#it'll get there

[elthadriel]

Hi elth!!!!!! 💜 + fox/echo/fives 😈😈😈😈😈😈

Have a scene from a fic I will eventually write were Echo and Fives are working with the Rebellion and bump into Fox also working with the Rebellion. Then everyone is so cool and normal about it all!

Three of the lights across the ceiling are broken, leaving grey voids across the room. Fox sits next to one, right under one of the working lights, but the shadow creeping up on his right. His blaster is in pieces on the table in front of him, laid out as neat as any picture in a training manual as Fox meticulously cleans each piece.

Echo isn’t with him.

Fives clears his throat. Fox picks up the barrel of the blaster, examining it for any dirt or damage.

“Have you seen—”

“He went out,” Fox says, not looking up. Fox’s tone doesn’t leave room for follow up questions.

“Did he say where he was going?” Fives asks. They should be laying low until they hear back from the rebellion, but the city is big enough that one man wandering won’t attract attention. But it’s unlike Echo to leave after a fight. He likes to stay; make everyone soak in it.

Fox’s nostrils flair. It took two weeks, but Fives has finally managed to make him angry. It doesn’t feel as satisfying as he’d imagined that it would.

Fox places down the barrel of his blaster, and meets Fives’ eye. He’s in scruffy, unassuming civvies, with hair and stubble grown long past regulation. He looks every bit the marshal commander he used to be.

“Leave me out of your aiwhashit,” he warns.

Fives scoffs. Fox has been involved since he shot him, haunting them for almost a decade.

“How much did you hear,” he says. It will have been better if he heard none of it, but the safehouse is small and they’d been loud. Fives had been loud. Echo had been cold and quiet. It might be better if Fox didn’t hear, but maybe Fives doesn’t want things to be better.

“Enough,” Fox says. “I shouldn’t have brought you on this assignment.”

Fox is still acting like his rank means something, like his scores on Kamino can possibly still matter.

Fives steps across the around, around the table, towering over Fox. Fox doesn’t blink, doesn’t lean away. He’s not scared of Fives. Fives thinks he could change that. He shouldn’t want to see what it would take to change that.

“Why did you?” Fives says. He already knows. Fox has burned every relationship he’s ever built and this one’s already burnt. The pair to the blaster he’s cleaning is still on Fox’s belt, half hidden by his coat. Fives could pull it out before Fox could stop him. It used to be the sort of thing he thought he’d want to do.

“I incorrectly believed that you wouldn’t have been made  ARCs if you weren’t capable of being professionals.”

Fives kisses him. It’s closed lips, stubble scratching against his lips and then Fox jerks backwards, shoving Fives in the same action. Fives doesn’t go far, but Fox’s hand stays on his chest holding him at arm's length.

The light over them flickers but struggles on.

“I said don’t involve me in this,” Fox says, and the warning is thicker this time, more threatening.

“It’s a little late for that.” He and Echo should have ignored him back on the base. They should have taken one look at him and left him to his lonely little existence instead of trying to pick a fight.

Fox lunges up out of the chair and Fives doesn't step back fast enough. Fox’s hands grab the front of his jacket, but he barely needs to pull, standing closing almost all the distance. This time Fox’s tongue is in Fives’ mouth, their noses bumping teeth clicking. Fox’s grip on him is unyielding, but Fives grabs Fox anyway, holding him just as tightly. Fox doesn’t get exclusive power over keeping them together.

Fox pants into Fives’ mouth. His blaster bumps up against Fives’ hip. Fives takes a handful of his too long hair. If Fox walked him back to the couch Fives has no doubt they’d fuck on it. If he pulled Fox with him, Fox would go.

They break apart in some mutual moment. Fox’s expression is as closed up as ever, giving away almost nothing.

“Don’t tell Echo,” Fives says, guilt settling the moment the words are out of his mouth.

Fox sneers, an unpleasant reminder of how easy he is to dislike. “He doesn’t like sharing?”

Echo isn’t Fox. Sharing has never been the problem.

“He doesn’t like you,” Fives says. Fives isn’t sure he likes Fox either.

“Why does he hate me more than you do?” Fox’s face sours immediately, the question a moment of weakness.

There’s a lot of answers that Fox won’t like and a couple he probably would. Echo wasn’t on Umbara. He doesn’t understand that the image of Fox with his gun up feels a lot like Rex standing stoic while a firing squad stared Fives down. Echo will never agree to understand that.

“I’m fed up of letting you have that space in my life,” Fives says, unsure if that’s an answer Fox will like or not.

Fox lets out a rush of air that gives away nothing.

