#kind of ? but not really

[meggahamicide]

Whelp, I was supposed to be finished with this hours ago, but here we are, middle of the night, because I couldn't decide which version I liked more so I ended up messing around for like two hours...

But bonus content, a future and baby Vermin!

The version I spent way too much time deciding whether or not I like is below.

[python333]

bedbound — python333

— — — —

synopsis you're on a mission and oopsie daisy you get trapped under a building!! you end up in the medbay and tf141 visits you one by one, each of them giving you a lil piece of their mind for going and getting yourself trapped under a collapsed building.

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 4.5k

warnings pretty detailed (i think) descriptions of [reader] being in pain [specifically having a bunch of leg injuries], angstier than i usually write, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note this is my first actual fic ive wrotten in MONTHS so i hope its okay! so sorry if it feels like a majority of the focus is on the reader, i had a too much fun writing out the first part where they get crushed :3 i am also once again begging for requests. like on my knees hands together begging for requests. its the best way of getting motivation istg. anyway, this is all mild hurt/comfort and some angst + fluff so enjoy!! :3

You tried running out of the building—you didn’t expect the whole damn thing to come crashing down on you.

You’d just been chasing after an enemy soldier moments ago, dashing into the building, when suddenly the whole building seemed to shake. Then, the whole thing seemed to just collapse. When you think about it now, you realize the shake must’ve come from a nearby explosion, an explosion somehow powerful enough to damage the structural support of the building so terribly that it couldn’t hold itself up anymore and instead fell down onto you. 

Now, here you were, just ten steps away from the entrance of the building, stopped by the huge slab of concrete and twisted metal that pinned your legs down to the ground. Your earpiece fell off when you fell down, sliding across the floor, preventing you from calling your team.

Sure, you could try and move your legs, but the excruciating pain that came with each movement wasn’t worth it. You think your legs are broken with the way your nerves scream at you every time you move them, and with how uncomfortably and horrifyingly disconnected they feel.

“I’m making shit up,” You whisper hoarsely to yourself, ignoring the tears that welled up in your eyes from the debris and dust in the air, “They’re not broken. I’m making it worse for myself by thinking that.”

In the back of your mind, you remember that you’re quoting Price on that one, from the last time you got seriously hurt like this. You vaguely remember your panicked words and Price’s soothing voice that came after every worry, telling you that no, you’re not too badly hurt, it’s gonna be okay, you’re just panicking.

But in the forefront of your mind, all you can do is think about how you can’t reach your earpiece to talk to your team, the only thing you can do is listen to their worried voices.

The earpiece is loud enough for you to hear, even though you’re just out of arm’s reach from it, you can still hear your teammates repeating your call sign and asking how you copy. With the stupid Push-To-Talk thing, you can’t even just respond, no, you have to push the button on the side of your earpiece to unmute yourself.

You stretch your arm out just a little bit more to try and reach the earpiece, but when your leg starts to strain and your nerves light up you immediately give up, letting out a small, pained huff. You take a moment to just lie there and listen to your own labored breaths, every other breath hitching or catching in your throat.

You swallow down a sob that threatens to bubble out of your throat and try to reach again and—nope, that still fucking hurts.

You bring your hand back and put it over your mouth to muffle a small sob that climbs up and out of your throat, and try to take a deep breath the best you can with the debris in the air.

You feel a slight discomfort in your chest and cough, horrified when you see small specks of dust in the air you cough out, and God, the sight of it makes you want to rip out your lungs.

You feel the sudden urge to cough everything out, to flush out the dust in your lungs, to get rid of the uncomfortably full feeling you feel in your chest, but you know that every time you cough you can only exhale more of that debris-filled dust back in so now you’re trapped in a loop and—

“[c/n], how copy?” God, you want to yell at them that repeating that question won’t help, but you know there’s nothing else they can do. They’ve already asked where you are, if you’re okay, and how you copy multiple times, all of which got no answer.

