your time” you nod, trudging up the creaking and faded wood stairs. 

You weren't sure how to approach him, he had shown signs of interest previously, walking in on your out of the way showers, leaving things for him to come back and collect them, paying more caps for his shipment than usual. To be fair, you definitely indulged him- at one point you had complained about your water resource being devoid of warmed water. As you padded around with soaking skin and a fluffy towel, and a grumpy expression cemented on your lips. 

All this teasing didn't help those dreams, they started when he left an extra shirt from his pack. This one was dark and ragged, a change from his gray stained cowboy shirt with tassels. It smelt like him, and deeply so. You were ashamed to admit that you used it to pleasure yourself for a period of time. Eventually your breath stained the shirt and it no longer smelt like him; that was a depressing day indeed. 

You had handed the item back to him, he took it with a thin smile. I'm glad you took care of it. 

Weeks after an item of yours went missing, then returned in odd places. Socks, a camisole or two, most egregious was from your hamper, two pairs of bloomers you intended to clean. It was an unspoken agreement, an item exchange of sorts, perhaps he sought companionship on the heat stained road. 

To admit your affections weren't returned was a vague understatement, he had propositioned you on several occasions often asking to meet late at the barn, he was quick to release offering a thank you by allowing you to squeeze and grind down on his fingers as he cleaned the spent cum with a tossed aside shirt. It was always one of yours. 

Those moments were short, maybe if you offered a comfortable environment he'd be willing to play pretend. 

You tugged off the flannel that stuck to your sides, unclipping the overalls and tugging them over your shins. Your bones popped as you stretched, peeling off the soaked undergarments in exchange for one less distracting. The air was cool against your skin, you took a wetted rag from your ceramic basin and cleaned down your sweaty skin. You tossed the dirt stained clothes into your hamper: sucking in air between your teeth. The outfit you decided on was a loose button down, soft cotton slacks with a silver button, and some leather sandals. 

It wasn't your most dashing look, but it was an easy one, something to throw on as the sun began its track down.

+

You ate in silence, spoons clicking against cracked porcelain bowls. The stew was filling as per usual, but you kept your head down. 

He looked much more red with the checkered table cloth in front of him, his jaw working as he pulverized the food in front of him. 

The ghoul in front of you quirked a brow “you ain't becoming feral are ya? The rate you're scoffing supper down. I'm fraid to be your next meal!” 

“No m' just thinkin’. Tend to eat fast when I have lots to ponder.” you held the spoon to your lips tilting it and passing the savory broth over your tongue. 

The older man set down his spoon, a bit of confusion racking his brow. “yaint got much to think about. What a chemist n all. You're just plugged into all them formulas ,ain't you sweet pea?”

You grunt in somewhat acknowledgement “I guess”

The lower rooms in the evening became sticky hot without the curtains drawn, bright sun flames the sides of the buildings and glinted off the tarnished metal buckles and beads on the cowboys outfit. 

“Well.” You rose holding your empty bowl, the click of metal under porcelain still droning on at the other side of the table. “I'm pooped, I think it's time to retire to my room. Do some unwinding, the works. Goodnight, sir. “

You turned to leave, setting your bowl in the open kitchen sink, the ghouls voice interrupting your thoughts.

“Hey doc- I got an odd request.” The cowboy began. “Have you ever tried  jet?”

Cooper hesitated for once, feeling your warm skin beneath his palm, the way your pulse sang when he touched you. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah.”

His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, lips parted delicately to taste. He had you pinned as you sunk into his figure, one hand flattened on his breast the other hanging limply at your side. You cupped it around the side of him, allowing him to move in close. 

He watched your eyes wide and dilate, your already oh so large pupils eclipsing your iris’s. 

This must've felt like light years away for someone not as attuned. 

Your breath washed against him, his nasal cavity picking the strong sickly scent of jet on your tongue, he could taste you in the back of his throat. 

“Tell me if anything is too much, as much as I seem gruff, I do desire the lady folk having an equal amount of fun.” 

You hiccup and nod, “yeah I understand - yessir.” 

“You don't try your own stock, doc?” He tilted his head, carefully leading your jelly body to the bed. 

“Jet ain't my choice- I usually go for day tripper. Slows you down a lot more, so I do it during sunny days. Things change and you can enjoy a lot more “ you talked with your hands he often noticed, but here they flew without meaning, like a puppet with cut strings. 

“Mmm.” He mused, a sound of recognition. He shut the bedroom door, the low light of the sun spilling in dappled puddles through your window. He kicked off his boots, placed them in a corner and set his heavy overcoat and hat on a chair. 

“Once again, are you sure? Is this what you want?” 

He was hesitant to approach, leaning over you with one knee on the soft mattress. The springs creaked under the shift in weight. 

“You certainly know how to make a girl beg for it.” You joke, cracking a half grin. 

“Being a tease comes with the territory, sugar.” he tucked a curl behind your ear, cupping your cheek with the rough palm of his hand. He listened to your breath flutter; that hit of jet has fucked you up. 

The rusted iron bed frame creaked under his shifting weight, mindful of your soft limbs as he coaxed your legs apart to hang on his hips- Your hair bloomed outward on the pile of cotton and straw pillows. eyes laden with a hazy glow that reflected the golden light. 

Your breath fanned over his face- sweet, tangy and rich. Your tongue swiped in-between your cracked lips coating them with a coating of spit, they glistened in the low golden sun. 

Your hand, weathered from soil, caressed his cheek with all the gentleness of a rose petal. He crooned and leaned into you, you were much more inviting of his touch, a satisfied “hmph” as what remained if his lips landed on yours. 

Your hands found the back of his neck pulling I'm into you. 

You felt soft, curling around his jagged edges like water droplets on a sky light. His fingertips tingle with electricity.

 You huffed tilting your head slightly, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt. Your skin pooled with heat, his thumbs finding the underside of your breast. He cradled your tap dancing heart between two palms. Your lips found a clumsy rhythm; one that he found nostalgic. It was easy to imagine being young with you, you made it look effortless. 

You pushed him away- cheeks stained a bright rosy pink as you gulped down air like an odd looking fish. Curls laid on your cheeks sticking up on odd and random places, if he was a much kinder man he would've tucked a strand behind your ear, issuing kisses that traced to your nose. You cracked a warm, half-smile; your hand finding a place under his cheekbone. 

You wheeze out quickly, coughing up fumes of jet; sputtering like a broken down car. “Your name-” you finally got out, “I never got your name.” 

There was sincerity in your eyes, innocence even- perhaps a hope that this wouldn't be another one-night stand. 

Perhaps today… he would allow himself to fly too close to the sun. For once- to bathe in the bright warm of comfort, the wholeness of companionship; the milk of human kindness. 

“Cooper.” 

“Cooper.” The sound rang off your cherry pink lips held by ivory teeth and a fleshy velvet tongue. “Cooper.” 

“And yours?” He asked quietly. 

“Just doc is fine.” You purse your lips, the joy that rang off your tongue snapped close like a heavy lid of a jewelry box - hiding the treasures from sight. You formed a slight business-like manner to your tone. 

He nodded curtly, shifting on his elbows to drape himself over you once more. 

He worked the buttons of your shirt off. helping you out of the loose cotton shirt- he licked his lips intently. It was truly an oasis of flesh to his gaze. 

He whistled low, his fingers twitching and buzzing- aching even, just to get a feel of the soft warm skin beneath him. “Arnt you the prettiest thing I ever did see” his voice was a lowered rasp.

The warm sun pooled below your sternum and held your face dearly. The lace frame around your pillow held up your portrait. 

The bounty hunter listened to your heart beat away in its cage. He then sat back on his haunches and dragged his fingers down your sternum. 

“Such pretty, soft skin “  he cooed. The nail in his finger digging into the surface leaving a trail of raised skin behind it. You wiggle at the prickling sensation on your skin. What game was he playing? 

He took an inhale as his palms cupped your shoulders and scooted down your sides, repeating in an almost massage like motion. He repeated the same kneading motion with your chest, a low sigh coming from his lips. 

He was used to an exchange or dance of sorts when it came to these circumstances. A relief of hand, or the jingle of caps in some woman's back pocket. The road has taken a toll on his aspect of companionship, for once he found himself slightly stupefied except for the notion to touch you. 

You melted into his warm palms; your eyes fluttering shut into relaxation. 

“Are you comfortable Cooper?” You broached the awkward silence of sighs with unease. 

“Doing just fine sweetheart, you relax now.” the vaquero chides; flicking your nipple as a slight retort. You tense at the sensation though unpleasant as it is enjoyable. 

The ghoul unbuttoned his vest, tossing it aside and leaving him in that faded vault tec cowboy shirt and pinstripe trousers. He loosened the top few buttons of his shirt, a bit self conscious of his form without all these layers. You blink slowly, re-assembling to settle your thighs around his hips. His kisses smudged your lipstick, cupping your jaw in one hand- the other cradling the pillow behind your head. you lean into his egging, lifting your neck for his teeth to graze. 

His tongue was the first sensation. licking a stripe up your collar broke you out into simple goosebumps. You close your eyes against the sensation of him latching onto your skin. One of his hands caressed your chest, the other held your hip- squeezing it gently. He left indents and bruises to litter your skin, a mauve flush of patchwork on your neck. As His bites ran below the collar- he shifted position. He kissed down your chest, marking a spot right above a mole. Dipping his head lower His tongue swirled around a nipple taking it into his mouth. 

