#mac is a nightmare and a half

[ailurinae]

I'd like to go back to Linux, I think modern wine/proton/bottles/etc might even enable all the gaming I really care about, unfortunately there are no mid-weight Wayland compositors right now: the space that under X11 was filled with XFCE, LXDE, LXQT, even things like OpenBox seems basically empty.

With Wayland it is either Gnome or KDE, or the ultra light compositors like Sway that are comparable to i3, dwm and the like. Which are fine if that's what you want... I used AwesomeWM for years and some other similar systems before that, but they are very much "build your own". You have to put in a lot of work on the config file typically, and you need to add your own status bar, menu system, sys tray, etc generally. Nowadays I'd rather have *some* basics there for me already. But Gnome and KDE are just as all-inclusive and heavy on disk space as ever, if not moreso.

Right now Wayland is becoming more and common, really taking over, but it seems the middle weight category is stalling on transitioning from X11.

Wayland is the better system for sure, and even if it wasn't, it is clearly where Linux is going in the future. It does have issues that need addressed, mainly more protocols need to be made/finalized to fill in the gaps (e.g. accessibility is fucked right now due to different, incompatible versions of the protocols). And then it just needs diversity and maturity of the ecosystem.

Oh and then there is the other issue: More and more common cross platform apps now distribute only one of the semi-sandbox formats: AppImage (modern form of Klik), Snap (Canonical NIH nonsense), and FlatPak (xdg-apps). FlatPak is the most thought out of them, and the best in most all ways... and it still sucks ass.

It needs a LOT more work and evolution, and even then kind only really makes sense if the vast majority of GUI, desktop software was being distributed that way, and the OS package managers somehow could work with it in a reasonable way. Oh, and probably even then, we would want affordable SSDs larger than 4 TB (really 2TB seems the limit of affordability right now).

That's best case for FlatPak. But right now not only do we not have that, everything is split. Some is FlatPak. Some is AppImage. Some also have Snap. Some few might be Snap only... It's horrific.

Sure, if you are using native Linux apps you are probably fine with your classic package manager, but if you want Telegram, Discord, Joplin, Signal... all kinds of stuff like that, you are in trouble. And yeah, I have issues with most of these being Electron nonsense in the first place, but at this point I am dependent on them and there aren't really viable alternatives, one way or another...

In theory I see that maybe the future is highly isolated apps. Mac started doing some of that ages ago. And iOS and Android do it to a large extent too. But IDK that GNU/Linux as it exists now is a good fit for that style. I'd rather see some major forking and a different OS name TBH, if not a totally different system. But that runs into all the issues anything like that always does with the amount of work needed, the adoption issues, etc... (for that matter the containerization/isolation/etc of server stuff that we see with cloud, k8s, docker, etc would all also be better served with a whole different type of system...) (as always we just need infinite time and money to make a new, good system, and then instant world-wide adoption. Easy!)

Windows 11 is by all accounts a disaster and they're rushing Win10 through EOL so in a few years I might be using Mint or Zorin.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddiebingo prompt - second chances

pairing: steddie | rated: G | wc: 2,482 | on AO3: second chances

wheeee my first steddie bingo fill!! i have so many of these started and finally finished one tonight 🤗🤗 this one is also partially inspired by this tiktok!

In late October 1986, following everything, Steve and Robin move to Indianapolis.

And one night, in the early morning hours after another round of upside-down induced nightmares, Steve finds himself checking in on Robin’s soundly snoring form in her room of their small two bedroom apartment, leaving a note for her about where he’d gone (just in case), slipping on his shoes, and heading the five or so blocks to their local 24 hour grocery store.

He’s done this a couple times before; the walk helps to clear his head and by time he gets there, he can get the shopping done. Two birds with one stone. Makes his sleepless nights work for him..

The double doors whir open before him and he grabs up one of the mismatched baskets, nodding politely to the woman manning the one open register as he passes.

He wanders the aisles, drumming his fingers on the metal handle of his basket to the somewhat familiar new Fleetwood Mac song that’s echoing down on him from the speakers embedded in the stained ceiling tiles, when he rounds the corner to the most unbelievable sight.

He literally cannot believe what he’s seeing.

At first Steve thought there was no way. That the frizzy head of unkempt waves before him had to belong to someone other than the one person he wanted it to.

But no. The person’s own basket is dropped unceremoniously onto the floor to whisk their dark hair up into a bun.. and there’s no doubt.

The scarred cheek, the dark brows, the same strong nose.

It’s Eddie. The newest, most bat-chewed member of their party, who sped out of town with his uncle as soon as he could (which is more than fair, honestly; he wasn’t going to get anywhere in Hawkins), is dancing. In the middle of the bread aisle. To Fleetwood Mac.

Steve lets him continue, the new bun pulled up in time for Eddie to jump easily into one of the goofiest looking dances he’s ever seen.

He spins around dramatically to the other half of the aisle and snatches up a box of macaroni, using it as a microphone to sing along about “sweet little lies” while he waves his arms wide and steps his feet in time to the beat.

Steve lets him finish, not wanting to interrupt the highest form of art unfolding in front of him, and doesn't speak until the song fades out, “Stevie Nicks, huh?”

All of Eddie’s limbs spasm in shock, “Jesus H. Christ!!” He clutches a hand to his chest and looks down the aisle towards the interruption. “Steve?! What–”

Steve was already on the move though, scooping Eddie up into a crushing hug. “So this is where you ended up! Why didn’t you tell anyone, man?” he questions, setting him back down but letting his hands linger on Eddie’s upper arms; as if he’d disappear if he let him go. 

Eddie seems to come back into himself once his feet touch the floor, his own hands coming up to clutch onto Steve’s arms and a bright smile on his face.

“Steve? How are you— Why are you— You—” Eddie huffs then frowns, starting over again with a new smile, “You’re here!”

“I’m here!” Steve grins back, giving Eddie a shake before shuffling him back into another hug, “You’re here,” he says, softer now.

Eddie’s arms come up around Steve’s waist, squeezing him back.

“What have you been up to, man?” he asks when he finally lets Eddie go, “Besides early morning dance recitals.”

“I’m managing a Sam Goody around the corner from here, actually.” he says, picking up his discarded basket.

“Very cool, very cool.” Steve nods, “And you’re here at 3am because…?”

“I maaaayy also bartend a couple nights a week.” Eddie picks up the box of pasta he’d been using as a microphone earlier and shrugs at it, dropping it onto his basket.

“No shit? How’ve we not run into you before?

 “Beats me, Stevie,” Eddie shrugs, ”Maybe you’ve been getting drinks from those heathens at Searchlight instead of from my humble abode.”

Steve winces.

“I knew it! Traitor!”

“How could I be a traitor if I didn’t know??”

“If you were really my friend, your gut would’ve told you to stay away from Searchlight and their gargoyle of an owner.”

Steve snorts out a laugh, “Gargoyle? What’s wrong with Brad?”

Eddie’s face does something weird. “And you’re on a first name basis with him too! Double traitor!” He smiles again, but it’s flat.

“I hereby vow to never again set foot in the forbidden lands, my liege, you have my word.” Steve says, holding his hand up in fake pledge.

Eddie looks at him in bewilderment, then presses his lips together futilely, a loud raucous laugh bursting through. “Where in the..” another laugh, “Where’d you get that kind of vocabulary, Harrington?”

“The shitheads, of course,” Steve chuckles, “They managed to wrangle me into a game or two after you—”

Eddie’s smile falls back into the flat imitation of itself instantly. 

Steve clears his throat, “Uhm, mostly Erica’s games, actually. She’s got Henderson, Robin, and me contracted into playing with her ever since Starcourt, and lemme tell you man, she’s ruthless.”

He smiles fondly to himself, “Yeah she is.”

Steve watches him think back for a moment before Eddie’s gaze is on him again, studious.

“Listen, Ed, It was really nice to see you,” he says, reaching into his pocket for an old receipt he’d remembered he’d stashed there a couple nights ago, “Lemme give you my number? Maybe we can meet up again soon?” 

Eddie grins, reaches into his basket and returns with a small pad of paper, a pen shoved unceremoniously into the wire binding. “Sure Stevie.”

Steve takes the offered paper, pulling out the pen and flipping past Eddie’s grocery list to the next page.

“There, this is the number to our apartment,” He moves to hand it over, but pulls it from Eddie’s reach at the last second, “Do you promise to call?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but concedes, straightening up and placing his right hand over his heart, “I, Theodore Wayne Munson–” 

“Theodore?”

“--Hereby swear to use the precious information given to me this day, November 9th 1986, in a timely manner.”

“Timely,” Steve scoffs as he relinquishes the notepad, “Yeah, sure.”

“A Promise is a promise Steve-o; and Munson Doctrine dictates a Promise may never be broken.” Eddie stuffs the pad and pen into his back pocket, “Though one notable Munson has never kept one in his life.”

“I bet.”

They stand there for a moment longer, before Steve steps away, “Well, the groceries won’t buy themselves, talk to you soon?”

“I promise,”

Steve’s still backing away down the aisle, “Good, you better,”

Eddie shoo-s him off with a chuckle, turning off toward the opposite end.

As soon as Steve’s turned and taken a step around the end toward the next aisle, he gets a feeling in his gut.

He gets them sometimes, pangs of worry, of anxiety; a clenching stomach that he’s just recently been told is his literal gut feeling.

And he gets one now, walking away from Eddie in this supermarket at three in the morning.

Eddie, the man who saved his brother in the upside down, Eddie, who only let Hawkins drive him out of town when his Uncle was threatened, Eddie, who would have endured it forever if it’d meant his only family left in the world wasn’t inconvenienced by the moving process.

Eddie, who it was only after he’d left that Steve’d realized the gut feeling walking though the Upside Down at his side wasn’t nerves about what was going on at all; that it was the same swoop he’d gotten after “Good Luck.”, “For your modesty, dude.”, “That Steeeve Harrington was actually… a Good Dude.”, after the goddamn “Don’tcha, Big Boy.”....

That he totally had feelings for that loser metalhead who helped save the world.

But the Munsons had gone, they were off somewhere and weren’t telling anyone where that somewhere was.

And now he’s here. A grocery aisle’s length away.. And he’s going to let him go?

No chance in hell.

So, Steve turns on his heel and jogs past the bread and pasta and, “Eddie, hey! Eddie, wait.. Wait…”

Those damn doe eyes turn to him, “Y’wanna get out of here?”

—

After a thorough ribbing for using that line to get him out of the store, Eddie agrees, puts his couple things back, and follows Steve out the front doors and down the street toward the nearby park.

“So.”

“So.”

“You got me out here, what’s up, Stevie.”

Steve huffs a laugh, his stomach doing flips even though he told it to cut it out at least six times by now, “Dunno, just had a feeling I shouldn’t let you go that easy.”

Eddie’s quiet for a moment, and Steve worries he’s already said too much.

“You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

Steve glances over at him, and is relieved to see a smile on his friend’s face. 

“We missed you,” He says, nudging him with his elbow “I missed you.”

Eddie nudges him back, “How could you miss me? You barely knew me.”

“I knew enough,” Steve says defensively, “You’re a part of the official party, Eds. But you were gone before I could get to know you more.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “As if you’d actually want to hang around with the Freak.”

“Stop that man; You don’t know me either, not really.” he scoffs, “Not the real Steve. Not the one who wanted to get to know you, wanted to hang out with you, be friends with you…” Steve trails off, not quite knowing if he should say what he’s been wanting to since he found out Eddie and his uncle had skipped town.. Should he risk it all right now and spill his guts? Spill why it was they told him to turn around a go back for him?

“And I’m telling you that you wouldn’t.”

“Ed—”

“You and I both know how that would go, Steve. It’s why we left in the first place. I couldn’t get anywhere in that town and neither could you. Any of you as long as you were my friend.”

That stops Steve in his tracks, watching as Eddie takes the handful of steps left to sit on a bench just off their path in the park proper.

Eddie sighs heavily as he sits down, stretching his legs out in front of him and his arms over the back of the seat, hanging his head back to look up at the stars.

Steve finally follows, sitting half-turned toward the other man.

“Can I talk now?” Steve asks after a couple breaths.

All he gets is a short shrug, so he does.

“A lot about me has changed since ‘83, Eddie. And not just because of the upside-down shit either, though that was a part of it.

