#rig mats

[maxximat1]

Top-Quality Camp Mats in Alberta | MaXXiMaT

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[corneliaavenue]

I'LL BE 87 YOU'LL BE 89, I'LL STILL LOOK AT YOU LIKE THE STARS THAT SHINE

[in-class-daydreams]

Imagine ex-husband Gojo and your son, Sen, getting into the nastiest fight to date.

"Doman expansion: Infinity Castle!"

You feel yourself floating right side up, then everything shifts and you're suddenly falling upside down. You hit the tatami mats with an "oof!"

Sen's domain is a Japanese-style castle with infinite rooms he can manipulate at will. The domain is infinite and some rooms can lead to nowhere, reminiscent of Satoru's domain. When he and his best friend Naoki overlap their domains, one could find themselves isolated, battling shikigami in various parts of the castle.

Sen and Satoru land on their feet not far from you.

"Yikes," Satoru says. "Pretty crude, if you ask me."

"Good thing I'm not asking!" Sen would say, powering up his next attack. Satoru would move to counter and by now you have a headache and a bruise, and you've had it with the bickering.

"Domain--"

"Enough!" You put your hands together. "Domain expansion: Thousand Heavenly Gates"

The scene shifts and you find yourselves standing on water with a clear sky above you. One thousand torii gates stand tall all around you. Your ex and son feel the rage inside them start to fade away.

Pointing an accusing finger, you scold them, "You two are two of the strongest sorcerers who ever lived. Using your gifts to bicker with each other is some of the most blatant disregard for your stations I've ever seen! I don't want to see another domain used for this kind of stupidity again. Am I clear?"

"Yup."

"Yes, mama."

"Now," you say slowly. "When I drop this domain, you two are going to spend some civil father-son time together. Go get lunch. I don't care where, but on the way back, pick me up an ice cream. Double scoop. Satoru?"

You ex-husband grimaces and has the decency to look chastised. "Yeah, I know what flavor. That swirly one you like."

"Good. Don't come back until you've learned to play nice."

~

Imagine ex-husband Gojo picking you up from girls' night.

Sen goes back to the school dorms at night, so you figured you go out for a few drinks with your friends to catch up. Satoru heard about the event from Shoko and offered to take you home. You agreed and on the way took a detour to your favorite arcade from when you and Satoru were teens.

"Ugh! I swear these things are rigged!" you groan in frustration when the claw game drops the plushie you were aiming for.

"My turn," Satoru says. He scoots you out of the way and focuses hard on the white one-eyed cat you've been trying to get.

In the reflection of the plastic, you notice a slight glow behind Satoru's blindfold.

"No way you're using the six-eyes for this!" You whack his arm playfully, trying to stifle your laughter.

"Don't hate the player, babe, hate the game," he replies. With that, he presses the button and the claw drops. It hits the toy dead center. Closes. Lifts. The two of you hold your breaths.

And drops right into the chute.

"Yes!" you squeal while Satoru retrieves it. His face screws up in a look of contempt.

"Ew, it's even uglier up close."

You snatch it from him and hug it close to your chest. "Don't say that! He didn't mean it, Gege, don't worry."

"You named it already?"

"I named him."

"His face makes me mad for some reason."

"Your face makes me mad for many reasons."

Satoru lightly punches Gege in the face, which leads to you chasing him all the way back to the car, brandishing your new friend like a weapon.

~

Imagine ex-husband Gojo walking you to your front door.

You thank him for the ride and for taking you to that arcade. He doesn't need to know this, but being there with him made you feel like you were seventeen again.

Many things about Satoru remind you of how happy he made you. Even now.

"I'm sorry I acted like that," he says. Your reminiscing means you didn't catch the first part of his apology but you nod like you've been paying attention the whole time. "We're not together any more and I haven't been good about respecting boundaries and I'm sorry."

He blabbers on some more but all you can think about is how this whole apology is exactly the kind of communication you'd been wishing for throughout your marriage.

"So if you're seeing someone now, I get it. I mean, it doesn't matter if I get it or not because it's none of my business but--"

"Oh, shut up, Toru!" Fisting a hand in his shirt, you drag him to your level and kiss him like you’d never get to again.

~

Thanks for reading!

Click [here] for more of Sen being mean to his dad | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

[oneforthemunny]

spooky series entry: modern!eddie munson

based off the first part of this ask from @belokhvostikova! part of my spooky series with modern!eddie :) enjoy! eddie edit creds @themunsonator5000 !

contains: 18+ minors dni, alludes to smut, really just fluff. reader and eddie do a couple's costume.

“God, I think I’m gonna pass out in here, babe.” Eddie coughed over the hiss of the aerosol can spraying in the bathroom, the vent on and a window open doing little to insulate the fumes. 

“I told you to do it outside.” You huff, eyes rolling in irritation. Eddie had taken over the bathroom, leaving you to the bedroom. 

“It’s fuckin’ freezing out there.” Eddie scoffed, a rather hard hack of a cough following that had you looking towards the cracked door. “And I needed to see.” 

“Could’ve taken a mirror.” You muttered, dragging your eyeliner along your waterline, the perfect sultry and smokey look- just what you were going for. Eddie was going to love it, he always did when you’d make your makeup a little darker, a little moody. 

“I can’t hold a mirror, and my hair, and the spray.” Eddie rolled his eyes like the idea was so silly. Like fumigating the apartment was the obvious best choice. 

“I still need help getting it to spike.” Eddie turned his head towards the ajar door across from him. You were hidden behind the half opened door, depriving him of seeing you- your process, your costume, the deep purple cape he was a little too excited about. 

“Use the hairspray.” You call, and he can practically hear the eye roll in your tone. 

“I did.” Eddie grit, running the brush through his matted half green curls. “Still not working. Got a lot of hair, babe.”

“Yeah,” You snorted, the jingle of your belt and necklace sounding with every step. “I know. It’s everywhere.” 

Eddie smirked, a smug counter on the tip of his tongue that fell short when he saw you. A black high cut bodysuit, fishnet stockings he just wanted to tear apart, and best of all- the cloak. The fucking cloak, velvety that you‘d gotten off Facebook marketpace in September when he told you his vision for your costumes. 