They’ve only experienced radio silence on their end, and the thought makes you feel guilty for not being able to suck up the pain in your legs and just reach over to the damn earpiece and tell them you’re trapped.

You take a few deep breaths, trying your best to ignore the way you can literally feel the dust entering your lungs, and reach. You stretch your arm out the farthest you can, and feel the strain in your leg, and you’re almost to the earpiece, just a few more inches— pop.

A bone chilling pop rings through the air the moment you manage to snatch the earpiece, and good thing it was at least after you managed to grasp it firmly in your hand because you recoil back on instinct and gasp.

The gasp only lets in more dust, and you cough, wet tears dripping down onto your cheeks as you go through a seemingly endless loop of coughing out dust and inhaling debris and coughing it out again only for new dust to make its way into your system.

You stifle a pain-filled whimper and try to control your shaky breath, gripping the earpiece firming in your hand, looking down at it, looking at the sheer amount of debris on it. You bring your free hand out and wipe away the debris with shaky hands, making sure it’s clean enough to put in your ear before you carefully insert it.

It takes you a moment with your trembling hands, but you manage to do it, and you listen to Price ask how you copy one more time before you push down on the PTT button.

“Copy—” You hoarsely say, before coughing, everyone on the other line going silent, “Copy, not doing very well over here.”

“What happened?” Price’s voice crackles through on the damaged ear piece, “Are you hurt?”

“I got trapped under— under some concrete, and I…” You take a moment to catch your breath, “My legs are pinned, I can’t move.”

“Okay, okay,” Price’s voice softens, his tone becoming more soothing, “Where are you?”

“In a building— dunno which— which one… it’s by the really tall one,” You breathe out, mentally slapping yourself in the forehead for not being able to remember, “I’m sorry, I just know it’s orange and it has the entrance that Ghost bumped his head on—”

“It’s okay, I know which one you’re talking about,” Price reassures you, “Catch your breath. I’ll be there to get you out of there, okay? Just stay still, don’t move a muscle, you hear me?”

“I hear you,” You mumble, trying to catch your breath, coughing at the amount of dust that infiltrates your lungs. You bring your hand off of the PTT button and sob once, quietly, and sniffle to try and stop yourself from crying, blinking away tears.

The tears that trailed down your face earlier now only make you realize just how much dust and grime is on your face, how the tear trails must’ve been the only clean lines on your face, how there’s a whole layer of pure filth on your face and you can’t even properly wipe it away because your hands are dirty too.

The pain in your legs are throbbing and you know that you’ve torn some of the muscle in your thighs, and you know the popping noise had to have been your hip, from the unnatural way you’d twisted it to reach your earpiece. You don’t even have time to think about how pathetic you look when suddenly Price opens the barely-hanging-onto-the-hinges-door, looking at the floor for a moment before his eyes finally land on you.

He immediately walks over to the slab of concrete pinning your legs down and forcing you to lie on the ground and you can hear him faintly murmur, “Oh, God,” and kneel down to the same level as the concrete.

You turn your neck to look at him and watch as he looks at the concrete for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to lift it, before he simply grabs the edge of the concrete and, with a grunt and after a good thirty seconds, he manages to lift one end up and flip it over onto its other side. The circulation that immediately floods back to your legs and the sudden feeling of weightlessness you get is almost too much, and you can barely find it in yourself to feel shame as you let out a small, relieved sob at the sudden rush of blood to your legs.

Price immediately gasps and you can’t see much from your angle but in the midst of your relief you suddenly feel a pang of pain and oh God, that hurts. You can recognize now the warm blood that accompanies the drying blood on your calf, and with the blood rushing into your legs, more spills out from the wound in your leg. Vaguely, you can remember twisted metal doing something to your leg—stabbing it, maybe? Your brain becomes fog-filled; too hazy to think through but just clear enough to register the throbbing pain in your leg. 

“I’m so sorry,” Price murmurs softly, and before you can question him he takes the metal out of your leg and you let out a closed-lip scream, slapping a hand over your mouth to try and muffle the now uncontrollable sobs that break past your lips, the pain you feel making you light-headed.