“If I had a time machine, I’d do it all again, exactly the same. But I think I would have wanted to try to get to know you sooner.”

Eddie scoffs, and Steve continues, “You think I’m bullshitting, but it’s true, man; the three most important people in my life are people who, at one point, I thought–or would have thought–to be some of the most annoying types of people in existence.”

He brings his hand up into Eddie’s line of sight, counting off on his fingers, “Robin - band geek, Dustin - annoying know-it-all nerd, Max - she’s that kid that skateboards everywhere, who does that?? Just walk!”

Eddie huffs out a laugh but stifles it just as quickly, like he doesn’t want Steve to know his little speech is working. 

“Every single one of the rest of those little shits annoys the crap out of me on a daily basis, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world.”

Steve looks over and sees Eddie turn his face on his shoulder to look at him. He wonders if he should say the next part, if he even can.

“With you–” he starts, looking away from those dark eyes. “And feel free to hate me after this but I uhm–”

Shit, this is harder than it seems.

He opens his mouth again to start, but closes it again just as fast; he does it again before he feels a hand on his shoulder. 

Looking back, Eddie’s sitting up straight now, wide-eyed and expectant, “Go on..?”

Steve lets out a long breath, hanging his head with the movement of his lungs.

“When you left,” he starts again, lifting his head but not turning back, “When I found out you left, I felt hollow. Didn’t know why, and for a long time after I just rationalized it as missing the friend I could have had in you.”

He stops again, his stomach twisting tight.

“I feel like there’s a ‘But..’,” Eddie coaxes.

Steve turns, sits back, and faces Eddie. “But I talked to Robin–”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” he concedes, matching Eddie’s smile momentarily. “I talked to Robin about it and I wasn’t looking forward to a friendship with you, Eddie. I was looking forward to something more than that. Something that I didn’t know was possible until the summer of ‘85, and something I never thought I’d ever get to experience.

“And again, I didn’t even know what it was I was feeling until you were gone, when the possibility of having that with you was gone with you.” He looks away again, not wanting to see the inevitable rejection in Eddie’s face.

“The bottle to the neck, the vest, the ‘Big Boy’ thing, how I couldn't keep my eyes off your lips even though we were in the middle of literal hell..” Steve laughs sardonically, He makes the mistake of looking back at Eddie then, and finds his face flushed red in the light of a nearby streetlamp.

“I think I’ve had feelings for you for a while, Eddie. And it took you leaving for me to realize it.”

Eddie’s eyes are wide, mouth agape; his face is still tinged pink.

“Is that– is that alright?” Steve asks, looking concernedly at the rapid rise and fall of Eddie’s chest. “Are you okay?”

“‘Is that alright?’ he asks.” Eddie rolls his eyes, grinning, “‘Are you okay?’ As if I haven’t been told the best fuckin’ news in the whole damn world.”

“Reall– Really? The best. In the whole world.” he can’t keep the smile off his face despite his attempt at sarcasm.

Eddie laughs, “In this moment, it’s the best thing anyone’s ever heard in the history of forever.” 

There’s a moment’s pause, then Steve decides to be brave for the second time that morning; “Could I maybe kiss you about it?”

“Sweetheart, I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

317 was the only area code in indianapolis until 2016 btw

like i said at the beginning, i have so many of these started but i cannot for the life of me finish themm 😭 please lend me your worms!!

divider is from @saradika-graphics!

[abraxo-official]

Companion rambles: could they operate a vehicle + other random assortment of headcannons

Curie:

Knows every single part of a car. Knows every driving safety rule. Do not let her near a vehicle. Her driving style is mad-max levels of fear. She will giggle and comment about how much fun she’s having, and how she wishes she did this sooner. Danger level: 9/10. You won’t die but you’ll never look at a corvega the same.

Cait:

In trying to hotwire it, will either blow it up or will turn it on for just enough time that the alarm goes off. If she did find a functioning one, it would probably end up in a ditch. Danger level: 7/10

Deacon:

He can drive, but in the same way that a elderly person would: you don’t know if he should be behind the wheel, but goddamn it if he’s not going to Tokyo drift into the last parking spot in front of the super-duper mart. Danger level: 5/10

Danse:

Why concern himself with pre-war ruins that aren’t even technologically interesting? He *technically* can fly vertibirds, but also…heights get to him sometimes. If he did have a car, he would dive super safe and basically act like a midwestern dad. Do NOT try and merge without signaling in front of him. Danger level: 2/10

Mac:

Really good at taking cars apart. Only knows about driving from comics. TBH I think he would be the type to only learn how to ride a bike at 10+ years old. He can’t even start the car. Danger level: 0/10

Hancock:

Would try to drive but would get either lost or just confused after about a half hour. Would probably try to add a bunch of stuff on top, like a missile launcher or a turret. It would be so decked out that it wouldn’t even be functional anymore. Would take joy in doing demolition derbies with Mac. Danger level: 3/10

Piper:

She knows how a car works, but like, only from reading 4 pages of a really old manual when she was board. She claims to defunct know how they work, but has no idea what to do when she lifts the hood. Either causes an explosion or ends up breaking at least one part. Never gets it moving. 6/10

Gage:

He can probably figure it out after about a day or two of trying to compare it to a coaster. When he does start it, I think he would actually hate driving. He’s the sole one in control, with his foot on the gas the whole time, and there is no way in hell he is ready for that. Would probably make up some excuse about how raiders don’t need to use cars to make their points. 2/10

Preston:

The safest driver in the world at first, but then he starts going after bigger things. Trucks would help with transporting supplies to settlements, he argues. If we had a garrison of tanks, imagine how many people we could protect, etc. He’s not wrong, and not bad at driving, but he really needs to stop adopting every bubble-top he comes across. 3/10

Nick:

Can drive. Will drive. Then will have to confront the reality of his muscle memory being from a person he never really was. He’ll still take a spin now and then, especially if going long distances, but he prefers to walk. It’s more….him. 1/10

Longfellow:

Cars, no. Boats? Hell yeah. He’s taught just about every sailor far harbor has. But try to get him to drive on land and he will straight out refuse. It’s not who he is. 0/10

Strong:

No. Car for throwing. Inside small, only for weak human. No need metal shell to go fast. 0/10

Dogmeat:

Sticks his head out the window. Can honk the horn. 0/10

Codsworth:

Listen, somewhere in his programming is knowing how to drive a car. Also how to assemble one from 4 cans and a high powered magnet. Can drive it either completely normal and safe or in a way that would make vin diesel scared. 7/10

X6:

Danger level: 10/10. He would succeed in the way Hancock could not. He turns it into a weapon. Stuff of nightmares. Avoid at all costs.

[flowersintheimpala69]

an excerpt from a WIP abt sam having a notebook in which he writes about a ‘mystery crush’ (dean) and Dean secretly reads the notebook is super jealous of this mystery guy sam has a crush on

Dean knows everything about Sam.

It’s just what happens when you spend your entire life cramped into a single car or motel room with someone. Life on the road doesn’t allow privacy.

Dean probably knows more about Sam than anybody else in the whole world. He knows what classes he takes, what teachers he likes, and which ones he dislikes. He knows Sam’s favorite sport (soccer) and his favorite food (mac & cheese). He knows that he picks the pickles out of his burgers, eats his fries with mustard, and sleeps on his stomach. He knows that Sam stole a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring from a library a few towns back. He knows that he only pretends to like Dean’s music, but in secret, he listens to Pearl Jam and Oasis. He knows all of Sam’s microexpressions, the curve of his smile, and the slope of his nose. He knows the gross stuff too: how Sam smells after three days of not showering, what a sick Sam looks like with snot running down his face. He’s bared witness to Sam’s bare ass and pimply back countless times. He knows about his dandruff, his crusty socks, and the way he sounds jerking off in the shower. Dean knows about Sam’s insistent and gross habit of chewing his nails down to the studs and sticking his knuckle in his mouth when he’s distracted. He probably knows about stuff that Dad doesn’t even know about; like the dumb romance books Sam hides under his mattress, or how Sam doesn’t train nearly as much as Dad thinks he does.

So yeah, Dean knows everything about Sam.

Or at least he would, if it weren’t for that dumb fucking diary.

—

Sam got the diary a few weeks ago. Dean knows fuck all from where he got it, but he has it, and he writes in it all the time. It’s just a simple dark blue composition notebook, but the way Sam guards it, it may as well be made of gold.

“Why do you even need a diary, anyway?”

Sam looks up from his diary and scowls, “It’s a journal, Dean.”

“No, Dad has journals.”

“Fine,” Sam says, rolling his eyes, “It’s a notebook then.”

“Okay fine, what do you need a notebook for?”

“Just. Stuff.”

“Stuff.”

“Yeah,” Sam huffs, “Stuff. Why do you care so much anyway?”

Because I want to know everything about you. Because the thought that you have secret thoughts I don’t know about pisses me off. Because you shouldn’t need a stupid diary when you have me.

Dean scoffs, “I don’t care. I was just. Curious.”

Sam rolls his eyes and goes back to writing.

—

It’s probably not even that interesting. It’s probably just math problems or emo poetry or doodled hearts or dramatic ‘I’m fourteen and hate everything’ rants. It’s just pencil lead on paper. It doesn’t matter. Dean really shouldn’t be this bothered by it.

It’s just.

Sam used to tell him everything. Dean used to pick him up from school and he’d have half a billion things to say. He used to tell Dean when he had a nightmare or when he was mad at Dad. He used to ask Dean things; advice on what to wear or how to make friends or what he should pick to eat. Days spent in hot motel rooms with busted ACs were filled with Sam’s chatter and complaints and giggles and commentary. Sam used to crawl into Dean’s bed at night and press his skinny little body into Dean’s arms and whisper secrets into Dean’s skin.

But now Sam’s angry all the time. He barely talks to Dean, refuses to meet his gaze, and sometimes it’s like Sam can’t even stand being in the same room as him. All Sam does now is glower and huff and scribble in his stupid notebook.

That stupid fucking notebook.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Wired

Dave Torres x Reader

Words: 1351

Summary: When neither of you can sleep, you stay up together. 

Notes: I have been waiting for this show for so long, and I have to say I love it. I had to write for it. I wanted to start with something fluffier (you know me, it’s still angsty), but there will definitely be some full-out angst, don’t you worry. 

-

It felt like something was plugged into your head, sending constant pulses, over and over and over, making your body shake. Being wired was an understatement. You felt connected to the whole damn machine. 

You tried to stop your leg from bouncing, but the other one just took over like they were in shifts. 

He’d be home soon. He’d ask why you were up. He’d ask if you were okay. 

You’d tell him yes. You’d smile. You’d stay up until he finally fell asleep. You’d wake him from his nightmare. 

That was your routine on the nights you felt like this. The nights when everything was so bright it burned, when every sound blared in your ears. At least the sounds drowned out the voices. But when it was quiet…

You took a deep breath, shaking your head at yourself. 

“Get it together, Y/N.” You stood from your place on the couch. Pacing usually helped. It distracted your mind from the other forces trying to take your attention. The memories. 

Tonight though, it seemed no matter how many laps you made around your living room-or how sore your feet were because of it- you still weren’t tired. 

The click at the door made you jump, heart leaping into your throat. 

Dave saw the lights on before he saw you. 

He sighed. 

“You know you don’t have to wait up for me, right?” He peeked his head in the door. 

You gave him a small smile. “I know. I want to.” 

He closed the door behind him and you could tell just from how he moved that it was another rough night. 

You crossed the living room as he put his keys on the table. 

“Hey,” you said softly, pushing a black strand of hair away from his forehead. 

He took your head in his, lacing his fingers with yours. “Hey.” 

 “Work hard?”

“I always do.” He half-laughed, half-sighed. 

Sitting in a chair in front of a screen wasn’t exactly what he always wanted to do with his life, but it paid the bills and it wasn’t affected by his… condition. 

“I’ll make you something to eat.” You tugged him toward the kitchen table, reaching for the cabinet door. 

“I’m not really hungry.”

His stomach growled. 

You smirked. “Liar.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Dave, I couldn’t sleep either. It’s okay.” You pulled a pot down and filled it with water, plopping it on the stove. “Besides, you know how much I love my midnight mac and cheese.”

“I think it’s a little past midnight.” 

The clock on the oven flashed at you. Almost three in the morning. 