The other was treated to the same palming while his other hand busied itself by burying into his boxers. 

A bittersweet image flooded his mind. As a younger man himself, he would take many lovers. Holed up in some trailer room on a daybed, lips puffed and tight pencil skirt tossed to the wayside, it left you cloaked in a mussed bone white blouse with a bow at the neck. Dark black heels dug into the velvet beneath your ass. The tight stifled moans- the ferocity of your grip- the way you offered to not ruin his set costume. 

Your glasses would slide down your nose as he coos would split you wide open like a piece of log. 

These dalliances were savory before married life, a taste he'd like to try again. 

He found himself switching, adjusting hands, welcome to an exasperated sigh of frustration from your lips. 

“Cooper” sounded off like a prayer, the rock of an ocean wave as he navigated down your sternum. 

He hooked a finger under your waistband- you burned brighter than any field of irradiated waste. “Now's your chance miss.” he hummed, stroking the sides of the scrunched fabric. 

Much to his chagrin, you nodded. A warm sickly sweet feeling of familiar warmth crept up the walls of his stomach. Was it pride? Longing? 

Whatever it was, he stared down the barrel of his would be nose. He wet his lips like a wolf about to blow down a stick building- and certainly, most certainly, he would make a meal of the javelina inside. 

Carefully he unwrapped you, laid bare before him your skin bristled underneath the heat of his hand. He sighed again for emphasis, the flashes of you in that scenario warmed the back of his mind. 

Another indulgent idea as his fingers skimmed against your hip line. His brow furrowed as he watched your eyes flutter shut again. 

Chaps pushed to under his knee, boxers and Levi's still clung to his thigh. In this he was a bit older, the sleepy dream holding an air of youth from the way you bit down on his hand and hesitated to fully sheath yourself onto him. In quick staccato motions that angled for just the right spot sent your teeth sinking into his hand. Your legs shook slightly as the tip of your heel curved around his calf. A careful balancing act 

His hands traced patterns onto your clit absentmindedly- bowing down to steal a slow kiss every once in a while. He was careful, he wanted something decadent. 

He kneeled at the altar between your hips, for he was but a man. 

He bit down on the flesh of your thigh, prodding your entrance with a finger- he sucked at the indented wound. Lifting up your thigh he left marks underneath the skin of your butt. He worked on opening you up- sliding a finger into you easily. You held eye contact, rolling your hips against his thumb and hand, figured in a pinching motion. Just one tug of the thread and he had you spiraled out. 

The air was laden with the heavy silence that wasn't the crackle of an obscure motown album. He added a second, your body rippling out like a Newton's cradle at the sensation.

“Coop’ shit-” were the first words you said in a bit. 

“Talk to me babygirl, can only do so much while my hands are busy.” He curled his fingers massaging the spongy tissue beneath their tips. 

“Coop-!” you whine again, leaning into the hand that cupped your face. 

Your brow was furrowed in concentration- moving your toes to avoid the muscles of your leg locking in place. 

“Are we just fond of sayin’ my name, hm? C'mon pretty girl, tell me whatcha like me to do.'' He growled, kissing the corner of your mouth, the side of your nose, up to your furrowed brow.

He kissed back down your chest, kissing the flesh of your thighs. 

He began his game of chicken- cupping your back one thumb drawing circles into your sides. 

“Tell me.” He urged.

his lips drew near your throbbing clit heat pulsing in waves from your legs. 

“God, you're really having me do this?”  you puff up a bit, embarrassment settling into your skin. 

“Ain't no shame in being polite, sweetheart.” He chides “your parents teach you manners? Now am I gonna spell it out for you or what?” His tongue dipped between your folds; tracing light circles around the bundle of nerves. 

You hissed like a tea kettle, bending the knee for better access. “Please sir.” Your tone was condensed as you struggled to keep composure, or lest you break in your bed partner's nose a bit more. 

“Please what, be specific sweetheart.”  

 your warm palm squeezing the back of his head felt just right 

You swore under your breath, mustering the courage from the depths of your stomach, sacrificing your bruised pride in return. “please I'd like to- like you to eat me out.” 

“What a sweet girl, perhaps I'll reward her for being so polite, hm? What do you think doc.” He grinned, flashing the aged and manilla teeth in his maw. 

You deflate, nodding your head in almost defeat. 

The ghoul hummed in approval- his fingers once stilled began to tap dance happily against your inner walls. He wove himself into you, mouth latched firmly onto your clit- his dark blown eyes flashing up to your reddened face every once in a while. 

Your thighs framed his head. He had lifted one over his shoulder for better access to your core. Your legs hooked around his neck, trapping him closer. 

The sound of slurps made your stomach twist into hard knots. Contented and pleasured groans fell around you- sending small vibrations to your clit. You held onto his bicep, after a while he offered his other hand. 

To be eaten alive by another man was only discussed in the late hours of the evening. Cigarette smoke drawn from his teeth hissing away like a steam engine as you talked. You felt consented like one humming giant beast.

The cartilage of his nose bumped against your clit as he went to taste you. Squeezing the delicate fingers of yours pink, he pressed his hips into the mattress trying to relieve some pressure. 

“Coop’! holy shit-!” He felt your walls contract around his hand, clamping down in them. He was quick to remove himself leaving you sullen and empty 

Partially to stave off an orgasm from how nimble his fingers could be. Years worth of repairs means one getting good at tasks like sewing.

“Tsk tsk tsk. Can't have my baby spoiled yet.” Cooper tutted stealing a peck from your lips.

Your lips formed a whine as he sat back licking his fingers clean. “Ain't right if I can't have some fun too, hm? Ain't that right, sugar.” His lips twitched into a smirk as he unclasped his unruly belt wiggling down the rough denim over his ass and thighs. He splayed his legs and sat back on his haunches, eyes flicking back up. He wasn't bigger than average, but he was certainly thicker. A pert and red head with pulsing green veins that ran down the side. his legs and hips were surprisingly less marred than the rest of his body, resulting in just a light texture on his cock. 

“You're awfully quiet now sweetheart, see something you like?” He teased, prowling his way back up your form, his lips mapping the thin and light scars on your smooth skin. 

He slid his member along your folds bumping his head against your clit. “Ain't you just hot n’ bothered, hm sweetheart?” 

He could feel you trying to squeeze down around nothing desperately looking for something to work on your arousal with. 

“Roll over for me, pup.” This came out as a snarl, a harsh command from the sweetness he usually treated you with. He spat into his hand. Rubbing it along his shaft as a makeshift lube. 

You laid there ass exposed to the warm light. Your knees pressed into the mattress below.

The cowboy readied his condition to be that of a sour patch kid, enticed to show vulnerability but apprehensive enough to snap. A high emotional state for him.

He watched your ass bounce as you turned, your head cushioned by your pillows. You stared at him from behind. Those big eyes of yours would be the inevitable death of him. He filled a palm with your flesh squeezing it gently before quickly smacking it. 

The force made it jiggle again, the sounds of the slaps sounding sharp and sour. His warm hands palmed the fullness of your reddened ass rutting himself between your cheeks. 

“God I could just cum just like this, all over this gorgeous ass of yours.” Cooper sighed, bending forward for a better angle. 

“‘s your choice” your voice slurred- giving away the concentrated effort not to beg like a bitch in heat. 

His hand was quick, the slap left your skin tingling. “I don't take backtalk well miss. If there's something you want, we ask for it- politely. The ncr hadn't brought back the old worlds manners with it as well I see. I’ll make a respectable woman out of you yet.” 

You snorted, “ain't no manners when you were raised with a gun in your hand. I'm not a common whore from the strip. I'm an educated whore.”

“Damn right.” He growled with a swift serving of pain to your ass. He pinched it and jiggled it slightly. He stopped for a moment in a split decision, bowing his head and kissing the skin under his hand, “sorry.” heaving a sigh from the bottom of his chest. “ It's a shame this gotta end so soon.” 

“You don't have to go just yet coop’” you attempted to reassure the older man “you can stay at my place if you'd like. Didn't know you were having this much fun tossin’ the sack. Seemed…casual to me.” 

“I'm only human, ain't we supposed to be social creatures doc?”  his hands smoothed over your back. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, a peace offering beforehand. 

“ ‘pose so. Alright then, I don't get how this relates to you fucking me raw soon.” you teased, turning your head to the side of a pillow to gaze back at him, a slight coyness to your lowered lashes. 

“It ain't.”  his mouth fused mostly together into a wide and glistening smile, seemed a bit wider- cheeky almost. “Since you asked so nicely…” he trailed off, the head of his member rubbing against the folds of your entrance. “What was it you wanted? Gee I don't remember- maybe the radiation is getting to me after all- you're gonna have to remind me.” 

You shoved your hips back in a retort- trying to capture all of him just from the sensation of his members head prodding your entrance. 