Price quickly pulls a tourniquet out of one of the many pockets of his tactical best, wrapping the bright red strip around your leg just above the bleeding, blocking the blood from reaching past that point. He tightens it and rolls you over so that you’re laying on your back, making you stifle another pain-filled whimper. Without another word, he slips his arm under your knees and his other below your back and lifts you up bridal style, making you gasp sharply and cry out for a moment in pain, a few drops of blood making it onto the floor from your calf, the whole sight dizzying.

Being lifted up like this gave you vertigo—your head spun as you were lifted up and you could barely process anything with your hazy mind. Price mutters small ‘sorry’s under his breath, carrying you out of the door and quickly running with you in his arms back to where the others are, almost wanting to cry for you, seeing how much pain you were in.

Your eyelids drooped and your eyes shortly became half-lidded, and your ears started to ring, and everything was so overwhelming you just wanted it to be over. 

Price notices your eyelids drooping and quickly says, “Hey, hey, don’t pass out on me, you gotta stay awake, kid.” You can only shake your head ‘no’ because talking feels like too much right now and let out another small, pain-filled whimper, just the sound of it making Price’s heart shatter.

You can only find it in yourself to talk a moment later, your words slurring together as you try to speak, “I can’t— can’t… I’m sorry, I can’t—” You don’t even know what you’re trying to say, what you’re trying to warn Price about, but he seems to know.  

“No, no, no—” Price tries to beg you, as if you had enough strength to stay awake. Those are the last words you hear before you completely black out.

—

You wake up to a white ceiling and the faint beeping of a heart monitor. You move your head around a bit, trying to gauge where you are, when you realize— oh, I’m in the medbay. You blink for a moment before sighing and just resting there for a moment, trying to recount the events that happened earlier. You don’t have time to go down memory lane, though, because suddenly the curtains in front of your bed are pulled back to reveal your Captain. “You’re awake,” He states, closing the curtains behind him. “How could you tell?” He snorts and sits down in a chair by your bed. You look at him questioningly, “Where’re the others?” “They’ll be here soon,” Price assures you, looking at your blanket covered legs for a moment before looking back up at your face, “Medics said one at a time.” You hum neutrally in response to that and wait a moment before asking, “How bad is it?” “Your leg?” “Yeah.” “Well…” Price starts to list off on his fingers, recalling the doctor’s words, “The joint that connected your hips and your legs was twisted and it had to be set back to normal, your muscles were torn, your ligaments were torn, your nerves were so compressed someone had to physically massage your legs back to life, and the stab wound in your leg almost got infected.” “… Huh.” You blink at Price, before asking, “When can I get out of here?” “Why is that what you’re thinking about right now?” Price asks, confused, before sighing and answering, “Kid, your leg was basically broken. You can get out of here in maybe a few weeks to a month. Getting back to your assignments is a whole different story. It could take several months for your muscles to fully heal, and even then I don’t want you back out there for a while. Not until it’s guaranteed your leg won’t… give out, or something, out there.” You frown at Price, “So what, I’m just gonna be stuck here?” “What else are you gonna do with an almost-broken leg?” “…” Price sighs and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, “Look, I know it’s frustrating, having to sit here for a few weeks then be able to get out only to not be able to do anything too physical, but your leg muscles were torn. You were trapped under concrete. You’re not going on any missions any time soon. I feel like that should be kind of obvious.” You can understand it, knowing the condition you’re in now, but you still deflate a little where you lie down and let out a tired, frustrated huff. Price chuckles softly at your clear display of disappointment and rubs your shoulder gently before patting it and getting up. “I guess I have to let the others see you too,” He muses, making your lips twitch up into a smile, the sight making him smile in return, “But I’ll be back tomorrow to talk to you again, alright?” “Alright,” You nod, watching as he walks past the curtains blocking your bed from the rest of the medbay and listen as the door clicks open and closes shut. Not even a few seconds later, the door opens again, this time with someone walking faster to the curtains, pushing them aside eagerly. You quickly recognize Soap as he walks in, quickly closing the curtains behind him before rushing over and leaning down to hug you. This all happens so quickly you have to take a moment to process it, but you eventually hug him back, sighing at the warm embrace. “I want tae call ye stupid sae bad,” Soap mumbles into your neck as he hugs you, “but it wasn’ even yer fault sae I can’.”