You opened the box and pulled out the packet full of neon orange freeze-dried goodness. 

“That stuff is so bad for you.” Dave laughed, sitting on the corner of the counter. 

“Oh, but you love it.” You kissed his cheek. “Almost as much as I love Dean Martin. Put a record on, would you?”

Dave hopped off the counter, shaking his head as he walked to your record player. 

“You know, only hipsters and college kids use these anymore.”

“I’m hearing too much talking and not enough singing, Dave.” The water began to boil and you dumped the pasta in. 

“Alright, alright.” He put the needle on. 

Smooth, soft music filled the apartment and helped quiet the sounds in your head. The voices reminding you that none of this would last. 

Arms wrapped around your middle from behind. Dave rested his chin on your shoulder. He hummed along with the tune, the sound vibrating from his chest against your back. There was something in the way he held you. Like if he let go, you’d float away. Disappear. 

“Hey.” You turned around in his arms. “What’s going on?” 

Dave tried to smile for you, but he couldn’t. Instead, he just pulled you closer, kissing you the way he did sometimes after his nightmares. He kissed you like he was losing you. 

“Dave.” You pulled back and put your hands on either side of his head. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right?”

He urged you back to him, burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

“Dave…”

“I know,” he said against your skin. “But-” Dave took a deep breath. “Can we not go to bed for a little while?” 

You ran your fingers through his dark hair. 

“Okay.” 

You weren’t looking forward to sleeping anyway. 

When the food was done, you both sat on the floor in the living room rather than at the table. The music continued and the two of you just… talked. You talked about anything. While the horrible, manufactured cheese warmed your stomach, you talked about work and books and the weird people you’d seen on your commute. 

Dave talked about a party Matteo was trying to get him to go to. You talked about your sister’s bridal shower coming up and how much you did not want to go. 

“Is she still, you know?”

“Pretending like nothing happened to us?” You raised a brow. “Of course. Anything else would mess up her perfect image.” You stabbed your macaroni with a particular aggression. “It’s not like our parents are fucking dead or anything.” 

Dave nodded. He looked up at you, concern growing in his eyes. “That’s why you’re awake, isn’t it?”

“I told you. I want to wait for you to get home, that’s all.” You wouldn’t look up at him. 

Dave crawled forward, setting both bowls on the coffee table. “Baby, you can talk to me.” 

“Like you do?” You said. You grimaced, regretting your hostility as soon as you said it. “Sorry.”

He sat beside you. “You aren’t wrong.” Dave put a hand on your arm. “I guess it’s something we can both work on.”

“You sound like my therapist.” 

“They sound smart. You should start listening.”

“Har har.” You tugged him forward, bringing his lips to yours. You melted into him, more and more of your anxiety melting with you. He could always do that. Just by being there, he could ease everything that plagued you. 

He parted but stayed close. “Tired yet?”

You shook your head. 

“Want to put on another record?”

You nodded. 

“Make it Sinatra this time.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

You stood up, letting the music control your movements. You swayed and spun and pointed your toes and swirled your body in any way the melody moved you. With each step, each motion of your hands, you seemed to chase away the harshness in your head. You could just be.

A soft chuckle pulled you from your thoughts. 

Dave stood by the record player, a small smile on his face as he watched you.

“What?” You asked.

He just kept smiling. “Nothing.” 

He waved his hand for you to continue, so you did. That’s when he started to sing. 

“The time is right, your perfume fills my head. The stars get red, and oh, the night’s so blue.” 

Dave’s voice is rich and low and perfect. It fills your chest with a swelling happiness that soothes any sense of disquiet within you. That wired, wide-awake feeling fades into a content, relaxing ease. 

“And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like ‘I love you.’” 

The song started to fade out, coming to the end of the record. The needle rolled along, the record still spinning. Neither of you cared. 

Dave crossed the room to you, laying his hands on your hips to hold you still in front of him. 

“I love you,” he repeated. 

You kept swaying, forcing him to dance slightly with you. “I love you, too.” 

He kissed you, this time long and slow. His hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you even closer to him. 

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, but eventually, the sun started to peak over the skyline outside your window. You ushered Dave to the couch, wrapping yourself in his embrace, and watched the sunrise. He kissed the top of your head. You sighed contently.

Neither of you were tired at all.

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 7 EPISODE 03 || DEATH BE NOT PROUD ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

THREE NIGHTS LATER, I WOKE FROM a restless sleep in an inn in Wilmington, my throat parched as the salt bacon I had eaten in the dinner stew. Sitting up to find water, I found that I was alone—the moonlight through the window shone white on the vacant pillow beside me. I found Jamie outside, behind the inn, his nightshirt a pale blotch in the darkness of the innyard. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a chopping block, arms wrapped about his knees. He didn’t speak as I came toward him, but turned his head, body shifting in a silent welcome. I sat down on the chopping block behind him, and he leaned his head back against my thigh, with a long, deep sigh. “Couldn’t sleep?” I touched him gently, smoothing back the hair from his face. He slept with it unbound, and it fell thick and wild about his shoulders, tangled from bed. “Nay, I slept,” he said quietly. His eyes were open, looking up at the great gold moon, three-quarters full over the aspens near the inn.

“I had a dream.”

“A nightmare?” He had them seldom anymore, but they did come sometimes: the bloody memories of Culloden, of futile death and slaughter; prison dreams of hunger and confinement—and sometimes, very rarely, Jack Randall returned to him in sleep, with loving cruelty. Such dreams would always drive him from his bed to walk to and fro for hours, until exhaustion cleansed him of their visions. But he had not dreamed that way since Moore’s Creek Bridge.

“No,” he said, sounding half-surprised.

“Not at all. I dreamed of her—of our lassie—and the bairns.”

My heart gave an odd little hop, the consequence of startlement and what might almost have been envy. “You dreamed about Brianna and the children? What happened?” He smiled, face tranquil and abstracted in the moonlight, as though he still saw some part of the dream before him. “It is all right,” he said. “They are safe. I saw them in a town—it seemed like Inverness, but it was different, somehow. They walked up the step of a house—Roger Mac was with them,” he added, offhand. “They knocked at the door, and a wee brown-haired woman opened to them. She laughed wi’ joy to see them, and brought them in, and they went down a hallway, wi’ strange things like bowls hanging from the ceiling. “Then they were in a room, wi’ sofas and chairs, and the room had great windows all down one wall, from the floor to the ceiling, and the afternoon sun was streaming in, setting Brianna’s hair to fire, and makin’ wee Mandy cry when it got in her eyes.” “Did . . . did any of them call the brown-haired woman by name?” I asked, my heart beating in a queer, fast way. He frowned, moonlight making a cross of light over nose and brows. “Aye, they did,” he said. “I canna just—oh, aye; Roger Mac called her Fiona.” “Did he?” I said. My hands rested on his shoulder, and my mouth was a hundred times drier than it had been when I woke up. The night was chilly, but not enough to account for the temperature of my hands. I had told Jamie any amount of things about my own time over the years of our marriage. About trains and planes and automobiles and wars and indoor plumbing. But I was nearly sure that I had never told him what the study looked like in the manse where Roger had grown up with his adoptive father. The room with the window wall, made to accommodate the Reverend’s painting hobby. The manse with its long hallway, furnished with old-fashioned light fixtures, shaped like hanging bowls. And I knew I had never told him about the Reverend’s last housekeeper, a girl with dark, curly hair, called Fiona.

“Were they happy?” I asked at last, very quietly. “Aye.

Brianna and the lad—they had some shadows to their faces, but I could see they were glad nonetheless. They all sat down to eat—Brianna and her lad close together, leaning on each other—and wee Jem stuffed his face wi’ cakes and cream.” He smiled at the picture, teeth a brief gleam in the darkness.

“Oh—at the last, just before I woke . . . wee Jem was messin’ about, picking things up and putting them down as he does. There was a . . . thing . . on the table. I couldna say what it was; I’ve never seen the like.”

He held his hands about six inches apart, frowning at them. “It was maybe this wide, and just a bit longer—something like a box, maybe, only sort of . . . humped.” “Humped?” I said, puzzled as to what this could be. “Aye, and it had a thing on top like a wee club, only wi’ a knob to each end, and the club was tied to the box wi’ a sort of black cord, curled up on itself like a piggie’s tail. Jem saw it, and he reached out his hand, and said,

‘I want to talk to Grandda.’ And then I woke.”

He leaned his head back farther, so as to look up into my face. “Would ye ken what a thing like that might be, Sassenach? It was like nothing I’ve ever seen.

”The autumn wind came rustling down from the hill, dry leaves hurrying in its wake, quick and light as the footsteps of a ghost, and I felt the hair rise on nape and forearms. “Yes, I know,” I said. “I’ve told you about them, I know.” I didn’t think, though, that I had ever described one to him, in more than general terms. I cleared my throat.

“It’s called a telephone.”

121 ACROSS THE ABYSS~ A Breath of Snow and Ashes

[xi4ohuhu]

Disturbing the black-furred monkey 😵‍💫😵‍💫

Where you spam Macaque with cute cat videos and more at four in the morning 💀

Tons of fluff and crack! No warnings. Only time where there isn’t fluff/crack is when macaque overthinks. Nicknames used: darlin’/darling, sweetheart n cutie (macaque to reader, reader calls macaque “Mac”). Reader was consumed by isolation in the past. Reader is close friends w Macaque, flirts w him, is a demon like him, and has an extroverted n lewd personality, Macaque has a crush on reader 💘

Recommendation: Listen to this song on repeat while reading!!

Macaque is starting to regret giving you his number. You pleaded with those puppy eyes that he desperately tried to resist, but ended up giving in and giving you his number for “work”.

Yeah, no. The messages were far from just work and business, but it was mainly you spamming Macaque with videos of cats, sending silly two cats together with the caption, “us”. Plus, dumb voice messages of you giggling, laughing, gossiping or even saying the most diabolical thing ever!

Stupid, so damn stupid, but oh, all these little quirks of yours only made Macaque more smitten with you. Not like he’d ever admit it!

The dark-furred monkey groans, waking up at night again for the third time this week. He’s been having nightmares recently, hearing muffled screams from the future with his six-ears. As cool as it might sound, sometimes, Macaque wished he didn’t have the ability to hear the past and future.

But the screams… They sounded awfully like your voice. Macaque quickly shakes it off, it’s a terrifying thought. He’s scared, scared of losing you more than he’ll admit.

He sighs, leaning back against his pillow and taking his phone from the nightstand, half-lidded eyes widened to see over twenty messages from you. It’s literally four in the morning, what are you still doing awake?

He decides to check each and every single one anyway, responding to each of them too. But he sighs in mock-exasperation listening to your voice recordings of you giggling to that video you sent him earlier. “For the Jade Emperor’s sake, it’s four in the morning. Darlin’, go to sleep.” Macaque texts, pressing the send button.

“But I ain’t tired, Mac! And I miss you, like a lot. You’re the only one that tolerates me, and you have such a sexy voice. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. But I could ask the same, why are you awake?” You replied, and he could still practically hear your giggling through the phone screen.

“Please lemme come over, I’m suuper bored here! Anyway, that video was so funny, did you see the kid fall?! I mean, I feel bad, but I still can’t stop laughing.” Your text reads, and you send a cute picture of a white and black cat cuddling with the caption, “us?”

Come to think of it, Macaque kinda missed your face. Just a little… Or maybe more. That stupid grin of yours, your lewd jokes, and the way you make him smile like no other. You send another voicemail, and Macaque hesitates before playing it, “Would you consider jacking off to be a sport?”

Nope, Macaque immediately pauses the voicemail, flinching at the sudden loud voice of the emphasis on “jacking off”. He lets out another sigh when you sends another voicemail of yourself giggling. You’d always been one for these dirty and lewd jokes, but that made things all the more interesting.

Plus, the opponents’ faces were always priceless whenever you gave a show of your inappropriate humour. However, perhaps even a little surprising, you don’t have any other friend besides Macaque, consumed by loneliness. Your previous friends have all found you annoying and dropped you, and you haven’t had a chance to interact with the Monkey King, MK and his friends. That’s why you’re so clingy towards Macaque, because you feel that he’s the only one you can truly be yourself around.

Macaque listens to your messages, and a fond smirk creeps onto his face. As much as he pretends to be annoyed by your antics, the truth is that he finds them endearing. He can’t help but feel a warmth in his chest, especially when you mention missing him.