“Oho!” He chuckled softly “getting feisty aren't we.”  You felt the warmth behind you fade. You looked back in confusion. The vaquero bowed, kissing a splotch of red on your ass. “Eyes forward, doc.” He commanded, and so his will, will be.  Behind you he rustled, searching for something, he hummed quietly once he found it, his lasso.  The ghoul fastened a hangman's knot at the end of the rope tying it between your ankles and knees. Another loop and knot at your hip then over a shoulder and under an arm. So when he pulled back he would pull all of you. He went back to rummaging, pulling a pair of stockings out of your sock drawer, loosely tying them around your wrists, an odd touch of care considering that the rope already bit at your skin. “Now are you gonna behave? Or must I do this the hard way. 

“I'll certainly try my best” you tilted your hips up, popping your back. “Can't promise much from one so ornery as myself.”

“Well then if you act up I'll just cum on your ass. Fair deal?” he spread your lips apart, broaching your entrance. His other hand dipped in front of you pressing down on your stomach to avoid initial cramping. 

You gasped and grit your teeth. “fair deal.” 

“Ain't you a gentleman then coop, your hands quite a nice temperature” 

“Thank you” he purred, adjusting his hips as he sank into you, “just the polite thing to do when you don't have lube.” 

His hand shifted to your clit, pinching gently at the sensitive nub. Heat bloomed like hot house poinsettias at your core. He grunted at your walls clasping down and memorizing everything about him. 

“Ain't you nice and tight.” The cowboy hummed, wiping at his brow. “This is gonna take forever if you don't relax.”

And oh God did you feel wonderful. Tight to the center with just a bit of friction enough to cling onto him. 

“Ain't much relaxing to do when you're pumped up on jet.” You lowered the floor of your stomach trying to accommodate his length.

“Ain't that so? Just looks like we’ll have to do some forcin’ huh?” He shifted his hips out ever so slightly and eased his way back in. Slow and comfortably, he manually stretches you out. You moaned out into the pillow beneath you, leisurely thrusts scraping against your walls. You clung to him like a glove, his balls merely tapped against your vulva. A warm soreness hit the back of your core as he tugged the rope down onto him.the fibers bit your sides, neck, and hips, searing their marks of claim onto you. He leaned forward, the sink slow but hitting the back of your cervix, your sex made a soft squishy sound as he hit hilt, panting like a feral mongrel dog. 

“God I hope this is what heaven feels like-” he sighed, rolling his hips. 

The cowboys sunburnt peach skin flushed a blotchy red around his cheeks. “m gonna come to visit more often- just to cum in this pretty hole of yours.” 

“You've got an awfully dirty mouth coop’” you teased, sneaking a smile behind the round of your ass. This wasn't the first time the older ghoul had asked for favors, but always always always he cried like it had. 

“not true, I followed my momma's instructions to brush my teeth every night” his grin peaked to the side. Hand quick as a flash landing itself on your rump, you let out a little oof. 

“your momma did a piss poor job then..”  You retort, lowering your chest to hit a more connected angle. 

His knees settled down in-between your thighs. Spread apart with the rough indented and textured skin of his bare skin. 

  He settled back in his calves, his hand lazily finding its way back to your clit massaging it in small pulses, pinched beneath his thumb and forefinger. 

With his hips settled back, the top of his head slid against one of your sweet spots, sending pulses like a fiddle string down your spine.

You burrowed deeper into the pillow, stifling the moans that threatened to spill from your lips. 

He held a hand to your side that was surprisingly gentle. He bowed his head and curled inward- kissing the small on your back. 

“This ok with you? May I get a little faster?” the ghoul has asked. 

You let out a grunt of approval, backing your hips fully on his member. At this pace you became playful lifting your hips at the last second, eeking soft whines of content through his teeth. He tipped his head back, coopers warm hands snuck under the rope to brace your hip.

“Agh, fuck.” The rasps he made ached in your throat. “Darlin I can't do this, flip over.” 

and so you did. 

Between his ribs there settles a faint green glow, like some sort of demented lightning bug. 

Cooper worked at getting the lower ropes off your legs allowing some freedom, but kept the ones that framed your chest. Your hand tied up to the bedpost like a malfunctioning bungee cord.

“There you are.” The ghoul cupped your cheek, his thumb drew small circles into its hollow. You laced your legs behind his calves as he entered again, precoating your walls with pre-come.the cowboys eyes became half lidded and fluttered, he was going insane just being inside you.  His hips were an attempt at a measured pace, speeding up every once in a while to keep you on your toes. 

The older man leaned down to kiss you, his lips and hands clung to you with a sense of rushed intimacy. The smell of your sweat clung to his rope and to his skin promising domesticated life of sorts, if he just stayed. 

You hitched your knees up above his hips, the edge of the bed thumping into the wall behind you. Cooper leveraged himself a bit more sinking in quickly making your thighs sting. 

 He quickly rutted his hips, the ghouls hands cupping your contorted face as clicks of irradiated sweat fizzed around you. 

You felt light headed, a dull throbbing pulsed through your mind. You could barely keep your eyes open to hold contact without them shutting or rolling back in their sockets. 

“Coop-” you whispered, “holy shit I'm close- you're gonna break me sweetheart -”

“Ain't that so? That's a shame hm? That you have to wait?” 

“No-” you whined, clenching your jaw “no please- coop- don't-” your mind ran like a panicked rabbit instinctively rocking your hips back down. Sticky sweat clung to you, droplets sidling down your hips like a rain shower. You sounded exhausted, covering up your eyes with an arm as you continued to mindlessly back into him

 His hand drew circles on your hip, moving up to your lower belly and pressing down. Cooper raised his arm up to wipe the sweat off his brow. 

“Want you to feel every little sensation.” His tone was staccato and clipped. “God you're so tight- enjoying yourself huh?” his smile grew as he watched you melt into a puddle before him.

“Coop-” something ripped out of the bottom of your chest, vicious and animalistic, you barred your teeth, squeezing around him taut as wire. 

The cowboy was relentless, teeth sinking down into the alcove of your neck monitoring the fogginess of your pupils 

The light flooding the windows with gold sunk down to a murky violet, a bright orange sun sitting center on the smoky horizon like an unfried egg.

“I'm so close, baby.” he pleaded in a soft tone “just a bit more.” 

Your grip tightens on him. “Coop I can't-” your sentences slur, your mind cramping from a quick release. Your walls pulse repeatedly. Your lips pull back, framing yellowed gritted teeth. 

He leans back, Pawing at your chest on his haunches. His hips patterned like a bumpy ride on a caravan, a two tap system as he stretched through the tighter ring near your cervix. Everything in his mind screamed to knock you up, a sham of the biological drive to have children and settle down. He would hope the call of domesticism would be satisfied by orgasm. A measly offering at best

He leans down, licking up the side of your chin and gathering a drop of sweat. He groaned softly, his hips jutting and staying there for a second. Your walls cramped down around him begging for another release. His hips slowed to an easy trot, keeping the pace steady and easy on your walls. His head curled into your neck, wheezing quietly like a ghoul on the verge of ferality. Cooper throbbed and pulsed, knotting his limbs into yours. You could feel every ridge and crease of him inside you, memorizing it like a map.the sides of your walls stung with arousal and numbness from overstimulation, it was a very fantastic and overwhelming sensation.The older man groaned into your ear as you squeezed down again on him. Completely entranced by the way you felt around him. His lower lip jutted out as he chewed at the side of it. His eyes were soft round and watery, bright white sclera seeped with yellow and red in their inner corners. The bed creaked softly underneath the relatively gentle rocking. The ghoul kissed up your neck, keening out into the crest of your ear. “God I think I may come sooner than expected” he grunted nibbling on the outer shell of your ear. He felt like he left orbit, and his skin set aflame. He set his body flush against yours, the lower half of his belly pressed against your clit. You flinched at the sensation, shooting lightning bolts down your thighs and heating up the already soggy air around you. Your legs peddled and extended down intending the sheets, flexing around his hips to tugging at the mix of stockings that held your arms back. Cooper's movements became a lot more quick and erratic, slamming himself down to sheathe his length fully, crying into the alcove of your neck, he shook as he wheezed our breaths of submission to the will of domesticity. He pushed his hips forward, the ropes of cum painted your walls. He pinched his lower base and jerked off into you, pressing everything into your folds. The ghoul then lowered his head and kissed you, the hiccuping sensation of rocking his hips back into yours due to a stimulant that was so salivating to him. 

“God, doc. What a trip, and what a treat you are.” 

“Have I made you a changed man, cooper?” you could barely keep your eyes open a fucked out sort of exhaustion taking hold 

The older man shrugged, “I'll sleep on it and consider.” 

He sighed, reaching over for a towel that lay on the ground and pulling out, and cleaning you up. He tossed the towel again, and landed himself next to you. “c'mere’ I'm not evil enough to leave you short handed.” He curled around you, his hand fitting in the crease of your hip. And that's where he stayed until dawn.

[slocumjoe]

What companion can/cannot/can after multiple tries say warchestershire sauce?

Okay, seriously, what is the problem with worcestershire as a word? This is a meme, right? Its not hard. Its three syllables and you slur the first two together. War-shta-sure. There are a lot of weird looking and sounding words from over there and worcestershire is far from one of them. How did this happen? Who first mispronounced it and confused everyone?

