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skinks · 5 years ago

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mr wentworth yes i help my son with his goofy voices yes i am a dilf tozier has the salt n pepper hair of god (oscar isaac) and the sexy librarian glasses to match

god I had never even considered that... the range of this...

Went starts going gray at 32 when Richie is 5 and it’s all the church women’s group can talk about... indirectly, of course. Oh, but he’s so young. Oh, he’ll be balding next. Oh I don’t know, doesn’t he look... distinguished? Mrs Nash from just down their street sees him doing rock-paper-scissors with his son Richard in the grocery store to determine whether or not Richard is allowed ice cream, and Dr Tozier is laughing because he’s winning, and he’s winning because Richard doesn’t know his father can see his little hidden hand reflected in the freezer cabinet, tucked behind his back. Richard’s laughing too, even though he’s losing, and bleats, “Again! Dad again,” eyes shining big as planets with coke-bottle rings.

“Don’t you know what best two out of three means? That was four draws ago.”

“No! No, I’ll win!” The boy shakes his head so hard his whole body rocks from side to side, then clings up at Dr Tozier’s middle with sticky hands. His very... trim middle. Helen’s own Rory, God love him, he enjoys a sudsy six-pack too much these days to keep a middle like that. “Two outta three! Three ice creams please Dad please please Dad please watch I can count to a hundred—”

“Well, we’re not playing hide-and-go-seek right now, Rich. And I beat you, didnt I?”

“Yeah!”

“Right. So why don’t you go get Dad six apples instead, alright? If you can do a hundred, six’ll be pie.” Dr Tozier claps his big hands gentle to the boy’s round cheeks, until they goldfish.

“Easy as,” they chant together. Helen props herself up with the handles of her own cart, the can of little hotdogs going slack in her hand.

“Six apples, then come right back. You got that, doc? You pick the color.”

Richard nods like he’s trying to detach his own head. Dr Tozier puts one hand just briefly on Richard’s dark mophead hair, like he’s giving the boy a blessing for his apple adventure. His hand is really quite broad, thinks Helen, popped out square at the thumb-joint. Matches that jawline of his, something whispers darkly in her stomach. Then the boy’s off, tearing down the aisle on a squeaking chariot of scuffed-gray sneakers and babbling what sounds like a Bugs Bunny impression, repeated on a loop. What’s up doc what’s up doc what’s up doc, fading around the corner to the fruit. Peculiar. Helen once saw the Tozier boy eat a worm at the park while pushing her youngest on the swings, after another solemn-eyed little boy with a faceful of freckles had carefully presented it to him in the sand box. Most peculiar.

Dr Tozier watches him go, then turns back to the freezer cabinet, and sticks two cartons of ice cream into his shopping cart—the very sugary kind. And the man is a dentist!

Helen puts her hand on her chest to calm the trilling schoolgirl rush of her heart, and then stops herself at the sight of her own wedding ring. Get a hold of yourself, Mrs Nash! For Pete’s sake! She trundles her cart over for some chit-chat. Afternoon, Doctor, she says, lovely weather. A perfect neighbourly opener. It is lovely; bright and warm and clear and golden, like honey outside. She’s quietly smug about her new blowout. Dr Tozier is wearing a crisp shirt with buttons like neat soldiers and short sleeves, exposing lean forearms. Yes, a lovely day. Helen swallows.

“Yes, good for the lawn,” replies Dr Tozier.

“We missed Margaret at book club this week,” Helen hedges.

“Oh, that’s right,” says Dr Tozier, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes when he grins are even more distracting without the facemask he’s usually wearing, when Helen drops in for her check-ups. He pushes his spectacles up the strong slope of his nose. They’re wiry like him, steely gray to match his eyes. “She meant for me to tell you, or Diana. Maggie’s been in Skowhegan for the week at her mother’s. My mother-in-law is a woman of... nervous disposition, shall we say. Maggie didn’t think she’d cope with two Tozier men at once, now that Richie’s started losing his teeth.”

“Ohhh,” Helen coos. That must explain the ice cream. She puts her hand near to Dr Tozier’s arm, then away, then near, then away again for good. A neighbourly distance. Margaret is a lovely, lucky woman, even if she does wear flared pants. Hippie to yuppie pipeline’s alive ‘n’ flowin’, Rory always grunts whenever the Toziers come up in conversation. Helen imagines a picket fence between their bodies, and calms. “My Wendy was the same, I’m sure you remember.”

“Yes,” says Dr Tozier mildly. “You brought her in six times as I recall it, Mrs Nash.”

Mrs Nash. Honestly, like she’s his schoolteacher. It’s a little rude. Admittedly he does look quite, quite young with his faintly curling weekend-hair, if not for the new gray blazing a trail back from his temples like virgin snow. Helen is undeterred, even if something quivers inside at the thought of the word virgin in conversation with Dr Tozier. Music tinkles tinny through the ceiling speakers, and it puts Helen in mind of potted plants, or elevators. This is a lovely chat. “Well, you hate to see them suffer, don’t you? I’m sure Richard’s the same, lots of tears—”

“No, actually, Richie keeps on finding things to hit himself in the face with and knock out more teeth,” Dr Tozier interjects. He raises his eyebrows and speaks hushed, as if this is a secret for Helen’s ears alone. The thought makes her dizzy. “It’s my fault, I made the mistake of giving him a quarter for the first one. That’s why he’s not invited to Grandma’s. Lot of antiques.”

“Oh,” says Helen, taken aback. She has three girls; little boy behavior is as yet mystifying. “Well.”

“I’m joking, Helen,” Dr Tozier says cheerfully.

“Oh. I—I see. What a relief.”

He opens a freezer chest to examine a bag of frozen peas. “Maggie’s mom is deaf as white cat, she’d never notice.”

Helen tries to wipe her clammy hands on her dress without being obvious. Her face is hot, but she hopes her cardigan conceals the effect that the chill of the freezer aisle is having under her bra. She also hopes that it doesn’t.

He really does have such a slender, pleasant face, always with an air of casual, amused expectancy hanging around him. Haloing him, like that bright yellow light above the chair in his practice, blocked out when he leans over and slips his fingers inside. Helen supposes that’s what graduating medical school must do to a man, what marrying and fathering young and having one’s own practice by the end of such a turbulent decade as the nineteen-seventies must elicit. The ability to put people at ease, to—to say open wide and know the people of Derry trust him enough to comply. To open themselves. Helen’s breathing catches. Dr Tozier idly checks his sensible watch, still smiling the unhurried smile of a man who very rarely does his own grocery shopping anymore. Everyone knows you pick up the ice-cream last.

Helen gathers herself. This is the longest conversation she has entertained with Dr Tozier without children or the squeaking of latex gloves between them, and she’s gripped by the terribly silly need to be interesting. “Speaking of white cats, I couldn’t help noticing your hair, Wentworth—”

“DADDY!”

Dr Tozier blanches, whipping around to scan the end of the aisle. He is a long line of tense instinct tuned to thrum into action at one specific frequency, knuckles white on the cart handle. His cart bumps into Helen’s. It is thrilling.

“Fuck,” Dr Tozier mutters, and that’s thrilling too, he swore, oh, the boy’s probably fine Wentworth, don’t go, why don’t we just stay right here with the frozen goods and—

Then Richard comes barrelling back down the aisle like a colt on new legs covered in old Band-aids, with his arms full. The fluorescent strip-lights gleam white on Dr Tozier’s broad shoulders and he sags, like snow dropping from a branch, with relief.

“Hey, lunkhead,” he says, sounding shaky, but Richard is only five and would never know it. He’s babbling again. Seems to Helen like the boy’s as a hydrant overflowing on a hot day; entertaining and welcomed at first, until it becomes a nuisance when you begin to understand it won’t shut off, and have to call the firemen.

“Nyyeeeeeah,” Richard greets his father, tousled and bug-eyed with clear adoration, breathing hard from his Supermarket Sweep. Then he makes the carrot-noise. Looks like Bugs, Helen thinks of the boy’s new adult front teeth, the beaverish jut of them exacerbated by his missing canines on either side. Then she feels abruptly un-neighbourlike for being jealous of a child for his father’s attention, good grief.

Dr Tozier regards his son for a long moment. Then says, “What’s up, doc?” in a spot-on Mel Blanc whine. Richard giggles so hard his too-big glasses start slipping. “How many apples is that?”

“Gotta apples and I was gonna put ‘em in a bag but I forgot and Dad, Daddy look, s’a dinosaur on the box for my dinner when Mommy’s at Grandma’s—”

Dr Tozier sighs, putting one hand on his hip and dragging the other over his clean-shaven mouth, watching Richard drop his armfuls everywhere, scattering the linoleum. He has two apples, four boxes of brightly colored cereal, a handful of pencils topped with cartoon-character erasers, and a kiwi fruit. For a moment, Helen sees the shining enamel of Dr Tozier’s everything-will-work-out-with-another-cup-of-coffee amusement slip, wear away to worry underneath.

“Rich,” he says, interrupting Richard’s blabbermouth, firm and patient. Helen’s thighs burn suddenly under her skirts at the tone of his voice, and she looks down, rearranging her own groceries. She should leave them to get on. She could offer to help. Margaret’s out of town, poor things, they probably haven’t eaten a cooked meal all week!

“Richie,” Dr Tozier says again. “Listen and pay attention when Mom or me ask you to do something, remember? How many apples did I ask you to get?”

Richard has to crane his neck to meet his father’s eyes. Dr Tozier is one of the tallest fathers in the Derry Elementary catchment zone, Helen has checked. “Six!”

“And how many’ve you got, Elmer Fudd?”

“Um.” Richard’s pale little face creases in thought, then brightens. When he speaks again his voice is strange, accented. “Twooo.”

“Some apple hunter you are, huh.”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

“That’s fine.” Dr Tozier stoops to gather Richard’s detritus, and Helen knows she has something to contribute, watching the boy stick one of the pencils up his nose.

“You know, apples are very good for you,” she says. Richard turns to her, slack-jawed, as if seeing her for the first time. “You should listen to your Daddy, Richard, an apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

Richard stares for another few seconds. Then he bites down on his boogery pencil so that it threads through the gaps in his teeth, and hollers, “MY FRIEND BILL SAID THAT’S A PILE OF BULLSHIT.”

“No shouting indoors, Rich,” says Dr Tozier, still gathering. Helen rocks a step backwards, clinging to her cart like a life-preserver.

“Bill and my’s friend Eddie eats a thousand apples and sees the doctor all the time though Dad, and Miss Spiegel said if we eat apples we don’t have to see the doctors but Eddie eats them and—Bill said—”

“Pile of bullshit, yeah, I liked it. Bill’s an eloquent guy,” says Dr Tozier. This is the second time Helen has ever heard him curse in as many minutes. It comes out easy and amused as everything else does in his pleasant tenor. His legs and his jaw are so lean and angular that Helen can see the suggestion, the shadow of the shape of his perfect, swearing teeth through his cheek as he grins helplessly at his son, the fruit of his loins and someone else’s loins who isn’t Helen, and all of a sudden she feels a slick pulse of wet heat, up between her thighs.

She squeaks. Flutters her hand to her face without knowing why, perhaps to catch the noise before Dr Tozier notices, just another quivering Derry leaf tossed along by his breezy manner. He looks up anyway, with a frown.

“Everything alright, Helen?”

“Just—fine, yes,” she manages. Dr Tozier is still down on one knee, kindly face level with her skirts. She can see right down under his starched collar from this angle, a slivering glimpse of smooth, dark hair. No undershirt. Helen has lain naked against Rory’s nakedness before without feeling this alive, in every part of her body. She feels like a heart, beating.

“Oh, hang on.” Dr Tozier says, eyes widening, and turns Richard by the shoulders to face her. One pencil for each nostril, now. “Apologize to Mrs Nash for cussing, Richie.”

“Sorry!” Richard shouts, sounding less like he’s apologizing and more like he’s just deemed Helen it during a game of tag.

Helen is still floating in a dazed state of mild panic. Like a prey-mouse, bewitched into slack compliance by her own body’s snaking desires. “That’s alright, dear.”

F-word, Dr Tozier had said. Maybe cussing could be quite neighbourly when applied in the right context, thinks Helen.

“You mentioned my hair, earlier,” says Dr Tozier, straightening back up with a knowing sort of arch to his eyebrow as he smiles genially at Helen. He tilts his head down at Richard. “There’s the reason. Every last one, sprinkled onto my head at the tender age of thirty-two by the great salt-and-pepper shaker of fatherhood. Especially this week, with Maggie on sabbatical. Had to bring you to work with me, didn’t I, buckaroo?”

Richard bites and swings and tugs on his father’s long arm, a tearaway kitten with a much obliging scratching post. Dr Tozier hardly seems to notice. “Yeah! Daddy’s got fishes at work!”

Dr Tozier grimaces slightly at Helen, but also as if he’s seeing right through her to some past unnamable horror. “I liked those fish. Calmed down the nervy patients.” He sighs again.

Helen wonders briefly whether or not the residents of Dr Tozier’s waiting-room fish tank suffered the same fate as that worm in the park, and decides she’d rather not know.

“Well, you needn’t worry about it,” she says, gamely. She watches her hand reach towards Dr Tozier’s silver-black brindle, then snatches it back from his bland expression to brush the tips of her own feathered-out hair. “The gray, I mean.”

Dr Tozier blinks.

“It’s very—that is to say, you look, it makes you look, I mean, I think it’s—”

Dr Tozier’s left eyebrow joins his right, raised up high.

A tidy little jet of hysteria shoots up from Helen’s knotting stomach to spin like a top in her chest. She hears herself stutter out the word, “Dashing,” and immediately wishes to flee the store, leaving her cart abandoned like so much collateral damage.

But Dr Tozier only barks a laugh, a short, smooth hah like everything else he says. Entirely unperturbed. “Well, thank you.”

Too unperturbed. Helen is struck by a sudden bolt of terror, at the thought of the things Dr Tozier must surely hear every day, when people are lulled by the hypnotically intimate environment of a dentist’s chair and a touch of the laughing gas. Oh, this is terrible. Her face is on fire.

“But they—they make products for men now,” she says, and why, oh why can’t she stop talking? “Hair dyes, I mean, if it really does bother you? I’ve seen them in Keene’s.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” says Dr Tozier, looking down at Richard then with a soft edge, at his bouncing noise and scabbed knees and gently curling hair like a black spaniel’s. Like his father’s. “I find I’m rather grateful for it, truth be told.”