“Sweetheart, you know you’re lucky I tolerate you, right?” He texts back, his fingers dancing on the screen. “And I can’t help but be awake because of those pesky nightmares. You should know better than to ask me to come over at this hour. What if someone sees you sneaking into my place? I have a reputation to uphold.” His grin widens.

He can’t help but chuckle at the image of the kid falling in that video. “Yeah, I saw it. Classic. But don’t go around showing those videos to everyone, cutie. They’ll think you’re a bit too… eccentric.” Macaque teases, sending a playful wink emoji, even if he knows that you’d wear that title like a badge of honor.

Macaque rolls his eyes at your audacity in asking if jacking off is a sport. “You really have no boundaries, do you? Not that I’m complaining. It’s entertaining, I’ll give you that.” He chuckles again, shaking his head in disbelief. You’re a whirlwind of chaos, and he’s learned to love it.

Then, with a moment of hesitation, Macaque thinks about your request to come over. “Alright, fine. Just this once. But if you wake me up again with your shenanigans, I’m throwing a pillow at you. Deal?” He sends the message, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation. Having you over at this hour might just be the highlight of his night.

Macaque glances at the photo of the cats you sent, a soft smile gracing his lips. “You know, maybe we could be like those cats. Just don’t hog all the blankets, or I’ll have to find a way to evict you from my space, sweetheart.”

“Okay, deal! And don’t worry, I’m gonna bring tons of snacks. We can eat and eat till our stomachs explode!” Your message reads, another joke that never fails to amuse Macaque. He turns off his phone and places it on the nightstand, leaning back against his pillow and staring blankly at the ceiling while waiting for you.

He can’t text anyone, not at this ungodly hour where they’re probably asleep. Sitting up, Macaque grabs the remote controller from his nightstand and turns on the television, browsing through Netflix for any new shows, or maybe to check if either his or your favourite show has continued their episodes. Unfortunately, nope, nothing for both of you yet.

He decides to watch a short horror film, about 25 minutes long. Macaque’s too lazy to get out of bed and prepare something to eat, so he just continues to relax on his bed. Besides, you’re bringing snacks anyway. Huh, speaking of you… The film has already ended, but you still aren’t here. You don’t live very far, about a 15 minute walk would have you arrive at Macaque’s place. He sends a few texts, asking you where you’re at, but receives nothing back. And it’s weird, you always respond immediately to him.

Worry gnawed at his heart, and he hoped those screams he heard in the future didn’t actually come true. Was it a warning, a curse that he’s able to hear the future? He paces around the room, mind coming up with scenarios of what could possibly happen. But you’re a literal demon, and he’s seen you in combat with your weapons. You can definitely stand your ground in a fight… But what if your opponent was stronger without your knowledge? No, he refuses to think negatively about you.

Just when he was thinking of looking for you himself, Macaque hears something at his balcony. He slides the curtains, only to see you blinking at him awkwardly, trying to walk through the balcony door. But your stomach’s grown large? Any average or normal person would come through the door, but nooo, you decide to make a grand entrance through the balcony instead.

You waddle like a penguin sideways, managing to fit through the door. You then lift up the jacket you’re wearing and packets of different snacks fall out, but half of them were Macaque’s favourites. You remembered, but you really were being for real about bringing tons of snacks. “Told ya I’d bring snacks-” You giggle, then cut yourself off.

Macaque can’t help but burst into laughter at the sight of you, waddling through the balcony door like a penguin. “You’ve got to be kidding me, darling! You look like you’re about to pop!” he teases, shaking his head in disbelief. “I thought you were bringing snacks, not a whole buffet!”

“No, wait. Mac, I’m carrying your child.” You add dramatically, then leap into his arms for a hug. You love and adore whenever Macaque catches you and twirls you like a princess. “I finally get to see you in person again. I missed you so much, Mac!” You smile, your grin widening even further when he reminds that you’ve just seen each other just yesterday.

“Exactly, that’s way too long to be apart from you! I was dying without you! You know no one adores you as much as I do.” Another giggle. “Okay, jokes aside, did you text me? Sorry for making you worry, I was busy tryna stuff all these snacks into my big belly, and it’s hard to text with it blocking my sight a little too. That’s why I took so long to come here.” You give an awkward smile, and Macaque feels relief wash over him.

He catches you effortlessly as you leap into his arms, twirling you around with ease. “You missed me, huh? You really are dramatic, cutie. But I have to admit, seeing you like this, it’s hard not to smile.” He puts you down gently, his heart feeling a little lighter now that you’re here.

“Ah, don’t worry about the texts. I was just… being a worrywart,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “You know me, always thinking the worst. But now that you’re here with your treasure trove of snacks, I think I can breathe a little easier.”

He eyes the snacks that spilled out from your jacket, both amused and impressed. “Alright, show me what you’ve got, darling! But remember, I’m not sharing my favorite ones!” He playfully narrows his eyes at you, knowing full well you’d probably try to snag them anyway. “And what do you mean you’re carrying my child? If that’s the case, we’d better start planning for a monkey army!” He adds with a wink, leaning against the door frame, feeling that familiar warmth spreading through him just being in your presence.

“Now, come on! Let’s feast like the royalty we are.” Macaque gestures for you to follow him to the living room, an excited grin on his face. He’s more than ready to spend the rest of the night indulging in snacks and sharing laughter with you.

“Okay!” You nod, joining Macaque with a bright smile. When you reach the living room, both of you sit comfortably on the cozy couch, dim lighting setting a warm ambiance as you watch the horror movie together. You’re wrapped in a soft blanket, leaning slightly towards Macaque, his eyes fixed on the screen. He holds a big bowl of chips, which you both reach into occasionally, savoring each bite.

Nearby, other snacks you brought are scattered on the coffee table—some candy, a bag of popcorn, and a couple of drinks within easy reach. You and Macaque’s expressions shift with the scenes—sometimes laughing at lewd jokes, sometimes gasping whenever a plot twist occurs, other times dramatically acting scared. But one thing is for sure—both Macaque and you are totally immersed in the movie and each other’s company, and you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

As the movie ends, Macaque finds you resting against his shoulder, finally wore out. After all, even a hyperactive demon needs rest occasionally. He’ll clean up the bowls, drinks, and the empty packets tomorrow. For now, he lifts you into his arms and heads to his bedroom, gently placing you down on his bed. He joins in, arms wrapped around you, and your body instinctively moves closer to him, your face nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Macaque finds himself closing his eyes too, and you both drift off into a deep slumber…

The next morning, Macaque was woken up by the sunlight, and he turns to see the clock that shows afternoon. It’s lunchtime, but because the two of you stayed up so late, he figured he’d just stay in bed a little more. The cozy atmosphere made it difficult for him to get out of bed.

Macaque stirs awake, the sunlight streaming through the curtains illuminating the room in a soft glow. He blinks a few times, trying to fully comprehend where he is. Then, he feels the warmth of your body pressed against him, and a wave of calm washes over him.

He gazes down at you, a fond smile on his face as he takes in the adorable sight. Your messy hair, the drool pooling at the corner of your mouth, and the way you cling to him so tightly—it’s all charming in a way that makes his heart flutter. “You really are something else, aren't you, sweetheart?” he whispers, brushing a stray hair from your face gently.

Getting out of bed with an adorable view like this? Nah. And besides, you looked pretty charming wrapped in his blanket, even with the drool pooling in the corner of your mouth, even with your soft snoring, and yes, even with your messy hair. You still cling onto him, arms wrapped around his chest. Then, Macaque’s came to realise that he slept throughout the night without any nightmares at all. As long as you’re here with him, he feels his worries wash away. If you just continue to stay by him, you’ll be safe, right?

“Everyone thinks I’m crazy…” You murmur in your sleep, a sign of your habit in sleep-talking. Whether you mean the stuff you say or not, well, it remains a mystery for now. “Crazy for you, oh boy…” Perhaps you’re dreaming about him?

When he hears your sleep-talking, his smile grows wider. “Crazy for me, huh? That’s what I like to hear,” he chuckles softly to himself. Macaque can’t help but feel a warmth settle in his chest at the thought of being in your dreams, even if he knows you might not remember it when you wake up.

He relaxes back into the pillows, wrapping his arms around you a little tighter, savoring the moment. The world outside can wait; right now, he cherishes this peacefulness. Thoughts of nightmares and worries linger in the back of his mind, but they seem to fade away with you beside him.

“Guess we’re both a little crazy, aren’t we?” he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head. “But I wouldn’t change it for anything, darlin’.” He closes his eyes again, allowing himself to drift back into a light doze, content just to be here with you. The chaos of the outside world can stay at bay for just a little while longer.

———————THE END——————

Author’s note: oh my gyatt I’m back 💀 lost interest in writing for months which is why this fic is prob a little crappy 😵‍💫 my fixation rn is lego monkie kid 💪💪 loveveve macaque n wukong sm 💘

Psst, btw, can you find the reference I made? 🤭

[rebeltigera]

Haiii!! I got question:

Do you have any head-canons for mk? Mac? Wuk?

And what is your personal opinion on season 5?

I am responding second time because the first one didn't send :'D

Pls end me.

I don't remember the headcanons I've mustered out the first time damnit -

*sigh*

Those are general ones , I use the design of the character most of the time to show headcanons

For MK

-He's wasted after one beer.

-his tail subconsciously curl against legs of his friends or person he trust

-he chirp subconsciously

-he don't like bitter things like dark chocolate

For Wukong

- he got thick , strong curly fur . When fluffed up texture it reminds of the dust brush

- his body temperature is much higher due to the furnace punishment

-gets headaches due to the circlet (phantom pain)

-he speak and read fluently ancient Chinese , however he got problems with modern language

-he usually sleeps with lil monkeys around

-he can't get drunk.

-monkeys take care of his fur

For Mac

- his ears are too delicate for piercings. They would hurt.

- thin , straight/wavy fur like smoke . He can't stand cold

- he can always hear past and present but future is randomly whispering to him

- he got lower body temperature (due to the shadow nature)

- when drunk he looks like a beast but he's a snuggly wuggly teddy bear

-he takes care of his fur regularly himself

For Mei (because it's lacking in other categories and I don't remember more :'D)

- When she fights she tunes into imaginary music in the background. Like Gwen from spiderverse 2

About S5

*sigh* Vent warning. not directed at anyone in particular

I am unable to put up presentable opinion on this season

Also warning to everyone that will read it

If you are here to defend/ you are touchy on subject of S5 please avert your eyes.

The season was mid at best. , script was rushed, the core of it was S3 with meek antagonist, the most evil character there was a bug demon with many eyes, and SACRIFICE was basically word for this season.

Other things I remember from it is a burnt dumpling and Nezha's mech. Oh and Wukong being useless, Mac carrying season on his back , MK being even more stupid than usual. A random guy with a pagoda and a Twink snake. Nothing else .

Let's put my opinion about the animation now :D

Flying Bark got sacrificed just like MK in this season lol

The animation was a pure nightmare, it's like Seven deadly sins Incident

And if you guys think it will get much better from that in one year (let's say for example they will produce another season next year) you live high on copium and delulu.

Our juicy yummy frame by frame animation was taken away and they gave us RAGDOLL animation.

What does it mean? -AND HERE TUMBLR DECIDED TO CRASH ON ME AND IM WRITING IT 3rd TIME :D- you know how hieroglyphs are animated? Ye, that's basically it with extra steps! HOW FUN. NOW WE HAVE PUPPETS 2D. A FREAKING GACHA FROM YT IF YOU MUST. THOSE IN SOME CASES ARE EVEN BETTER ANIMATED THAN OUR SHOW ITSELF BTW. This has it's perks! I guess. It's cheaper and easier to make episodes! :D the cons are we will no longer see good battles in the show. yay "But we saw Wukong vs MK! And snippet of Wukong vs Mac fight!" please, spare me. If you are telling me those were good fights , that is half assed animation they have no idea how works and two dots clashing with eachother you should go rewatch other seasons. the fucking disgrace and audacity.

But no matter. That i can live off, that i can gulp down.

YOU KNOW WHAT I CAN'T? THE SHEER AMOUNT OF MISTAKES ON BASIC LVL IN ART. I am sitting here looking at those colors, those lines this fucking scenography and ask- what a fucking newbie did this .