Anyway

Cannot;

Deacon - mispronounced as a joke and now he can never get it right ever again

Curie - her accent makes it hard

Hancock - too high, the spelling is weird to him, and he can't figure out how others say it. Speaks too slowly and overthinks it midway. Gives up. Bullies Danse out of jealousy

Can;

Danse - knows how to pronounce it, but it does make him tongue tied, says 'worcestershire shauce'. Hancock bullies him for this

Nick - the pronunciation and his natural manner of speech are similar

Codsworth - what kind of host would he be if he couldn't pronounce a common sauce

Gage, Cait ‐ both of them naturally kind of slur so its easier

Give them some warm ups;

Piper - messes up halfway through and has to restart

Preston - always called it 'worster' sauce in his home and never learned the full name

X6-88 - goes against his natural manner of speech

MacCready - first half is good and the -shire part catches him up, doesn't slur it enough

[schrijverr]

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 9

Chapter 9 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, on the dirty bathroom floor of Starcourt mall, Steve and Robin confess to each other that they’re as queer as they come, finding solidarity despite the world crumbling around them, before they have to go back into the fray. With everything that goes down, the Byers have enough on their plates and Steve is instead caught by the Buckleys.

On AO3.

Ships: eventual steddie & buckingham

Warnings: after affects of drugs, period typical homophobia mention, f-slur, fighting, minor character death, injury

~~~~~~~

Chapter 9: The Bathroom

Steve cannot tell you exactly how he ended up on the bathroom floor with Robin. The whole route there is blurry and embarrassing. Nothing says a good end, like throwing up. Though, the urge to vomit is gone now.

He sits back against the wall with a groan and blinks a few times, then comments: “The ceiling stopped spinning for me. Is it still spinning for you?”

It’s quiet from the other stall for a second, then he hears an awed: “Holy shit. No.”

“You think we puked it all up?” Steve asks, not sure if it works like that when they injected it into their bloodstream.

“Maybe? Ask me something,” Robin says, putting on a Russian accent as she adds: “Interrogate me.”

“Okay,” Steve huffs, because laughing at the Russian accent makes it less scary and he needs it to not be scary right now. “Interrogate you. Sure. Uhm…” He thinks for a little. “When was the last time you, uh, peed your pants?”

“Today,” comes the immediate answer.

“What?” he laughs, slightly disbelieving.

“When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw,” she explains as Steve giggles more. “It was just a little bit, though,” she defends.

They burst into laughter again. There is enough in their system to make them giggly and a tad too honest, but uncaring about it.

Excitedly, Robin demands: “All right, my turn.”

And Steve gives in easily: “Okay. Hit me.”

“Have you…” Robin starts, thinking for a second, before hitting Steve with a hard one, “ever been in love?”

“Yep,” bubbles out of his throat before he can stop it and he quickly modifies it to fit what he told other people. “Nancy Wheeler. First semester, senior year.”

“Oh my god,” Robin exclaims in that same tone she uses when Steve tells her some drama he heard while she was on break. “She is such a priss.”

“Turns out, not really,” Steve says, because even if he never loved her like he wanted to, he cares deeply about her and he’s seen to much of her to let her be Ice Princess Wheeler in the minds of people, when she’s so much more.

“Are you still in love with Nancy?” Robin asks quietly after a second.

“No,” Steve says, despite not wanting to. Telling Robin he loves Nancy would be easier, it might discourage her from making a move on him, but he doesn’t want that. He wants to be honest with Robin. After all they’ve seen, he doesn’t want to lie to her.

“Why not?”

Because I’m gay, is what Steve wants to say, but the words haven’t come easy. Never have. Even that time with Eddie, the other guessed and then he agreed. He has never really said them like that, never.

Eddie.

Beautiful, charismatic Eddie.

If there is one person, he wants to kiss, it is him. He wants to know if those rings will get caught in his hair, if Eddie’s tongue will be as wicked as it looked around that sample, if he’ll feel his scruff, how those narrow hips will feel under his hands. Without thinking about it, he starts to try and tell Robin that.

“I think it’s because I found someone who’s a little bit better for me.” He chuckles. “It’s crazy. Ever since Dustin got home, he’s been saying: ‘You know, you gotta find your Suzie. You gotta find your Suzie.’”

“Wait, who’s Suzie?” Robin interrupts him and Steve is glad she’s trying to understand him, trying to get what he’s saying, willing to listen to what he’s having a difficult time communicating.

“It's some girl from camp, I guess his girlfriend,” he explains. “To be honest with you, I'm not 100% sure she's even real. But that’s not- that’s not really the point. That doesn’t matter. The point is this b- person, you know, the one I like?”

God, he nearly fucked up there, nearly said boy. It is what he wants to say, but not like that. Robin needs to know more than that. Needs to know how he’s tired of fitting in, tired of playing this perfect person. She can’t leave before that, he can’t make her hate him yet.

So, he goes on a little more carefully: “It’s somebody that I didn’t even talk to in school. Not really. And I don’t even know why. I mean, at the end, I was already one of the freaks. What would it have mattered if Tommy H. would’ve made for of me or I wouldn’t be prom king? It’s stupid. I mean, Dustin’s right, it’s all just a bunch of bullshit anyways.”

He’s breathing a little more heavily now, chest heavy with regret of how he shut Eddie out after their talk. And how despite that Eddie stood up for him, Eddie was there for him with kind words and understanding when he was kicked out.

“I should’ve been hanging out with this person the whole time,” he says ruefully. “First of all, they’re a little weird, but that makes them so much better to be around. We’ve been through similar things, like we get each other, there’s a connection there. And they’re smart, way smarter than me, can put together things easily. Also a little clumsy, but I love how they move anyway. They’re honestly unlike anyone I’ve ever met before.”

Steve sighs after his little speech. He still hasn’t said what he wanted, instead getting stuck on wistful thinking about Eddie. It’s easier to go on about him as a concept than to say that he’s in love with another man.

He’s pretty sure Robin will be cool, even if he’s ruining any chance she thought she had. Robin, whom he now realizes, is very quiet. Too quiet. Immediately he pictures her having died from drug poisoning or some shit without him noticing and he asks: “Robin?”

Fear only grows when he gets no response, so he taps on the stall and asks: “Robin, did you just OD in there?” trying not to let the panic show as any thought about Eddie disappears under worry for Robin.

“No,” Robin sighs in a way that doesn’t sit right with Steve. Her whole voice doesn’t sit right with him and alarm bells are ringing as she says: “I am still alive.”

Needing to make sure she actually is alright, Steve slides under the stall, uncaring about how gross that is. Relief flooding his veins when she is okay, only looking a little downtrodden as she leans against the other side of the stall.

“The floor is disgusting,” she tells him.

“Yeah, well, I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so…” Steve shrugs with a small smile. Robin doesn’t reply to that beyond a tired smile and Steve’s heart is beating in his chest, wondering if she has put it together yet. Softly he asks: “What do you think?”

“About?” Robin shoots back as if she hasn’t yet.

“This person,” Steve clarifies, hating how hard this is, how easy he wants it to be, because this is Robin and they’ve just been tortured in a secret Russian base together, so him being gay can’t really top that. Yet still, he can’t say it, needs her to put it together like Eddie had, so he can agree, instead of deny like he’ll usually do.

“She sounds awesome,” Robin tells him.

Steve wants to pull his hair out, because she isn’t getting him. So he shakes his head and tries to be more explicit about it: “The guy.”

“Look,” Robin starts, looking like she’s not at all having the same conversation he’s having, “he doesn’t even know this girl. And if he did know her, like- like really know her. I don’t think he’d even want to be her friend.”

Now Steve is sure that she isn’t having the same conversation and he realizes that she thinks he won’t want to be friends after today. That takes priority over his bullshit and he frowns: “No, that’s not true. No way that is true.”

“Listen to me, Steve,” Robin says, looking him in the eye like she’s trying to make something clear and she doesn’t know what he’ll say to it. “It’s shocked me to my core, but I like you. I really like you. But I’m not like your other friends. I’m not a cheerleader. And I’m not like Nancy Wheeler.”

It suddenly dawns on Steve that she thinks he is confessing his love to her. He runs through what he says and cringes when he realizes how easily that could be misconstrued. He says: “Robin, that’s not what I-”

“Stop,” Robin cuts him off. “Do you remember what I said about Click’s class? About me being jealous and, like, obsessed?”

“Yeah?” Steve says with a frown, wondering what she’s getting it and a little sure she’ll get mad if he tries to interrupt again. Though he’s mentally trying to figure out how to clear up the misunderstanding before she tries to kiss him or something, though that seems less likely now.

“It wasn’t because I had a crush on you. It’s because she wouldn’t stop staring at you,” Robin says, her tone wistful and it clicks for Steve what she is really saying, how they had the same misunderstanding, but in different directions.

“Who?” he asks, soft smile on his face, though Robin isn’t looking his way. His heart is swelling at the knowledge that she is like him, that she gets him, like he got her on that cold, Russian bunker floor earlier.

“Tammy Thompson,” she hesitantly answers after a second. “I wanted her to look at me, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from you and your stupid hair. And I didn’t understand, because you would get bagel crumbs all over the floor. And you asked dumb questions. And you were a douchebag. And- and you didn’t even like her and I- I would go home and just scream into my pillow.”