“Don’t tell Echo,” Fives repeats.

Fox sits back down, collecting a piece of his blaster, picking up exactly where he left off.

“Leave me out of this,” Fox repeats.

As if it’s that easy.

[dyrewrites]

In honor of WiP Wednesday...clowns?

I shared a little of this one before, but there's more now, so you're getting more. It's not explicit but it might be suggestive, and a long snip, as this is everything I have so far.

Warning, it is silly and weird and I've no explanation for a single bit of it. But under the cut goes the clown horror wip...that isn't horror quite yet but certainly teasing it.

Enjoy?

--

I never cared for clowns. Not because of any phobias related, or even bad memories. There was simply something off about a man in that much face paint and lycra smiling all the time.

You read right, lycra.

The clown staring at me from across the party last night was either going for a sexy interpretation or mixing up the circus and a King's court. In monochrome even, which was somehow worse.

A jester in black lycra with over-sized buttons, a jingling hat and a bright red nose. His face was painted white, with a big black exaggerated smile and matching hearts smeared over his eyes. Hair tucked up in the hat with all of his skin covered by that lycra mess, its color too dark to gauge any real body beneath. 

He was a jester-shaped hole in reality, with comically large white gloves floating in nothing and that stupid nose glowing in a glaring lack of color.

And he was staring. At me.

A trick of the lights made his wide eyes as red as the nose, but he was definitely staring...and dancing. Gloves flashing around in a blur as he approached. I wanted to ignore the attempt but damnit if he wasn’t on rhythm. Never mind the goofy grin, infectious through the greasy black smear of lips.

Try as I might to scoff, to sneer, he made me smile long before he reached me.

God, I hate clowns.

A testament, really, to his skill. Or the sinewy muscles and broad shoulders made clearer when he stopped a few feet away.

To bow with flourish, “Good sir knight, might I share your company?”

Eloquent, near-cooed, and I should have noticed how easily I heard him over the pounding bass of the music.

But I was too focused on the words.

See, I’d come to the party dressed as a black knight. In real armor, well, custom made of a light alloy. Had a friend with her own forge and an obsessive love affair with all things middle ages. It wouldn’t have withstood a joust or anything—too thin, meant to be a show I could dance in—but it was real, down to the chain mail shirt underneath.

Which is to say I’d heard those exact words all night from all manner of clowns. But none dressed like one, so I accepted. In character, as clearly that was what we were doing, right?

Playing parts.

“And why would one such as I wish to be seen with a fool?”

“Fair point, good sir, fair point...but you’ve not seen me dance.”

It was a dumb game, but a fun one. Back and forth we went, speaking in nonsense versions of what we assumed our costumes represented. Then we danced.

And the fool wasn’t playing around, he could dance. We became a spectacle for it, as I couldn’t keep up, resigning to my position as ‘pole’ while he slithered and writhed and gyrated around me. On me. So close I could feel his pulse through the tight, thin fabric he wore. Fabric I ached to tear off him before the song ended…

A desire he stoked by ending with his tongue on mine. So quick he grabbed and so quick I sunk. Warm, wet and ever so slightly tingling that kiss.

But he broke it, if slow and sweet, to ask, “does sir knight wish to retire to bedchambers, and continue our dance?”

In character still. A damned delight it was, truly, as it was to play along, “thou art a faster moving fool than I am accustomed.”

“Mm, sir knight speaks true,” more delicious teases of tongue on my ear, gloves too warm toying with my hair as he cooed, “yet he has not answered.”

Gasping for the voice so close, and perhaps the knee so gently placed between my legs, I didn’t keep quite to character, “God yes.”

We were serenaded by howls when he giggled and lifted me to his hips...to walk me out of the house we’d been in. I can’t even remember whose house it was, if I knew them or not. It was just one of those things you hear about on Halloween, you know?

“Hey, there’s a party going on over here. Free beer.”

Magic words those.

Magic clown too, far as I was concerned, what with how he managed to pick me up so easily. My armor was no light affair and I’m no small man, but he seemed to be. Then again, it could be all the free beer muddying my recollection.

Would explain what followed.

I don’t remember much of the ride home, but I remember it was my home we were headed to in a ride that I didn’t pay for with hands and lips and tongues continuing their salacious assault. Those gloves seemed to peel away with his touch of me, whenever they touched skin I felt skin. Heat and pulse and sweat, not the cheap fabric and stuffing they appeared to be.

All of his costume operated that way. I wanted to taste his neck, his chest, and the lycra slid open to accommodate. His face paint didn’t come off, didn’t even smear, but I took it all the same. Splashes of black and white stained my hands, probably my lips—hard to tell when they’re attached to someone else.