YOU CAN'T EVEN GET COLOR RIGHT

AND BEFORE ANY OF U F NERDS WILL COME TO ME AND SAY "UUU ACTUALLY ITS LIGHTING FAULT-" NO ITS FUCKING NOT.

THEY CAN'T EVEN USE SAME COLORS AS IN THE PRIOR SHOT , THEY CANT EVEN SAMPLE IT PROPERLY . BETWEEN THOSE SHOTS NOTHING CHANGE THEREFORE THE LIGHTING IS THE FUCKING SAME

IF YOU DON'T DRAW , AND HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT , JUST -

we have a shiny wukong here

What is this scene , please someone can explain to me the scenography of this

Why this perspective is wrong, the shading, the lack of lighting

Here characters don't even stand properly

WHAT IS WITH THIS AWKWARD SCENOGRAPHY ?

WHY THEY ALL LOOK OUT OF PLACE. AND IM NOT EVEN TALKING ABOUT THIS SHADING BECAUSE ITS SHIT.

HAVE THEY MISSED LIKE ALL BASIC LESSONS IN ART SCHOOLS? OR SOMETHING? LIKE THIS IS A JOKE. NO WONDER PEOPLE THOUGHT TRAILER WAS FAN MADE.

Now this- this is just hillarious.

Just add to it some dramatic intense sound effect and we have another nightmare.

The voice acting was great tho

[taffybear]

random list of my bay Leo headcanons ❤

working on Raph next! let's see how many ideas i get lol

also opening my inbox for writing (and perhaps even drawing) requests! feel free to drop me an ask <3

literally loves mitski and mac demarco. he likes very indie hopeless romantic type music, it's literally hilarious to catch him just vibing in his feels

SECRETLY HAS PINTEREST BAHAHAHAHA but just for finding poetry and looking at bonsai trees. Mikey found out (like he doesn't have pinterest too??) and they all ended up making fun of him for it to the point where Leo debated deleting the app but ended up forgetting about it.

very specific but he has this unique type of love language where he'll ask you something and without any further questions he will go get or accomplish whatever he hinted at. for example, y'all will just be hanging out, and he'll go, "are you hungry?" and if you just as much nod your head hesitantly he will run to the kitchen and make you a 3 course meal. or, he'll just ask you if you're cold, and if you say yes he brings you a heater and a blanket. he doesn't ask things like, "can i get you a water?" he'll just ask if you're thirsty and go from there.

has the most gorgeous handwriting on the planet. this beautiful cursive print that is lowkey unreadable but so aesthetically pleasing. at first you were shocked but as you got to know him it made lots of sense, literally probably his biggest hobby is just remembering some random thing and then spending weeks straight perfecting it until it's natural for him. he loves to challenge himself to be perfect at literally anything, and his hand writing is one of those instances.

HE'S LITERALLY A VIRGO GUYS HE IS THE DEFINITION OF A VIRGO OH MY GOD

speaks fluent japanese OF COURSE but his brothers don't know it as well as he does (they all know a little at least) and he'll curse them out quietly in japanese behind their backs.

Leo wouldn't say he had a favorite brother of course but he definitely prefers Don's presense over the others. they always go to each other first when they have a problem or just want to rant, and they have a bunch of inside jokes.

after Donnie, Leo's the biggest insomniac. he gets nightmares a lot unfortunately, and most times when he wakes up he physically can't go back to sleep. literally Mikey will get up for a glass of water at 5:37 in the morning and Leo is up doing flips.

very random, but Leo is AWFUL at math. he meant to learn at some point but the time passed and he missed the boat. ofc math is Don's second language and Mikey and Raph couldn't care less (but somehow Mikey always guesses the right answers without doing the correct work??) but Leo is lowkey embarrassed that he struggles with it so much. he can do basic math and most things that come up in daily life like practical equations, but anything past times tables and division he is cannot understand. if you come over and need help on your math homework he will try his HARDEST to help you but ultimately he's completely clueless.

always takes bugs outside. if the creepy crawly is creepy enough or makes you screech, he'll whip it with his katana but normally he'll take the time to scoop it up in his hands (literally no fear) and walk it outside calmly.

literally LOVES doing chores. it's like a form of self care for him. folding laundry, sweeping, mopping, washing the dishes, organizing the dojo, he'll literally put on some music and go to town. when he visits you he will literally just start straightening things up and picking things off of the floor. he hates having nothing to do so he'll just ask for something he can clean while y'all chit chat.

incredibly flexible. he can bend every which way, sit comfortably in a split for hours, can bend over IN HALF and grab the back of his legs--he's literally maxed out on flexibility. but splits training is his private time so unless you sneak you won't catch a glance. but when you do, in between of sliding dojo doors, it is... something. like excuse me sir how tf doesn't that hurt your bAWLLS

smells like lavender. dead serious his signature scent is lavender. it's not like he wears cologne or anything, he just lights a lot of lavender incense and candles to the point where if someone even steps foot in his room they walk out aroma-fied.

everyone in the fandom has their personal opinion of who's the best cook and who's the worst cook of the four, and it is finally time for my hot take of the century. i think Leo is by far the best chef, and Raph is the one who can't even make toast right. a lot of people say Mikey is the chef of the family, which i agree with, he enjoys cooking and baking very much, but this doesn't mean the food he makes is good 💀💀💀 he trusts himself over any recipe and so he just throws in whatever he feels like. Leo can't stand being in the kitchen while Mikey is cooking, his ocd can't stand it. this said, you'd think this would mean the guys prefer Leo's cooking over Mikey's but fact is Leo is such a perfectionist he will spend hours working on a meal it's past 11 by the time he's done. and he doesn't take requests, he only makes what he wants and then on top of that the healthnut version. he makes sushi a lot and goes crazy when you bring him salmon.

IS SUCH A DORK BAHAHAHA if you even so much MENTION a book or a show he likes he will blabber for HOURS about it. he knows every single fact there is to know about star trek it is insane. you amuse him not because you're interested of course but he is just so damn adorable when he's talking about something he enjoys (which he rarely gets the chance to without being made fun of LMAO)

[604to647]

(Late Night) WIP Wednesday Thursday

Thank you for the tags @milla-frenchy @galway-girlatwork @joelmillerisapunk @baronessvonglitter 🥰🥰 Had an odd week and didn't write a lot, but managed to write a little of a lot of different things 🤣 (Unfortunately, no progress on the Acacius Hockey AU except for this and this).

Thank you for the kind reception on my first Dear-uary submission (What's a TomDaya?), the second entry will be for our dear Timothy Rockford and his Shutterbug, and it will be HORNEE (the epistolary form is SEXTING 🫠🤭):

Everything about the photo exudes control, skill, competency.  Your mouth suddenly felt very dry even as your pussy gushed; before you could register its actions, your free hand skimmed up past the hem of Tim’s t-shirt, delicate fingers starting to rub soft circles over the front of your already drenched panties as you gawked at the very picture of dominance and prowess projecting from your phone.

I also started working on my first ever Dieter fic (eek!) for @happypedrohours' Bouquets of Pedro Creativity Challenge! The working title is "Crawling Back to You (Dieter's Version)", heavily influenced by Hozier's cover of "Do I Wanna Know"; two quick snippets:

Detox had been a fucking nightmare but Dieter likes the voices in his head now.  They’re gentler with him, more forgiving, thoughtful.  They sound like you.

He couldn’t even bring himself to do you the disservice of asking you to wait, or stay by his side but hidden.  It was beneath you.  And to ask was to break his promise.

Turns out he didn’t even need to ask for you to feel the full weight of his betrayal. 

Hmmm, what else, what else? More The Rockford Portfolio, perhaps? How about some hurt/comfort?

Still, the sting of seeing you with someone else stays with him as he stumbles out of the coffeeshop, vendor's stall, grocery store and Tim tries leaning against the wall, a tree, his car to steady himself.  It doesn’t help in the least.  Doubling over, the pain in his chest balloons and threatens to suffocate him; deep breaths deliver no air to his lungs, the excruciating mass of regret too much in the way.  He can’t breathe.  He can’t breathe.  He can’t.

And... some young!Frankie who's having a rough go of a friends-to-lovers fic:

As soon as he lands, Frankie turns off airplane mode and the sudden influx of cell service after six weeks has his phone practically vibrating out of his hand from all the messages and notifications he’s missed.  He only cares about whether or not there are any messages from you, and when he sees that there are, he reads them in quick succession. There are only seven:

How were the pups this morning? Thanks so much again for walking Mac for me.  I really needed that extra half hour of sleep 😉

How’s your day going so far?  Mine is stupid busy with work, but I should be able to leave on time today!

Frankie!!! Thank you so much for the croissant! I love that bakery.  And thank you for the sweet note, too

Goodnight!

Frankie?  Is everything okay?  I’m worried about you.

Are you going to McKibbon’s tomorrow?

You didn’t come tonight.  Is it because of me?

His chest constricts at the evident change in mood and tone over the span of these messages, and especially at the sadness that radiates from the last one.

Huh. Lots of angst, eh? Yeesh - told you it's been an odd week! Ha!

No tags because I'm so late but anyone who is late like me but wants to share please dooooo 🥰🥰

[xhollowfaerie]

silverv (sadness hours) drabbles #2

warnings: angst, character death, mourning, big big sadness :( a/n: I haven't even finished the game, I just vaguely know some of the endings, so idk if this even counts as spoilers? it's more of a what-if I imagined bc I don't even know if it really makes sense but this isn't super canon compliant, I just really missed my partner while they were at work and ended up depressing myself more lol I cried sm writing it and they cried reading it so idk if there's typos or inconsistencies or weird syntax, neither of us can reread it well enough to fix them bc we're saps

- End of Beginning.

“Hell of a ride, huh, Johnny?” Blood spurted out of her mouth onto his clothes as he held her. Johnny had never trembled before in his life. Not when he performed in front of thousands. Not when he raced through Arasaka Tower. Not when Adam Smasher blew him in half. 

“Don’t do this to me, V” was all he could say through the lump in his throat, feeling the drips down his face before seeing them roll off her cheeks.

Fuck. He’d thought it over and over, but he never fucking told her. And now, he’d fucked up. They were out of time.

She was so beautiful. V laughed, clinging to his hand and squeezing it reassuringly. He squeezed it back before cupping her face, running his thumb over the mix of his tears and her blood.

Both of their visions glitched and a rapidly climbing percentage aggressively flashed at them.

“Fuck, FUCK! It wasn’t supposed to go like this, I was- I was gonna fix it, V, I- FUCK!” Johnny broke down and buried his face into his hand, holding V closer to him as he looked away and clenched his teeth, bumping his balled up fist into his forehead.

“This isn’t happenin’. Tell me this is just one of our nightmares. We’ll wake up and blow these fuckin’ ‘saka bastards off the map.”

All she could do was smile up at him, reaching her hand to softly brush some hair out of his eyes.

“I know you’ve heard me thinkin’ it, but I’d never admit it. Your fangirls were right... You are a hunk.” Her own eyes filled to the brim with tears. She held his face lovingly.

“V, listen, this isn’t how this ends, I won’t fuckin’ let it-”

“Johnny.” “Damn this fuckin’ cesspool of a world, fucked full to the brim with greed, I’ll burn it ALL TO THE FUCKIN’ GROUND IF IT MEANS!-” “Johnny.”

His miserable expression lingered on her smile. He touched the warm hand over his face, and both of their expressions flickered with the faintest relief, followed by the deepest sorrow.

One last time, they get to feel each other’s touch. 

And this time, they both knew. It was as real as it could get.

“We both suck at this, don't we?” Her voice. No, he couldn’t fucking imagine living in a world without her voice, without their bickering, without hearing her scream her heart out and play his old songs on her guitar…

“I’m sorry, Valerie.” Her eyes widened as he apologized, before leaning down to rest his forehead against hers. “I’m so fucking sorry.” She took in his scent for one last time. Her favourite mixture of cigarettes, whiskey and chilli peppers, that stupid mac and cheese he always had her make…

He would never forget how sweet her voice sounded.

“It’s okay.”

With the last of her strength, she held her necklace, the fateful bullet Vik had plucked out of her skull, the day her and Johnny first met. The day she died.

“Take care of Nibbles, alright?”