“What?” You eye him, clipping the loose, link belt around your waist so it settled slouchy over your hips. Eddie had helped you make it, a rigged up welding job to get the large, plastic rubies on and in the right place. 

“Nothing.” Eddie’s eyes roamed up and down your frame, taking in every single detail like if he looked away it would be gone. “You, uh, you look very good.” 

“Very?” You repeated, a raised brow that had his head bobbing, blush rising up his skin. “Really? The cloak is doin’ it for you, hm?” 

“Oh, you have no fuckin’ idea.” Eddie groaned, stepping towards you. “Think this might be my new thing. My new kink.” 

“Capes?” 

“You in capes.” Eddie nodded, reaching out to touch the soft velvet. 

“Uh! No!” You clicked, stepping back. “Your hands are green.” 

“So?”

“So you’re not touching my stuff and ruining it, Ed. Wash your hands!” You point to the sink, crowded with hair products, stray hairs, and faint green spray. You frown, glaring at him. “I told you not to make a mess.” 

“I’ll clean it up.” Eddie hums, eyes meeting yours through the mirror, shoving the content out of the sink and hitting the faucet on. 

You roll your eyes. You know he will, really. “Do you want me to grab the gel? See if I can blow it up like Pauly D?” Your lips curl in a half smirk. 

“No.” Eddie shakes his head, the water stained green from his hands. 

“I can try, baby, but I don’t know if it will work. You’ve got a lot of hair. I don’t think it will stand that tall. Maybe the bangs-” 

“-No, it’s fine.” Eddie muttered, wiping his hands on the hand towel, for once. You guessed he didn’t want to ruin his costume. 

“Ed, I can do it for you.” Your voice drops lightly into a softer tone. Maybe you’d been too mean. You didn’t mean to snap like that at him. Was it that mean? “I can try if you want me to. I just… I don’t know how it will turn out.” 

“No, it’s good. I’ll put it on a bun.” Eddie turned to you, taking in your slight frown. 

“Are you ok?” You ask awkwardly. It sounded better in your head, when Ed said it. 

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m good.” Eddie nodded, brushing his hair back, tying it off with a hair tie- your hair tie. 

“Eddie, I didn’t mean to piss you off. I just don’t want green shit everywhere, it will stain.” Your arms found their way back over your chest, defensive and annoyed. 

“No, I know. I’ll clean it.” Eddie swallowed, eyes cutting to you in the mirror, spraying his bangs down one more time for a final touch. 

You huff in annoyance. “So you’re mad at me for what then?” You snap, glaring at him. 

Oh, that smokey eyed glare, the black lipstick, the fishnets, the metallic boots, the goddam cloak. Eddie wasn’t lasting, not when you used that tone, that mean tone- huffy and annoyed, snapping at him. Eddie’s fingers curled around the counter. 

“Mad? I’m not mad.” Eddie shook his head, eyes zoned in on the ruby necklace settled between your collarbones. His knees tightened.

“Then what?” You snap, that snip of a tone that had Eddie’s ears tingling with excitement. “Why are you being weird, right now?” 

“Can you do me a favor?” Eddie asked, brown eyes rounded too sweetly for it to be a mean request. 

It made you falter, your annoyed demeanor faltering for a second. “What?” 

“Can you,” Eddie shoved the bottles of hair spray and brushes back in the sink. “Can you sit right there for me? Just for a second.” 

You glared at him, annoyed and a little confused. “Eddie, what? Can you be serious for a second, just one fucking second, and tell me what is wrong-” 

“Nothing’s wrong, baby, I promise.” Eddie schmoozed, that little coo that had your head spinning. He grabbed at your fishnet clad thighs, pressing them until you were settled on the edge of the bathroom counter with a huff. “Just sit right here for me. Just like that, baby.” 

“Eddie, you need to finish getting ready, seriously. We’re going to be- what are you doing?” Your voice shrills, pushing at his sticky, green stained hair when Eddie drops to his knees. 

“I told you this was doin’ it for me.” Eddie hummed, green stained fingers pulling at your thighs, hips on the edge of the counter, his fingers hooking around the tiny strip of your body suit, pulling it to the side easily. 

“Eddie!” You gasped, his fingers running through your folds. “Eddie, we’re- oh shit- we’re gonna be late!” 

“Harrington won’t notice.” Eddie hummed, a cheek pressed to your fishnets. “It won’t even get fun until after ten, promise.” 

An hour and half later, you arrived at the Harrington house, spilling out with party goers in a multitude of costumes, some pulling Eddie to the side to buy. 

“Well, well, well,” Steve smirked around his plastic cup. “Look who finally showed up.” 

You scoffed, looking at the basketball jersey he’d put on, his “costume”. “And what are you supposed to be? Troy Bolton?” 

“Somethin’ like that.” Steve grinned. “Are you a witch?” 

“No, dingus.” Robin rolled her eyes. “She’s obviously Raven.” 

“Raven?”

“From Teen Titans. God, you really didn’t have a good childhood, hm? Were you a PBS kid?” Robin rolled her eyes. 

“Bet you weren’t allowed to watch Spongebob, either.” You grinned. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “My bad. I’m assuming Eddie and his green hair is your counterpart?” 

“He’s Beast Boy.” Robin smiled at Eddie, waving him over. “That’s so cute. Your idea?” 

“Please.” You scoffed lightly. “Eddie’s. He loves Halloween. He’s been planning this for weeks.” You grin, taking the plastic cup he offered you. 

“Hm,” Steve’s tongue rolled over the inside of his cheek, looking at you then Eddie. “Guess I see why the two of you were late.” 

You frowned at Steve, his grin only growing bigger. “Beast Boy, you’re not a natural green-head, hm?” He snickered, Robin’s face falling in a laugh.

You looked down, through your fishnets and saw it- the green residue left between your thighs, no doubt from your thighs closing around his head. You flushed, eyes cutting to Eddie’s dangerously. 

Eddie bit back a smirk, shrugging gently. “It’s Halloween.” He said simply over Robin and Steve’s howls of laughter. 