“That’s the worst thing that’s happened all day,” You mutter sarcastically, making Soap laugh quietly. He pulls away from you and looks down at you. “It is, actually,” Soap says, and at your confused and mildly offended expression, he adds on, “It’s been over a day since ye got yer leg fucked up.” “… Oh.” You dumbly said, trying to process that. Over a day. “Everyone was really worried about ye, too,” Soap tacks on, refusing to sit on the chair behind him, simply standing by your bed. You stay silent, and Soap takes that as an invitation to keep talking. “I think that's the first time I've actually seen Ghost stressed," Soap muses, making you huff out a small laugh. “Really?” “Yea,” Soap smiles, “I ken. Stone cauld L.t, suddenly worryin’ o’er ye.”

“Isn’t that a surprise,” You mutter, a small smile gracing your lips thinking about Ghost worrying over you, “So you were all really worried?” “Very worried,” Soap nods, “Gaz thocht ye were gonnae die, poor chiel.” “Hm,” You hum neutrally. Soap stays silent for a moment before his voice softens and he quiets himself down a bit. “Try no' tae dae that again, aye? Ye'll gie the captain a heart attack," When you give him a pointed look, he rolls his eyes and adds on, “And me. Possibly. Maybe.” “Uh huh,” You look at him, unimpressed, “Right. I’ll try to predict when a huge piece of concrete is gonna fall on me.” “Ye ken wha’ I meant.”

“Never said I didn’t.” “Ye— y’know wha’? I’ll just leave then,” Soap says, feigning annoyance as he walks away from your bed, making you laugh quietly. He slips out and doesn’t bother to close the curtains behind him, simply walking out the door, not bothering to close that either.

You can hear him letting someone else know you’re ‘free to visit’, and just a few seconds later you watch Ghost walk in. You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are, seeing as Soap had told you Ghost was worried over you, but you still find yourself a little shocked when he walks over to you and closes the curtains behind him. He sits at the chair beside your bed, and silently stares at you from the chair.

You stare back, not blinking, waiting for him to say the first word. You and Ghost’s silent staring match ends with Ghost sighing and speaking up. “How does your… leg feel?” “How do you think it feels?” You ask, deadpan, watching as Ghost’s eyes narrow. You blink at him for another moment before adding on, “It feels numb, right now.” Ghost hums at the actual answer and sits there awkwardly for another moment before stating, “Gaz thought you died. Or, were gonna die.” “I heard about that,” You respond, raising an eyebrow at Ghost, “Did he not know it was just my leg that got hurt?” “Hurt is a mild word,” Ghost mutters, before clearing his throat and saying, “No, he knew. He was more worried about all the stuff that got into your lungs.” “Oh.” “Yeah.”

You both stay silent for a bit, again, before you speak up, “So… are my lungs okay, or… ?” “No, yeah, they’re fine.” “That’s… good.” “Mhm.” Why is this so awkward? You purse your lips and turn your head back so that you’re staring at the ceiling rather than at Ghost, not knowing what to say. Why’d he even come in here if he was just gonna be awkward about this whole thing? It’s silent again, an uncomfortable sort of quiet that’s silent yet deafening at the same time—and you hate it. It seems Ghost hates it too, because he shifts in his seat, not saying anything verbally but you can tell by his body language it’s awkward for him too.

This goes on for maybe a minute or two, when suddenly Ghost gets up and walks the short one step between him and your bed and leans down to hug you. Like the silence, the hug is awkward, but unlike it, it’s comforting. A comfortable awkward? You tentatively hug him back and you feel his hands snake underneath your back, forcing his arms under you so that he can hug you properly. 