“Plus,” he continues, as if Helen wasn’t already melting harder than the Tozier’s ice-cream, as if Johnny Kitchener the shop-boy isn’t going to have to come along with a mop and bucket to clean up on aisle seven, “Maggie’d kill me if I got rid of it.”

Then Dr Tozier winks.

Oh Lord, oh Lord, Helen’s whole ribcage is so tight she can’t squeeze out a reply, because who could blame dear, pretty, annoyingly friendly, lucky, lucky, lucky Margaret for that when Dr Wentworth Tozier DMD is so—

So f—

So fffffff—

So fiddlesticksing handsome!

“Well, we’d best not keep you, Helen. This one is in dire need of a bath before his mother sees him, and hands me a divorce on the spot,” Dr Tozier says, when another few moments have passed and all Helen can do is try to desperately smooth the creases from her breathing. He’s humming mild interest at something Richard is saying, knelt back down to the linoleum to tie the boy’s loose-worm laces presumably before he gives himself any more skinned knees, and they’re leaving. Dr Tozier is leaving, and Helen hasn’t done anything but act like a ninny this entire time. She doesn’t want him to think her a ninny, a simpleton. She wants him to leave this bright, liminal church of bold colors and jazzy waiting-room music and return to his lemon-yellow two-storey house thinking my, what a lovely chat I had with Helen Nash.

She wants to linger, as he lingers. Like an amiable spirit hanging over the women’s group at church, waiting to be summoned at a moment’s eager notice. I bumped into Dr Tozier at Palmer’s on Saturday, she’ll say to the other jealous ladies, with triumph, and we had such a nice talk. He called me Helen.

“And when—when does Margaret get home?” she blurts. A very secret part of Helen wants Dr Tozier to leave this conversation with Helen and his wife both, entwined by association in his mind. She tries very hard not to think about the Toziers divorcing, because that is un-neighbourly, and feels least neighbourly of all when a dopey, dreamy look crosses Dr Tozier’s face like a brief sunbeam at her question.

“Ah. Tonight. Not too late, hopefully.” He jerks one of his knuckley thumbs at his shopping cart, licking the other to wipe something unidentifiable from Richard’s grubby face. “That’s why we’re here, stocking up for her miraculous return. Like a couple of noble emperor penguins in Antarctica, eh Rich?”

“Penguins like from Batman! Ka-pow.”

Helen takes a peek into their cart, curiosity getting the better of her now that permission is granted. Dr Tozier might not know it, but looking into another person’s cart is bad grocery etiquette, especially in a town like Derry, where gossip grows like a fungus in every sweaty and close little huddle of people. Not that Helen would know about that. Anyway, there isn’t much to gossip about besides the unfortunately liquefied ice-cream, the severe lack of crunchy vegetables characteristic of a young man in 1981 trying to provide for a tooth-shedding son, and—

A little cardboard box. Tossed unashamedly between the Wonderbread and a magazine about sports. Prophylactics. Rubbers.

36-pack. XL

Helen knows her jaw is hanging open and strains to close it, the back of her neck and her shoulders feeling hot and tight and shuddery. She kneads a fist into her skirts. Crosses her legs at the ankles as demurely as she knows how, because the very last thing she needs is for frank, sensible Dr Tozier to see right through her with that easy doctor-patient-confidentiality smile, and know she’s soaking through her underwear at the sight of his Saturday grocery run, and all it implies.

Dr Tozier is laughing, nudging Richard in the direction of the register, or perhaps the apples. “Ka-pow is right. I’ll make sure to use that on Mom, thanks. Say hello to Rory for us, Helen. Have a nice day,” he says from over his shoulder, startling her. Holds up one long hand in a wave with a grin, and is gone, shadowing the boy’s haphazard attempts to push the cart despite not being able to see where he’s going.

Helen stands amongst the humming freezers, trembling. “You too,” she rasps, but Dr Tozier has rounded the corner, and is evidently going to have a nice day and a much nicer night, regardless of whether Helen wishes it for him or not.

All the bright little branded characters are watching her from their shelves, a silent jury. Helen Nash opens a freezer cabinet with a weak arm, and stands there for a while, staring at a leg of ham and thinking cooling, neighbourly thoughts.

#long post #idk how to do readmores on mobile soz not soz #wentworth tozier #richie tozier #poor sexually unsatisfied helen nash #sometimes you just have to write the DILF went tozier fic you want to see in the world #stephen king: he was a pleasant looking man with a rather thin face #me cracking my knuckles: a l r i g h t #but what if... big dick richie was hereditary... what then 😳🤔👀🤔👀😳😳👀#ficlet

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weeping-gospels · 2 years ago

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[ Cont. ]

This one has a temper. Eesh, and she thought she had a temper.

More and more the rat spoke, more degradation and ridicule, more insults, more show of dominance she could care less for. The lesser her patience became, the more the veil between humanity and the demented deceased grew all the more thinner. Deep breaths were drawn in through her nostrils as the shaman slowly rose to her feet upon watching his display of a threat — to herself, the Keep, and everyone around her. And that wasn’t going to fucking fly. At all.

SHOW THIS REPLACEABLE PIECE OF CHARRED METAL WHO’S IN CHARGE. THIS IS O U R KEEP. THIS IS A S A N C T U A R Y FOR THE DAMNED. AND WE’LL BE D A M N E D IF SOME PATHETIC MOUSE TARNISHES IT.

Fangs poked out from her snarled lips, shaking her head vigorously to rid of the beast’s inner monologue. No, there’s no point in going haywire and destroying our own Keep. Remember how long it took to repair everything the last time? We had to ask Clan Moulder for help because we took down an entire wall. Deep breaths, Betty. Don’t waste your time on insignificant words.

“ Just so you know, mutt…I’m part of the undead. Killing me isn’t as easy as zapping me with warp lightning when I’ve already died before and came back better than before. And I will find you. “

But it wasn’t aimed toward her anymore. Gasping sharply as the blast decimated the nearest clan rat, Betty froze. The screaming, writhing, the black blood, the terror, the musk of fear, the ashes…no chance of revival. It reminded her of Ethali’s Moon. Another has died in front of her, leaving her powerless and pitiful. How vulnerable. She should have known. Tears bloomed in her eyes before she could halt that as well, pouring down her face out of fury and depression. Hands balled into white - knuckled fists and blood vessels erupted in her eyes from the wailing within, the ashy green clouded by nothing but crimson RAGE.

CARNAGE. TYRANNY. RID OF THE MORSEL AND LEAVE NO REMAINS.

All at once, the transformation process occurred and sped up far beyond her control. With a blackened mind, Betty’s rational conscience was shoved into the beast’s open cage and slammed shut, the monster within tearing through all barriers to expose itself to the world. Her spine arched painfully, bones cracking and thinning to give way to a grotesque, snake - like body that slithered out a few extra feet. Vampiric ears shot forth and twitched with life, digits elongated and swollen into talon - like claws that slammed into the floorboards below. Her jaw unhinged to reveal rows of razor sharp teeth concluded with twin fangs, bloodshot eyes wide with MADNESS, targeting the mech of a rat in front of her.

“ I’VE BEEN NOTHING BUT PATIENT WITH YOU, YOU SLIMY TICK. YOU DISRUPT MY INNER PEACE, DISRESPECT ME IN MY OWN KEEP, THEN K I L L AN INNOCENT LIFE. YOU WANT TO TANGO? LET’S FUCKING T A N G O IN H E L L ! “

The deep, gravely voice shrieked, her body lurching forwards — not at him, but in a protective stance over the remaining skaven. With eyes still locked into Xeenq’s every move, the Dhampir’s head sharply cocked to the side with a nauseating CRUNCH, a language in tongues whisking out from drooling lips. Her magic sparked, swallowing the skaven and herself whole with a forcefield of green. With that in place, Betty twisted her head around to face the cowering rats,

“ IF YOU WANT A BETTER CHANCE AT SURVIVAL I SUGGEST YOU EXIT THROUGH THE DOOR BEHIND US. THE BARRIER WILL HOLD OFF ANY ROUNDS FOR NOW. IF YOU WANT TO LIVE, G O . N O W . “

@tinkering-skaven

#tinkeringskaven

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macravishedbymactavish · 2 years ago

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Oh it's my time to hype my friends and favourites up. I'm so ready, like cracks knuckles;

Welcome to my second annual rec list

@alidravana -- first and foremost, thank you for posting this. If youre here, please follow this lovely human. They're a major part of the reason I (and many others id assume) are active in this fandom as they harbour good times and interactions between fans. Aaaaaand they do character x character ships which make me squeal and kick my feet ❤️

G H O S T S B L O G S

@bloodonmyhands-1221 - our mostly platonic friendship started because she wrote Logan. I love her ❤️ (she also fuels my hyperfixations, and sends me Alex drabbles inbetween our rants about life). She is branching out to other fandoms, but loves requests and the characters from both games. This love and passion shows in her work.

@ai-luni - The original hub for us Hesh Whores, she single handedly got me loving Hesh Walker with all my heart at one point (his birthday fic along with the headcanons about Dad!Hesh eeep). I loved bombing her inbox with my random, chaotic thoughts on anon

@aukuro - The other Hesh Whore (who's into Rorke if any of you want that), and the OG Gromsko hoe. Sarcastic, and has written banging pieces out of spite (looking at you NSFW Hesh Headcanons). Both the sweetest and most sarcastic human around, I'm so happy the fandom gods have brought me to her. Go ask her about her love for General Shepard, it's weird and intriguing

@pearldog30 - Starting to write Hesh and is in her angst chapter. Has written some questionable (but iconic!) works for the questionable characters (General Shepard) . The Last Message (angsty Hesh) made me cry real tears.

@keegansjuicydump - not active recently but they have SUCH cute Logan content, ugh. (Go read their one shot about reader and Logan telling the team they're expecting, it is tooth rottingly sweet and lives rent free in my head).

@yeyinde - I lowkey simp for their content. They're Keegan content (gifs & writing) is chefs kiss. The clockwork gifs are enough to make a person go feral

@callofdooty - The Hesh headcanons are adorable, they also love COD Ghosts (and I tried convincing them to let me sell their pelvis once in a group chat. It's the highlight of my social career, really)

@uselesshuman - They're going to be mentioned twice, as they have written for both (sadly they don't write COD recently, but we respect authors as humans on this blog). The money I would pay to have one lazy morning with Hesh and Riley like they wrote is absurd (running my fingers through Hesh's off duty longer hair? Yes please.)

M O D E R N W A R F A R E

@deadbranch - They keep me up to date on the random creators within the COD Fandom I may not have known about previously. Their fics are immaculate (not me binging Tessellate for the 3rd time or nothing). Not to mention they're like the supportive parent for us all. I've learned so much from this person, and have followed so many more people thanks to their active support of the creators on here. BUT for legal purposes: they are big, scary and mean like their reputation proceeds them to be.

@uselesshuman - They're not actively writing COD but I assure you their MW and Ghosts masterlists will keep you content for a looooong time. The 141 family AU (Fergus and his cow), the random Alex fic they posted once that I read before bed and had amazing dreams about. Masterpieces.

@yeyinde - 2 names stick out to me when I think of this blog: John Price & Joe Graves (swoon). All of their works are legendary, but they lead the charge in simping for a certain Captain of ours. Total tangent, but all my fellow (18+) Soap whores, Coorie is well worth the read.

@sprout-fics - I want to say so much about this blog, outside of "Little Mouse" (König x Reader) being right up there on my to be read list (like every amazing book in my life. I keep it in my back pocket so I can read it at the perfect time with the perfect setting). They are another blog that reposts work of other creators, and has a lot of really good points in their replies about Tumblr stuff and creating in general. I genuinely enjoy you on my dash.

@brewed-pangolin - The home of Super Soap Sunday. So many drabbles, and chaotic bits (I'm still giggling at the post that is literally: "Soap. tw: Soap"). Another supporter of the other creators, and keeps my dash fresh and new which I highly appreciate.

@loneghostwolf & @ave661 - I don't know how these two are so good at 3D rendering, because some posts I scroll by and think it's just a screenshot from a game, or a new promo they came out with. But holy smokes are they talented artists!!

@jynxmirage - I am not a girly person, but man did I girly squeal when I read your Alex series. You broke my heart and put it back together again. I'll probably be deep diving your blog after this post to see what else you've created (and I encourage anyone else reading this post to join me).

@writeforfandoms - I can't begin to gush enough about how much I LOVE their Puppy Love series (puppies and soft, courting Price). This is a series I re-read when I'm upset and need happiness.

@simonsdoll - Don't let 'WELCOME WHORES' discourage you. There is written gold hidden behind the unwelcoming welcome mat. Tons of NSFW (that Ghost Venom AU), and if you like Graves but don't know where to find love for him. Her blog. She loves him too.

@pearldog30 - Feral for Alejandro and Rudy.

@bloodonmyhands-1221 - Maybe it's my bias, but she writes Soap and Alex for me at my beg and plea. She does amazing with requests and has plans to expand her COD works into other universes (she has a fae fic lined up which has so much promise). She is all but married to Ghost (so if you want Simon, she has Simon for you). Off topic but I recommend the Color Me Pretty one-shot (it's so cute. I read it over and over).

ALSO!

If you have any recommendations, things you need to talk about, or anyone who you feel deserves a high five let me know, reblog the post and love them. Or best yet, go tell them and tell your COD loving friends.

.....but also tell me because I want to follow each and every one of you beautiful human beings ❤️

Loving to see new authors and creators in the COD fandom, but please, please, stop saying the fandom is dying.

Comments like: there's no content for X character, why y'all sleeping on X, or I've started writing X cause there's nothing out there, meanwhile A03 just had a new fic updated in the same day, or fanart was uploaded to tumblr the previous day...well, it's like stomping on and ignoring all the amazing works out there already. And that hurts the creators, people.

And for Ghosts...the game has been out since 2013. It has been 10 years and there are still people creating, writing, developing OCs and so on. We have some of the original fic authors from 2013 with us, still creating, still uplifting people's works.