[issdisgrace]

I wish to give you an idea 🪑Teen mercenary reader (who is quite tall) getting saved my MW2 characters, or the other way around. Like, for example, on a mission that doesn't go as planned, a building blows up and one of task force 141/Los Vaqueros gets stuck under the rubble and reader saves them and gets them to their team and helps them out of there. I hope it isn't too much, but I've been just thinking of their reactions to a teen their level. I hope you're taking requests/ideas. Sorry! 🧡

141 & LOS VAQUEROS GETTING SAVED AFTER SHIT FELL ON THEM

WARNINGS: swearing

A/n: I hope you like it. I know it probably isn't exactly what you want, but I tried my brains working a little slow.

ALEJANDRO

Alejandro definitely sees you as a nephew. He admires your maturity and abilities. So when shit hits the fan and he and some members of Los Vaqueros are trapped under the rubble. He starts to pray that he'll make it out. So when you save him after he thought he was as good as dead, he was most definitely shocked. He profusely thanks you.

GAZ

Gaz and you were told to clear a 4 story abandoned compound that was once used by enemy soldiers. We were also tasked with gathering any information that was left behind. The clearing went fine, but Gaz to a wrong step and fell through the floor and into the floor below. A portion of the floor falling down on him. You sprinted to Gaz on the floor below. He couldn’t even process how fast you had come to him. You pushed the rubble off and made sure he was alright. Go through a checklist of things to make sure he was a-okay.

GHOST

Ghost like to challenge you and push you to the limits. You guys had been on recon. When you came face to face with a group of enemy soldiers. 3 of the guys went to Ghost and tried to jump him. 2 went for you and which you quickly took out. You shoot the guys that ghost was rolling around fighting. The two men dropping on Ghost. He sighs and before he can push the body’s off. You take the liberty of doing it yourself and help Simon up. He definitely appreciates you more now as a soldier.

PRICE

Price may or may have not jerry rigged a situation to see how strong and agile you were. He hadn’t expected his little plan to turn south and cause some a part of a building to collapse in. He was just kinda laying their re-thinking his life choice when you swooped in and saved his ass. He was definitely impressed he’ll tell you that, but what he won’t tell you was that his little plan went to shit.

ROACH

Roach never thought he would be laying on the ground a training mats on top of him. He just trying to train not get squished. Before he could push the heavy mats off of him. You sweep in and help. Making sure he’s ok and you’re even nice enough to set up the mats for him. Then you guys end up sparring and Roach walks away from the session with a bigger appreciation for you.

RUDY

Rudy sees you as his baby also he's a low-key mama bear. So when a building literally collapses on you guys. He is less worried about himself and more worried about you. So when you save yourself and him. He is both shocked and  proud of you. He knew you had potential, but finally, getting to see your potential in action was something else.

SOAP

Soap is a cool uncle. He loves to cause mayhem with you, but when his mayhem cause you guys to get crushed by a big ass fucking bookshelf. He was shocked. He definitely didn’t expect that to happen. But when you lifted the bookcase and the books off of both of you guys. He was like damn Hercules. I didn’t know you were that fucking strong.

[simmerianne93]

[Simmerianne93]Simblreen2023_09

Hello guys!! I hope you are all great today!!

Yesterday I was feeling really sick, so I couldn't make the post, but here you have the 9th posepack of my simblreen 2023.

This pack is one of the two posepacks I made for "The Witching Hour". I wanted to create some poses that really scream "Halloween" when you see them and what a better way to do it than with some "spooky" posing poses for those costume parties that so many of us love.

I have made different types of poses for different portrait pictures: as a couple, as a family, a big family, for friends or just for the little ones in the house.

The best thing about these poses is that most of them can be used with fewer sims than they seem, for example: pose #1 can be used by a single sim, with pose #2 you may not have an infant or a toddler in your household and that is no a problem, for pose #3 you have different options and you can vary how many sims to pose, also with poses #4, #5 and #6, although the last one could have certain limitations.

In any case, it is up to you how to use them.

I hope you like them and can use them in each "spooky day" of your gameplays.

IMPORTANT: For those who found this posepack in "the witching hour", DOWNLOAD IT AGAIN. I had to make an adjustment for the infant in POSE  #3 and I did it after the event end.  I wasn't going to adjust it, but I realized that it was very difficult to pose the infant, so I decided to do it at the last minute to publish it here for you all. I hope it will be easier now to position the baby to pose.

Here are the descriptions of the posepack:

----------

What is on it?

1 Duo pose  (Made with a male and a female rig)

1 trio pose (Made with 2 female rigs and 1 male rig)

1 Groupal pose for 4 sims (Made with 1 female rig, 1 male rig, 1 TODDLER rig and 1 INFANT rig)

1 Groupal pose for 5 sims (Made with 2 CHILD rigs, 2 TODDLER rigs and 1 INFANT rig)

1 Groupal pose for 6 sims (Made with 3 female rigs and 3 male rigs)

1 Groupal pose for 7 sims (Made with 1 female rig, 2 CHILD rigs, 2 TODDLER rigs and 1 INFANT rig)

What do you need?

Andrew's poses player 

Teleport any sim by Scumbumbo or Mccc by deaderpool.

Pose #2: a 6-sits table.

Pose #3: a 3sits sofa.

Invisible infant mat replacement  by mcrudd  (OPTIONAL FOR INFANTS WHO HAVEN'T LEARN HOW TO SIT YET)

Instructions on the original post.

——

TOU

Do not claim my creations as your own.

Do not re-upload or modify my creations.

Do not make money of my creations.

Do not include my creations in Mods folders to download.

Please follow my Term Of Use.

——

⬇⬇⬇

Download it now here --- AS ALL MY SIMBLREEN GIFTS, THESE POSES ARE FREE FOR EVERYONE.

⬆⬆⬆

——————

If you want to support me:  Patreon | Ko-fi

For more poses: Pinterest |  Wix

My socials: Twitter | Instagram | BlueSky

——————

I really hope you like them and I will say on advance: Thank you so much for use them.