“I know Soap told you I was stressed and worried and whatnot,” Ghost mutters, his skull mask pressing into your shoulder, “… And he was right.” “… Did you think I thought he was wrong?” “Shut it and let me try to talk.” “Yes, sir.” Ghost sighs and takes a deep breath before continuing, “He was right. I was growing greys watching you passed out, and I think I almost passed out as well, hearing you were trapped under a huge block of concrete and got stabbed by metal.” 

“Did you ever find out what the metal was?” You ask after a moment, making sure he was done talking.

“The Captain said it was a twisted pipe.”

“Huh.” You lay there for a moment, simply enjoying Ghost hugging you, before Ghost speaks up again.

“I know it wasn’t your fault, but please, God, never do that shit to me ever again.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m in a collapsing building.”

“I’m serious,” Ghost pulls away from the hug and looks down at you, keeping his hands on both of your shoulders, “I had to drive a car with you in the back passed out laying in the trunk with Price, all while not knowing what happened, and having to drive you guys back to base.”

“… Damn, you guys didn’t get a helicopter, or anything?”

“[c/n].”

“Sorry.”

Ghost sighs, “I’m trying to say that I don’t like worrying over you like that. I don’t like knowing that my kid is hurt, and I can’t do anything about it. That was the first time I was seriously worried and— and stressed over you, and it was terrifying, seeing you just passed out with dirt all over you and blood all over your leg, and just seeing you like that— I can’t do that again,” Ghost takes a deep breath, and looks down at you, trying to gauge your reaction, trying to see what you think of his words, but all you can think is, wait, he called me his kid?

“You called me your kid,” You dumbly voice your thoughts, watching as Ghost’s expression becomes more confused, and he opens his mouth to deny that when suddenly— oh shit, he called you his kid.

“… I did,” He dumbly says back, sounding surprised by his own words, before he fully realizes what he said and simply blinks down at you, not knowing where to go from here. You both blink at each other, not knowing what to say, before he clears his throat.

“I’ll just… head out then,” He awkwardly says, slowly walking away from the bed.

You take the opportunity to say, “Alright, dad.”

He freezes and slowly turns towards you and mutters, “Don’t call me that.”

A grin splits across your face, “Oh I will. Dad.”

He points at you with a single finger, “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“I’ll call you it in front of everyone. I’ll gaslight them into thinking we’re related.”

“God, you better not.”

“I will. In fact, tomorrow, I’ll begin with the Captain. Then I’ll tell Soap, he’s the next most gullible next to Gaz, who I’ll see right after you. Gaz won’t fight with me over it, he’ll just accept it, I know he will, then, and only then, will I tell everyone else. I spread it across the base like the flu. Everyone, and I mean everyone will think that you’re my father, Ghost.”

“That is…” Ghost blinks at you, dumbfounded and mildly horrified, “... terrifying.” “Yeah, I know. Pretty sure I got that from you, dad.” “Oh my God,” Ghost groans, making you laugh at his misery. He walks out without another word, being sure to slam the door behind him, making the poor medic passing by jump at least a foot in the air. You giggle quietly in your bed, waiting for the next person to walk in. By the time you’ve contained your laughter, Gaz walks in, looking strangely sheepish as he walks over to you and closes the curtains behind him that Ghost had forgotten to close. He doesn’t say anything until he’s right by your bed and bends over to give you a nice, firm, quick hug before standing up straight again and clearing his throat. “Hi,” He greets you simply. “Hi.” “How’s the uh… how’s your leg?” “You thought I died?” You ask teasingly, ignoring his question. You can’t see any blush on his face, but you’re almost certain his face heats up as he looks away from you. “Listen…” He sighs, looking back at you, “Price ran over to the whole group, with you not moving at all in his arms, and a tourniquet wrapped around your calf. I feel like it was a bit reasonable for me to think you were dead for a second.” “Right, of course,” You nod, definitely not believing that he only thought you were dead for a second, “That’s totally why I’ve had both Soap and Ghost tell me you thought I was dead. They only told me that because you thought I was dead for a second.” “I’m gonna murder them both, I swear to—” He mutters, burying his face in his hands, making you laugh quietly. He glares at you from behind his hands and adds on, “Oh, you think this is funny? You having a laugh down there, knowin’ that I thought you were dead?”