Stop complaining about what you think isn't there, and start entering the fandom with open eyes and some willingness to use the search bar. Appreciate what is already out there and then add your own touch. Otherwise, you'll drive other creators away.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty ghosts #cod mw2 #cod ghosts #macravishedbymactavishreclist #imbeingsappyagain #but I love you people

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trashyswitch · 4 years ago

Text

The Naughty Ghosts

Virgil and Logan are risky siblings who look for creepy, cool, maybe haunted buildings in their town. One day, they come across a large abandoned house that looked like it was pulled out of the Victorian era and thrown into the middle of Florida. Logan and Virgil quickly discover the place is haunted. But they're not the usual creepy, evil ghosts you normally think of...

For @kanene-yaaay and Pumpkinpaw

SOOOOO sorry it took so long!...Again...

*sigh* I'm trying. Some of my motivation is coming back though. It's slow, but happening. I'm now on an extra medication to help boost my deteriorating mental health. Though the timing also has given me a big boost. Pride month has arrived, and my birthday just went by! I feel more adulty now! Kinda...

Anyway, this fanfic is somewhat of an AU that I threw together on the spot. I hope you like it!

Logan and Virgil were looking around with their flashlights, admiring the very old-looking house. It was HUGE! And quite run down. There were dirt stains all over the place, papers covered in water, and furniture filled with dust that rested there for decades. It felt unusual...and yet so mysterious!

“Hey Logan, look!” Virgil called.

Logan looked over and noticed a large dresser covered in a collection of porcelain dolls. He widened his eyes and adjusted his glasses. “W-Well...that’s not creepy whatsoever…”

“I recognize Anne of Green Gables up there…” Virgil mentioned, shining his light to the porcelain doll with ginger braided hair, and a sun hat with flowers on her head.

“There’s so many Victorian Porcelain dolls. And a couple french porcelains as well!” Logan reacted.

“Don’t forget that baby porcelain doll…” Virgil added, pointing to the baby-faced porcelain doll with red cheeks, and a night gown with a bonnet on its head. Logan shook his head to get the thought out of his mind and tried to move on.

Logan looked up at the huge roof and noticed the huge chandelier in the middle of the room. It was covered in pearls and glass...it was even reflecting and shining brightly as he shined the flashlight onto it! It must’ve been a beautiful piece of decoration before the home was abandoned.

“Whoa...look at that chandelier!” Virgil reacted. “It’s like a disco ball from the silent era!” Virgil added.

Logan giggled at his comparison. “You’re not wrong.”

Logan and Virgil walked around the Victorian-style house a bit more, and noticed there were still stuffed animals, pillows, and even flowers placed casually around the house as if it was still being decorated. “Interesting…” Logan muttered.

“That’s not the only room that’s decorated all fine and dandy…” Virgil mentioned from the dining room. Logan walked to where Virgil was and immediately noticed what he was talking about: all the cutlery were set up in their places on the table perfectly. But the napkins were folded into little napkin flowers to hold the cutlery. Though it was strange and technically inaccurate, it did add some flair to the usual style of set up.

“I wonder who would’ve did this…” Logan asked out loud.

“Maybe someone who likes their victorian history?” Virgil asked.

“Perhaps…Or an especially preppy person.” Logan added.

“Hmmm...Maybe both?” Virgil asked. “How about ghosts? Have you considered ghosts in your hypothesis?” Virgil asked.

Logan laughed. “Of course I have! That’s one of the reasons why we’re doing this!” Logan reacted. “I wanna see if spirits really do exist and if they’re more humble than the movies give them credit for.” Logan explained.

“You’ve officially hit the triple digits in times you’ve explained this to me.” Virgil muttered loudly. “I know. And it’s why I go with you. Because not all ghosts are as humble as you think. Most ghosts have probably gone insane from years of being stuck in the same place for centuries.” Virgil added.

“Right back at you with the triple digits thing. I already know, Virgil.” Logan mentioned.

Virgil smiled at himself as he looked around. That conversation usually happens at least once a trip. It’s quite funny when you think about it. Two brothers trespassing into old homes, checking to see if they’re haunted and then doing the pikachu face when something spiritual and ‘creepy’ happens.

Or when the police find them...that’s usually a ‘surprise’ in and of itself.

Logan looked around further and moved to one of the bedrooms. The bedroom was put together as well. All covered in dust, but still quite put together. There was a doll clothed and brushed, holding a teddy bear on the bed. Logan opened the dressers and noticed all the dressers except for the top, were empty. The top drawers were filled with old keys, old fashioned money, old paint brushes, a few jars of ink and...feathers? Why feathers? Were they meant to be quills? Because the end of them certainly didn’t look like quills.

Logan raised an eyebrow as he picked up the quill and raised it up a little. The quill didn’t have the usual fitted bottom that Victorian quills usually had. And even if it were a regular quill, it would’ve been cut at the bottom to make the suitable end for dipping and writing. But...this quill was just a normal, uncut feather. Perhaps it was just spare feathers for future writing? Logan couldn’t say. He never lived here, after all.

Virgil turned around and immediately noticed that one of the paint brushes was moving in the drawer. And it wasn’t just ‘casual shifting from force’, it was flying! He swore he could see it flying right now!

“L-Lo?” Virgil called.

Logan turned to face him, and noticed the paintbrush as he turned. “Yes Vir- OHGOD.” Logan stared deeply at the paintbrush and slowly reached out to grab it. “Hiiii there, floating paintbrush…” He greeted the object nervously.

The paintbrush moved itself back and forth in a waving motion right back. Hey...It was trying to wave back! Cool! Virgil walked closer and poked the brush curiously. “Not bad...Guess we know the place is haunted...By Casper the friendly ghost.” Virgil teased.

The brush jumped in surprise, and flew closer to Virgil. “Hey little buddy. What are you up to?” Virgil asked.

Then, the brush snuck itself into Virgil’s shirt collar! Virgil jumped and tried to get it out, but the brush kept moving away from the hand and started moving to Virgil’s upper ribs. Virgil giggled as the feather-like bristles flickering across his ribs. “Whahahat thehehe-” Virgil squealed as he felt the paintbrush move past his abs and into his belly button.

I’m sorry...What?!

Is...Is the paintbrush tickling Virgil?

“I...Goodness, I’m so confused.” Logan admitted.

Virgil tried to cover up his belly from the brush but the moment the brush noticed his distinctive defense attempts, something had grabbed him! Something invisible had grabbed Virgil’s wrist and started holding it up above his head! Virgil shrieked as he tried to pull his arm down with no success.

“LET ME GO- BAAAHAHAHAHAHA!” Virgil shrieked and bursted out laughing more. “STAHAHAHAP! WHYHYHYHY?!” Virgil asked, pulling on his arm as his exposed armpit was being tickled with the brush.

Logan started to smile as he watched. He started to wonder if he could feel the ghost. So, Logan cracked his knuckles and reached out beside Virgil’s exposed right arm to feel for a ghost. But to his surprise: He couldn’t feel anything. “Where are you, oh mischievous one?” Logan asked.

This ‘name’ Logan used, earned him a taste of the tickles as well. Logan gasped as his eyes fell onto a pair of floating brushes and feathers. Logan’s curious look quickly morphed into a wobbly grin as the realization computed into his brain. “O-Oh...Oh boy...That’s not good, now is it?” Logan asked.

This was the last thing Logan asked before he was forced into a fit of tickly hysterics. The feathers were so light and...feathery that the tickles felt stronger than they really were! Why did the tickles feel so strong?

“AAAHAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLEHEHES!” Logan begged.

The brushes and feathers paused for a moment. One of the feathers turned the pen-like bottom to face Logan’s belly, and flew down. The feather started casually writing letters onto his belly! Logan giggled and snorted at this. It felt kinda sharp, but tickled enough to get him giggling again. “Hehehehehey!”

The feather stopped, moved itself to the left side of Logan’s belly, and started rewriting the letters all over again! Logan squeaked and was right back to giggling. “Dohohohon’t stahahart ahahagahain!” Logan begged.

The feather stopped writing...dragged itself to the left side and restarted the cursive. Logan groaned a little as the writing went back to the Y it started with. But instead of trying to protest this time, Logan tried to stay quiet and understand the letters that were relaying a message to him:

[Y-O-U-R - L-A-U-G-H - I-S - S-O - C-U-T-E] The feather wrote.

Logan’s face went bright red the moment he properly interpreted that.

The worst part was that the ghost just kept writing teases! Like:

[C-O-O-C-H-Y C-O-O-C-H-Y C-O-O],

[T-I-C-K-L-E T-I-C-K-L-E!]

and [G-I-G-G-L-Y S-U-S-A-N-N-A].

Meanwhile, Virgil was hugging his belly and laughing as his feet were attacked. A ghost was using a comb to tickle the bottom of his feet and telling by Virgil’s inability to pull away, one of the ghosts must’ve been holding onto his foot.

“NAHAHAT THE FEEHEHEHEHEET! IHIT TIHIHICKLEHEHES SOHOHO MUHUHUCH!” Virgil begged.

The ghost must’ve seen that Virgil needed something lighter, because the comb was soon set aside and replaced by an old fashioned feather duster. Yes...old fashioned, meaning it was made with real feathers at the end. Virgil squeaked at the look of it, and covered his mouth. Oh no! His squeak gave away the fact that he was nervous!

The feather duster ignored his squeak and moved closer and closer to Virgil’s foot. Virgl tried to tug, but it wouldn’t move away, and though it didn’t feel like anything, there was something invisible preventing him from pulling his foot away. Soon, the feather touched down and started wiggling all over the place as Virgil’s laughter and snorts filled the room.

The feather shook up and down as if the ghost was giggling at Virgil’s reaction. Then, Logan looked on as a soft-bristled brush from the early 1900’s moved closer and closer to his sides. Logan giggled just at the thought of the ticklish brush returning to his sides, and started wiggling around all over again. Was this really happening? Was Logan’s creepy expedition to a Victorian house really turning into being tickled and messed with by the spirits?! Why?? Why did the spirits wanna tickle him? Was it fun for them? Were they always this mischievous? If so, how has nobody found this out until now?!

Logan gasped as the brushes touched down on his belly and ribs. Logan squealed and started full out laughing this time! His ribs were much more sensitive to the softer bristles of the brush. It tickled so badly! It felt like a million bristles were tickling his rib bones all at once! And it didn’t help that both sides were being attacked! No matter how much he squirmed to get away, the bristles would just tickle more from his instinctive wiggling!

Logan looked over at Virgil, who was covering his face as the pointy side of a feather wrote teases on his belly. The feather duster had been placed aside for the moment so, he guessed, the ghost could tease him more. “Cohohome ohohon! Ihihihi’m nahahat thahahat cuhuhuhute!”

Yup! It wanted to tease him more. That last sentence confirmed it.

Logan giggled at his reaction. “Yehehess yohohou ahahare!”

Virgil squeaked. “LOHOHO SHUHUT UHUP!” Virgil shouted, uncovering his likely red face. It was hard to see if his face was actually red due to the lack of light, but Logan could easily assume that Virgil was blushing up a huge storm. It was really cute to listen to!

Virgil couldn’t take it anymore! He had to roll away to get away from them. “STAHAHAP, PLEHEHEASE!”

The feather stopped its feather and moved away. Virgil clutched his own stomach and rolled onto his side into the fetal position. He was such a flustered mess!

The ghost put the feather onto a nearby desk and moved over to a bookshelf. The ground was so covered in dust, that you could see dusty footprints with dust bits popping up while they walked! The ghost grabbed a big scrapbook and placed the scrapbook onto the kitchen table. Logan got up slowly and walked to Virgil. “Hey Virgil: they have photos.” Logan told him.

Virgil pushed himself up onto his feet and walked to the kitchen table. “Whoa...They really do.”

The scrapbook had many photos of a few adults. One of them was an adult with a light blue shirt on, that had 2 kids with him. “Whoa...Is this you?” Logan asked.

The ghost picked up a pair of glasses and showed them. Logan looked at the glasses, and replaced his own glasses with the ghost’s. They still had a bit of a prescription, but Logan’s prescription was much stronger compared to the ghost’s. “Huh...you were nearsighted.” Logan muttered. “He couldn’t see far away.” Logan added.

“Weird.” Virgil reacted. “And where are the kids?” Virgil asked.

The ghost handed out papers and used markers to write the names. “Twin #1” was on one paper, “Twin 2#” was on another, and “Dad” was on the last. Logan smiled bittersweetly. They were a family who had died within the house. But they stuck together even after their deaths.

“What are your names?” Logan asked as he changed back into his regular glasses.

The ghost grabbed the end of the marker and pointed to the scrapbook. Logan looked around, and didn’t see any indication of a name or three. But, Logan pulled out the photo and soon found the names on the back. “Easter 1940. Remus and Roman (twins) and Patton (Dad). Happy to be alive!” was written on the back of the scrapbook picture.

Logan looked at the ghosts and back at the scrapbook. But Logan quickly did a double take when he realized the ghosts had tickle tools in their hands again! One had the feather duster from earlier, one had two feathers, and the last one had the hairbrush and a paintbrush!

Uh oh! That’s not good!

Logan yelped and lifted Virgil’s jaw up. The moment Virgil saw the tools again, the emo practically sunk down in a flustered frenzy! Not this again! He was still flustered and blushy from the last time!

Logan couldn’t help but giggle nervously as the evil little tickle monster ghosts made their way closer and closer to Logan and Virgil. They actually didn’t mind being their ticklish entertainment! They often tickled each other out of brotherly love because they both knew each other liked it. Virgil loved melt spots along with being teased to oblivion, while Logan loved much softer tickles that drove him up the wall with hysterics!

Logan squeaked and covered his neck the moment he felt cold, ticklish finger flutters against it. It felt airy, but made enough of a feeling to tickle him! And it drove him NUTS! “NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!” Logan begged.

The ghost just kept going in that one spot, as if it was the greatest ticklish spot in the whole universe! Logan’s voice was cackling, laughing and snorting. It could not choose what it really wanted.

Virgil was giggling as a hairbrush was brushing his belly and sides. Virgil was somewhat limited in his wiggling abilities, which made Logan wonder if one of the kids was sitting on top of him while tickling him. Whatever the kid was doing, it was working better than expected! “IHIHIT’S SOHOHOHO BAHAHAHAHAD! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! EEHEHEHEHEHE QUIHIHIHIT IHIHIHIHIT!” Virgil begged.

Logan squeaked and yelped as a paintbrush made its way to Logan’s belly button. OH NO...THAT’S A DEATH SPOT!