@ts4-poses

[focsle]

I've seen you answer a few asks about whaling history before, so hopefully I'm not offbase asking you questions out of the blue? But anyway, how did people bathe (or keep clean if not by bathing) during long sea voyages?

Not off base at all! Out of the blue whaling history questions are some of my fav asks to receive; I find them thrilling. I can’t help but write an essay every time.

It was particularly hard to keep clean on a whaler, and whalemen were often disparaged by those in other maritime professions. In 1839, naval Lieutenant Charles Wilkes said of the crew of the whaleship America, 

“I have seldom seen at sea a more uncombed and dirty set of mariners than his crew.“

J.E. Haviland of the Baltic, 1856, complained of besmirching his journal pages with the grime that he was unable to scrub off his hands after tarring the rigging, self consciously saying:

“My hands + clothes would look beautiful for a ladies Parlor. I see they even collor the paper but I cannot get the tar out. The Old Man says he intends to have me tar down the rigging a few days before we get in New Bedford so that I shall not forget too soon that I have been a sailor.”

General ships’ work  such as tarring could be messy, but a whaler’s work was even messier. When trying out blubber it was futile to attempt maintaining any semblance of cleanliness during the process. William Abbe of the Atkins Adams, 1859, said that during boiling, a watch would turn in to their bunks a few hours rest, merely ‘after wiping off your bare body with oakum to take off the thickest of the oil”.

But the gore and oil wasn’t forever. After the particular job was done the ship would be meticulously cleaned, and the whalers would tend to themselves too. As Herman Melville wrote,

“The crew themselves proceed to their own ablutions; shift themselves from top to toe; and finally issue to the immaculate deck, fresh and all aglow, as bridegrooms new-leaped from out the daintiest Holland. Now, with elated step, they pace the planks in twos and threes, and humorously discourse of parlors, sofas, carpets, and fine cambrics; propose to mat the deck; think of having hanging to the top; object not to taking tea by moonlight on the piazza of the forecastle. To hint to such musked mariners of oil, and bone, and blubber, were little short of audacity. They know not the thing you distantly allude to. Away, and bring us napkins!”

Haviland expressed gratitude in getting a chance to get clean after all the work of boiling blubber was done:

“I feel much better to day I have given myself a good wash + a clean shave + got in all clean clothes. You would not have known your own son if you could have seen him yesterday. I was nearly black with smoke + dirt. (with shame) I say it was the accumulation of 2 months dirt + 4 months beard. Everything looks as clean + bright as it did before we took the whale”

Being able to bathe was such a highlight that Abbe titled one of his journal pages “Washing myself!!” With TWO exclamation points!

“I write with pride in my fastidious journal that this morning I washed my face + hands with castile soap + fresh water — when shall I do the like again? When shall I write the pleasant and comfortable fact that I have shaved? The future and fair weather only can tell.”

The ship’s slop chest—its general store—had toiletries for sale, often at a very high premium. Whaling account books show men buying pounds of oil soap for their own personal stores. The fresh water was often rainwater collected for this purpose, rather than the casks set aside for drinking.

“This has been a rather squally day,” wrote Mary Lawrence, whaling wife who accompanied her husband on his ship Addison in the 1850s. “Considerable rain has fallen, and everybody on deck is using an abundant supply of rainwater for washing purposes.” She also added, though this is speaking of laundry rather than bathing, “Having stopped up the scuppers, the use the whole deck for one grand washtub.”

They’d use the sea, too. John Martin of the Lucy Ann, wrote of bathing via rain and sea whilst near the equator on January 24th, 1842.

“Towards noon the rain came down in torrents. The weather being sultry the watch on deck shipped off their shirts to it. John the boat steerer went entirely naked with the exception of a handkerchief tied around his privates. In the afternoon it cleared away, when I asked permission from the Captain for the crew to take a bathe over the side. He said we might do it if we rigged a studding sail over the side, which was soon done & all hands that could swim were to be seen jumping from different parts of the ship. Some went out to the end of the flying jib boom & jumped off there. Even the dog was thrown overboard & got his share of washing. I like bathing at sea but for one thing, and that is sharks. I always have a fear that one might be hovering about and give one a nip before he was aware of it.”

It was challenging for whalers to keep clean by nature of the job, but man when they were able to they really seemed to revel in it. For many of them it was more than just a bath; it was a symbolic return to a home they were long away from, or to the man they perceived themselves to be back on shore, or of a society that they felt cut off from in their line of work.

If you’re interested I also wrote a thing about doing laundry on whaleships too, yonder!

[rpreaperperson]

11 : Feelings

Masterlist

Twack

“WOOO!! YOU GOT ‘IM CLAWW!~” Soap cheered for her and Gaz clapped excited while munching as Claw slammed Ghost into the training mat with her weight

“Ehehehe”  praise after praise addressed to her don't forget a scratch and a lot of petting on her head, Ghost who just got his ass whooped watching her ears twitching in delight and her fluffy tail then in the corner of her eyes Claw saw Professor

“Professor!!” Claw skipping toward her hugging the Old Lady tightly

“Do you have a time to play with me?” The professor didn’t mind sweat coming from her

“No..I just having a discuss with Captain Price, then I’ll be heading to Lab”

“but...Professor..when will you...” her smile turn down

“Soon as I can, until then you obey whatever they told you to and remember what I told you to, hm?” Professor rubbing her cheeks

“Okay...” ears flattened in disappointment, the old woman wiped out Claw's sweaty forehead with her palm she felt the biggest pride for Claw, even though she doesn't have a blood relation with Claw

She treat her like her own child...even when the first time she met her

“this will be NOT the last you saw me, take care dear” Professor pinching her soft cheeks then she looked up to stare at the Lieutenant with her dead eyes, Ghost stared at her with distrust in his eyes then she glance at Claw again

“Dont forget what im told you dear..take care...be strong” the old woman pecking her sweaty forehead and then playfully wiping her mouth

“Yuckk..your so sweaty” Claw giggles and rubs herself wiping her sweaty body to Professor

.

.