“I think this is hilarious.” “You’re insufferable and I don’t even know why I try to care about you anymore.” “You don’t try, you just do,” You roll your eyes, “Don’t act like you have to actively try and care about me.” “You’re so snarky today, my God,” Gaz scoffs, “Wait ‘til I tell Captain Price about this.” “Alright, Draco Malfoy. You do that.” “I shouldn’t have ever visited you in here,” He mutters, crossing his arms and looking away from you, feigning annoyance. You huff out a laugh at that and that makes Gaz laugh a bit, though he keeps up his dramatics, continuing to look away from you. “You still think I’m dead now, or?” “Shut it, you.” “My bad.” “I wish they amputated your leg.” “No you don’t.” “…” Gaz can’t even argue with it, simply sighing and rolling his eyes before looking back at you, ”No, I don’t.” “I knew it,” You smile at him knowingly, making his lips twitch up into a smile. You think for a moment before tacking on, “Wanna hear what Ghost said to me?” That makes Gaz perk up and immediately reply, “Oh, absolutely.” Cue you both five minutes later, Gaz gaping at you while you laugh every other word, remember the horror on Ghost's face when he realized what he called you. Gaz covers his mouth with his hand, laughing into it, gripping the rail of your bed with his other hand, keeping himself up.

“He— oh my God,” Gaz laughs, trying to keep quiet so Ghost wouldn’t hear him, knowing the latter was right outside the medbay. He takes a deep breath and another before breaking into small giggles once again, making you do the same. After maybe a few more minutes of just pure laughter, Gaz manages to catch his breath and stop laughing, and you do the same. “I should probably head out now,” He says, sounding almost disappointed by the fact, glancing over at the closed curtain a few feet away from your bed. You nod in understanding and don’t say anything in response, making Gaz look back at you and add on, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow though, yeah?” “Yeah,” You confirm, making Gaz offer you a warm smile and lean down to hug you tightly one last time before getting up and walking over to the curtains, sliding them to the side and walking out, sliding them closed behind him. You hear the click open and shut of the door, as well as Gaz’s footsteps walking outside of the medbay and eventually fading into nothing.

[literatureluver]

Lord of the flies if it was good

[internetmemoriam]

megan thee stallion in seoul, south korea (2024)

[hime-niki]

these 2 for my art coursework :) don’t look too hard at this or i’ll cry .

i kind of don’t like them bc i don’t dabble in realism that well so i think it kind of sucks but its ok . 😭

[outlandish-dreamer]

I can say this for most of the crew, but especially Anya and Curly. They should've, at the very least, been given the opportunity to napalm Jimmy.

The people have spoken. My apologies if you somehow disagree/j

[2ndstar-ontheright]

Coming from someone who's never seen the show, I have to admit something. I'm not proud of it, but it just popped into my head and won't leave me alone.

Jayce and Viktor remind me of Micheal and Jeremy. I don't even know why, I just thought of it. This damn musical won't go away evidently. Especially THOSE two. God help me.

I'm sorry.

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee wasn’t known to stand up for themselves or fight back, so rescue moved as quickly as possible. Everyone is shocked to see just how easy it is to break into the whumper’s base, and just how unguarded it is, but they’re more shocked to see that somehow, the whumpeee has managed to turn the tables on the whumper. Something had apparently snapped inside of the whumpee, as their friends find them in the middle of torturing the whumper.