Logan’s wheeze filled the room for only a few minutes before his laughter went silent. The tickle monster ghost noticed the change in laughter, and lessened the tickles a bit. But it didn’t fully stop. “......aAHA! AAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHahahahahahaha! Ehehehehehehehehe- Thahahahank yohohohou.” Logan replied.

The feather moved back to Logan’s belly and started writing with the pokey side. [N-O P-R-O-B-L-E-M K-I-D-D-O]

Logan giggled at the nickname. Since when is he considered a ‘kiddo’? He’s never been the kiddo in the family! That’s always been Virgil.

Virgil smiled. “Patton...I like that.” Virgil admitted.

The feather moved to Virgil’s back and started writing more letters. [Y-O-U A-R-E M-Y S-O-N N-O-W]

Virgil bursted out laughing at the words written. “Whahahat? Since when?”

Logan tilted his head with a smile. “What did he say?”

Virgil looked at Logan. “He said I’m his new son.” Virgil said with a giggle.

Logan laughed. “We’re brothers! Does that mean I’m part of the invisible family now too?” Logan asked.

Logan watched as the feather wrote on his own back. [Y-E-S]

Logan gasped. “I have a ghost father now! And ghost brothers!” Logan declared.

Virgil laughed at this specific declaration. Looks like they’ve come out of this experience with an unofficial adoption into a centuries-old family of three.

Should I continue this AU? Or no? I don't really know yet.

#human sanders sides #ghost patton sanders #ghost roman sanders #ghost remus sanders #kid roman #kid remus #virgil and logan are siblings #sanders sides spirit family AU (by TrashySwitch)

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morimallow · 4 years ago

Text

SFW/ Fluff Alphabet (Suna Rintarou)

A = Admiration (what do they absolutely adore about you?)

He is well-aware that he has a salty attitude. Up until now, he still wonders how you can still somehow manage to deal with his shit and stay with him and he adores you for that. Your patience is unfathomable. Whenever he rants about a recent issue regarding him, you can always sound unaffected and not sarcastic when in comes to your responses. He also admires how you respect his privacy and personal space. You would always ask him if he wants to talk about it and when he says no, you'd just stay with him until he's ready or when he gets over it.

B = Body (what is their favorite part of your body?)

Eyes. HE LOVES THE FEELING OF GETTING LOST IN YOUR EYES. It's like he could totally see your feelings for him. He looks at it to know whether or not you're lying, to know if you're joking, and to prepare himself if he sees your eyes getting glossy or maybe he just looks at it because ✨force of habit✨. AND YOUR SQUISHY CHEEKS. He likes to pinch them whenever you're within his reach because.. well, he just wants some sort of physical contact? Plus you're really cute.

C = Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

Spooning. He doesn't want you to see that faint smile of his after he kisses your hair and shoulder once you settled against him. He loves your satisfied sigh when he lightly rubs your skin, his breathing lulling you to sleep. If you're just chilling on the couch though, he likes to snake one arm around your waist then he starts playing with your tummy like a fidget something.

D = Dates (what does their ideal date with you look like?)

Classic stay-at-home date. He doesn't want other people to meddle with your time together because he knows for a fact that someone from his team EHEM, TSUM-TSUM, EHEM always goes out and there's this possibility that you'd bump into him with girls swarming around him. Experimenting Osamu's recipes! He loves it when you appreciate things he does. Then after you'd just cuddle while watching horror movies.

E = Emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

We all know he ain't verbal unless he's spouting insults so he's more into actions. Simple things like holding the door for you, bringing you lunch when it's near exams (he'd sometimes pull you to the cafeteria for a breather), and a silent trip with him walking you to your home. He isn't expressive either so you'd just have to decipher what his feelings are by looking at his eyebrows.

F = Family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

Hush, he maybe low-key probably theoretically might like babies. Doesn't mind if it's a girl or boy, he'd teach them how to roast someone. Plus just the thought of you holding your baby makes his heart go doki-doki. AFTER MARRIAGE, OF COURSE.

G = Gifts (how do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

He used to think of it as a waste of time and money but now it's more like a way to say he cares about you. He buys you things you need like ink refills when he notices your pen nearly out of ink. He doesn't spoil you that much with material things because he knows you're already satisfied.

H = Holding Hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

The typical you'd-get-lost-and-it-would-be-hard-for-me-to-find-you-and-it's-too-much-work typa guy when you go out. He does creep his hand towards yours when you're alone but there are also times he just wants to link your pinkies because he finds it cute? Occasionally kisses your knuckles when you take a break from studying. He'd tap his thumb multiple times on the back of your palm before games and you'd tap back two times as a good luck.

I = Injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

If it's a minor one and he can just patch it up, he'd be silent, just making one-word commands as he takes care of you. Once done, he'd call you stupid can't you say “be careful next time” like a normal person and kiss your forehead after flicking it. If it's an accident in school, he'd be the one to take you to the clinic or if he's out, he'd have your friends reporting to him.

J = Jokes (do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

YOU WOULDN'T REALIZE IT'S A JOKE. He considers himself funny though because his team laughs when he insults the twins but he realizes it's different with you. It's kinda like this: he asks you a question with his usual serious face, “What do you call a pony with a cough?” Silence. “A little hoarse.” He'd suppress his laugh because he really thinks it's funny but you just give him an unimpressed look.

K = Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

Light. Feathery. Ones. On your forehead, nose, cheeks after he pinches it, side of your mouth. Even his pecks feel like one, long, passionate kiss. Keeps his kisses short and simple unless you show him signs of you-know-what. Likes to kiss the back of your head while he squishes your face with one hand.

L = Love (how do they show you they love you?)

Hugs. Plenty of them. It's a way of saying you're safe with him and he won't do anything to hurt you. Smothers you with kisses from time to time when he feels like you need reassurance. He takes care of you. He leaves a glass of water on your bedside table so you wouldn't have to walk in the dark.

M = Memory (favorite memory together?)

That time after one of the games when you came up to him and shamelessly kissed him in front of the whole team. He was frozen like the rest of them and they swore they saw him smile a bit as you smile up to him while playing with his hair.

N = Nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

Fears that one day, he won't hear your satisfied sigh when you're settled against him. That would mean he's not your safe space anymore and you already tired and uncomfortable.

O = Oddity (what quirk/s do they have?)

He likes to believe that cracking knuckles can release stress. After an argument, whenever he studies, he cracks his knuckles.

He says ‘I love you’ back ALWAYS. He's always conveying his feelings through actions so the least he could do is to reply to your I love you's. Even if he's already near dream land, he'd still say it back.

P = Pet Names (what do they like to call you?)

He usually sticks with “oi” but ehem, he likes to call you by sickly.. icky.. weak-to-the-knees endearments with that hot voice of his HAVE YOU HEARD HIM IN EPISODE 14 I WAS SCREAMING. He saves the darling, sweetheart, honey, boo when it's just the two of you but calls you by your cute nickname followed by baby when he wants to flaunt you.

Q = Quality Time (how do they like to spend time with you?)

NAP DATES. NAP DATES. NAP DATES. NAP DATES. NAP DATES. NAP DATES. NAP DATES. YOU'RE HIS CHARGING STATION. YOU. ARE. HIS. REST. MAKING BULALO (I think it's called beef bone marrow stew in English???) IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT JUST BECAUSE. Drowsy kisses just because also. (╥﹏╥)

R = Rhythm (what song reminds you of them?)

The Simple Things by Michael Carreon because... just listen to it.

S = Secrets (how open are they with you?)

ABSOLUTE TRUST. Y'all are faithful and respect each other's privacy. If he doesn't wanna talk about it then no. If he does, then you'll listen. If you ask him something that's been bothering you like seeing him and one of his classmates walking through the school gates together while you're outside waiting, he'll explain. No arguments. He knows you're there for him and you know he won't tell you anything if he knows he can handle it himself. You're fine. He's fine.

T = Time (how long did it take you to get together?)

Probably 2-3 months? He was whipped when you snapped at him. Man, his mind was blank. No rebuttals. Took him a week to confess to you then y'all started dating but you made it official by attending one of his games.

U = Upset (how do they act when you’re upset?)

He'll buy you your comfort foods. Lightly squeezes your shoulder while you rant about the reason you're upset. OVERALL, HE WON'T TALK BECAUSE THIS IS ABOUT YOU AND YOU ALONE. Would probably do everything you make him do because you're upset. Keeps his nasty remarks when you're feeling better.

V = Vaunt (what are they proud of? Do they like to show you off?)

Either he won't talk about you or presents you to everyone with a smug look on his face, he's never in between. He is rather proud about you and your achievements because he's seen you through the process of it all. PROUD BOYFRIEND.

W = Warrior (how do they feel about you fighting? Would they fight for you, beside you, etc?)

If it's a physical fight, he'd fight behind you because he knows you can handle it. If some bastard harasses you, he'd fight for you. If it's a mental battle, he'd fight beside you. He knows you're strong but that doesn't mean you have to go through it alone.

X = X-Ray (how well are they able to read you?)

Very, very well. Slight movement of your eyebrows and he knows you're uncomfortable. When you bite your lower lip, he knows you're gonna cry. With simple hand gestures, he knows you're hiding something. He's just very observant and he wants you to know that he knows what you're implying without even a word. One smirk, and you're pranking Atsumu the next second.

Y = Yes (how would they propose to you?)

Asks you to marry him out of the blue. On your couch. With matching fuzzy socks, fox slippers, and satin pyjamas. While sipping on your hot beverage. Honestly so sweet, you can't change my mind.

Z = Zen (what makes them feel calm?)

Your gentle hand on his cheek and your soft gaze. Plus ice pops.

NSFW Alphabet (Suna Rintaro)

M. List

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peachywander · 4 years ago

Note

All asks

Holy shit, this will be so much fun B-) *cracks knuckles*

Ask me: FANDOM EDITION

A - Your current OTP

Uhhh pff,,, skeleton dance I think?? I mean sure, skelley dance is always my current OTP, ngl. They're basically made for eachother, hell, even craig himself wore tshirts and stuff with wander hugging hater ifthisisn'tcannonthenidkwhatitis

B - A pairing you initially didn’t consider but someone changed your mind

To be honest,, wander x beza. I used to dislike every wander x girl ship bcs I see him as gae and nothing else. But I have a friend who does lots of art with them so I think it grew on me more and more with time?? Now I think they would look cute together, even if i'm still not super big on it.

C - A pairing you have never liked and probably never will

Wnder x domi. No comment, I despise it with all my heart 😂😂 Like I said earlier, I don't like most of wander x girl ships, and domi really hates wander. Sooo this ship simply doesn't make sense to me,, lmfao.

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t

I think Twi x Flash from mlp. Yeah, I thought twi was cute when crushing on him in the 1st EG movie but they don't seem to have that chemistry I was hoping for. Plus I haven't seen any recent episodes of mlp in a long time, though I heard ppl say that he was mean to her once, if I remember well? Anyways, doesn't work so much for me.

E - Have you added anything stupid/cracky/hilarious to your fandom, if so, what

Besides memes/ shitposts, not really. Check @gunxball if you want to see posts of mine back when I was into gumball 2 yrs ago (golly i miss those times)

F - What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom

Probably su (2016-2019) or kid vs kat (2011-2014)

G - Do you remember your first OTP, if so who was in it

Why yes, of course I do. cosmo x wanda from fop. They were so adorbs together esp in the first 2 seasons. Don't like how they got so flanderized with time, their dynamic was absolutely destroyed, and my day was ruined when I found out.

H - Do you prefer characters from real action series or anime series

I don't watch either lolol

But I think anime.

I - Has tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why

Dislike the fandom, not the show itself? Probably hzbin hotel. The show has a pretty neat concept and animation and it had such a big impact on my artstyle when I first watched it. But the fandom? Absolute hell. (pun intended)

From shipping wars, to pestering vivz, anything is possible. Glad I haven't actually interacted with that part of the fandom.

J - Name a fandom you didn’t care/think about until you saw it all over tumblr

Not a show but among us. Back in september/october last year, my tl was FILLED with among us, up and down. Made me a lil tired of it but once I tried playing that game, I couldn't stop. Also the owlhouse, fell in love with the artstyle and story.

K - How do you feel about the other people in your current fandom

I don't have a current fandom. Not feeling in the mood + school + inactivity bcs of school. So I'll say abt my latest fandom, which was animaney. Well, people were really nice, and they seemed to enjoy the reboot. Nothing more to say tbh,,

L - Your favorite fanartist/author gives you one request, what do you ask for

Ummm I don't really like giving rqs to my fave artists, i don't wanna bother them haha

M - Your favorite fanart or fanartist

I don't know aaaa, prolly toonipi but she also draws ocs, not just fanart.

N - Your favorite fanfiction or fanauthor

Anything cute or sappy with skelleydance (NO nsfw)

O - Choose a song at random, which OTP does it remind you of

Lasers and feelings. Skellydance again. It matches sO well-

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas)

I used to have a skatepark AU ft. su chars but never put anything over here. I still have the sketches from 9th grade lmao.

Q - A ship you’ve abandoned and why

To be completely honest, Amydot. Up until s3 they really gave me possible ship vibes. They interacted a lot, and peri discovered her metal powers thanks to amy. But after s3 they hardly ever interacted anymore (besides that one ep from s5 with the kindergarden). I was so dissapointed, but hey lapdot isn't so bad anyway, right?

R - A pairing you ship that you don’t think anyone else ships

Back in 2014 I would have said chred from angry birds, definitely. Not many really shipped them, and when I saw some fanart of them on dA everyone would say "ew, gae". Well, 2014 everyone. I was always like "so?? i like that ship, what's the problem??"