Hopping out of the vehicle Claw swirled her tail brushing it with her hands followed by Soap and Ghost as they walked forward into the empty building, she frowned when she felt an unruly fur in her hand

“Where are we?” ask Soap

“Alejandro safehouse, gave me the location just in case” explain Ghost

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“It was need to know”

“did he told you Bonnie?” Soap glance at Claw

“mmh...”Claw hummed still focussing at her unruly tails, mindlessly nodding Ghost took a glance at Claw who seems distress 

“What if I need to know?” Soap snapped his head at Ghost

“Shh, Johnny” hushed Ghost,he knelt wiping out the dry brush

“Pressure plate”

“Alejandro rigged it”

“Smart bastard” Claw saw an open window carve out, letting go her tails she walk there hopping into the window

“hey Bonnie wait up!” Soap rushed to her way

Once inside the empty building, she smelled someone familiar, followed by Soap scanning the building with his gun

“There’s someone here” her ears twitching, eyes glowing scanning the area a movement catching her eyes

“Down Claw” command Ghost then he throwing his knife as someone who hiding behind the wood pillar

“Master Rudy?” Ask Claw her ears perk up

“Claw? Soap! Ghost! You’re alive” he took Ghost knife and jump down to the ground giving Ghost his knife back

“Nice throw”

Suddenly Claw leaned to Rudy, wrapping her arm around his waist without a word Rudy accepted her hug and leaned his head into hers

“..m sorry Master..I can’t protect Master Ale from being taken away..” she whimper, Rudy rubbing her back pecking her head uncounciusly in a second both Soap and Ghost scowl at him

“Its alright Hermana...” when Rudy look up to Ghost and Soap their face back normal

“Where were you guys?” ask Rudy still embracing Claw

“On the run”

“We were on ther run, Master Ghost waited for us” Claw unwarps her arms from Rudy's waist and looks up at him

“of course, no?”

“no”

“Yes. We’re a team. All of us, this happened on my watch and I’ll need help tp fix it. No one fight alone” claim Ghost

“Why did Graves turn?”ask Rudy, Claw flinched at the name as she sulked and looked down fidgeting her sharp nails ears flopped down to her head glancing at Soap wounds on his shoulder clenching her fist tight

“For now, General Shepherd, Laswell, and anyone else outside this room is considered a hostile” Claw snap her head up at Ghost claim

“e-even Professor?” she whimper at Ghost, he glance at her narrowing his eyes

For the first time he met the old woman he got a weird feeling from her, a sense of distrust blooming the moment he caught her sharp dead glance

He gave her a firm nod, and her shoulder slumped but she only could obey what Ghost told her because she promised Professor to obey only 141 while she was absent

.

After discussing about rescue plan for Alejandro, while both Ghost and Rudy are on the other side of the room preparing the equipment, Claw drags Soap to tend his wound takes out the bullet sits him down on a wooden chair

Taking an alcohol out from her vest that she found from the the store while she was sneaking around from the Shadow and a medical supplies that Rudy gave her, she untied the bandage and looked at the wound

“Master..this will hurt..” warn Claw her blue eyes staring at him deep, huffed Soap ruffles her head

“Heh dont worry Bonnie..been through the worst..” pursing her lips Claw poured the achohol on his wounded shoulder and tightly shut his mouth Soap tried not to wince away from her

With a bit of hesitation, Claw takes a tweezer and digs it into his wounded shoulder to take out the bullet

“Ngh..!” Soap tremble in pain but he endured it,  his hand gripped hard on the edge of the chairs

The tweezer got the bullet then she slowly pulled it out so it didn't slip out from the tweezer once she finally got the bullet out Claw immediately cleaned up his wound stitched it then bandaged it up again

“Khh..Damn..Lass...you good at this..even better than..those medic I – “Soap halted when he saw his favorite hybrid tremble and a tear roll down her cheeks

“Bonnie?”

“m sorry...I..” she putting the tweezer down wiping the tears with her arms

“hey..hey..whats wrong?” Soap cupping her cheeks

“I should’ve protect you..b-but..I-I..Im so useless..”

“hey..you ‘ave done much, you know that..dont cry..”

“Im sorry..please..dont throw me away...” Claw hiding her face with her bloodied hand doesn’t if the blood smearing on her face, she could remember clearly her time at the Lab and how the other scientists look down upon her with the look of..

Just the think of it Claw sobbing curled her tails

Hate to see her cry like this, an idea pops out from his head he truly hated to take advantage of her like this but to see Claw with tears of anguish was the most thing he hate

“Bonnie..” he softly called once Claw look at him, Soap lean into her face

“Mmp?!”

.

Satisfied with the equipment they prepare Ghost slings up the bag onto his shoulder

“Gonna get this to the truck” Claim Ghost to Rudy as he nods to Ghost he continues to tidy up their equipment, Ghost walks into the truck once he puts the bag inside he decides to take a look at Claw and Soap doing

“Jhonny, Claw you – “he halted when he saw an intimate moment between them

Soap deepened his kiss and then pushed away from her to take a breath

“M-Ma-Master..!” Claw squeak

“Sorry..just hate ta see you crying like that..gotta find a way to make ya stop cryin’”

“Well theres another way to make me stop crying!”

Ghost just walked away from the scene before any of them noticed he was there, He didn't want to be involved in any drama they making right now he always knew that the Sergeant always had feelings for the hybrid and he didn't mind it

Happy for both of them... But why....

Does he feel a pinch of jealousy in his heart right now?

Taglist : @lilpothoscuttings @unicorngirly1 @kaoyamamegami

[maxximat1]

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[mickules]

Not pictured here is the actual jerry-rigged lattice work of dinner mats and pillows with my laptop and tablet balanced on top Jenga-like, created in a codeine infused haze.

Just to keep yous in the loop since my surgery I'm actually doing much better, almost back to normal so I'm getting back into my art stride! and if tumble actually behaves itself for once, you should be seeing some things soon!

I'll admit I've not yet looked at any messages or asks for a long time I'm so sorry, I do very much appreciate them! I'm a lurker by nature, and usually by default logged into my reblog-blog so I can completely forget to check notifs, and then it becomes the existential dismay of 'How long ago was this sent??' (Bless all of my friends who let me get away without messaging them for literal months, I swear I don't mean to!!)