She held it to his chest, taking his dog tags between her fingers and tangling their necklaces together with a sly grin.

“Go. And promise me… you’ll really live this time. For yourself. For…” Johnny didn’t want to hear it. He inched in closer, their lips barely apart. 

He didn’t wanna hear it.

Their kiss was short and sweet. Johnny didn’t want to let go, so she whispered against his lips.

“I forgive you, Johnny. I’d do it all over again, and there’s no other rockerboy I’d rather cuss out  in my head until the end of my days.”

With shaky hands, Johnny took off his dog tags and placed them around her neck. His sobs worsened, and he tried to hold her tighter, squeeze her harder; as he did, she began dissipating into ones and zeroes, melting into him until he caught one last glimpse of her before she was completely gone.

“See you in the next one, John. Don’t miss me too much.”

Johnny collapsed onto the bare floor of code, feeling the agony of the Relic inside their head. 

Feeling the thing he’d feared the most.

He couldn’t feel her anymore. At all. All that was left in her wake was her necklace. He held it so tightly his knuckles turned white. The last thing he remembered was the sensation of his palms going numb.

- Sailor Song.

Johnny flicked the cigarette into the dirt, taking a sip of the pomegranate soda. V’s tastebuds relished at the familiar drink, making a laugh bubble in his chest.

“Fuck, V. Your body really likes this shit. It don’t even taste like mudwater no more.”

Her bullet necklace dangled from her- his neck.

He glared at the view of the city off the cliffside, resting against the hood of their Impala.

His shaky hand squeezed the paper it was holding onto before catching himself and loosening his grip, lest he wrinkled his most prized possession. Wordlessly, he tucked his wallet out of his back pocket, opening it up to a small picture of V’s smile he had taken one time she got drunk and he used her lack of sobriety to take a selfie of her grinning like an idiot with messy hair and no makeup. He thought he did it to fuck with her at the time. Now he knew he did it because he was aware, in the back of his mind, of how much he’d miss her.

He stared at the picture for a moment before stripping his gaze from it, catching his reflection in a nearby puddle. The way the face staring back was as much him as it was V both destroyed him and helped sew back together the irreparable gush inside his heart. He struggled to settle into her body, to claim it as his - it felt wrong - but he could no longer recall struggling to call her home. So he did his best to keep bits and pieces of both and carefully stitch them together. He let her natural roots grow out and dyed them black, the rest of her hair staying pink. Johnny used her muscle memory to redye it from time to time, remembering the countless nights he’d try to explain to her, time and time again, that he couldn’t see the damn back of her head, woman, I can’t see any more than you do, you-

“...drive me insane” their gravelly  voice rang out of his throat. “You’re a dick, you know that?” he replied to himself, before returning to the lower, rougher tone his voice had settled in her vocal chords at. He had found himself replaying many of their conversations out loud, lately.

“And you’re a cunt. We might just fit together after all.”

He cleared his throat after a moment of silence and slid the aviators back over his watering eyes. “Christ, Johnny. Talkin’ to yourself? Who’s a senile old man now?” The words took him by surprise, so much so that his eyes widened and, for a moment, darted around as if to catch a glimpse of her. The gust of wind howled past him, leaving nothing in its wake.

He took one last fugitive glance at his arm, Johnny + V permanently inked into them. He broke into a grin before grimacing and grinding his teeth, hopping off the hood to kick an empty beer can and grab his head, letting out a howl.

The words scribbled in V’s handwriting resided within the letter in his wallet, the same words he had taken the liberty to tattoo on V’s other arm, opposite of their stupid tattoo he got when he took over her body one time. The note she had left him the day she knew was their last together, taken out of a poetry anthology they had been reading over cigarettes and bourbon for weeks, whenever they woke up from a nightmare.

"Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell. ― Edna St. Vincent Millay"

[nekohime19]

Mini Mac # 57 : Detective Greatdeal

Wukong play with his cubs

If someone asked Wukong, in the past, how children played with dolls, he would have said something generic like : “Surely they play household”. Now, as he was currently helping his kids solve the murder of Mr Shady (apparently named like this because he had a shady face) he lamented at his past ignorance. He was playing Inspector O, a plush monkey with an O shaped mouth, apparently the naive associate of the genius Detective Greatdeal. 

“Obviously, the killer is among us!” Announced Detective Greatdeal, Rumble shook the rabbit plushie’s tiny paws with great conviction. Wukong bit his lips to restrain himself from laughing. The scene was so adorable, but his pups were taken this very seriously, so he had to act accordingly. 

“Really? Who is it Detective?” Cooed Wukong with his most high-pitched voice, he shook his tiny monkey plushie to convey surprise. 

“Who killed my husband??” Wailed Savage, she was playing Mr Shady's partner, Pr Shady. Pr Shady was a lizard plushie with a makeshift leaves crown. Wukong didn't follow the investigation that much. He knew Mr Shady was found murdered by a sharp leaf in his living room, and that he lived in a remote area that was supposedly impossible to reach. The only other person with the means to reach the Shady's mansion was Pr Shady, thus making him the most likely suspect. Moreover, Mr Shady was killed by a leaf and coincidentally Pr Shady also had a leaves crown. 

“The one who found the body is you, Inspector O.” Recalled Detective Greatdeal, Rumble made his plushie walk mysteriously among the suspects. “You were about to take on the case when I coincidentally passed by this province.”

“That's right, Detective.” Nodded Wukong, he honestly didn't remember this plot point, but he just went along with his cubs games. It was a bit difficult to handle a doll so tiny but his pups didn't want him to shrink. Apparently, they liked better when he was his regular size. He didn't question it. Besides, being so high compared to them enabled him to see this adorable scene from upward. 

“Pr Shady is the most likely suspect. After all, with his husband dead, no one stood before him and the Shady's money.” Hummed Rumble, he took one of his plushie paws and placed it on its chin, as if it was thinking. 

“What!? You accuse me of murder? This is unforgivable!” Gasped Savage, she put paws on Pr Shady's tiny mouth, as if it was shocked. 

“Yes, you're the most likely suspect. But it's not you. In fact the murderer is the one who discovered the body, it's you Inspector O!!” Rumble pointed at him with Detective Greatdeal tiny paws. Wukong gasped, he was the killer??? 

“What ?” Wukong mumbled, genuinely shocked. 

“Yes. You're just a tiny Inspector supervising this town, you staged this whole scene and made everything look as if Pr Shady did it to gain merit at solving this case!” Huffed Rumble with a tiny bit of pride. Wukong wanted to coo so badly. It was so cute! But he had a play to act. 

“You'll never catch me alive!” Shouted Wukong as he made his silly monkey doll run away. 

“Stop right this instant!” Shouted Rumble as he followed the tiny monkey doll and restrained it with his own plushie. 

“How could you?” Wailed Savage. “My darling moon was the apple of my eyes! For this, I sentence you!”

“You don't have the authority.” Gasped Rumble. 

“I in fact do. I hid myself for a long time but I am in truth the Emperor of leaves, that's why I got a crown.” Explained Savage, she took her plushie's paw and pointed to the leaves crown. “I sentence you to death by tickle!”

“Nooooooo”. Shouted Wukong. Both his cubs let go of their plushies and pounced on him to tickle him. Wukong shrieked. No. His tiny pups were so little they could slither under his shirt and tickle him! It was a nightmare to make them stop. The great sage rolled back and roared with laughter. 

His pups finally stopped after a half-hour of tearful laughter. They fell asleep on his fluffy chest. Satisfied after making their Pa cry with laughter. Wukong looked down at them with fondness. He could finally coo as much as he wanted. Macaque came back from his daily workout. For some reasons, his moon was hellbent on working out recently, trying to lift rocks and other heavy objects. Wukong didn't know why he started but he was supportive nonetheless. 

“You had fun?” Chuckled Macaque when he caught sight of the mess of dolls and the two pups snoring on his mate's chest. 

“Yeah.” Whispered Wukong, he petted the top of his cubs’ heads with the pad of his finger. 

He wouldn't mind playing Detective Greatdeal with them again.

+ cut scenes

Macaque : I need to workout to be able to lift my mate and kidnapp him!

Wukong : I don't know what's going but I'm cheering you on!! 😁

Fun fact : Savage use the pet name her dads use for each other (like moon) for her play pretend husband Mr Shady

Ch1 / Previous / Next

[genshin-squabbles-and-wobbles]

okay so this my first time request but i came by your blog and i really enjoyed your writing so — 😭

ahem, anyways i was wondering if i could have some boyfriend hcs with scaramouche and tighnari….

(heizou too if you write for him, i didn’t see him on your list but like, yeah.)

anyways ty 🤍🤍🤍

Indeed I shall, my darling. For Heizou I am still getting to know him and see how I can portray him accurately, however for you my dear. I shall test out my skills upon him and see if it is realistic or not to the character. It still needs work, but FOR YOU MY ONE AND ONLY HALF FAIRY, HALF MERMAID, HALF SQUIDWARD BELOVED. I shall. :)

Scaramouche ┍━━━━━☟━━━━━━━☟━━━━━━━┑

He is the type of boyfriend to show his affections through his actions, not his words. He would hug you, kiss you, and rub your back all while calling you an idiot or pretend to complain about it.

He cares about you very much, however, of course he won’t show it, he wants to be seen as someone who can take care of you, not as a weak man who you have to cater to.

He is very bad at communicating and would expect you to read his mind, and you guys would get into arguments about it, however, eventually he will acknowledge his wrong doings.

He has baggage, so he can be insecure and jealous when he sees you with someone who is more capable of taking care of you, then him. It's worse that they speak nicely to you, compared to him, who speaks with sharp tongue.

His love language quality time, he wants you to focus on him and only him. Put your phone away, and ignore everyone for an hour, as you watch a movie with him, or cuddle and talk to him.

They way he expresses his love to you, is through acts of favor. So he would often do favors for you, and enjoy it. - "You need me to buy milk? Alright, anything else?" - "You need help carrying these boxes? Okay, give me a moment." - "You need me to defeat this boss for you? Okay, just rest, I'll handle it." - Want me to take over cooking for the night? I know you like my mac and cheese recipe so I'll make that for you."

He doesn't really care if you guys have children or not, he definitely will struggle to have the patients with them at first, but once he finds a routine then he will be fine. However, his tongue doesn't change, so he will speak harsh to his children but lecture them but his actions will be gentle.

He would always try to find ways to make you comfortable without you knowing. - Your bed is suddenly not giving you back pain? He fixed it. Because you complained about it. - Some weird guy suddenly leaves you alone? He dealt with it. - The favorite clothes you lost, suddenly is back in your closet? He turned the whole house upside down to find it, because you were sad that you lost it.

Tighnari┍━━━━━☟━━━━━━━━━━━☟━━━━━━━┑

He will refer you to you as his "precious flower" or his "Beloved Sumeru Rose"

His tail will sway a bit when happy to see you, however he would try not to show his excitement too much, he wants to be someone that you take seriously.

He would tease you in moments, but he would often smile at you.

He would often draw you when he his thinking about you, draw you with flowers in your hair, or with clothing he thought would look nice on you.

He would often take walks with you, and night walks with him is where you guys can bond and relax.

His love language is physical touch, the more you touch him, the happiest he is. Rub his head, rub his back, rub him anywhere. Hug him, and kiss him. Hold him close to you. He enjoys it.

He would know how to comfort you during your nightmares or when you are overthinking, as he uses logic to help explain to you that these things would never happen. He never explains it on a cold hearted manner, but he explains it gently while holding your hand. However, if you are still distraught and still insisting, he would actually listen and look into it. Again, anything is possible so he has an open mind.

He would dress up for you, on dates. Wear his best Sumeru outfit, when taking you out to eat, or showing you around nice places. He would show that he has dedicating to you.

He expresses his love to you, through verbal affirmation, which will go hand in hand with physically touching you. - "You’re doing great, my love. I am so proud of you." - "What's wrong? Did he bother you? No worries love, let me handle him." - "My love, my precious love, do you know how much I love you? I know this relationship is young, but I do want to spend my entire life with you." - "Honey, don’t forget your journal for the journey, okay? In case you do, I'll have it here for you. I love you."

He would definitely want a lot of children with you, however, if you don’t want children, he wouldn’t mind. He cares a lot about you, and only you. No imaginary children will affect that. You are his life, as his species values their partners quite a lot. So your needs come before their own. As long as they have you, they are already happy.