The words hurt a little. Steve knows who he used to be and only the fact that he isn’t anymore eases the sting. His heart mostly aches for Robin. How that must have been. He remembers looking at Eddie, how he strutted over the tables, the only attention directed at Steve a sneer. How he longed to touch, but knew it was safer not to.

“I know how you feel,” he sighs, sounding more tired and longing than he’d meant to.

Robin’s head snaps up, brows furrowed in confusion. She’s probably wondering why he isn’t commenting on her lesbianism as she asks: “You do?”

“Yeah,” he gives her a crooked grin. Robin is queer. Robin is safe. He can just tell her. “You’re right, I didn’t like Tammy, hell, I didn’t even notice her looking. I’ve- I’ve never noticed. I was always too busy staring at Eddie. He shouldn’t even have been in that class either. Guess neither of us passed it. But he’d sit in the front row and make all these drawings and I’d just be stuck watching how he blew a strand of hair out of his face continuously and all I wanted to do, was tuck it behind his ear.”

He looks at Robin and her eyes are bulging out of her head and Steve gets it. He has worked very hard to be perceived as straight, especially since working with her. It has been a conscious effort.

“Surprise,” he says, a theme in his coming outs, it seems. “I lied when I said I joined the cheer squad to get in their pants, because I am actually a fag.”

Robin gapes a bit and Steve feels a little proud of rendering her speechless. When she finds her voice she screeches: “You’re- What the fuck, Harrington!”

“I’m sorry?” he says, not sure what to do with her reaction.

“Don’t say sorry, you dingus,” she tells him, grabbing his hand and shaking it excitedly. “Holy fuck, you’re also like me. We could’ve been gay gossiping for weeks now. Why didn’t you say! What was all the macho hetero bullshit for?”

“You know it’s not that easy,” Steve protests, not letting go of her hand. “You’re actually the first person I’ve told.”

“I am?” Robin sounds honored and surprised.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I mean, someone else also knows, but promised not to tell. They guessed it though.” His voice turns a little bitter as he adds: “Not that it’s hard though.”

Robin squeezes his hand, looking a little tentative as she asks: “Is this related to the fight with your dad Chrissy mentioned?”

Steve honestly doesn’t know why she remembered that, but he finds himself nodding. It feels nice to tell someone now that it’s more settled, feels like less than on that first night with Eddie, yet bigger.

“Uhm, yeah, he- he got real mad. Kicked me out,” he says. “I’ve been living on the Byers couch the whole summer. Trying to save up for my own place.”

“He kicked you out?” Robin repeats with big eyes.

“It’s not that bad,” Steve lies, wanting to assure her that she’s going to be fine, that they both are going to be fine. “Nice to be rid of him. Don’t worry.”

“Alright,” Robin says, not looking like she believes him. They know each other too well for that now. Still, she is content to drop it now that he doesn’t want to talk about it and he’s grateful to her for that.

They sit in silence for a moment, before Robin grins and says: “So, Eddie Munson.”

Steve feels himself blush and he replies: “Shut up.”

“No, come on,” Robin whines. “I deserve to know about your big fat gay crush on Eddie Munson. It is, like, the best thing I’ve heard all summer. It’s Romeo and Juliet, two lovers on opposite sides of the school social sphere.”

“Shut up, no it isn’t,” Steve giggles. “We’re pretty close on the social ladder these days, Robs.”

“Just indulge me, Stevie,” Robin complains, shaking his hand in a demanding manner.

“He’s just pretty,” Steve tells her. “He has these brown eyes you can drown in and his fingers – fuck, musicians hands, you know?”

“Iew, don’t tell me about that,” Robin squeals with delight.

“Oh come on, you wanted to know,” Steve protests, also grinning.

“I wanted to know about how you managed to get a crush on an absolute weirdo, who walks on tables and holds dramatic speeches like he’s the main character in a book,” Robin exclaims. “Not you being lustful for his hands!”

“Lustful?” Steve repeats, nearly choking on a laugh.

“You heard me, lustful. I see right through you, dingus. You and your lewd thoughts,” Robin says, trying to look serious, but already starting to crack.

“Shut up,” Steve laughs. “It’s not my fault I have a crush on someone interesting and cute instead of a total dud.”

“Tammy isn’t a dud,” Robin protests.

“Yes, she is. She wants to be like a singer. She wants to move to like Nashville and shit,” Steve informs her with a teasing grin.

“She has dreams,” Robin pouts.

“She can’t even hold a tune,” Steve exclaims, Robin also starting to smile as he makes a total fool out of himself. “She’s practically tone deaf. Have you heard her? All the time.” He starts to sing Total Eclipse of the Heart in his best Tammy impression.

“Shut up!” Robin is obviously trying to stop from laughing. “She does not sound like that.”

“She sounds exactly like that. That’s a great impersonation of her.” Okay, so Steve can be a bit mean, let him. Tammy is a bad singer and they both know it.

Still, Robin takes it up for her, blinded by rose colored glasses. “She does not. You sound like a Muppet!”

Gleefully, Steve points out: “She sounds like a Muppet. She sounds like a Muppet giving birth,” the statement enough to get Robin to laugh too.

She starts to sing too, sounding like Kermit. Both of them giggling like idiots, not just at their own singing and stupid joke, but at the relief of having told someone and it being okay. Not only that, but having that other person be like them. To have a friend, who knows you wholly, who understands and still loves you.

Steve can practically feel that Robin is going to be his best friend for life.

They get interrupted by Dustin and Erica and their giggly mood is too big to not crack up at his offended: “What the hell!”

After that, the mood goes down pretty quickly. They’re still stuck in the mall with the Russians and not only that, but there has been more going on than just the base beneath Starcourt, which has the entire party coming together from all over town, each through different trail.

And something is wrong with El. She has been injured and Steve feels sick, watching her remove something from her leg with her powers. Fuck, she’s already been through too much for her age, she should be done with this shit and be a kid by now.

The only positive in the whole situation is that Hopper and Joyce also seem caught up in it, which is bad, because Joyce definitely deserves a break, but Steve is glad he isn’t the oldest. That he doesn’t have to be the adult. Happy to defer to them in this situation. Them and their weird friend. Honestly, Steve is over asking questions.

He just sits back and watches as the ping ponging of stories and arguments slowly morphs into a strategy against whatever they’re up against now. It probably can’t get worse than a demogorgon or a horde of Russians, Steve reasons, and he already survived that.

Steve is send with Dustin, Erica and Robin to the radio tower thingy Dustin built. Hopper puts him in charge handing him keys to a stolen car. As he does, he frowns at the state of Steve’s face and asks: “You good to drive, kid?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve says, sending Hopper a smile that hurts his bruised face. His vision is still a little blurry and he has never had a worse headache, not even after Billy, but there is a tentacle flesh monster out there. He’s not letting Dustin and Erica out of his sight after what happened, nor Robin after being separated in the base.

Hopper scrutinizes him a second longer, obviously not fully believing Steve. “Alright,” he does give in in the end. They can’t afford not to. “But after this, I’m dragging you to a hospital, kid. You look like you got run over.”

“Sounds good to me,” Steve agrees and it isn’t even a lie. A doctor would be smart after all the abuse he’s been through today. He can’t afford more brain damage.

So, Steve gets the keys to a car that is honestly a beauty and orders to keep three smart dumbasses alive through the night.

Steve can do that.

He lets Dustin direct him to Weathertop, which is probably another nerd reference he isn’t getting, but that’s okay. Directions are directions and Steve can follow those.

Todfather, the car, the sweet sweet car, can’t make it fully up the hill, so they walk the last bit. The tower looks complicated and Steve is impressed by the smarts of his little buddy. Fuck, that kid is going to make it far.

They listen as Dustin and Erica coach the weird friend through the Russian bunker, sounding incomprehensible as they discuss where he needs to go next. And it is not until the guy goes radio silent for a bit that they check with the others at the mall: “Griswold Family, this is Scoops Troops. Do you copy? Over.”

Silence.

“Griswold Family, I repeats, this is Scoops Troop. Do you-” Dustin’s frantic talking gets interrupted by a monstrous shriek from the radio. All of their hearts stopping. Again Dustin starts up: “Griswold Family, do you copy? Do you copy?”

Instead of an answer, there is more roaring and all of them start to fear the worst. Steve can already envision Joyce coming out of that base to find her children dead, Steve having been safely tucked away at the radio as monsters tore her little Will and brave Jonathan apart.

Dustin holds fast, continuing to radio. “Griswold Family, this is Scoops Troop. Please, confirm your safety. Griswold Family, this is Scoops Troop. Please confirm your safety. Are you en route to Bald Eagle's nest?”

Still no answer and Dustin’s voice is starting to waver as he begs: “Please confirm your safety. Someone, please just answer. Is anyone there? Anyone, please!”

Something in Steve snaps, he can’t listen to Dustin trying and failing to make contact with the others. Something is wrong. Very wrong. Nancy would've said something if they were okay. They are in trouble and Steve is going to help.

He gets up and starts walking to his car with determination. Dustin demands to know where he’s going and Steve snaps: “To get them the hell out of there!”

Robin jumps up and follows, grabbing his hands as they get into the car, radio with them just in case.

Steve has never broken this many speed limits in his life, now glad for his days as King Steve when he and Tommy would race each other over back roads when drunk. Utterly stupid thing to do, he knows that, but it gives him the ability to drift corners even with his vision half blurred and his head spinning.