I do genuinely wanna get back into answering asks, I'm very aware I've had some floating in my askbox for way too long, and I've got answers in my drafts I've danced around posting so I can avoid the stress of fighting with tumblr bugs. But! Now's as good a time as any to tackle 'em! Why not!

I'm not 100% yet, but should be fighting fit soon! 🤞

[gifsolutionltd30]

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[thatthirdtriplet]

Relationships:

Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Tim Drake & Dick Grayson Tim Drake & Jason Todd Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

Characters:

Dick Grayson Jason Todd Tim Drake

Additional Tags:

Comfort No Hurt fluff Tim Drake Loves Dick Grayson Dick Grayson Loves Tim Drake Dick Grayson Loves Jason Todd Tim Drake Loves Jason Todd Jason Todd Loves Dick Grayson Deep Down Jason Todd Has Had Tim Drake For Half An Hour Et Cetera Stalker Tim Drake protective Jason Todd Dick Grayson Has Issues Tim Drake Is A Professional Little Brother canon Divergence - Jason Todd's Attack on Titans Tower Tim Drake Gets a Hug Dick Grayson Gets a Hug Jason Todd Gets A Hug they are all so touch-starved guys Bruce turns up at the end cuddling and Snuggling and fighting violence as a Love Language misunderstandings mutual Pining (Fraternal)

Summary:

As the door opened Tim quickly disabled another three separate electronic sensors in the doorjamb by swiping them with a device that looked a bit like a thumb drive. “Walk where I walk,” he said.

He took a big step over the doormat, eyed the floor carefully, then took a careful skipped sidestep to another mat against the right-hand wall, where he removed his shoes.

“What the hell?” whispered Jason, still standing in the open doorway.

Tim pointed up. There was a net rigged up on the ceiling. “Pressure pads under the carpet.”

“I repeat, what the hell?

After Tim completely derails Jason’s beatdown attempt by asking him for a hug, Jason’s first priority is to get this touch-starved kid more cuddles. Tim’s first priority is to avoid Dick’s traps.

Jason learns a lot about his brothers and what happened while he was away, and something about himself too.

Ps: This is inspired by Last Request, the fic posted before this one, I suggest reading it for this one to make sense.

[five-and-dimes]

100 Years of Drowning/ (So What's a Few More?)

This was the first fic I started for this fandom and now a million years later it's done and I Do Not Like It. But I worked on it for ages and it's finished and so I am going to subject all of you to it. As a treat.

AO3

~~~~~

The first problem is obvious.

“You are aware,” Dream drawls, “that I can simply become clean if I will it.”

“Yes, I am well aware of your vast powers of convenience,” Hob rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress the fond smile on his face.

The summer heat had permeated the apartment, the open window of the bedroom only occasionally offering a brief breeze. Hob and Dream had been enjoying a lazy weekend together, sometimes sitting in silence together, sometimes laughing at an absurd show or movie, sometimes running their hands and mouths across each others’ skin. When they had awoken, Hob had almost immediately begun complaining about the layer of sweat on his body, the way the sheets stuck to his skin and his hair matted on his forehead. The complaints soon turned to mischievous coaxing, trying to tug Dream out of the bed with him.

“But showers are nice,” he continued arguing, “Even nicer when they’re shared,” he wiggled his eyebrows, and a huff of laughter escaped Dream despite himself.

Still. Some things are. Hard. Since Fawney Rig.

It used to be easier, giving himself to Hob like this.

Which is not to say it was ever really easy.

When Dream had reunited with Hob at the New Inn, he knew he owed Hob a great deal. Repentance, repayment, remorse. He wanted to be someone worthy of the friendship Hob offered so freely, despite Dream’s past behavior.

He did not want to tell him what had happened to him. It felt too raw, too fresh, too vulnerable. And he had given so little to Hob over the years, it felt wrong that the first thing Dream gave him should be a burden. But Hob deserved to know that he had not been abandoned out of anger, or pride. He deserved to know he had been missed.

“I would have come,” Dream states, soft and low, for Hob’s ears only.

Hob frowned, “Pardon?”

When he had first arrived, Dream had felt the closest to relaxed he had in ages, Hob’s smile easing some of the tension from his frame. Now, though, he braces himself. Straightens in his seat until his whole body is rigid and still, like a child awaiting chastisement.

“In 1989. I would have come to you, had I been able. I was. Not able.” He forces himself to meet Hob’s eyes, “I was. Captured. This is the soonest I could come. Forgive me.”

Hob had already forgiven him when he thought he kept him waiting on purpose. Now, he looks at the being across from him and sees so clearly that he has been hurt. It is just as clear that he is waiting for Hob to hurt him, too.

He places his hand on the table in invitation, and asks only one question that day, “Are you alright, my Stranger?”

Dream doesn’t answer.

Instead he lets out a sigh, allowing himself to relax however minutely, and gives Hob a small smile, “You may call me Dream. I have many names, but that is. The one I am most fond of.”

Hob had beamed at him, eyes alight with joy as he whispered, “Dream…” with reverence. They spoke long into the night, and somewhere along the way, Dream allowed himself to slip his hand into Hob’s, and Hob squeezed his fingers gently and invited him to visit whenever he wanted. And Dream wanted.

So they became proper friends, and then they became more, and Dream never elaborated on the details of his imprisonment and Hob never asked and it was. Fine.

It was mostly fine.

Sure, sometimes Hob touched him and it felt like his insides were being tugged in twelve different directions. He wanted to lean closer, and he wanted to run away, and he was burning and freezing and crumbling like fragile ruins. His beloved was tugging at his shirt, and he blinked and his cloak was being removed and he was too weak to move, and he blinked and Hob was laying him back on his bed, and he blinked and rough hands were tossing him into a glass prison, and he blinked, and he blinked, and he blinked-

But. In the winter he could hide beneath the sheets. And that was enough.

Now, uncomfortable warmth invades the days and nights, and Hob kicked the sheets to the floor, and Dream would not dare to deny Hob even the smallest of things, even if the same air which warms Hob freezes Dream deep in his bones. It feels fragile, this thing between them. Unbalanced. Always there is a scale in the corner of Dream’s eye, one side tipped heavily under the weight of his sins, his flaws, his every failure, and he cannot bear to add any more.

So he lets Hob toss his shields to the floor, and clings to distraction. Distracting Hob with kisses and touches so he doesn't notice Dream trembling and distracting himself with his desperation to be a good lover to make up for all the years of being a bad friend.

He owes Hob that much.

He owes Hob more.

That is why he sighs now, forcing a small smile in response to Hob's wide grin as he takes his offered hand and is tugged towards the bathroom. He cannot deny him anything.