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon

Uhmm, i headcanon darwin from tawog that he likes to yodel lol

T - If you mostly have homoships, do you have any heteroships

I think my ships are 50-50, but here are some examples:

Larsdie

Stevnnie

Blckeye

Fluttrcord

Beeckard

Starc0

Tanyamao

Foxodile

Pennball

Carwin

U - If you mostly have heteroships, do you have any homoships

Same as T. Another examples:

Skelleydance

Wnderingeye

Sylava

Lumty

Rupphre

Pearlmthyst

Badgrmao

Bubbline

Flutterdsh

Patbob

V - Are you one of those fans who can’t watch anything without shipping

Lol no. Tbh, i'm not super big on shipping either. I only slighty like/dislike any ship i listed earlier (with the exception of skelleydance, i'm too in love with that ship)

W - 5 favorite characters from 5 different fandoms

wakko warner (animaney)

wander (woy)

fluttershy (mlp)

amethyst (su)

bubbles (ppg)

X - 3 OTPs from 3 different fandoms

skelleydance (woy)

lumty (toh)

stevnnie (su)

Y - A fandom you’re in but have no ships from

kid cosmic (or maybe I do ship papa g w/ chuck), animaney, okko, gravity flls

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go

That one fan made episode from su called the smothering, it was so freaking amazing. It helped a lot in relieveing the pain of that big hiatus from 2017 (which was the biggest one, i literally turned into a skeleton waiting for new eps). Loved peri's needy personality, as well as lappy's playful one. It was so well written, like it could be perfectly fit as a role reversal episode in the main show.

#the reason i typed the ships like that is to not appear in the tags #ask

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ask-them-bois · 5 years ago

Text

Hurt Him Some More (Final)

The night was young; the sky was still grey on the west horizon. Above, stars burst to life through the inky blackness as a million eyes that watched from the shadows. Nebulae and galaxies spread their impossible forms through the gaps, as the two moons bled their light across the glassy water.

It was cold, the salty air biting like the fangs of war dogs. Not a sound was to be heard; even the wind’s voice was hushed. The sharp brine and bitter scent of gunpowder drifted with the breeze. Even the water below barely burbled.

The world was holding its breath, no more than an ancient vase balanced on a precipice of primitive ruins, waiting for its slumber to be disturbed.

With the taste of his own blood on his tongue, Ruthless stood upon his Warshark’s deck. He watched as, silhouetted against the moon, the Dragon Star approached. He had very little time left. From the distance, it was no more than the size of his thumb, but Alastr would be upon him shortly.

It’s just like that night, he thought, raising his head to feel the wind brush past his hair and fins. Just like the night I lost her; it was this beautiful then, too. He opened his eyes and gazed up at the faint lights in the sky. There was a nebula above him that was her color. Are ye watching me, my love? Lend me yer strength.

Casting his gaze around his ship, he nodded once. He reached out, his claws gently running over the grains in the mast. His ship had outlasted him; she was still waiting when he had returned, hidden where he’d left her. She was old and tired; her wood was warped and her belly leaking, her sails tattered and ropes frayed. Just like him.

“O√e last fight, lass. Last o√e, I promise. The√ ye ca√ rest. I’ll sail ye ta the cove a√’ letcha rest o√ the sa√d.” He looked back out towards the Dragon Star, “Or we’ll both be √othi√’ but salvage. Either way, we do this together, aye? Show me that mighty stre√gth ye had before.” Deep in the bowels of the ship, he heard her groan. He chuckled dryly and pat the mast. “Atta girl.”

He fell silent once more as he watched the Dragon Star approach. This time, he thought, this time is definitely different. Neither had their crews to man the stations or fight alongside them. Neither had the strength they possessed that day. Ruthless himself had no will for this fight. His bloodlust had died when she did. Even now, as he wore his old uniform, he did not wear his pins and patches; those belonged to someone who perished with her. He reached into his coat and pulled out his necklace. Looped on a silver chain were a pair of rings. One was studded with emeralds, while the other was adorned with amethyst. He clenched his hand around them and kissed his knuckles.

“RUTHL£$$ D££PBIT£!!”

And just like that, the night was broken. The vase wobbled closer to its edge. The captain raised his head to see the Dragon Star glide up beside him, so that they were side by side. Of course, the Dragon Star was in pristine condition; Ruthless had no doubt he’d put it back together once he had returned. Standing on its deck was Alastr Afasia, in all his glory. The bronzeblood raised his boot and placed it on the edge, leaning forward with his elbow on his knee.

“Ar£ you r£ady, old man? It’$ tim£ for you to join that worthl£$$ w£n€h you w££p for!” Forsaken called across the water. Ruthless slid the necklace back into his coat and stepped forward.

“√o, Alastr. Where she has go√e, I ca√’t follow. But I’ll meet ye dow√ there eve√tually.” He said, his voice even and emotionless. Forsaken tisked, before he laughed cruelly.

“P£rhap$ you’r£ right. $o,” He reached into his trench coat and pulled out his pistol, aiming it at Ruthless’ face. He cocked the hammer, “got any la$t word$ for th£ living?” Ruthless merely shook his head.

“Ye’re pathetic, Alastr.” He said tiredly, “A thousa√d years, a√’ ye ca√’ let thi√gs go. I √ever did a√ythi√’ ta ye. A√’ whatever I did do ta ye, I did√’t mea√ ta. I √ever k√ew ye existed ‘til ya killed Lucy.” He took another step forward, “Ye’re the o√e that destroyed my world, √ot the other way arou√d.”

Forsaken seemed to falter for a moment; it was slight, but his pistol dipped towards the deck, before his expression hardened and he jerked it back up.

“Liar! Your fan€y word$ won’t $av£ you h£r£, £-”

“Do √ot!” Ruthless cut him off, a snarl now on his lips, “Ye do√’ get ta say my √ame! O√ly she ca√ say my √ame!” Forsaken paused, before he laughed.

“Fin£, what£v£r. Your nam£ €an fall to th£ bottom of th£ o€£an along with your €orp$£.” He spat. He tensed as a thought occurred to him, before he brightened. “A€tually, your body won’t mak£ it that far. $hall I introdu€£ you to the on£ who will g£t to it fir$t?”

“What-” Ruthless began, as Forsaken swung his arm around and fired into the water. The gunshot cracked through the air, the bullet disappearing into the waves. As the ringing died away, a rumble filled the air. It was deep- subsonic- Ruthless could feel it in his very bones.

That was not a rumble, he realized with a cold shock of fear, but a roar.

Something under the water was responding to the gunshot.

He barely had the mind to lunge, to grab the mast and hold on, as the ocean exploded.

Sea water blasted into the air around him, climbing higher than the turbulent waves in a storm, as another roar- now unmuted by the water- swelled through the air, filling the empty space until Ruthless felt like he couldn’t breathe.

The unholy, righteous fury behind the sound made him go cold. That was a sound that even banshees and demons ran from. It could curdle milk, boil blood, and make even the stars quiver and weep. He heard the boards in his ship crack with the force behind it as the Warshark was tossed to and fro by the waves.

Still, she stayed upright, and Ruthless could only watch as a humongous serpentine head rose from the chaotic, frothing sea. He didn’t realize he was shouting until water fell on his tongue. The once clear sky was suddenly swirling with dark clouds, which crackled and lit up with lightning. Thunder undercut the sounds around him, before the sky opened and rain fell with the sea water.

Distantly, he heard Forsaken cackle.

“YOU MAY HAV£ HAD A M£GALODON RUTHL£$$, BUT I, I HAV£ A L£VIATHAN!!” He howled with glee.

Ruthless clutched the mast tighter as he watched the ungodly monster rise. His mind could barely comprehend the size of the beast. It was just- too fucking big, and he was only seeing a portion of it. Its scales were black, black as the void of night, but its teeth- its teeth were blindingly white as it opened its mouth and screamed. Finally, it turned to face him, and Ruthless stared into the eyes of his own oblivion.

Those were the eyes of the devil, he thought. Eyes so red, so deep, deep red, that even the Empress would hesitate to touch the color. Those eyes lived for nothing but to watch carnage and slaughter. Those eyes had seen the gods and laughed at their pitiful powers. Those eyes held a hunger that could not be sated, even if the monster swallowed the stars themselves.

As sea water washed across the deck, drenching the captain, he felt his resilience fail. He could not fight that thing, and he knew it. He dug his claws into the wood and turned away, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for the end.

“Alastr!”

A voice cried out, nearly buried under the noise, and Ruthless jerked around to look.

Upon the Dragon Star’s deck, a pillar of fire erupted. Ruthless flinched as one appeared on his own ship. Out of the flames stepped Decaying, Incoding, Innocent, and Musrio. On Forsaken’s ship, Drayco emerged from their own pyre, once more in their Black Hand Form. All five of them stumbled as they stepped onto the rocking decks, but they stayed upright.

“What the hell are ye doi√’ here?!” Ruthless shouted at his morails and the rustbloods. If they answered, he couldn’t hear it as thunder shook the sky. Musrio met his eye and grimaced, before he tipped his head towards the Dragon Star.

Glancing at the monstrous serpent, he saw it dip back below the waves momentarily, only to reappear on the other side of their ships; it was circling them. It wasn’t here to kill him, he realized with faint relief, it was to keep him from running away; or at least, it wouldn’t kill him until Alastr gave the word. Safe for the moment, Ruthless turned back to the bronzebloods.

They looked like they were arguing, but Ruthless could barely hear past the rush of blood in his ears. Drayco’s tattoo- the skeletal hand- was glowing against their skin as they raised their claws.

“Enoough oof this! Yoour fight will resoolve noothing! Send yoour moonster away!” Drayco bellowed, their voice deep and commanding, stronger than Ruthless had ever heard it.

“You und£r$tand nothing, you path£ti€ €hild! G£t out of my way!” Forsaken snarled. Drayco braced their feet.

“Noo! Yoou must listen too me! Yoou will die if yoou coontinue!” They cried, almost pleadingly.

“$il£n€£! The only on£ who will di£ h£r£ is Ruthl£$$! Mov£!”

“Please, Foors-” They got no further. Snarling, Forsaken raised his pistol and pointed it at them.

“G£t! Out! Of! My! Way!” He shrieked, spittle flying from his lips and his eyes popping wide. He’s lost his mind, Ruthless thought, swallowing heavily.

“NO!” Musrio screamed.

Several things happened then; Ruthless watched them all in slow motion, like he was going frame-by-frame in a movie.

First, Forsaken squeezed the trigger.

Second, a burst of fiery light flashed on the Warshark’s deck, followed by another one appearing on the Dragon Star, not a moment later, situated between the ancestor and descendant.

Third, Musrio leaped from that fire, his arms out wide as he threw himself towards the pirate, his robes flapping in the wind.

Fourth, thunder cracked and lightning flashed as dark red blood sprayed through the air, and Musrio crumpled to the deck.

Time snapped back into place like a rubber band as the gunshot rang out, and Drayco was screaming. Forsaken was laughing. Innocent, Decaying and Incoding were shouting.

And Ruthless was running.

He ran for the edge of his ship, tagging the side of it with his palm as he vaulted over. There were mere feet between the two vessels, and he cleared the gap easily, ripping his sabers from their sheaths.

Blood was roaring in his ears as he spared a glance at the fallen boy. Just like her, his head sang; he fell just like her.

A fury, a rage that had been building for a thousand years, a frenzy held back by booze and regret and the gentle paps of his morails, burst within his chest like firecrackers overloaded with gunpowder.

The vase had shattered.

Screaming, he barreled into Forsaken, sending him flying across his own ship.

“Drayco! Get Musrio ta me ship!” Ruthless thundered, glancing back only momentarily. Drayco, who’d dropped to their knees beside the bleeding rust, looked up and nodded, gathering their fallen matesprit in their arms. A burst of fire, and they were on the Warshark with the others, who immediately rushed to assist the fallen troll.

Forsaken was picking himself up, groaning weakly. Rain pounded the deck around them as he got to his feet. As he rose, his mask fell from his face and clattered to the floor. Snarling, he kicked it away. He turned to face Ruthless, his only eye bright with wrath and insanity.

The left side of his face was disgustingly marred; the skin was all but gone, revealing bone and muscle that had turned black. His eye was gouged out, the hole oozing thick blood as thin flaps of skin- what was once his eyelid- fluttered in the wind. Even a chunk of his nose was missing, blown off with the rest of it.

Forsaken bared his teeth at Ruthless, who had frozen in shock. “THI$ I$ WHAT YOU DID TO M£, RUTHL£$$ D££PBIT£!! THI$, AND MOR£!!” He howled, spittle flying from his lips. He reached into his coat for his pistols, but found them gone. Eye wide, he cast around the deck frantically, and saw them lying behind Ruthless.

Ruthless braced his feet, his face set and grim.

“I did√’ do shite, Alastr, but yer go√√a pay fer what you did.” He snarled in a low voice; the voice he once had, full of command and grandeur, befitting one of his status. He could feel the rush in his veins again; the call for blood and glory, the siren song of the merciless kill.

Before the lowblood could move, the captain was upon him, rocketing towards him with his sabers raised.

“THIS IS FOR LUCI√A!!!” He boomed, his voice lifted higher by the thunder that crashed around them. As the leviathan roared, Forsaken threw his arms up to shield himself.

Blood splattered the deck, only to be washed away by the rain. Lightning flashed so bright it blinded the others, who stood upon the Warshark. When their vision returned, they peered through the torrential rain and waves.

Innocent took a step forward, but Decaying grabbed his arm. Innocent paused and glanced at him, confused.

“Th- shark and snak- hav- m-t th-ir fat-, and n_w th- b-ast shall awak-.*” The madman rumbled. Innocent blinked, pulling down his mask as he looked out at the Dragon Star. *(The shark and snake have met their fate, and now the beast shall awake.)

Ruthless panted, his whole body trembling as he looked down at his foe. Impaled through the chest and shoulder, his blood pooling around him as he fought for breath, Forsaken blinked up at him. Ruthless had him pinned to the deck, with one boot on his stomach as he bent over the lowblood.

Forsaken gurgled and coughed, blood spattering his lips as he blinked at the seadweller with a suddenly clear eye.

“Ruth... l£$$...” He wheezed through grit teeth. With the arm that wasn’t pinned, he reached up and grabbed the violetblood’s sleeve. “pl£a$£... my pistol$... I- I want to- n££d to- d- ah- di£ with my w£apon$...” He pleaded, his voice barely more than a croak as he forced each word out. Ruthless hesitated, but nodded. He stepped off the dying troll and walked over to the abandoned guns. Picking them up, he moved back to Forsaken and placed them in each hand. The bronzeblood gripped them tightly, but made no move to attack. He sighed a soft, “Thank you.” and closed his eyes.

Suddenly exhausted, Ruthless crumpled to his hands and knees beside him. He looked down at the bronze for a long moment as their breathing got fainter.

“I’m sorry, Alastr. I du√√o what I did, but I’m sorry it drove ye ta this. I √ever wa√ted a√y o’ this. Ye took me wife away, a√d I- I did√’ eve√ go dow√ sweari√’ ve√gea√ce. I just- I wa√ted ta see Luci√a agai√. I may √ever get ta, but- it’s too late √ow, ai√’t it? I’m sorry.”