When they get to the mall, the whole thing is chaos. The rest of the party is standing around a car, but it obviously isn’t starting. Not a moment later, Robin gasps and points at the car that is ready to slam into them, her eyes better equipped to see right now.

Without thinking, Steve revs the engine too as he speeds more. Robin’s hand is on his, clutching it like a lifeline while screaming bloody murder about car safety.

Together they barrel towards Billy’s car. Steve lets go of Robin’s hand to brace both hands on the wheel, while Robin clicks her seat belt on. Steve might not be the one translating the secret message, but he can see the trajectory of Billy’s car and figure out where to aim, so they’ll collide in a magnificent crash.

He nearly hits his head on the wheel and his neck strains on impact. His already spinning head only spins more and he blinks a few times, his brain not yet caught up with the fact that he just crashed the car.

The yelling gets him moving as the others finally get the other car working and they drive away, the Mind Flayer hot on their tail.

Then Steve goes through what might be the strangest minutes of his life as Suzie is confirmed to be real in the weirdest way possible. Part of him thinks it’s the concussion, until he sees Robin’s bemused expression.

However, the hilarity of Dustin and his girlfriend singing cannot erase the horror of the Mind Flayer. How it chases them. How they have to fight it. How El has to fight it. How Billy dies because of it. How Max screams when it happens.

Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget those screams. He stands there uselessly, watching, feet frozen.

Robin’s hand finds his again and he takes great comfort in her smaller, yet warm palm in his own as they stand in the ruined hall of Starcourt mall, the place that has held them hostage for so many hours this summer.

The warmth helps him stay grounded. He squeezes her hand once, then starts to walk, letting his grip stay loose in case she wants to let go, but she doesn’t. She follows his lead like she had back in the bunker when she stayed by his side, even though she could have left. It’s nice to be wanted in such a way.

Nancy is checking over Mike, Jonathan has caught Will. Lucas has informed Dustin and Erica about how it went, before going to hold Max together with El.

It still hasn’t fully landed that Billy just died, even as he makes his way to the body. El has gotten Max away from the corpse, but it’s still there, Billy’s unseeing eyes staring up to the sky. His chest is ripped open, white cloth stained red.

Steve has never liked Billy. Ever since the man came into town, he has made Steve’s life as miserable as he could. Steve isn’t going to miss the fear hanging over him with Billy and his harsh words and dangerous fists. How he terrorized Max and Lucas. All the slurs he slung around.

But even if Steve hates Billy’s guts, he won’t forget watching him die and he can be thankful to him for shielding El, even if it was an egomaniac move only done to stick it to the Mind Flayer, not out of any care for El or Max at all.

With mixed feelings, Steve kneels down next to Billy and closes his eyes. He doesn’t have anything to cover the gruesome wound, but he looks less dead like that.

Steve nods to himself, then gets up, walking to Max, Robin hot on his trail. Max doesn’t look to be in a state to move or talk, so Steve asks Lucas: “You guys okay?” wanting to help, but unsure how he can be useful.

“We got her,” Lucas assures him with a tight smile that looks closer to a grimace.

Seems like Steve isn’t really useful. And without purpose, he starts to feel his injuries, starts to shut down. He isn’t sure how he’s still standing right now.

Right as he’s about to start swaying, the mall gets flooded with soldiers in full combat gear. They’re shouting, barking orders, in a way that is too close to the Russians for comfort right now. Steve’s muscles automatically tense and he feels how Robin starts to tremble besides him.

He pulls her a little closer. She’s his person now and the others are all cared for, but Robin is new to this and she is scared now. Steve can be there for her.

So, he holds her as closely as he can, letting her cling to him. His lip wants to wobble, but he bites on it to stop it. He’s been through this before, he knows how to deal with the aftermath and right now Robin needs him to be strong.

There is no Hopper, no Joyce that can take over and be the adult. Steve is the oldest and he has to make it seem like it’s all going to be okay. Like this is normal. Like you can get used to this and move on someday. That they all lived. That they’re fine now. They just need to wait until the government lets them go. He just needs to hold on until Joyce and Hopper get back up from the bunker and then they can be the adults.

His knees start to get unsteady, but he locks them up tight, bites his lip again and lets the zing of pain it sends through him make him aware.

Pain is his hold on.

Instead of letting it drag him down, he clings to it. Focuses on the way his beat in face throbs and his bruised ribs ache, how his ears ring and his vision blurs a bit on the left. It’s easier to focus on that, than the yelling that scares him and the need to be held that overtakes him.

He needs to keep his head in the game. It’s just like in basketball or cheer. Just focus on getting through it, block out the jeering and cheering and just focus on catching and throwing, how his body feels as he moves and where he needs to go.

Steve has Robin, the others are also taken care of. Joyce and Hopper must be on their way back up with their friend. That just leaves Dustin and Erica. They need to be safe too.

With that in mind, he gets the attention of one of the soldiers that looks to be giving orders. He puts on his best Harrington, an attitude that always gets what it wants and informs the man of the two kids out there on a hill alone. Demands they’d be brought to safety too.

The man doesn’t look happy with the news, but Steve doesn’t back down until there are people en route to get the two nerds to safety.

All throughout, Robin stays glued to him and he’s sure it’s the only reason he manages to keep his perfect posture until his demands are met. After the man agrees, Steve stumbles a bit. He tries to stay upright, because Hopper and Joyce aren’t back yet and Steve has to be the eldest.

But Robin doesn’t let him. She loudly starts worrying about all that might be wrong with him, convinced he’s going to kneel over. She is loud enough that a medic that came with the soldiers comes to check Steve over.

Steve protests at first, but Robin doesn’t let him. She tells the man what happened to him – in as much detail as she knows – and the medic’s eyes widen in concern. The medic grills Steve, poking and prodding at him.

It feels a bit too much like an interrogation for Steve’s liking and he gladly clings to the first distraction he sees.

Joyce returns from the bunker and with her is the weird guy, the two of them flanked by American soldiers, their stolen Russian uniforms standing out. Without thinking about it, Steve starts to scan for Hopper, expecting him to see him and frowning when he doesn’t.

He isn’t the only one thinking about that, it seems, because El leaves Max in Lucas’ capable hands and wanders over to Joyce. At this point Steve is flat out ignoring the medic with a frown on his face as he follows the interaction happening a few feet away. El innocently and slightly confused asks: “Where is Hopper?”

And he watches as Joyce starts to cry at the question, the sudden realization that Hopper isn’t coming back, hitting Steve.

“Joyce?” El asks, sounding a little scared as she watches Joyce cry, the meaning of the situation hasn’t reached her yet.

“Oh god, I- I’m so sorry, honey,” Joyce says and Steve can hear her voice crack across the distance as she takes El into her arms. “He- He didn’t make it.”

Steve watches as it hits El that she has lost her first parental figure. The only dad that ever cared for her in a way that mattered. The man, who has been her whole world for nearly two years now. Who took her in and let her be a person.

If Steve thought he would never forget Max’s scream, that doesn’t hold a candle to how El wails at the news, clutching Joyce as she collapses.

The two hold each other, mourning the loss of a man they both loved.

It hits Steve at that moment.

Hopper is gone.

The chief is gone.

The man, who drove him home and made sure he didn’t drown in vomit after Billy kicked his ass, is gone. The man, who searched all night for him after his father kicked him out, is gone. The man, who stopped in the middle of a crisis to check in if Steve was alright enough to be part of the plan and made him promise to get checked out, is gone.

Hopper has always been El’s dad. His gruffness melting for this kid, who wormed her way inside his heart. However, he’s always had a soft spot for Steve too and he now starts to feel the emptiness where that cushion used to be.

This is a situation where he would defer to Hopper for. Look at him to see what has to be done now. How to make it better. But Hopper isn’t here. Hopper is dead.

Steve is the one, who has to step up now. Take charge of clean up and make sure everyone gets home alright. His body aches, both with grief and injury at the thought, but he pushes it away. He has big shoes to fill.

Mentally he goes over everyone. Mrs. Henderson will be in a worry when she hears, come for Dustin and coddle him until he’s exhausted. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair also have been through this before, so Erica and Lucas are in good hands. Nancy has Mike and knows how to steer her parents in these situations. They’re good too. That leaves the Byers, El, Max and Robin.

The Byers have been through this before. They’re going to be fine, but Joyce lost Hopper and Joyce is the one El clings to. They might turn out to be fine, but they have a lot on their plate. Steve decides he’ll find a place of his own to stay tonight. Lighten Joyce’s load. El can go with them, get the understanding and love of someone who knows.

With that mentally settled, he moves on to Max. God, Max. Max just lost her brother. She’s going to have to go home to her step father, who just lost his son. Fuck, what does Steve do about that? Will the Sinclairs take her for the night? Will her parents come? When will they know that Billy hasn’t made it?

He focuses back on the medic, who’s been giving him a moment and asks: “What will the cover up be?”