~~~

The second problem is more unexpected.

Dream has never been in this particular room, never having had any need to. He can recognize that the room's design is meant to be fancy and luxurious, more modern than the rest of Hob's home. There are sleek metal furnishings, granite countertops, large, decadent towels, and the obvious focal point being the shower. Dream's eyes fixate on it; on the large, wide shower head arched within one wall of gently patterned tile and three walls of smooth, clean glass.

It's a different shape.

It's a different shape, and Dream clings to that fact with his fingernails.

Hob is chattering about something, and it feels muffled and far away (like listening through glass) but Dream catalogs all the things that make this place different from where his mind is slipping. First and foremost, Hob is here. Hob is here. His voice, while still distant to Dream's mind, is still a comfort, the soothing tenor washing over him. He slips a little farther, like he always does, when it comes time to disrobe (cold, exposed, eyes on him like an object, like a tool, like a toy-), but as they enter the shower he entwines his fingers with Hob's, a feeling so different from his century of isolation that it steadies him just a little.

He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the glass door shut. The water helps, too, cooling to Hob and warming to Dream, and with his eyes closed he can pretend they are standing in the rain together. A gentle hand runs through his hair, wetting the wild strands, and he can feel Hob smirking, "See? It's nice, isn't it?"

Dream hums noncommittally, keeping his head tilted down as he focuses on Hob's fingers. It is nice, he thinks, especially when Hob leans in to kiss him with a smiling mouth. Dream loves Hob’s smile, loves the way it tastes against his lips. Sighing, he runs his hands up Hob’s front, carding his fingers through the damp hair there before winding his arms around his neck and pressing their chests together. There is so much sensation. The smooth glide of Hob’s hands as they run down Dream’s back to cup his arse, the wet hairs at the nape of Hob’s neck and how they tangle around Dream’s fingers, the way water drips down their faces and eases the slide of their lips together.

It’s nice. The cascade of water blankets them, and Dream thinks he can do this. Hob’s hand ghosts around his hips, his skin cool when he takes Dream’s cock in a gentle grip, and Dream lets out a shuddering sigh of relief at having managed to not ruin Hob's peaceful morning.

And then he is pressed back against the glass.

Hob’s hands are still on him, gentle and soft, and his lips are warm against his own, but all Dream can feel is cold cold cold against the bare skin of his back and he’s been here before, been here for so long, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. There is a Shepard Tone in his head (in his chest, in the Dreaming), drowning out the sound of water and he thinks he would rather ruin Hob’s morning than stay here but no matter how hard he tries his jaw feels locked in place.

Words do have power. That is true. And that is certainly a part of the reason why Dream has always kept his words so close to his chest, always considered his speech so carefully. It is also one of the lies he tells himself when he thinks about his imprisonment. In between berating himself for allowing his capture, Dream spent an equal amount of time trying very hard to lie to himself about why he stayed silent in Fawney Rig; his pride, his safety, his seething rage and grief over Jessamy.

But the truth is a weight in the hollow of his throat and the truth is this: a part of him was certain that if he opened his mouth, all he would do is scream.

He feels that way now, too.

The sphere ran out of air early in his imprisonment, so he wonders whether he would have even been able to make a sound had he wanted to. There is air here now, surrounded by glass with Hob in front of him, but his chest does not expand, his lungs tightening in his chest because he desperately does not want to scream. His teeth grind together (don’t scream, don’t scream, nobody will hear, nobody will care-) when suddenly the points of contact, Hob’s hands and lips, the fragile anchors keeping Dream halfway connected to the here and now, pull away. And he is left alone with the glass.

It's not like falling, exactly. It feels like folding. Crumpling. The glass warping behind him, curling around him until his spine is arched, unable to stretch or straighten. His eyes snap open, searching for comfort, for safety, for Hob, but all he finds is his own reflection between spiked iron scaffolding. It's cold, freezing, and he can't shiver, he can't, can't let them see him weak and hurting, but he can't help the way his body huddles around itself, desperate in equal parts to hide and to warm himself.

A part of him knows he is not here. But he is, he is, he's here, he's always here, did he ever really escape? Where is his anger, where is his rage, why does he only ever remember the pain and the fear? The light shines on him, denied even darkness to hide, and he thinks there is blood and feathers on the glass, he thinks there is a cane striking in front of his face, he thinks there are eyes on him every moment and he closes his own in desperation.

He doesn't want to be here.

He doesn't want to be here anymore.

Suddenly there is a sensation, something his mind can't quite hold on to. Hands on his arms- his own? No, too gentle, Dream's own hands have never been this gentle against his own skin. There's something like movement, and he's cold, he's cold, he's cold, there's water on his face, is he crying? They'll use that against him and he will have failed even more than he already has-

Warm. There is something warm around him, covering him, hiding his form from cruel eyes and that's new, that's different, that's not something that fits in this place.

It's a terrifying task, but Dream opens his eyes. He nearly sobs in relief (or maybe he actually does) at the realization that he's literally anywhere other than that basement. It takes him a moment to actually identify where he is, the room unfamiliar, but as Hob Gadling takes shape in front of him he remembers through context, though how he got here, specifically, is still a mystery.

Dream finds himself huddled on the tile floor, wet hair sticking to his face uncomfortably. There is a long, fluffy robe draped around him, and Hob is kneeling on the floor in front of him, hands braced on his biceps. He is outside of the shower.

But when he turns his head he sees his reflection in the glass and cries.

Hob's eyes widen in panic as Dream sobs, "Hey, it's okay, you're okay-"

"Please."