Forsaken was silent, his breathing slow and tepid. He opened his eye and stared up at the rain, before he chuckled weakly.

“... Warhound.” he rasped. Ruthless looked at him.

“What?”

“H£r nam£... i$ Warhound now. Lu€ina “Warhound” £v- £vrr£n. $h£’$ looking for you, too, but $h£ ha$n’t mad£ it ba€k to the world of th£ living y£t.” He coughed, forcing each word through numb lips.

“What the blazes are ye-?” He started, but Forsaken took a deep, shuddering breath, his grip going lax on his pistols.

He let the breath out slowly, and breathed no more.

Ruthless shut his mouth and clenched his jaw. He sat there a moment more, then rose to his feet. As he ripped his sabers from the corpse, the Dragon Star rocked violently; down below, he felt the vibrations of the leviathan’s roar.

“Ah, fuck. I fergot about the big bitch.” He muttered, sliding his blades back into his belt. He turned and ran for the edge of the ship, vaulting back over to the Warshark. He paused to get his footing, then jogged over to the others; the rain was still falling, but not as heavily now. He opened his mouth, ready to tell them off for coming when he’d expressively told them not to do that, but shut it again at the sight of Musrio.

Drayco was bent over the rustblood, who was laid out on his back, propped up on one elbow. Drayco had pulled down his robes to reveal the wound; Forsaken’s bullet had ripped straight through his left chest, most likely through his heart. It was bleeding steadily, the white of his robes already red. Musrio, his teeth clenched, kept his other hand over the wound and growled each time Drayco tried to touch him. His hand was covered in his own blood and glowing a dull white.

Incoding glanced up, the first to notice Ruthless’ presence. “He’s try1ng t0 heal the w0und h1mself,” He explained quietly, “but F0rsaken must have had s1lver bullets 0r s0me sh1t, because 1t w0n’t cl0se.”

“Not silver.” Musrio snarled, “The fucking sxlt- I cxn’t concentrxte with the stinging xnd thxt stupid snxke.” He suddenly flopped back, his head hitting the deck as he panted. Drayco leaned over him, an anxious whine in their throat. Musrio opened his eyes and blinked up at them.

“Are yoou gooing too die, Mush?” They asked quietly. Musrio pursed his lips.

“No.” He grunted, gritting his teeth in pain, “Don’t think I cxn, even if I wxnted to. My job’s not done. Plus...” He sighed, reaching up to touch Drayco’s cheek, “I’m not done with you yet. Ribbit.”

“Done... with me?” Drayco repeated; Musrio’s blood was now smeared on their face, but they either didn’t notice or care. Musrio hummed.

“You promised you’d repxir everything from before.” He said softly. Drayco bowed their head.

“... I’m trying.” They whined softly, “I doon’t knoow what I’m dooing.” Musrio snorted, before gasping with pain.

“No shit.” He muttered, grabbing Drayco’s shirt, “You hxven’t even tried to kiss me yet.” Drayco froze, their head jerking up in shock.

“Kiss yoou?” They repeated, stunned. Musrio raised an eyebrow.

“You remember our last kiss, don’t you?”

“I... oof course I doo. I was-”

“Yexh. It sucked. Thxt’s something you’ve got to mxke up to me, too.”

“But I-” Drayco broke off with a squeak of fright as Musrio surged up, smashing his lips against theirs. Drayco went still as a stone, confounded by this sudden change of events. “Mush...?” they mumbled. Musrio rumbled low in his throat, and Drayco gave in, pulling the rust close and kissing him deeply.

Ruthless quirked an eyebrow as he watched Musrio’s free hand reach up and grasp Drayco’s dangling amulet. He squeezed it tightly, and a dull, red-orange light seeped through his fingers, before it began to bleed across the necromancer’s skin, up his sleeves until it bled across his chest and into the wound, which began to close. The bullet was forced out of his skin and it clattered to the deck. Musrio finally pulled away, releasing Drayco’s pendant.

“Better.” He mumbled, his face as red as it could get. Drayco blinked at him, panting and breathless, their own cheeks dark, before their face split into a grin.

Ruthless smiled faintly, before the ship trembled again as the leviathan roared. His expression dropping, he turned on his heel and stormed towards his cabin.

“Ru?” Incoding called after him, puzzled, but the captain didn’t answer. When he returned, he was carrying a large rifle over his shoulder, and his necklace in one hand. He pushed the rings into Innocent’s hand.

“Hold these fer me, will ye? I’ll be back.”

“... Ruthless, what are you going to do?...”

“You’re n0t g01ng t0 f1ght that th1ng, are y0u?!” Incoding demanded, stepping forward. Ruthless turned to look at his morails.

“I am.”

“That’s su1c1de!”

“Aye, probably. But it does√’ look like it’s goi√’ away a√y time soo√.”

“S0 y0u’re g01ng after 1t w1th a r1fle?” Incoding asked doubtfully.

“Aye, Orpha√ers ai√’t the o√ly o√es with cool weapo√s.” He turned away, squaring his shoulders. Without waiting for an argument, he strode towards the edge of the ship. He climbed onto the edge and paused, staring down into the dark water.

Unbidden, a memory surfaced in his mind.

“Hey, Lucy?” “Hey, Ruthless?” “I’m in love with ye.” “Are you?” “Aye. I want ye ta be me matesprit.” “What if I don’t want to be yours?” “Then I will throw meself inta the sea.”

“You threw yourself into the sea. Now what?” “If ye won’t be me mate, I will summon a beast ta eat me!” “I won’t be your mate!”

“You’ve thrown yourself into the sea, and you’ve been eaten by a beast. Now what?” “What more can I do, to prove I love you?” “Kiss me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the memory back into the dark as he stepped off the edge and plummeted.

He hit the water, and came alive. His gills opened, sucking in that deliciously cold water as bubbles streamed out of his mouth; it was always a disorienting moment, going from air to water. His fins flared and flapped as an instinctive delight kicked in. Finally, the tiny, barely noticeable freckles that decorated every inch of him woke up. He was glowing, a warm, purple light that lit up the dark.

He turned, and saw his glow reflected in the eyes of the serpent. It had gone still, suddenly transfixed by his light. Ruthless smiled, swimming closer to it.

Dredging up ancient memories, he spoke to it in the language of the sea. Alastr is gone, he told it, his voice low and quiet, like the swish of waves on sand. Your fight is done. Go back to the deep.

I will not, it rumbled back, its tongue dripping with poison and hate, I am hungry. I shall devour you and your ships, then I shall retreat.

No, he snarled firmly, no! He pulled his rifle around and leveled it at the leviathan’s face. I will not let you hurt them! I have lost enough to the fangs of fate, your maw shall not take anything more!

The leviathan laughed. If you think you can kill me, mortal, then I invite you to try. I am a being that has eviscerated the gods themselves. There are none who are beholden to my wrath and survive.

Ruthless’ fins flared in agitation. But like the whisper of a ghost, he saw something flicker below the serpent’s belly. He paused, relief sweeping through him harder than the tidal currents that held him aloft. He chuckled, closing his eyes. He came, he thought.

“√ice ta see ye agai√, Krayk√.” He called, opening his eyes again.

“F̸a̶t̸h̴e̷r̸.̸ ̵I̸t̵ ̸h̷a̶s̶ ̴b̵e̵e̸n̴ ̶t̴o̴o̷ ̸l̶o̶n̴g̸ ̷s̸i̵n̵c̵e̶ ̴y̶o̸u̶ ̴c̴a̸m̸e̴ ̵t̸o̴ ̸m̶e̴.̶ ̶S̷h̷a̴l̶l̴ ̷I̴ ̵r̸i̵d̸ ̶y̶o̶u̵ ̸o̵f̸ ̴t̵h̸i̴s̸ ̴b̷e̶a̵s̸t̷?̷” a voice answered. The voice, just like the monster’s roar, was subsonic, so deep and loud that it was near silent.

“Aye, that’d certai√ly be helpful.” Ruthless purred.

From the darkness, a bright red light burst into being, illuminating the body of a monster as it shot towards them. That monster- Kraykn, as Ruthless had called him- reached out with giant claws and grasped the leviathan’s throat.

Swinging around like a cowboy onto a steer, he straddled the serpent and hooked his talons into it’s armor-like scales.With a roar that was no louder than a dead man’s breath, he ripped the head to the side as the leviathan snarled its last. The head ripped away, and the water was suddenly clouded as gallons of ancient blood spilled through it.

Ruthless reached out through the cloud, and a hand bigger than his torso found his fingers. They gripped his hand oh so gently, pulling him close. Once freed of the fog, he kicked away and swam up to the monster’s face.

“Ye’ve gotte√ a hell o’ a lot bigger, have√’t ye, Krayk√?” He grinned, their glows illuminating one another.

“I̸ ̴h̷a̷v̷e̴,̵ ̵f̷a̴t̴h̷e̵r̸.̷ ̷T̶h̴e̴ ̴r̶e̵w̷a̷r̸d̴s̶ ̶o̷f̶ ̸t̶h̷e̸ ̴d̴e̶e̸p̷ ̶f̷a̶v̶o̶r̵ ̶m̶e̸.̴” Kraykn sighed. Ruthless chuckled.

“What is it I hear ye’re calli√’ yerself these days? Ye chose a title, did√’tcha?”

“Y̷e̵s̷,̶ ̴f̶a̶t̷h̴e̵r̴.̴ ̵I̵n̵ ̸t̸h̶e̸ ̴d̸e̴e̵p̵,̵ ̵I̷ ̶a̴m̷ ̶k̶n̷o̵w̷n̵ ̵a̴s̵.̵.̸.̷ ̵t̴h��e̴ ̸S̵u̵r̶v̴i̸v̴o̸r̴.”

“The Survivor.” Ruthless repeated, a gravely purr starting in his throat, “It suites ye. You’ve bee√ dow√ here all this time, have√’t ye?”

“Y̷e̷s̸.̸ ̴L̶o̵n̸g̶ ̶b̸e̴f̷o̸r̴e̸ ̶m̴o̶t̵h̸e̷r̸ ̶l̸e̴f̵t̶,̴ ̴a̴n̴d̸ ̶l̶o̷n̵g̸e̸r̵ ̶s̷t̸i̶l̸l̶ ̸a̶f̸t̵e̵r̶ ̸y̷o̷u̵.̵” Ruthless swam closer, touching the giant’s face gently.

“I’m sorry, lad. I wish I coulda told ye in perso√.” he murmured. Survivor turned his head away.

“I̴t̷ ̵i̴s̶ ̵n̵o̷t̸ ̵a̸ ̴m̵a̸t̶t̵e̴r̸ ̵o̸f̸ ̷i̷m̸p̸o̴r̴t̸a̵n̷c̸e̵ ̶a̶n̵y̶m̴o̴r̴e̸.̷ ̶T̴h̶a̴t̸ ̶w̸a̴s̵ ̸m̴a̶n̶y̸,̴ ̸m̵a̴n̸y̷ ̸s̸w̴e̵e̷p̴s̶ ̵a̷g̷o̸.̷ ̴I̴ ̵n̵o̸w̸ ̶h̸a̶v̴e̴ ̴a̷ ̷d̶e̴s̷c̵e̴n̷d̷a̵n̶t̸ ̷o̵f̵ ̶m̵y̷ ̶o̷w̸n̷.̴ ̶W̷o̷u̶l̷d̷ ̸y̷o̶u̶ ̸c̷a̵r̷e̷ ̴t̸o̶ ̴m̸e̸e̶t̸ ̴h̵i̶m̸?̵“ he asked softly. Ruthless perked up.

“Ye got yerself a lil’ bastard, too, huh? Hell yeah, lemme met me gra√dgrub.” Survivor turned and looked down into the abyssal darkness below them. The leviathan’s body was slowly sinking into black, and crouched up the remains, was another troll.

“A̴s̴h̴h̸u̸r̵.̷ ̵C̷o̷m̸e̷,̴ ̷m̶e̵e̸t̶ ̸m̷y̷ ̴f̴a̶t̶h̵e̷r̶.̴“ Survivor called quietly. The other figure looked up,then kicked off the corpse and swam towards them.

“Ashhur, huh?” Ruthless repeated as the second giant moved closer. “‘s √ice ta meet ye, lad.” Ashhur regarded him for a long moment.

“-.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . / ... ..- .-. ...- .. ...- --- .-. .----. ... / ..-. .- - .... . .-. ..--..*” *(You are Survivor’s father?)

Ashhur clicked and hummed his words. He never learned Alternian, Ruthless realized with faint amusement; it wasn’t much of a surprise, Survivor could barely speak it himself.

“I am.” he clicked back. Ashhur looked mildly surprised, but pleased. He nodded.

“-.. --- / -.-- --- ..- / ... - .. .-.. .-.. / ... . .-. ...- . / - .... . / . -- .--. .-. . ... ... ..--..*” *(Do you still serve the Empress?)

“√o. I left that life a lo√g time ago.” Ashhur frowned, clearly unhappy with that answer.

“.-- .... . -. / .. / .- -- / . -- .--. . .-. --- .-. --..-- / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / -.-- --- ..- / ... . .-. ...- . / -- . ..--..*” *(When I am Emperor, will you serve me?)

Ruthless’ eyebrows arched. “Yer go√√a be Emperor, huh?” Ashhur nodded.

“I̷t̷ ̷i̷s̸ ̸h̵i̵s̸ ̸d̴r̷e̸a̶m̵ ̷t̴o̴ ̵r̶u̷l̶e̴.̴“ Survivor murmured. Ashhur glared at him.

“.. / .-- .- ... / -... --- .-. -. / - --- / .-. ..- .-.. . -.-.--*” He hissed. Ruthless bit back a laugh; he had a feeling young Ashhur had never been to the surface. If he had, he wouldn’t want to rule, and he certainly wouldn’t be wearing pink. *(I was born to rule!)

“‘s certai√ly √ot a bad dream.” He said instead, glanced towards the surface. “Ca√ ya’ll withsta√d the lack o’ pressure ta come up a√’ say hi ta me ‘rails?” Survivor’s fins twitched and he nodded.