[golby-moon]

as sort of a test run to see if I still have enough free time these days to enter bangs as an artist, I decided to throw a surprise art piece and banner at a gbdbfhf-worthy fic, giving both me and the author a fake bang experience kinda but with a lot less communication for surprise purposes. so yeah. surprise :0

I usually go for more elaborate banners with stuff in the background but idk I had a vision of having the title be word-shaped smoke coming out of Cas' honey cauldron and uh got this instead. turns out smoke is hard to make into legible words. also I probably should've emphasized the names more oop

this whole fic has a soft, warm feeling to it so I wanted to make a soft scene with a warm kinda glow, but I've never tried to do that second thing before so it turned out kinda weird. hopefully Dean and Cas' hug and Dean's overly elaborate fall flavored flannel will distract everybody from the weirdness of the lighting experiment

(also I like how these turned out too much especially the little ghost dude send help)

the fic this is made for is called "No Walking Cliche" by @destielshipper4cas

(fic is locked for people who aren't signed into AO3)

(10/08/24)

[insomaniacat]

sorry guys forget companions in life and death, lab partners in life and death is IN

[artdcnaldson]

hiii 💌

In the spirit of almost halloween: werewolf patrick knotting me while kitty art watches 🥹

I see you with kitty art.... but SEE ALSO.... vampire!art MHMM MHMM

Werewolf!Pat who smells your need, your desire, your arousal thick and heady, so strong he can practically taste in. His senses so heightened since he's only a few days from the full moon, he can hear every sharp intake of breath, the wet sound of your tongue licking over your lips.

It just sends him into overdrive so bad, he has to just mount you and fuck until all of that pent up, restless energy goes away. Thick and long and pulsing with need with each animalistic thrust. Patrick's big normally, but when he's in that delicious place between man and monster, he's nearly unmanageable.

And then there's Art, who can hear the hot pulse of blood through your veins, can practically see it thrumming like hummingbird wings at your pulse point.

Your blood tastes better when you're happy, but it tastes best when you're being fucked. It tastes sweeter, thicker on his tongue. He licks over sweaty skin at your wrist and lets his teeth sink in. He looks so pretty when he drinks from you— his lips full and tinged with crimson.

His saliva makes your head feel all fuzzy, all floaty. It relaxes you, opens you up for him, for Patrick.

You're slick, so wet for Patrick, you'd have to be to take him. The sounds of his cock fucking in and out of your cunt. He can feel the second that Art gets you to the point of no-return. When you're close to passing out on them. Your body goes all lax, your eyes go half-lidded and hazy.

You whine, soft and pretty when Patrick stuffs you full of his knot, keeping you locked against him as he cums, and cums, and cums. And Art's not the only one who gets to bite— he leaves a nice, big mark of his teeth clamped on your shoulder.

[dragonoligy1]

In honor of TBOB I finally caved and watched the show. Still on season one, and here are some sketches trying to figure out my style.

[lemonausea]

Cringetober Day 25: Gacha Life

I’ve never been so glad to have gone through a Gacha phase

[itinabe]

Tonight’s Agatha All Along episode was so Lost-coded.

[dandelioncasey]

Okay this is not a fic because I cannot make the words work BUT this song is giving me SO MANY bucktommy breakup makeup thoughts and I need validation

So first of all the first verse is so insanely Tommy coded to me, especially this part – ‘tell everyone you know just how I slammed the door on our forever, but I promise you it's for the better’ – this to me is Tommy giving up (or trying to give up) all his newfound relationships with the 118 because Evan – Buck – needs them more, and it was just a pipe dream anyway, he’s nobody’s forever and that includes his friends, he’s Mr Cool Guy, Mr Right Now, it won’t even hurt him (yes it will) when they all inevitably take Evan’s – Buck’s, c’mon man, get it together – when they all take Buck’s side in the breakup because they may have known Tommy first but they’ve known Buck longer and Tommy will be fine on his own like he normally is (no he won’t)