Heizou┍━━━━━☟━━━━━━━━━━━☟━━━━━━━┑

He would tease you a lot, like a lot. He is more of a gentle teaser though, as he would tease you about your efforts for him or you blushing for him. - "Oh? Is someone blushing because I took a my shirt off? No? Hmm, a mystery I must solve later, meet me in my bed later, okay? hehe" - "Haha, you are so cute when you are focused like that. What do you mean I am embarrassing you? You are my future wife after all, I need to embarrass you.~" - "Oh? Quite a yearning hug you have on me here. Perhaps...you'd like me to show you one of my yearning hugs in return?"

He would often hug you and put his arm around your waist, not because he is possessive of you, or has jealousy, merely because his hands have a home there and it's just routined for him. Or else, he won’t know where to put his hands.

He would often kiss your hand when he wants to thank you in anyway.

He would buy you gifts as well.

You two would lay down on the bed, as he would go on and on about his toughest cases or the most scariest cases. You will see a twinkle in his eyes as he passionately talks about it.

When you guys argue, you will mostly likely always lose the argument, as he his master debater and investigator so his skills would come out, in mentioning points and factual things that would make you realize that you had your faults too. Of course, this will upset you more, and you would ignore him for a bit. And of course, he would feel bad and apologize, along with admitting he was wrong on his part too.

He would often share things with you, as it is routined for him to do that too. He has candy? Takes half and gives it to you without looking. He has cookies? Gives you one and eats one without even batting an eye.

If you cry, it breaks his heart. He would desperately try to calm you down and cheer you up. He hates seeing you in distress, he wants you to have a comfortable life, a peaceful life. Due to the cases he deals with, he wants you to live peacefully and worry free. It makes him feel happy knowing you aren’t the one dealing with the stress compared to what stress he deals with on his job as a detective.

Speaking of detective, He figures you out easily, he sees through you, your behaviors, and is very observant of you. So when you hide something, he knows. When you try to be normal, he knows. He would point it out. He knows exactly how to comfort you as well.

[sassenach77yle]

THREE NIGHTS LATER, I WOKE FROM a restless sleep in an inn in Wilmington, my throat parched as the salt bacon I had eaten in the dinner stew. Sitting up to find water, I found that I was alone—the moonlight through the window shone white on the vacant pillow beside me. I found Jamie outside, behind the inn, his nightshirt a pale blotch in the darkness of the innyard. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a chopping block, arms wrapped about his knees. He didn’t speak as I came toward him, but turned his head, body shifting in a silent welcome. I sat down on the chopping block behind him, and he leaned his head back against my thigh, with a long, deep sigh. “Couldn’t sleep?” I touched him gently, smoothing back the hair from his face. He slept with it unbound, and it fell thick and wild about his shoulders, tangled from bed. “Nay, I slept,” he said quietly. His eyes were open, looking up at the great gold moon, three-quarters full over the aspens near the inn.

“I had a dream.”

“A nightmare?” He had them seldom anymore, but they did come sometimes: the bloody memories of Culloden, of futile death and slaughter; prison dreams of hunger and confinement—and sometimes, very rarely, Jack Randall returned to him in sleep, with loving cruelty. Such dreams would always drive him from his bed to walk to and fro for hours, until exhaustion cleansed him of their visions. But he had not dreamed that way since Moore’s Creek Bridge.

“No,” he said, sounding half-surprised.

“Not at all. I dreamed of her—of our lassie—and the bairns.”

My heart gave an odd little hop, the consequence of startlement and what might almost have been envy. “You dreamed about Brianna and the children? What happened?” He smiled, face tranquil and abstracted in the moonlight, as though he still saw some part of the dream before him. “It is all right,” he said. “They are safe. I saw them in a town—it seemed like Inverness, but it was different, somehow. They walked up the step of a house—Roger Mac was with them,” he added, offhand. “They knocked at the door, and a wee brown-haired woman opened to them. She laughed wi’ joy to see them, and brought them in, and they went down a hallway, wi’ strange things like bowls hanging from the ceiling. “Then they were in a room, wi’ sofas and chairs, and the room had great windows all down one wall, from the floor to the ceiling, and the afternoon sun was streaming in, setting Brianna’s hair to fire, and makin’ wee Mandy cry when it got in her eyes.” “Did . . . did any of them call the brown-haired woman by name?” I asked, my heart beating in a queer, fast way. He frowned, moonlight making a cross of light over nose and brows. “Aye, they did,” he said. “I canna just—oh, aye; Roger Mac called her Fiona.” “Did he?” I said. My hands rested on his shoulder, and my mouth was a hundred times drier than it had been when I woke up. The night was chilly, but not enough to account for the temperature of my hands. I had told Jamie any amount of things about my own time over the years of our marriage. About trains and planes and automobiles and wars and indoor plumbing. But I was nearly sure that I had never told him what the study looked like in the manse where Roger had grown up with his adoptive father. The room with the window wall, made to accommodate the Reverend’s painting hobby. The manse with its long hallway, furnished with old-fashioned light fixtures, shaped like hanging bowls. And I knew I had never told him about the Reverend’s last housekeeper, a girl with dark, curly hair, called Fiona.

“Were they happy?” I asked at last, very quietly. “Aye.

Brianna and the lad—they had some shadows to their faces, but I could see they were glad nonetheless. They all sat down to eat—Brianna and her lad close together, leaning on each other—and wee Jem stuffed his face wi’ cakes and cream.” He smiled at the picture, teeth a brief gleam in the darkness.

“Oh—at the last, just before I woke . . . wee Jem was messin’ about, picking things up and putting them down as he does. There was a . . . thing . . on the table. I couldna say what it was; I’ve never seen the like.”

He held his hands about six inches apart, frowning at them. “It was maybe this wide, and just a bit longer—something like a box, maybe, only sort of . . . humped.” “Humped?” I said, puzzled as to what this could be. “Aye, and it had a thing on top like a wee club, only wi’ a knob to each end, and the club was tied to the box wi’ a sort of black cord, curled up on itself like a piggie’s tail. Jem saw it, and he reached out his hand, and said,

‘I want to talk to Grandda.’ And then I woke.”

He leaned his head back farther, so as to look up into my face. “Would ye ken what a thing like that might be, Sassenach? It was like nothing I’ve ever seen.

”The autumn wind came rustling down from the hill, dry leaves hurrying in its wake, quick and light as the footsteps of a ghost, and I felt the hair rise on nape and forearms. “Yes, I know,” I said. “I’ve told you about them, I know.” I didn’t think, though, that I had ever described one to him, in more than general terms. I cleared my throat.

“It’s called a telephone.”

121 ACROSS THE ABYSS~ A Breath of Snow and Ashes

[qweenofurheart]

i’m pretty much through with developing these specific characters (most of the story came about when i was 15-17) but I still love their designs and I certainly wrote some interesting stories about them so I wanted to share it?? lol??

Below the cut is an excerpt from one of these stories, set during the aftermath of the main story, so it might not make much sense. (tw for some described gore and depression.)

Started to get nightmares at the hospital, Kitty wrote. She was discharged after four days. A mild concussion, bruises and the remainder of the dehydration and mild starvation from being in the cage. Everyone else was worse. 

Veel had two gashes across her face, one across her nose and one splitting her chin open, and she had a bullet wound in her neck, but horribly, it had healed itself, pushing the bullet out of the puncture and closing into a gnarled, fleshy knob on the side of her throat. Luckily the tumor was benign and got removed in surgery, and the cuts were stitched, but now she had these frankenstein-esque scars, that would probably fade a little, but never really go away. 

Anneke had a stab wound from Winghead’s makeshift rebar spear. Luckily there was no tetanus, and Harpy had disappeared through the hole in her side, causing it to begin closing up. By the time they had gotten to the ER, it had regressed to maybe a half inch deep on both sides. 

Sunny was fine aside from some bruises. He and Anneke were texting and calling pretty much the entire time she was in the hospital. 

Luke’s father, once he wasn’t ingesting a slow but steady supply of antifreeze, stopped seizing and regained his mental abilities, though he remained disorientated and nauseous. 

Winghead had several gashes from Harpy, bite marks from the Guests, and his curse mark had turned into a second degree burn. With lots of antibiotics and two weeks of hospitalization, he did not develop infection. Seven deep cuts required stitches.

Krishna was fine due to his usage of the pulse, but he was held in the ICU for a couple of hours to make sure he wasn’t suffering from internal bleeding or bruised bones, as he said he was extremely achy post-trauma. 

Kitty, of course, had these nightmares for two reasons. She could now freely admit to both of these: She had gotten bacterial meningitis as a child, and she had gotten suicidal after her best-friend started treating her differently than before. This had resulted in two near-brushes with death. And there was the car crash too, where she had seen Yariulvus’s dead body on a stretcher. She did not want to be around any hospitals. She felt like she could feel the hospital in her sleep, some part of her was tethered to the walls around her. She dreamed of gashes and the caustic, seismic sound of a body slamming into a web of metal bars. Wings coming out of eye sockets and feet covered in blood. She had some internal realization that these were partly Winghead’s nightmares. In fact, one night, they woke up at the same time from a nightmare and ran into each other in the hallway on the way to the bathroom. 

So when she got discharged, she didn’t visit Winghead. She went home and changed her clothes, from the light tan hospital garments to a pink baby tee and sweatpants. Instantly, she already felt more like herself. Ever since Harpy had gone away, the town had felt a little more like itself. No more scuttling things in the darkness or bodies floating in the water. She only had one heart, and that meant that she felt less, but she was feeling more…like things weren’t going to fall apart right in front of her. Or, things always felt like they were falling apart, but at least she could navigate it. 

She brushed her hair, which was long enough to braid neatly down her back. She ordered Mcdonalds through DoorDash, just a Big Mac and fries. The driver was John Vaudan, which startled her. But it made sense that no one else was working except for the people who lived paycheck to paycheck. She tipped him with a five dollar bill. 

She stood in the hallway outside her room, the floors so brown they were nearly black. The seams between the walls and the wood lining were freshly caulked. She checked the oily paper bag. She ate a fry. Her back hurt from lying down and sitting for so long. She went into her tiny room. Greta Gu Ma was still at work. Public defender case. 

Her feet were cold, so she put on socks. Then she called Veel, who now always carried a Razor flip phone. She never used it unless Kitty called or texted. She picked up right away. 

“Hello?”

“I’m home. I got a cab. Where are you?” 

“I’m at the music store. I stepped out for a bit. Do you need something?” 

Veel had started working again three days after the escape, helping Mrs. Choi fix her merchandise and throw away the debris caused by the whirlwind of Guests coming through her shops. Most of the expensive instruments survived because they were kept in the private sound proof room, and no Guests got inside. But outside, smashed ukeleles, acoustic guitars, cheap rental violins, violas, and music stands lay in a crumpled heap. Veel carried everything out with the help of Leo, Gemini, and Artemis, and then they swept the floors, vacuumed, beat out the dust, caulked, spackled, primed, painted, applied a light detergent to the upholstery, and scrubbed the counters and hardwood. They had to replace a handful of windows and one hanging light as well. Now Veel was tending the register again. There were practically no customers, aside from a gig band passing through whose lead guitarist needed new steel strings. Kitty suggested Veel learn the violin if she was bored. 

“Can you come here? Or, I can go there. Whatever works. I - want to see you.” God, it was still so hard to admit that. She could barely choke it out, and cringed at her incompetency and chronic emotional constipation. 

“Oh my god yeah get over here. I’m so-oo freaking bored.” Veel laughed, her voice crunchy through the terrible mic. Kitty could here a Bach concerto in the space between her loud laughs. She still had a thing for childish, guffaw-adjacent laughs. Veel and Winghead both laughed like “Ha! ha ha ha ha ha!” and it was great. She told Veel this.

“Charmed.” Veel’s grin was audible. “Get over here.”

Kitty knew she could walk, even with her fucked up atrophied legs, but she took the bus instead. It was impressive how fast public services returned back to normal. Buses, mail, police, fire department, city council, etc. Then again, they were somewhat more prepared to deal with the emergency after the FBI clued them in. Kitty felt strange now that she was no longer the go-to source for Harpy and Winghead-and-Veel-related news. 