“T̷h̵a̸t̶ ̴s̵o̷u̵n̶d̵s̶ ̵f̴e̶a̶s̴i̵b̷l̸e̷.̴” He whispered. Ruthless nodded and turned, kicking towards the surface.

Up on the ship, Incoding and Innocent leaned on the edge of the Warshark, staring into the black water. Musrio was sitting up, dressed once again, and leaning on Drayco’s shoulder. Drayco was shyly holding his hand, unable to raise their gaze from their own lap, while Musrio gazed up at the stars. The rain had finally dissipated, and the clouds had scattered. Meanwhile, Decaying paced the ship’s length, muttering under his breath.

All five of them jumped in surprise as Ruthless suddenly shot out of the water, into the air, and landed on the deck. He dropped his rifle at his feet, shaking his head frantically and spraying sea water.

“Ruthless!” Incoding and Innocent ran to him, concern on both of their faces. “Are y0u 0kay?” Incoding asked anxiously, scanning the seadweller for wounds.

“I’m fi√e, Cody, I promise. The big bitch’s bee√ dealt wit’. I got someone I wa√tcha to meet.” He rumbled, patting the goldblood on the shoulder. Incoding scowled.

“You’re n0t f1ne, y0u fuck1ng d1ck, d0n’t l1e.” Ruthless paused, then snorted.

“Aye, fair e√ough. We ca√ talk whe√ we get home.” He murmured. Innocent stepped forward and held out the rings and chain to Ruthless, who took it. “Tha√k ye, love.” Innocent nodded. As Ruthless slipped the chain around his neck again, he tipped his head towards the water. “I got someone I wa√t you two ta meet.” he repeated, leading them towards the edge of the ship. Decaying, who had gone still, moved towards them. He grabbed Incoding’s arm, shying behind him. Incoding paused, turning to look at his boyfriend.

“Y0u 0kay, Br1?”

“Th- b-ast.” Decaying mumbled, “Th- b-ast is h-r-. The b-ast-*” *(The beast. The beast is here. The beast-)

“Aye, he sure is, rusty,” Ruthless said without turning around, “but he wo√’t hurtcha.”

Even Drayco and Musrio got up to cluster close to the edge of the ship to look as Survivor and Ashhur emerged from the water. Survivor rose as far as his waist, but even then, he towered over the ships; he was just a smidgen over twenty-four feet tall, after all. Ashhur, who couldn’t have been older than Musrio or Drayco, wasn’t even half of that; he himself was five and a half feet in stature. Then again, he wasn’t over a thousand years old.

“H0ly fuck!” Incoding shouted. Instantly, Survivor and Ashhur ducked into the water, their fins folding in fear. Ruthless’ hand clapped over the gold’s mouth.

“Ye ca√√y yell ‘rou√d them, Cody. ‘Specially out o’ the water like this. Ye’ll break their eardrums.” He explained in a low voice, “They weren’t raised ‘rou√d big √oises, a√’ they startle real easy.” Incoding’s eyes widened.

“S0rry.” He muttered. Ruthless dropped his hand and leaned over the edge.

“It’s alright, Krayk√. He did√’ mea√ ta scare ya.” He crooned as he reached towards the water. Survivor, who’s sunk down until only his eyes were above the surface, reached up for his father’s hand and held it like a scared child.

“W̷h̴o̶ ̴a̶r̶e̸ ̴t̷h̷e̷y̵,̶ ̴f̷a̵t̶h̴e̵r̵?̸“ he murmured.

“This here be I√√oce√t, Incodi√’, Decayi√’, Musrio, a√d Drayco.” Ruthless explained softly, nodding to each troll in turn, “I√√oce√t a√’ Cody be my ‘rails. Decayi√’ is Cody’s mate, Musrio is Decayi√’s desce√da√t, a√d Drayco is Musrio’s... eh...” He glanced at the two teenagers.

“Friend.” Musrio supplied. Ruthless nodded.

“Frie√d.”

“.-- .... --- / .. ... / - .... . / -.-. --- .-. .--. ... . / --- -. / - .... . / --- - .... . .-. / ... .... .. .--. ..--..*” Ashhur asked, pointing at the Dragon Star. *(Who is the corpse on the other ship?)

Ruthless looked up at the other ship, his face becoming hard. “Ah. Right, fergot about that. He...” he looked down at Survivor, “He was yer mother’s killer.” Survivor’s fins pricked up at the mention of his mother, before he scowled.

“I̵ ̵d̵o̸ ̶n̸o̶t̶ ̴w̵a̵n̴t̵ ̴t̶h̴a̷t̷ ̵s̴h̶i̵p̷ ̴i̴n̸ ̷m̸y̵ ̸w̴a̴t̶e̶r̸.̶“ He mumbled.

“Ye ca√ destroy it.” Ruthless assured him, “Just lemme take these lads back ta la√d.” Survivor blinked at him.

“W̷i̷l̷l̷ ̸y̶o̴u̶ ̶c̷o̵m̸e̸ ̸b̴a̴c̷k̶?̷“ He whispered. Ruthless smiled softly.

“Aye, √ow that I know yer still ‘rou√d. I always come back, remember?” Survivor nodded, satisfied, and released the violet’s hand.

“W̷e̸ ̷w̸i̶l̷l̸ ̵w̴a̴i̴t̵ ̷f̷o̵r̸ ̸y̶o̵u̴r̵ ̴r̴e̸t̶u̷r̵n̴,̵ ̶f̷a̷t̴h̸e̴r̶.̶“ He purred, before he tuned and dove under water again, revealing a fan of spines and fins on his back as he disappeared. Ashhur watched him go, then looked up at them.

“.. / --. --- / .-- .. - .... / ... ..- .-. ...- .. ...- --- .-. / ..-. --- .-. / -. --- .-- --..-- / -... ..- - / .. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / .-. . - ..- .-. -. --..-- / - --- --- .-.-.- / .. / .-- .. ... .... / - --- / ... . . / .-- .... .- - / - .... .. ... / .-- --- .-. .-.. -.. / .. ... / .-.. .. -.- . / -. --- .-- .-.-.-*” He bubbled, before he looked up at Innocent, “.-- . / .- .-. . / --- -. . / .. -. / - .... . / ... .- -- . --..-- / -... .-.. --- --- -.. / .-. . .-.. .- - .. ...- . .-.-.- / .. / -.-. .- -. -. --- - / .-- .- .. - / - --- / ... . . / .-- .... .- - / -.-- --- ..- .-. / ... .--. .- .-- -. / .. ... / .-.. .. -.- . .-.-.- / .. ... / .... . / .- / .-- --- .-.. ..-. --..-- / - --- --- ..--..**” *(I go with Survivor for now, but I will return, too. I wish to see what this world is like now. **We are one in the same, blood relative. I cannot wait to see what your spawn is like. Is he a wolf, too?)

Without waiting for an answer- Innocent didn’t understand him, anyway- he dove, too, flickering away into the dark. Ruthless waited until they were out of sight, before he let out a breath.

“Well, the√, let’s get ye la√d-lovers back ta solid grou√d.” He turned and strode away. As he did so, he reached up and gripped the rings around his neck, looking up at the sky. Were ye watchin’, love? He whispered, Our boy is alive an’ safe. This time, I promise, I won’t let ‘im down.

(EVERYONE PLEASE WELCOME KRAYKN AND ASHHUR JAYBEZ!!!)

#hurt him some more #final part #ruthless deepbite #the forsaken #the incoding #the innocent #musrio almawt #drayco afasia #the decaying #the survivor #ashhur jaybez #tw blood #death #new characters #new trolls

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hideneverseek · 5 years ago

Text

I moved into this place a few days ago and my roommates have been inconsiderate creeps

using my stuff without asking, staring at me when I come inside from smoking from cracks in their doors, telling me not to wash dishes at 8pm and calling the landlord yelling when I have my girlfriend over here at 9pm but knocking at my door at 10:30pm to ask me to rearrange my things in the kitchen t h a t a r e a l r e a d y i n m y s p a c e, cooking and showering at 1am, quite literally being on the phone 24/7 with their tvs blasting, blah blah blah blah (it’s 2:27am I can hear a bitch on her phone rn)

so I’ve decided to stop giving a shit about being quiet, like typing furiously on my already loud keyboard rn, playing my shows and music at an actual decent volume to drown out other people’s shit, pressing the buttons to my video games super loud, and walking like a normal human being when I’m smoking at 2am! I’m a 21 year old with insomnia fuck off fuckin 35/60 y/o’s

someone used my rice cooker and burned it and someone else took my coffee and put the bag back after I complained to our landlord so I moved all my kitchen stuff into my room except fridge stuff (AND A DUDE STARED AT ME AS I DID ALL THAT WHILE I WAS LITERALLY ASKING HIM “WHY DO YOU NEED TO WATCH ME ORGANIZE MY STUFF”, WHICH HE RESPONDED TO BY GIGGLING AND TAKING 3 STEPS TO THE LEFT, CONTINUING TO STARE AT ME)

there’s a rule that you can’t have guests here past 10 but for real what’s the fucking difference you can hear both the people talking on the phone loud af at all fucking hours

even my stepdad whos a fucking cunt is asking my landlord wtf hes paying rent wtf you mean he can’t have his girlfriend overnight

and my landords fuckin telling me to tell my stepdad to calm down when 1. ive told her hes a cunt and I haven’t spoken to him in 5 years 2. some other dude called you yelling that she was here literally two days ago so what’s your problem with me specifically when I’m not the one complaining? You’re a grown fucking woman tells me she’s a therapist by profession well dude you’re a pretty shitty one cause I told you I didn’t want him involved in the first place and you’re telling m e to tell h i m to leave y o u alone

the last time I talked to him I was 16 and he broke my hand and it healed like that, every time I use it it causes me severe pain! I’m an artist and a musician! My pinky and fourth finger knuckles are shoved a centimeter lower than they should be and two centimeters shoved into my wrist! And my first and middle finger knuckles are a centimeter higher than they should be! He smashed it into a heavy door with his entire white fat man weight! Wow!

iM a ThErAPiSt bY pRofFESsIOn1!!1!1

y o u f u c k i n g s e n d h i m t h e l e g a l f i l e s h e w o u l d n ‘ t e v e n l e t m e p u t m y n a m e o n t h e l e a s e w h a t m a k e s y o u t h i n k h e ‘ d l i s t e n t o m e d u d e d o e s n ‘ t e v e n k n o w I ‘ m t r a n s o r m y f u c k i n g n a m e

What do you want me to do, call him for the first time in 5 and a half years and say, “hey asshole I’m a trans dude my name’s Tobias and also leave my landlord alone, by the way breaking my hand was pretty shitty of you but I’m sure you already knew that. I use it every single day and think of the pain you caused me to say the least of the rest of my life. Oh and I remembered what you did to me in my sleep if that information interests you at all.”

Cause I’m not just gonna call this excuse for skin to tell him to leave you alone.

love being labeled as a bad kid everywhere I go lmao I just have abusive parents and I’m trying to recover from ptsd and live my life

but nah I’m 21 gay and trans and I have piercings and I smoke I must be up to something

not the man bothering you

me.

I smoke cigarettes I take smoke breaks with the old man here go find a 21 y/o dude that vapes to harass

don’t worry about me being petty I’m still being a shit ton quieter than them :)

I’m gonna go have another smoke

Might practice guitar

this has been a rant

#abuse #abuse mention #abuse tw #rant #roommate bs #original post

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ladyfl4me · 6 years ago

Note

A,E,F,G,I,J,K,L,M,N,O,P,Q,R,S,T,U,V,W,X,Y,Z ;o

Okay *cracks knuckles* let’s go! F, M, and S have already been taken from this list, so feel free to send in... B, C, D, or H, I guess. Yeehaw. This is really fucking long.

A: How did you come up with the title to [TMWCIFTC]? -- It started, as many things do, as a bad pun. The novel The Spy who Came In from the Cold was a cold-war spy thriller, about a British spy who goes over to East Germany as an apparent defect, except he’s actually there to spread misinformation and fuck shit up. He falls in love, becomes disillusioned with his superiors, and is shot dead over the corpse of his lover after climbing over to the east side of the wall. Needless to say, this is nowhere close to what happens in TMWCIFTC. I chose it early on because of the literal meaning: there’s a moth(man), he’s coming in from the cold WV weather, boom shaka laka, we have a title. Over time, though, it’s evolved into another meaning. Indrid himself is coming in from an isolated, lonely existence: he’s rejoining the family that cut ties with him, he’s in love, he’s warm and safe. The moth sure did come in from the cold, and hopefully he stays that way.

E: If you wrote a sequel to [TMWCIFTC], what would it be about? -- Hm. Considering my entire TAZ fic career is a tangled hairball of sequels and prequels, I kind of have this base covered. At the moment, TCOS - aka The Children of Sylvain, the sequel to TMWCIFTC - is about three things: a Pine Guard road trip race against time and the feds, the Spanish Sylvan Inquisition That Nobody Expected (least of all Jake and Hollis, who have to set aside their differences and past conflicts to save Kepler - and who knows, maybe they’ll fall in love along the way), and Alexandra the Interpreter getting woke to Sylvan politics and doing what she can from the inside to change them. In other words, it’s going to be a massive sequel that is the finale of the Amnesty alternate universe I’ve created. It’s this series’ Endgame. (That reminds me, I need an actual title for this collection of stories I’m writing. The “Tin Cinematic Universe” doesn’t quite have the ring to it that I’d like.)

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order? -- eh, it kind of depends. It’s like a buffering bar on Youtube videos. I outline what I can until I run out of ideas, then start writing, then add outlines to the end, until the outline is complete and I just have to keep writing.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)? -- I don’t have one for reading, but for writing, I fucking love structuring chapters around songs. Classical or otherwise, I love music. All my stories play in my head like a movie screen, and I just do my best to describe what I’m seeing in my head with an accompanying score. It’s not so much a guilty pleasure as it is a writing process. Frankly, I don’t think I actually have a guilty pleasure; the act of writing itself is all the happiness I need.

J: Write or describe an alternative ending to [insert fic]. -- An alternate ending for The Devil Went Down To Georgia would be... interesting. It ended with Boyd-as-Jersey-Devil scaring the pants off some poor broke college kid, who stole his worthless fiddle; then he changed back, and he and Ned went on their merry way to go break into Aubrey’s house and send everything down the drain. If there was one thing that I could change in there, it would be how fast Ned ran. If he ran a little faster, he would have seen the alley; he would have witnessed Boyd turning into the Jersey Devil, or at least turning back into himself; and he’d get a very rude awakening as to what Sylvans are and that his partner (in crime, and everything that mattered) was a fucking cryptid. God, that’d be a fun AU to write. Who knows, I might go do that someday.