“I don’t know, kid,” the medic tells him. “Not my department.”

“Will you let Billy be found?” Steve asks. “Give the family some closure. It’s the least you can do after Max had to see him die. Make that she can talk about it to someone.”

There must be something in his eyes, because the man gives him a sympathetic nod and says: “I’ll mention it to the higher ups,” which is all Steve can hope for. He can’t offer Max a home for the night, safety, a shoulder to lean on. But he can give her that.

“Is Steve going to be okay?” Robin asks from next to him, changing the subject. She’s still there, fierce and loyal. In another life, Steve could have been in love with her.

“I’m fine,” Steve tells her. He doesn’t feel fine, but Hopper would have been fine, if he were here, no matter what. Steve can be fine too. Move on. Be a rock.

“No you’re not, kid,” the medic says, foiling that plan. “You need to be under supervision tonight. You have a concussion and cracked ribs. You need to take it easy. Stay still. Do not strain yourself, do you understand? But you did get incredibly lucky, these injuries could have been a lot worse.”

Steve sends him a scowl, but Robin jumps in: “My mom is a nurse. He can stay with me tonight and she’ll make sure he won’t die.”

The offer sends warmth down Steve’s spine. Robin wants him by her side as much as he wants her at his. She is looking after him, even if he doesn’t need it. And she just solved one of the biggest problems of the night.

“That sounds like a good idea,” the medic smiles. “I’ll let you be for now. I’m sure someone will come by with a story and then you’ll be able to call your parents.”

Then the medic leaves and Robin heaves a deep sigh. She rests her cheek on Steve’s shoulder and he leans his head against hers. Quietly she asks: “Are we going to be okay, Stevie?”

“I don’t know, Robs, probably,” Steve answers honestly. He has always returned from these, but he hasn’t been the same since he knocked on the Byers door, now already so long ago. He thinks it’s been for the better, but he doesn’t know.

They sit there together as around them the government starts with the clean up, going through everyone and getting their story. Steve wants to go comfort them or help, but Robin keeps him chained to the bench and he’s too tired to fight her. Nor does he want to. Getting up and taking over means accepting Hopper isn’t here to do it. That he’ll never be again.

After what seems like hours – and probably is, if Steve thinks about it – they get fed a story about a fire, before Robin can call her parents as Steve tells Joyce where he’ll be, her face grateful as she cards a hand through a distressed El’s hair.

They nod along and sign what needs to be sign, just happy that they can get out of here.

Robin’s parents are two hippie looking people that Steve’s father would have a lot of unsavory opinions about. But all Steve can see if love and affection as they fuss over Robin as he keeps in the background.

Though Robin quickly drags him into the spotlight, dramatically recounting a made up story about how Steve made sure she wouldn’t get stuck under the falling rubble. How he got injured because of it and needs to be watched tonight. How he can’t go home. How he has to stay, pretty please, he’s my friend, he saved my life and he’s injured because of it.

Steve waits for the inevitable further questions, the arguing about her request. Instead, they surprise him by saying: “Of course he can come home with us. Thank you so much for saving our girl. Here come to the car, you look like you need to sit down, sweetie.”

“Oh, I’m alright, Mrs. Buckley,” Steve stammers.

“None of that nonsense. I’ll take care of you, okay?” Robin’s mom says. “And call me Daisy. None of that Mrs. Buckley stuff.”

And with that Steve is taken home. His brain isn’t fully caught up. He barely remembers the drive to a small house and he falls asleep easily, only remembering the gentle hands of Robin’s mom as he is tucked in on the couch.

~~

A/N:

Nothing will ever be more iconic than the bathroom scene, okay, it is permanently part of me, it shaped me, I will never shut up about it and it will always be the best Stranger Things scene. Period. But I did make both of them more stupid, bc they loose braincells when put together and I love that for them xp

[nyotaslove]

messy(!!) gender, language, etc. thoughts ->

I want to keep track of what's going on in non-English/specifically Spanish queer circles in terms of language. I honestly do not feel, at times, like I have any stake in any of the 'slur' discourse that goes on in this site. It's not really tied to me. When I was growing up, the slur I heard most often was maricon. I am only 'out' to people I trust, and am often (not always) straight-cis passing, so my encounters with much of these words has largely been not-negative-to-me (I hope this makes sense). Sometimes other classmates would fling about 'that's so gay' in a pejorative tone, but the one I heard adults shout about both at home or across the street, or be worried their children would be turning into, is maricon. I don't think it's entered the English language/queer circles like 'taxi' or 'mano a mano' has. I'm very curious if it ever does, and what it will be made of it.

I've heard of someone taking on maricon as a third-person pronoun/identity. I thought it was so interesting. This thing I've only ever seen people run from, before. I want to learn more.

It was also interesting when, on online, I think I saw some monolingual English speakers decide a name like 'Charles Elizabeth' or 'Victorian Benjamin', etc. were 'more' genderqueer and a new innovation. (How do you measure that?) That struck me as very funny because Jose Maria and Maria Jose (forgive me for not adding accents in this moment; I will return and do so) are very common. It's the name of Jesus' parents, Joseph and Mary, in the Spanish-language Bible. This revolutionary English moment is very old and common across several nations and generations of the Spanish speaking world. I've also met cis-straight French people with these names, and am curious if this can also be true in Portuguese speaking countries. I wonder how many other things I'm missing because I do not speak these languages.

It also reminds me of how the endings -a/-o making this feminine/masculine in Spanish. Juana/Juan, Omara/Omar, etc. Sometimes, I encounter people whose names are not used in English/Spanish, and it is the first time I am encountering this name, and they are men with their name ending in '-a' that would lead me to think they are women in Spanish. But their names will be very traditional and masculine for their country. Normative. I do not know their languages' rules, history, and can only be grateful there are more ways to be than I knew of as a child.

Further, I think of pronoun usage in English. This can be brought about in speech, most easily by saying, "I am a woman, I use she/her pronouns, etc." or "I work as an actress"[occupation with gendered ending people can opt-into]. Or, smoothly, in third person: "She is my friend, and an actress." I feel like the first option is clunky when self-introducing, the second natural, and the third option, someone else speaking of you, very nice -- only the first half of that sentence is necessary to highlight the correct pronoun. The second option is not available for many jobs -- doctor, lawyer, teacher, cashier. (As a note, I think the first option can be strong and there is value in being disruptive in language patterns).

But in Spanish, the amount of occupations where your identity is gendered is overwhelming: doctor/a, abogado/a, profesor/a, cajero/a. You constantly make a choice, and the choice can make it easier if you are self-identifying your gender to others: "Estoy aburrido/a, soy un/a bien trabajdor/a, trabajo como un/a boxeador/a." It's hard to speak in Spanish without running into a gendered choice. It makes it easier for people to know, if you exist in the binary, which binary choice you are making. This is not true for every state of being/occupation, such as being an artist. But these gender-identifying options are even open to some emotions (ie there is a word for being bored or angry or tired in both a masculine and feminine way; but not sad or hungry or happy). Even to the extent and idea of 'we' -- nosotros (all masculine or mixed group) or nosotras (all feminine group). 'We' as a group are gendered. But then what if you exist without it?

Some nonbinary people who exist in both Spanish and English words find refuge in English for this reason. Others, purposefully switch between both. En este momento, estoy aburrida, pero generalmente, trabajo como camarero por el dia y tutora de pintura por los tardes. In this moment, I am bored, but I generally work as a waiter in the day time and a tutor of painting in the afternoons -- waiter is the only gendered word here [masculine], while in the Spanish I am bored in a feminine way, a waiter in a masculine way, and a tutor in a feminine way. Would you want these options? Can you have these options -- some people will think you are confused, and gently correct you, if Spanish is not your first language.

Others use the ending -e, adjusting the -o/a, when possible, for gendered words. Others use only their names as a pronoun, when friends speak of them, to erase any ellos/as when speaking of them. These friends carry their names with love in their mouths. Even the word friend, amigo/a, is gendered, making it hard to speak of my nonbinary friends to family; I find new/old words, like amistad, which is non-gendered word for both friend AND friendship. My friend/friendship.

I like using it/its in English. This is not possible in Spanish -- its it/its are the gendered el/la. I like English it/its, because it feels like an option to blend in with the world, like a camouflage. But the Spanish-language world--our plants, drinks, sun, sidewalk--is also built of it/its, only every aspect of it is gendered. Why does this feel so different? A masculine and feminine thing of difference. I do not know; I am curious what others think of this; I have not (knowingly) met any other Spanish-speaking people who use it/its.

I want to learn more about this, about our ways of being, both traditional and new. I think there are some ways we are missing each other. This was very messy, but I am sincerely curious to learn more.

[nagasakidivision]

Drama Track: Double Effect 2-3

"Next few days" actually means "a day," apparently.