‘It’s all on me, it’s my mistake…I guess there ain’t ever a right time’ and it sucks that he had to break his own heart six months in, he already let it go on too long, but better that than if he’d let it go on any longer, imagine if he’d let Buck get invested (he already did) or fall in love (HE ALREADY DID), at least this way it’s only his own heart he’s breaking (no it isn’t, turn around, he’s still waiting for you and you broke his heart too)

And then we get to the chorus and it hurts so much with Tommy wishing Buck the best, that he finds what he was looking for (his last, because Tommy can’t possibly be the last for someone like Buck, who on Earth would settle for Tommy, that’s never happened before and it’s never going to) and even though Tommy knows that he twisted the knife by calling him Buck (because Evan isn’t his anymore) the best that he can ask for is that Buck doesn’t hate him, he doesn’t dare hope that he could ever get his Evan back, he just hopes that he called it off soon enough that Buck can move on and be happy again with someone who’s worth it, because Tommy is positive that he isn’t, he’s never enough, he’s never worth it (that’s what Buck thinks too, you both think you aren’t enough and you’re both so wrong)

Starting from the second verse we get a smash cut to Buck’s POV and oh god is Tommy so wrong about how Buck is feeling, ‘I thought that I was what you wanted’ but he guesses not, clearly Tommy didn’t love him in the same way (yes he did), he never said it but surely asking your boyfriend to move in with you means the same thing right? Surely Tommy knew that he was holding Buck’s heart in his hands, surely Tommy knew that he crushed it when he walked away? ‘without so much as a warning’ that’s sure one way of putting it, he thought they were in a good place and he was comfortable in his own skin, sure the Abby thing was a bit of a stumbling block but it’s fine, honestly it’s kind of cool how many near misses they kept having, the invisible string between them showing up one more time and hey, wait, where are you going? Tommy? (please don’t go, not you too)

And then the second chorus, the painful reflection of the first because where the first chorus was Tommy wishing Buck the best, the second is what Buck would say to Tommy if he could, if he could find the words, if Tommy had just come back – ‘I guess my heart ain’t worth it any more’, he thought he’d found someone who would accept him warts and all, and Tommy did, he literally loved Buck warts and all and it still wasn’t enough, so clearly whatever it was that Tommy wanted from their relationship it wasn’t the same as what Buck wanted because all Buck wanted was for someone to stay (please. please stay.)

‘I’m a wreck, I’m a mess, and I ain’t got nothing left’ he’s baked everything in his kitchen, his fridge and counters and the kitchens of all of his friends, acquaintances, neighbours, they’re full of every recipe he knows and more that he doesn’t, just trying to get Tommy out of his head but everything he tries doesn’t work, he has nothing left to distract himself with except hoping that Tommy is happy, not knowing that Tommy is wishing for the exact same thing across town in his house, because it was beautiful and it’s over and he just hopes…he hopes (that you’re happy now, whatever you’re doing, wherever you are, we all hope you’re happy now)

And so maybe they’re both sitting at home, maybe they’re slightly drunk, maybe they’re both banned from having any more overtime because they’ve both thrown themselves into work to try and distract themselves and – you aren’t allowed to be on the clock right now, go HOME Kinard (but it isn’t home anymore, not without Evan – Buck, dammit Tommy you were doing so well!) – Buck, are you gonna be okay? Maybe you should take some time, I can’t have you be distracted on a call (no please, I’ve never been good enough for anyone to stay, the least I can do is leave myself while saving someone else, it’s all I’m good for and you won’t let me do that, I just want Tommy to be my last)

And so Buck is sitting on his kitchen floor, still covered in flour from the last batch of cookies, and the apartment is too quiet, and Tommy is drinking a beer (no he’s not, he’s distracted) he’s holding a beer, lukewarm, half full, standing bent over his car in his garage but too drunk and sad and heartsore to remember what he was planning on doing, he needs to do something that BuckTommyEvan has nothing to do with, what about listening to music, they never did that together, what about just some simple country music?

And they both happen to hear this song. And oh. Oh.

[ghostie-cola]

sydney adamu outsold, she’s too good for the bear and i wish her a very get out while you still can