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with? -- At the moment, the only angsty idea that I’m actually conceptualizing is a Hollis/Jake angsty breakup for TSG. (Spoilers, I guess.) I once wrote a very grimdark ending to TMWCIFTC where everyone fell through the ice and drowned. It wasn’t fun. I’ve also mentally killed off each Amnesty protagonist and NPC in various ways, but I never felt comfortable writing them down. I only write angst with a happy ending because those are the kinds of stories I need to hear.

L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting? -- 9 times out of 10, I just throw it into the void. I write as much as I can in big chunks, and then kind of hope for the best. TMWCIFTC, for example, is a completely unedited, unbetaed vomit draft. I usually do a quick reread of my oneshots to catch grammar and spelling errors, but other than that I just trust myself that it’s fine.

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you? -- Can I get some kind of resolution for To the Edge of Night? Can I please get some kind of resolution for To the Edge of Night??? I was 14 chapters into that bastard before I a) became a more casual MCU fan and b) discovered TAZ. It was such a niche fic with such a niche structure - LOTR as galactic Asgardian propaganda to cover up Odin’s mistakes - that at some point I lost interest in it. I just saw Endgame though, so now I might get some inspiration for stuff to bastardize.

O: How do you begin a story–with the plot, or the characters? -- Characters. When coming up with character backstories, I can usually find ways to slot their lives together that necessitate a plot. I love character-driven stories, where their actions actually do shit and their words actually mean something, in favor of getting dragged along behind the plot like tin cans behind a car.

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?) -- I’m definitely an architect, but in a really messy way. My friends can attest that I do an insane amount of planning for each story - often in their DMs, sorry about that, Fae, Cro, Indy and Aline 😬 - and all that usually ends up in a stream-of-consciousness rant outline on Google Drive. Knowing where the story is going helps me a lot, but the planning I do is definitely just building flower beds in which to sow seeds. Or building a greenhouse. I plan the bare bones of a story, and things get really wild within it, but it does follow a logical plot structure.

Q: How do you feel about collaborations? -- I have a lot of respect for the people who can successfully pull it off, but idk if i’d ever want to do one myself. I get really possessive of my stories and ideas and like to be the one in charge of their execution. That being said, some collabs have produced amazing stories. I don’t mind reading collab fics, but actually being in a collab grates on me more than it should.

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence? -- I’m definitely influenced heavily by Neil Gaiman. I read American Gods and Good Omens a lot while I was trying to write TMWCIFTC; not only was it a good brain break, but I was able to pick up a lot of tips on scene pacing, concise yet expressive language, and character interactions. My creative wriitng professors have always told us to read so we know what to steal - not in terms of content, but in execution.

On the fanfic side, @miamaroo is a huge inspiration for me. I’ve been reading Northern Migration a lot recently, and I love how its canon divergence is so worldshaking and so complex, but is still familiar in nostalgic yet terrifying ways. I read it back in October, went, “Huh, I wanna do something that wild. And if miamaroo can do it then I sure as fuck can too,” and I started planning TMWCIFTC during that one month dead zone the McElroys took last year. Northern Migration is one of the best, most coherent, most stunning, and most incredibly written TAZ Balance AUs I’ve ever read, and if I hadn’t read it, I wouldn’t have been inspired to take the fuckall huge plunge into TMWCIFTC.

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist? -- Bed sharing and cuddling, hand kissing, wrist kissing, whump, sympathetic villains. Canon divergent AUs are my absolute favorite things to both read and write. Anything that would turn me into Charlie Kelly slamming his finger on a bulletin board screaming, “CAROL,” is a fic I would give my life for.

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand? -- Not a fan of a) woobification and b) flat villain characterization, to the point where the story is riding on villain tropes instead of an actual person or plot. Character nuance is always something I look for when I read. I don’t usually get bitter about tropes, though; some stuff, when subverted, works really well. I fully subscribe to don’t like, don’t read, don’t write, which is why I don’t write anything that warrants AO3 content warning tags or an Explicit rating, in favor of focusing on plot. Every author has a reason for what they write and how - be it their level of experience, personal preference, or simply the joy of writing something and getting it out there - and I respect that. Within reason, of course.

U: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much. --

@miamaroo, for reasons I’ve already discussed. My favorite TAZ Balance author hands down. Read Northern Migration and give it the love it deserves, or I’m replacing all the faucets in your house with silly straws.

@transagentstern. Fae has a bunch of absolutely incredible fics and an amazing grasp on characterization. We come from the same place with AUs, in that canon is but the bare planks on which we put the drywall of our plot an characterization. They structure AUs and character backstories from the ground up in believable and emotionally raw ways. Also they have great music taste. I especially like their interpretation of Indrid in Moth to the Flame; he, like all the other characters in the story, is far from perfect, and his character arc is explored in relatable ways that I love to read.

@keplersheetz. Aline - theneonpineapple on AO3 - researches like a motherfucker and has a wealth of knowledge/experience/viewpoints to draw on, making author-author interactions with her an absolute delight. She’s also doing the lord’s work with rarepairs. Spin a wheel, find a ship, and she’s probably written for it or at least conceptualized it. Reading her character studies and stories of the old Pine Guard - aka Mama’s original crew, before the current PCs joined - is always a delight. I’ve also hashed out a lot of details for The Children of Sylvain, especially for Mr. Boyd Mosche, guilt-wracked Jersey Devil extraordinaire, with her help.

V: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose? -- Not gonna lie, I’m fine with a lot of stuff that’s out there right now. It’s been a hot few months since I’ve actually stopped to read fic, but from what I recall, most of the fics I’ve read have done a good job of keeping things intact.

W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones? -- The vaguer, the better. With really specific prompts, it usually feels as if the story’s been written for me already; with vague, general prompts, I have more agency to explore my own ideas. Some accompanying detail is usually nice, though. For example, the coffee shop/college/flower shop AUs that @transagentstern wrote are my ideal prompt for drabbles: premise, a little bit of open-ended detail, clear explanation of what’s going to happen while leaving the rest up to the imagination. Good stuff. If it’s for a long-form piece, though, I prefer full agency, or even just some time to lie facedown in the dirt and wait for an idea to strike me.

X: A character you enjoy making suffer. -- Yes.

Y: A character you want to protect. -- Tim.

Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate? -- I do read lots of major character death, yeah, though not always for TAZ. There’s something cathartic about seeing a character die, but sometimes it sits wrong with me in ways that I don’t like. As for writing, I’d rather kill a character for a reason rather than for shock value/for the Feels, though said Feels can accompany the reason.

#anon please dm me so i know who u are #please #i'm begging you #i'm in hell #asks #anon #ask game

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halcyonrogers · 7 years ago

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NSFW Alphabet / B.B

(A/N): i dont actually know what im playing at, writing this absolute filth, as i’m on my grandparents wifi and they will KILL me if they find this. anyway, i hope you enjoy this, and this can also be for bucky x male reader as well as bucky x female reader! happy pride month!)

MASTERLIST

A = Aftercare: Because of how rough Bucky could be at times, he’d go to great lengths to take care of you after sex. Whether that be pulling you into his arms to sleep soundly until morning, or running you a hot bubble bath, he sure knew how to treat you right.

B = Body part: His favourite part of you would definitely be your eyes. Whenever you’d suck him off, he’d make a habit of gazing into your eyes. The eye contact would make his hips stutter, his cock twitching in your mouth as you looked up at him through your lashes. His favourite part of himself, however, would be his thighs. Wherever you two were, you always seemed to have a hand on his thigh, or be sat on his lap. Even in public, you’d discreetly thigh-ride him until you were whimpering into his shoulder.

C = Cum: Ohhhh, dear. Since before the war, the use of condoms were risky, but also a necessity for someone his age. Because of this, he never truly knew what it would feel like to cum inside of someone. As soon as he met you, however, things got interesting. You had explained that STD’s could now be treated, and that birth control exists, so he could fully go to town on you. This proved to be the one important thing you’d told him, because now he cums on your chest, back, face, basically anywhere he can and wants to. His favourite place, however, is inside you.

D = Dirty Secret: His ultimate dirty secret is that he actually has a slight blood kink? Now this is not to say that he’ll be chopping you up; but if you ever came home angry and frustrated, punching walls until your knuckles bled, he would have no problem with getting on his knees, licking and sucking the blood off until your hands went numb.

E = Experience: Even with being an assassin for god knows how long, he kept the knowledge of how to pleasure someone and certainly didn’t lose any skills before he met you. The first time you and him had sex, he made you cum 7 times until you couldn’t move off the bed. His fingers work absolute wonders and its a shame he hasn’t suggested a threesome yet, because of how much love he has to give.

F = Favourite Position: His favourite position would definitely be you on your stomach, ass up, whilst he pounds into you relentlessly. He gets off on the way your body spasms underneath him from the ecstasy, and he especially loves to press his fingertips into your hips until there are predominant bruises all over your sides in the shape of his hands.

G = Goofy: Even though he’s rather rough and serious, he can’t help but crack a joke or two just to ease the tension. He might be in the middle of pumping his fingers inside of you, when a random thought pops into his head, and he suddenly declares “I want pasta after this, I’m starving.”

H = Hair: Since discovering his once secret hair pulling kink, you do everything in your power to get him into a sub mood, so you can have him writhing underneath you. Sometimes you’ll go as far as to use his hair to pull his mouth onto your nether regions whilst you ride his face, or you could be giving him a blowjob and run your fingers through the unruly pubic hair above his cock, tugging on it to make him scream. For how he grooms himself, however, he doesn’t really do much. He prefers to be 100% natural, and he certainly doesn’t expect you to shave or groom yourself just for him. He takes you as you are.

I = Intimacy: Bucky loves intimacy. If there’s an anniversary, or he knows you’ve had a hard day, he’ll run you a bubble bath, and then pleasure you until you black out. He definitely has no filter when it comes to his romantic side, as he’s a full enthusiast of appreciating and loving his partner.

J = Jack Off: He doesn’t really believe in relieving himself as he finds you do it so much better for him, plus he always feels guilty after anyway, so he tends not to do it. However, if he’s on a mission and knows he won’t see you for weeks on end, he’ll schedule a skype call at least every 2 days so he can help loosen you up whilst he’s gone, and hopefully get you to do the same for him.

K = Kink: Bucky, more than anything, loves the sound of you begging. Whether it be on your knees for his cock, or to fuck you until you can’t see straight, he loves the filthy words that spill from your lips when you’re desperate for something. Sometimes he’ll get you to scream what you want just for fun, and laugh as aggravated tears run down your cheeks. Oh, edging is also something he definitely enjoys!

L = Location: Bucky will do it anywhere as long as you’re up for it. He loves making you whimper against his palm as he fucks you against a bathroom stall in a crowded club, or making you ride his thigh as you two get transported to one of Tony’s big gigs in a limo.

M = Motivation: When you get dressed up for special events, your make up perfectly done, not a hair out of place, he wants to ruin it. Bucky will try to find any way to mess up your masterpiece and have your mascara running black lakes down your cheeks, your lipstick a dark red smudge around your lips.

N = NO: The one thing he will not agree to is extreme BDSM. He knows how it feels to be tied up against your will and tortured for very different reasons than sex, so he would never willingly do anything to harm another person in that way.

O = Oral: When he goes down on you, he is relentless. He won’t stop until you’ve cummed at least 3 times - even then he’ll edge you between orgasms to get you a sobbing mess underneath his vice grip on your hips.

P = Pace: Most of the time he does it fast and rough, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s over quickly. He makes sure you’ve been edged that many times you’re just a bundle of sensitive nerves before he gets you to cum around his thick cock.

Q = Quickie: He only ever does quickies if he’s frustrated or he needs to teach you a lesson. Quickies could also happen if he knows you and him are meant to be somewhere in a specific amount of times, and he’ll try get you to cum more than once, say in the space of 5 minutes.

R = Risk: Bucky loves the risks you two take during sex. Your neighbours must absolutely hate you and file a lot of noise complaints, and when you stay over at the compound, Steve hates you in the morning. Like, actually despises you. Bucky’s headboard must have banged that many times on Steve’s wall that he’d believe the wall would come through. The anger would only go away when he sees the utter joy on Bucky’s face as he strolls into the kitchen for an early morning coffee. Bucky would have a smirk on his lips when he hears the gasps fall from everyone’s mouths, reacting to the new scratches littered on his back.

S = Stamina: Are we forgetting that he’s a super-soldier?

T = Toy: Bucky doesn’t own toys for himself, but he enjoys buying them for you. He has a special penchant for vibrating underwear, and he won’t tell you they vibrate until you’re in the middle of a conversation with someone important at a party, and he’ll suddenly switch it on, making you stumble on your words, your flute of champagne shattering on the floor.

U = Unfair: Bucky is a stubborn tease. He’ll have you on the edge, over and over again, waiting for your orgasm - but if you ever so much as took your time sucking his cock, or flirted with Steve or anyone else, he’d have you bent over his lap in no time, your ass red raw.

V = Volume: Bucky is so loud, it’s almost a crime. The noises he makes can vary from little whimpers that break your heart, to thundering groans that leave you a shuddering mess.

W = Wild Card: There’ll be times when you’ll be talking to Steve or Natasha, and he’ll come up behind you, pressing his rock hard erection in your back. You’d stutter as his arms wrapped around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. He’d rudely announce that he needed you for something, and roughly drag you to the bedroom just because he can. He’d enjoy the looks of shock on Steve’s face once you re-emerged from Bucky’s room in only his top, lovebites decorating your neck and upper thighs that were painfully obvious.

X = X-Ray: Of course, we all know what the super-serum did to him and Steve. When I say it enhanced everything, I mean EVERYTHING. He’s big, obviously, but to give a measurement I’d say around 8 inches.

Y = Yearning: Bucky would be nothing without you, or the sex.

Z = ZZZ: Bucky’s a very light sleeper, plus sex with you doesn’t really wear him out, so he’ll probably go for a quick shower before climbing into the bed to find you fast asleep. He’ll spend hours memorising every small feature of your body, hoping to god you won’t leave him just so he can have small, precious moments like these every day.

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