He carried me into my apartment too, slamming into walls with every rough grind into him I insisted on. No words. It goes that way sometimes, and I didn’t think much of it, but we didn’t speak beyond our play at the party.

Until I’d managed to get a key in the door and we collapsed onto my couch. He was so quick. On his knees before me in a flash, gloves running rough up my legs, over all the soft cloth I wore under all my metals—not quite authentic for the armor, but I worked with what I had.

[mywaywardcupcake]

Just a ray of sunshine!

[docnefarious]

HC TIME !! (thalassophobia, ie. fear of deep water incoming)

I can get into this way more later, but my nef muse totally has thalassophobia:

ie.)

and now prepare for the total crack post that inspired this—

—okay but 👁️👁️... could you imagine if it was suuuuuuper deep 👀;;... the creatures that could be down there... ANYWAYS this is an HC post i guess, of a fear my muse has, that he's never told anyone! fear of deeep water... bc who knows what's down there, and he can't swim that well LOL

[jenova-disaster]

Trying to draw one of my favs/current obsession. I haven't even really started and I'm already crying.

The longer I look at this, the less I understand it

[shivasdarknight]

I'm editing more of that drg70 fic and I forgot this exchange even happened, so I just really have the need to share it

With her energy back somewhat and ability to walk returned, Surkukteni was anxious.  She wanted to move, she wanted to do something — she had energy that needed to be burnt off in spite of the numbness that still lingered, for she felt she might explode if she didn’t.  She was of one mind as she approached Estinien at camp one antsy evening, hoping her luck would win out: “Let’s spar,” she said, shoving him lightly in the shoulder to get his attention. She really should’ve known at that point not to test her luck with him.  Estinien blinked, staring up at her before his mild surprise turned to a frown.  “No,” was all he said before turning back to the gauntlet held in un-gauntleted hands. “Why not?”  Her arms crossed over her chest (Like a petulant child.), looking down at him as he refused to look up at her. His thumb tapped against the metal like the question irked him far more than he was outwardly letting on.  “If you really want to lose that badly and potentially set us further back because you reopened the wound, then by all means: let’s.”  He cast a sidelong glance up at her, gauntlet carefully set in his lap.  But quickly it turned into a deeply disappointed look as he looked up at her properly.  “Oh for gods’ sake, I was being facetious.” “And I’m being serious!  Let’s fight!” But Estinien didn’t budge.

[stealthrockdamage]

need to post my favourite tweet in the entire world

[crabussy]

IM GOING TO PUNCH A HOLE IN SOMEONES CAR

[canisalbus]

✦ Freshly ordained ✦

[justletmeon12]

I did the thing: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54525019/chapters/138144694

EDIT: I said I'd tag @cookieoppressor and @convolutedblasphemy. My apologies.

Someone pointed out that the Hazbin cast rebuilt Alastor's radio tower BEFORE knowing for sure that he survived (which, really sweet!) and just -

Knowing that it was probably mostly Charlie's idea because Lucifer would NEVER, do you think she put up banners and streamers and a welcome sign in the tower too.

Do you think Alastor "I'm no altruist" Radio Demon walks into his brandnew (perfect) radio tower and there's ballons and streamers and a banner "Welcome back, glad you're not dead" banner waiting for him and he's just like "ah, fuck"

[pangur-and-grim]

Pangur is smart enough that she hisses when I say "Belphie", just on the off chance he's in the room

[coddda]

I wish we could have met in some other way.

Lawlight Week Day 2: Soulmates

If you saw me repost and re-edit this several times uh No you didn't </3

Still frames/Individual gifs:

If you know what every frame is from you get a free cookie. by the way

[juney-blues]

when you're part of a group with structural power over another goup, you really do gotta just learn to say "i am not exempt from 'fuck 'em' when relevant" whenever someone expresses frustration with you or people like you.

[commaclear]

I made something

need more c!crimeboys horror content please give me beautiful crimeboys horror content

[garpen]

12 yrs old Jason having just been dropped off at Wayne Manor: Do you just take in every orphan you meet off the street?

Bruce: No, you're the first kid I picked up off the street. I picked up my last one at the circus.

Jason: Is that a joke? I can’t tell if that’s a joke.

Bruce: My son's name is Richard, but he insists on going by Dick.

Jason: And he’s…from the circus?

[blogfullofemos]

Me with Break The Ice Pt2, adding to the Caught Up series, and Thanks for the Wait Pt2.... 2 of them are halfway written, 1 is still dangling for more inspiration.