Okay, I know that Kyushu dialects are traditionally localized into super strong Midwestern English but that doesn’t translate super well into text and I thought very very hard about the associated stereotypes of people from Kyushu (loud, backwoods-y, friendly, free-spirited) and I think a super thick Vermon’ accent is closer in spirit since it has a lot of the same associations. If there's anyone actually from Vermont, I am very sorry but this is probably better than me trying to write something to the tune of Marge Gundersson.

This almost ended with Haruto using a Scouser accent because it’s way more of a direct parallel so count your blessings this hasn’t resulted in him ending every other sentence with “luv” or “la’.” But diegetically most Japan-to-English dubs are assumed to use American English, so.

So the next two parts are just the usual "let's all sit down and talk about our feelings" things that's going to be standard from here on out. It's also the reason that this ended up being four parts instead of just two. Apologies.

[Thug 1]: They saw him in the warehouse. He dipped off somewhere but he can’t have gone far.

[Thug 2]: Pick up the fucking pace, then. If we’re the ones who catch him, we’ll be made men.

[Haruto, interally]: ...This would be a hell of a lot easier if using mics were an option. But I can’t draw even more of these guys to us.

[Haruto]: (takes in a shaky breath) Okay, here goes….

(A loud clatter as Haruto kicks a can, staggering into the alleyway.)

[Haruto, slurring his words]: Oi! Fuck are you two doing here?

[Thug 1]: The hell?!

[Thug 2, under his breath]: Just some drunk hick, ignore him.

(There’s soft footfalls drawing near.)

[Haruto, now leaning in even harder to his accent and speaking even louder]: Hah? You two don’ sound like you’re from ‘round here. Ah, you got los’, didn’ you? Nobody ever comes t’ this part of town.

[Thug 2]: We’re-- we’re not lost.

[Haruto]: Don’t be shy, now, happens t’ tourists all the time. I’ll show you back t’ town center, c’mon.

(A soft smack as he hits one of them on the back, trying to draw the men’s attentions away.)

[Thug 1]: Hey! Piss off.

[Haruto]: Jus’ a short walk this-a-way.

(Stumbling footsteps as the other two men are dragged forward. The rustle of a cape, boots hitting steel as Shirou climbs the ladder.)

[Shirou, softly enough to not be heard over the angry voices of the thugs]: Thank you.

(Haruto catches Shirou out of the corner of his eye, and breathes a small sigh of relief. It’s short-lived, and followed by a gasp of shock.)

[Thug 2]: Last warning, asshole. Back off. We got better things to do.

[Haruto, internally]: ...Shit. That's a knife. They would be armed, wouldn’t they?

[Haruto]: Hey, hey. I get the picture. I’ll be outta your hair, now.

(He backs away, then runs. One last glimpse at the rooftop. It’s empty.)

[Haruto]: …Goddamnit. How do I get back?

(A soft, raspy bark.)

[Haruto]: ...Huh? Lucia?

(Two more barks. She grabs his pant leg in her teeth and pulls gently.)

[Haruto]: Watch it! That’s expensive. Fine, I’m going.

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

[Damien]: Oh, you found him! Good girl, Lucia!

[Haruto]: Shirou.

(Shirou says nothing, but lets out a long sigh.)

[Damien]: O-kaaaay. Well, close call, but the gang’s all back together now, right? This could have gone way worse. Hey, quick thinking, Haruto. That’s twice now you’ve gotten us out of a pinch. You’re a natural-born liar!

[Haruto]: ...Don’t say that like it’s a compliment.

[Shirou]: Given the situation, isn’t it?

[Damien]: Yeah, like, not even a second of hesitation there. Seriously impressive.

[Haruto]: I was just trying to save Shirou’s life.

[Damien]: And you did. Isn’t that worth it?

[Shirou]: Double effect. Isn’t that right, Haruto?

[Haruto]: Hey. Don’t use my words agai—

(He trails off.)

[Haruto]: ...Yeah. You’re right. I guess.

[Damien]: Alright, well, I guess I owe Haruto a better explanation of all this. Let’s get back to the hotel and we can look over the documents then.

(A too-long silence hangs in the air again.)

[Damien]: ...Shirou. You got the records, right?

[Shirou]: ……

[Shirou]: I need to go back in.

[Damien]: You absolutely do not.

[Haruto]: He’s right. Those guys were armed. I almost got stabbed and I was just being annoying. And they’re actively looking for you. What is going back in there going to accomplish?

[Shirou]: We can prove that Chuouku’s been collaborating with the yakuza. The heat will die down soon. I can still finish the mission.

[Damien]: Yeah, if you want to die. They’re not just going to turn and go home in an hour, man. And there’s no guarantee they’re not going to figure out you’re after the paperwork and not their money and move that somewhere safer.

[Shirou]: ...It’s worth it. Haruto, didn’t you say you knew this was a risk we’d all take?

[Haruto]: …

[Haruto, thinking]: There’s no way he’ll listen to reason. He’s just not that kind of person. He’s completely driven by his own ideals. But I can work with that.

[Haruto]: ...Hey. What are you going to do if we win?

[Shirou]: What?

[Haruto]: You heard me. Let’s say we pull this off. The Party of Words is gone. Solaris is exposed. You and I both know you’ve been working yourself to death trying to make that happen. What are your plans once that’s out of the way?

[Shirou]: I don’t see what this has to do with the issue at hand. Why make plans for the future when there’s no guarantee we’re going to see it?

[Haruto]: That’s my point. Shirou, you’ve got something you’re willing to die for, but that’s only half the equation. What do you have to live for?

[Shirou]: …

[Shirou]: What about you? Neither of us have been doing much else for the past couple years.

[Haruto]: I mean, to start with, I’ve got a dissertation to finish. And theories to prove. I can’t prove anything if I can’t live what I’m preaching myself, nobody's going to let a hypocrite change the world. And I’m not aiming to die before I change the world.

(A pause.)

[Damien]: ...What are you all looking at me for?

(He sighs.)

[Damien]: I...look, I don’t know if we can actually change the world the way you guys want. I just know I can change myself. And I know this is the right thing to do to change myself. Whether or not this works, I can at least be a revolution to myself even if I’m not a revolution to the world.

[Haruto]: So. There you go. I’m not saying we have it worked out, but we’ve at least got an idea of what we want to do.

(There’s an uncomfortable pause.)

[Haruto]: C’mon. Shirou, let’s go. We need you. We’re not a team without you.

[Damien]: I’ve got contacts in other places. Something else is going to turn up.

[Shirou]: ...Alright. Let’s go back. I suppose we have a tournament to win as it stands.

[noagskryf]

In terms of my actual accent, it's a mix of south london and midlands. With a south african twang when i'm tired, apparently. And i say a lot of scientific and geographical words in a slight irish accent because most of my teachers at my previous school were irish and they taught me for 5 years 🤷‍♂️

But i also have a speech impediment which means i slur some words, my words mix together a lot (to the point where i'm making sounds incomprehensible to everyone except to my immediate family) and i stutter a lot

So typing out how i speak it's: "aahwan, aahwan, wan, aah wan wantuh go tuh tuh tuh vuh p-park" (i want to go to the park - an example of my stutter and i say "i" as "aah")

Or "ah live in in inuh r-r-ruul, r-ruurl, rual, p-place" (i live in a rural place - i find it hard to say words like rural and automatically try to self correct)

My tone is also very flat, and i struggle with intonation a lot. I talk in a weird rhythm and find it easier to talk when i tap out a beat on my leg or on my hand or something to help me talk in a normal pace

rb this and tell me what ur accent is. this has no purpose except the fact i just realized i could have like... mutuals with cockney accents or newfoundland accents or something and thats just wild

[shadowsandstarlight]

Accents are so so cool and I love them so much. I’ve been fixating on Canadian regional accents. People always act like there’s only one universal Canadian accent (stereotypically, a thick sort of east coast accent) but there are so so many. There’ll be variations within each province, some specific to individual towns. Alberta (home) is pretty spread out and low density, I’ve noticed two main categories of Albertan accent—rural and urban. The urban Albertan accent is more enunciated, more formal, more like you hear on tv or the radio, with a heavier American influence that can sometimes make it tricky to differentiate from the accents of nearby regions of the States. Rural Albertan accents are the more stereotypical ones, much easier to distinguish. They’re significantly heavier on the classic features of Canadian accents (the good old Canadian raising, “eh,” “bud,” etc), and share a lot of traits with other “redneck hick” accents. It doesn’t quite sound like a southern American accent, but there’s definitely a little bit of twang to it. Tends to drop a lot of syllables, slur sounds together, vowels kind of get emphasized and are rarely dropped while consonants can go fuck themselves (“Alberta,” for example. The initial “al” sounds almost more like “owl”, “ta” is more like “da.” Sometimes it’s just “‘Berta.” “Edmonton,” the “d” gets dropped, the “o”s are pronounced like i’s, so it’s more like “emintin.” “Calgary,” the “cal” almost manages to sound more like “cow,” second “a” vanishes so it’s like “gry” rather than “gary” (that’s how you can identify a proper Albertan. If they say “Cal-gary” that’s incorrect.). “Banff,” the “n” is almost more like an “m” sound.) Lots of very interesting contractions. We do the whole “y’all” thing, “don’t’cha,” “y’all’d’ve,” there are… the best way I can describe them is audible apostrophes? Sometimes a sound or syllable vanishes almost completely, but the way the next sound starts acts like it’s still there, kind of (In “it’s,” the “it” often gets dropped so it’s just “’s,” but you can still kind of hear a little. Exhale-ish sound where the “it” should be, so it’s not quite a plain s hiss. Kind of “iss” but the i isn’t properly there either. It’s apostrophe-s, with an audible apostrophe). “You’re” (and its homophones) become “yer,” often the second “t” in “that” gets cut off to become more like “tha’” (most frequently when followed by other words, “yeah, that” doesn’t get changed as much as “that over there”), “ing”s often become “in’”s, “often” drops the “t” and changes the “e” so it sounds like “offin,” all that fun stuff. Yeah. It’s very cool to listen to all the differences.