She got to Cordelia and took a left from the fountain, or, what was left of the fountain. Now it was just a gaping hole with caution tape around it and construction workers already going to work on it. 

Choi’s Music was small and narrow at the front and opened up in the back. Kitty had been going there since she was fifteen to rent her clarinet. Veel was waiting at the counter, swiveling around in the high chair, visibly perking up when Kitty stood right in front of her. 

Her face was amazing, as usual, but looking at the purplish bumpy edges around the pale brown scars was painful. Kitty could tell it hurt when she smiled. 

“Kiss me?” she said. Kitty hummed and leaned in, giving her a little kiss on the corner of her mouth. She could feel the ridge of her chin scar under her fingertips where she cupped her face. 

“Oh. Sorry - lip gloss.” She pointed at the corner of her own mouth as soon as they parted and Veel wiped her lips. 

Veel hopped down from the chair and ducked under the counter door, coming out on Kitty’s side. 

“I’m gonna ask Mrs. Choi if we can close up early - no one came in anyways.” Veel told her, and Kitty followed her up the stairs to Mrs. Choi’s apartment, where she was probably napping or sorting out finances.

Kitty inhaled deeply and exhaled. She accepted the cup of Oolong tea when Mrs. Choi offered it. 

-

Winghead got out a week later, and this time, Kitty, Veel, Inez, and Sunny were waiting for him. Inez had flowers and a balloon in the shape of a heart. Sunny had brought him his clothes. Kitty didn’t bring anything, so she offered to buy Winghead tea when he was rolled out on a wheelchair by the attendant. He shrugged and said sure. He changed in the back of the car, into the Adidas hoodie and jeans Sunny brought. Then they all got in and drove to the nearest tea house. Wing fell asleep almost immediately against Inez’s shoulder, giant bouquet of pink tulips in his lap. The flower-perfume smell was really strong, so Sunny rolled down a window.

They got tea, and then they also went to Wingstop.

“How’s Ani?” Winghead asked when he seemed fully awake. Sunny pursed his lips.

“She’s OK.” He said, evenly. “Studying for the AP tests.”

They had all taken those already, but Kitty supposed Anneke’s memory was too scrambled or missing for her to remember what she had learned.

No one said anything for a while. Winghead shivered slightly, a movement that even reached his wings, and Inez wrapped an arm around him. 

--

A week later, and Veel found Kitty sitting blankly in the hall outside her room. On the hardwood floor. If she sat with her back perfectly pressed against the wall, and extended her feet, they reached the other side and she could snugly wedge herself within the width of the hall. The pressure felt nice, and it was always a little dim in the hallway because there was only one lightbulb. 

Veel hesitated. “Hey.”

Kitty remained silent, unmoving, unseeing, slowly blinking. Veel couldn’t tell how long she’d been at this. Her eyes looked red-rimmed and dry.

Then, she croaked. “Hi.”

Veel sat next to her, not quiet hugging her knees to her chest but wrapping her arms loosely around herself. 

“I’m good.” Kitty said before Veel could speak. Veel nodded slowly. 

Kitty was tired. She could feel a faint buzzing in her head. She kind of wanted to die. She was wearing jeans and they felt weirdly loose around her ankles. Her feet were bare. She could feel the texture of the drywall underneath them. The pressure was both condemning and a lifeline. 

“I don’t like my room.” Kitty said. 

“It’s a bit small,” Veel nodded, picking up what she was putting down.

“I don’t feel like I live here.” Her stomach hurt. Painful press in her lower abdomen, probably from eating a heavy lunch and going straight to bed afterward. “I can’t relax at all. I feel like a houseguest, or - or like a couch crasher. I want to go home.” She explained. “But not home home. I don’t know. I don’t really feel right anywhere.”

Kitty knew she scared Veel sometimes with how she talked. During their worst fight, Veel screamed that she was afraid Kitty was going to disappear or die the moment she stopped willing herself to be alive. That really hurt Kitty, and that night, when Veel had forced Mon to return to the Silverlands with her, Kitty had tried to go to sleep forever, outside in the forest, lacking the strength or will to walk home. She hoped she could will herself to go missing. It was only Winghead’s good conscious that saved her that time. She couldn’t help feeling evil after that, like some terrible selfish person, especially not when Winghead was giving her that angry, hollow, concerned look as she tried to explain to Greta what she was doing. 

“I have a flat affect.” She said. “The doctor in the psychiatric wing said so. It’s caused by depression.”

She could see Veel trying to understand, rolling the words around in her head. “A flat affect.”

“Yes. It means I don’t feel emotions as strongly. They’re being suppressed.”

“You are…talking a bit flatly.” Veel noted. Kitty nodded.

“I felt so much when I had yours and Wing’s hearts. I couldn’t stop feeling these powerful waves and waves of emotion. It was - fascinating, and kind of amazing, but it was obviously too much - and I broke. That’s when the spell broke. And then I was just left with my own feelings. My own heart. Which is already - it’s already ruined. I don’t know if I can fix it, or if a therapist can fix it. I might be like this forever.”

“You’ve always talked like this.” Veel said. “Ever since the spell broke, you’ve been like this. At least for as long as I’ve known you. Was it like this before you came to the U.S.A.?”

“It started when I was thirteen I think.” Kitty mumbled. “Well, I’m not sure, I think people started noticing my lack of reaction when I was about to leave. Fourteen, then, maybe.”

“My dad - he was like this. Even before my mom disappeared.” Veel said, surprising Kitty. Veel wasn’t touching her, but they were sitting so close that Kitty could feel a bit of warmth from where their shoulders were adjacent, and it tickled. She rubbed her own bicep aggressively, trying to slough the feeling off of herself. “You could tell there was something wrong with him. It was the stress, I think. He was the weakest in our family, and so people ragged on him about that his whole life. I couldn’t fix him. No one could…but no one tried, either. He was - exhausting. But I didn’t want him to die.”

“Exhausting. You said - you said that I was - exhausting, right?” It had been during their fight.

Veel grimaced. “I’m so sorry, Kitty. I was projecting, I think. You reminded me of him. Your symptoms lined up with his. I got scared. I didn’t want to see you destroy yourself.”

Kitty said nothing for a while. “You said not to apologize -”

“Baby.”

“I didn’t know - I …”

“Kitty, no, it’s my fault.”

Kitty waved a hand and shook her head. “I forced you into my mess - I made it your responsibility to care for me…I made you afraid for me - when you shouldn’t even have known I - existed.”

“You said sorry. I forgive you.” Veel said. “You’ve done so much for me, Kitty.”

Kitty sighed. “It’s never going to be enough.”

“You’re speaking in extremes.”

“I know I am. I know …”

She trailed off, getting silent again. She knew. Of course she did. She was the smartest person in her whole school, and she definitely didn’t pioneer the field of Biology by being unobservant. She knew every faucet of her sickness, intimately. She just…forgot sometimes. 

They sat like that for 70 minutes, Veel lightly dozing off and on, and then they heard Greta Gu-Ma’s key in the door. Kitty gingerly bent her legs, and began to stand up. Slowly, moving wrongly. Face blank. Veel must have been worried, because she placed a hand on Kitty’s lower back and helped her straighten out. Kitty let herself be maneuvered.

“I need to sleep.” Kitty said, voice broken. Veel nodded. She took her to her bedroom and helped her get under the covers. 

“You’re so-.” Kitty whispered, tracing Veel’s chin scar with her finger as Veel tucked her in. “It’s amazing. You’re so steady. I don’t deserve you.”

Veel kissed her forehead. 

They slept in the same bed that night. Kitty put her arms around Veel’s waist like she was a giant teddy bear. Veel’s stomach was astoundingly flat and hard. The nape of her neck smelled like pears. Kitty thought about what they had talked about and she cried as softly as possible. Veel breathed heavily.

[dewedup]

27 with MountainDew

Make me cry, Gloomy

💙

thank you mac this idea hit me like a freight train, enjoy some MountainDew for the feels 🖤🖤🖤

words: 907

Mountain’s arms encase the small, shaking ghoul. Dew’s shoulders tremble with every sob that leaves his mouth, burrowing deeper into Mountain’s chest. If it was physically possible, he would crack his ribs and climb inside the earth ghoul. Mountain shushes him, softly petting his hair as he tries to bite back his own tears. 

He needs to be strong for Dew.

There wasn’t anything to be done. The moment the clergy summoned another water ghoul instead of the fire needed to replace Ifrit, his fate was sealed. 

It wasn’t confirmed until a sibling of sin had come by Dew’s room, dropping off a set of ceremonial robes and telling him to be prepared and in the courtyard at midnight. He’s surprised Dew kept it together long enough to accept the offering and make it to Mountain’s room before breaking down. 

No one has heard of this. An elemental change is the thing of nightmares, threatening unruly young ghouls so that they will behave. 

Being a water ghoul is ingrained in Dew’s whole being, woven into the molecules that make him who he is. In theory, they want to strip that and replace it with that of a fire ghoul. Mountain can’t picture a scenario in which this won’t be the most painful thing any of them have been put through, and they’ve been summoned from literal hell, which is no walk in the park. 

“Mount, please,” Dew cries into his shirt, the fabric damp from the tears he shed. Mountain sucks in a sharp breath, tightening his hold on Dew to make up for the fact that he can’t find any words that could make this better. 

Dew swallows audibly, pulling back to look at Mountain with his tear-stricken face. His hands grip Mountain’s shirt, never looking smaller than he does right now. Dew’s lips tremble as he admits the one thing he’s refrained from saying out loud. 

“I’m so scared.”

Mountain can physically feel his heart breaking as Dew stares at him pleadingly, looking for something that he’s unable to give him. 

“I’m so fucking sorry Droplet,” Mountain’s voice breaks as he pulls Dew back into his chest, holding him tightly to shield him from the tear that finally breaks free and trails down his cheek. The room smells of uncertainty, sadness, and fear. Like stagnant pondwater, with hints of mildew and fungus. It suffocates them, fills their lungs, and makes it harder to breathe in any relief.

Mountain’s gaze flicks to the alarm clock on his bedside table, 11:49 glaring back at him. 

His feet drag as though they’ve turned into cement blocks as he rises from the bed, Dew cradled in his arms as he lumbers out the door and across the hall to Dew’s room. He holds Dew’s upper arms steady, placing the shaking ghoul in the middle of the room, giving him a moment to bear the weight of his own body. Once Dew’s on his own two feet, he carefully peels off his shirt, removing his pants in the same manner until Dew is naked before him, shivering in the chill of the room. 

Mountain hopes that this works, hopes he gets to see his beautiful waterlily again. He knows this might be the last time he watches Dew shiver and it’s bittersweet, as he catalogs the chattering of his teeth into the recesses of his mind. If Dew survives this, the fire of Aamon will course through his being, never to be physically cold again. 

Mountain grabs the velvety soft ceremonial robes from their hanger, draping them over Dew with a few extra touches to remind the water ghoul that he’s here. He takes a half step back, eyes roaming over his work and nods in satisfaction. He bites his lip to refrain from saying anything. Dew already looks like he’s ready to turn tail and flee to the pit.

“It’s time, Dewdrop.” 

“I don’t want this Mount,” Dew whimpers, wrapping his arms tightly around his midsection and looking like a soft breeze could knock him over. Mountain grasps him once again, trying to push him as deep into his chest as possible, to hide him from the inevitable. A million thoughts run through his head, but Mountain can’t act on any of them. Instead, he whispers the only thing that’s plagued his mind since Rain was summoned. 

“I'm so sorry, I can’t protect you, Droplet.”

Mountain’s words seem to break something within Dew. He crumbles to the floor like a leaf falling at the end of summer. Mountain follows him down, dropping to his knees so quickly a jolt of pain surges up his thighs. Mountain goes to grab Dew’s face, desperately wanting to comfort him in any way possible, but Dew flinches away from his fingers. 

He watches as Dew squares his shoulders, reaching an arm up to wipe away the remaining tears from his face and rises back up to his feet. He looks strong, stronger than Mountain ever has. The way he holds his body is a complete contrast from the scared, shaking being that Mountain has been holding for the last few hours. Dew’s face looks carved from granite, all hard lines, and emotionless eyes. He breathes in through his nose, before stepping around the earth ghoul and making his way to the door. 

He spares Mountain a glance, looking over his shoulder at the ghoul still kneeling helplessly on the ground. 

“No one can.”