The word is barely choked out, a soft, grating rasp that sounds like it hurts Dream to say almost as much as it hurts Hob to hear. He's never heard Dream beg before, and it lances something in Hob's chest and he feels tears begin to trail down his own face and his chest is too tight with grief to explain that Dream doesn't need to beg, never needs to beg, Hob would give him anything, would give him everything.

Dream's face is tucked down against his knees, "Please, I'm sorry, please, please take me away from here, let me out, let me out-"

For a moment he’s not sure who he’s talking to, thinks that the Burgess family has finally broken him, and then Hob is bundling him into his arms, tucking the Endless being against his chest and carrying him from the room.

There is a tight thread of anxiety in Hob’s voice, but he still manages to speak soft and gentle as even as he stumbles into the hallway, "Okay, where can I take you? Outside? Somewhere else? Can you take us to the Dreaming or-"

Just being away from the glass lets Dream breathe easier, his mind having less of a struggle holding on to his surroundings, and he realizes that Hob doesn't know what 'here' Dream asked to be taken away from.

"Your room," his voice is thready and weak but Hob complies immediately, placing Dream gently onto the bed before sitting in front of him. A full-body shudder wracks Dream’s slender frame, and he can’t help but curl into himself. A part of him wonders if he is making it worse for himself, keeping himself huddled and folded like he was in the too-small sphere, if it would help to stretch like he was unable to do for over a century. But he can’t. Can’t bring himself to reveal himself, to show the little bit of softness still clinging to his visible bones. He wants to be safe. He wants to be hidden.

“Dream…”

He jolts a bit at the voice, his thoughts scattered like broken glass (glass glass glass) until he had forgotten Hob sitting in front of him.

Hob swallows thickly, “Dream,” he starts again, “are you… can… can I touch you? Can I hug you?”

Even after all these years, Hob’s kindness still surprised him sometimes. When Dream was off kilter (when he was scared, when he was hurting, when he was weak-) he couldn’t help but expect Hob to respond with anger, or cruelty. Dream expected a shark gnashing teeth at blood in the water, but only ever found a medic in the minefield.

Dream nodded, his entire body a plea he couldn’t speak. Hob sighed in relief, finally able to give in to his desperate desire, wrapping his arms around Dream’s huddled form, tucking his head beneath his chin and kissing the damp black strands. He felt Dream shiver, and he let one hand come up to cup his neck as the other stroked up and down his back, feeling his fingers catch on the knobs of his spine even through the robe.

The hold pressed the soft fabric more firmly against Dream’s skin, a softness that was absent for a hundred and six years, and Hob radiates warmth. The rise and fall of his chest unconsciously prompts Dream’s to do the same, shakily inhaling and exhaling if only to remind himself that he can. After a few minutes Hob begins speaking, gentle comforting words, “You’re alright, you’re safe, I’m here, I’m right here, Love,” a murmur that Dream felt as much as heard, pressing himself impossibly closer.

Slowly, the world begins to solidify around him, becoming aware of the world outside his own body. He notices that Hob is shirtless, and there is a towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist, but his hair is still soaked, the sheets beneath them growing damp. The lights are off in the bedroom, but it is still fairly bright from the open windows, the curtains fluttering in the breeze. Everything around him is soft, and warm, and everything that he doesn’t deserve and he ruined it.

Hob begins to pull away, and Dream has a moment of fractured panic, because Hob is leaving him because Hob is the only thing keeping him warm because he’s still naked and exposed because he’s still trapped somewhere because-

The rush of cold air against his damp skin hurts in a way he can barely grasp. He curls forward into the space Hob left behind, arms wrapped tight around his stomach, and he’s bracing to be thrown back into a glass prison. But before the cold has a chance to reach his bones, the warmth comes back. Hob works swiftly, frantic and determined, pulling the robe around Dream’s shoulders tighter across his body, covering his chest and hiding his skin. He tucks the soft fabric around Dream’s arms before tugging at the bed sheets to bundle them across Dream’s legs. Soon, only Dream’s face is exposed, and even that is obscured by the wet hair still dripping steadily.

Warm hands stroke up and down Dream's biceps, petting over fabric from shoulder to elbow, rubbing at where his fingers are still clenched tight around his middle. Now that Dream is covered, Hob presses closer, kissing the crown of his head, giving him another layer of shelter in the circle of his arms.

It comes as a surprise when Dream realizes he can breathe.

Hob is still afraid. The being in his arms feels so fragile, and he is lost and confused and so far out of his depth it's bordering on comical. But it seems like Dream is coming back to himself, his breath evening out and the shaking calming to intermediate shivers, and so Hob thinks maybe the worst has passed. Hob's own heartbeat is still frantic in his chest. When Dream had gone silent in his arms, when he had slid down the shower wall, when his face had twisted with fear and sorrow, panic had filled every corner of his body. He still felt like he was humming with it.

He's not sure how much time passes, but they both manage to slowly settle against each other, and when Dream finally leans back, their skin is mostly dry and their hair is damp, but no longer dripping. When Dream looks at him, he looks… defeated.

"I'm sorry."

Hob has never heard Dream's voice so small.

Dream won't meet his eyes, and he looks so afraid, so ashamed, so fractured. His face shutters, trying to put himself back together and hide all evidence of the cracks.

"I would ask for an opportunity to fix this." Dream's hands shake as he reaches out to stroke Hob's chest, his breath stuttering as the robe slips open.

There is no hesitation as Hob snatches the edges of the robe to pull them closed, folding Dream's arms back beneath the fabric and away from Hob's skin.

"Hey, hey," Hob's tone is gentle, even as his eyes widen with panic, "There's nothing to apologize for, nothing to fix." He tilts his head, trying to catch Dream's eye, "Talk to me. What's going on? What happened just now?"

Dream swallowed thickly, eyes fixed on the sheets pooled in his lap, "I was merely…" his voice was thin and weak, "merely reminded of something… unpleasant. I apologize for disrupting you."

Hob's brow furrows, taking a moment to turn Dream's words over in his head and puzzle together the things he hasn't said. "You had a flashback?"

In hindsight, that actually made sense. Sometimes Hob got caught up in the fact that Dream wasn’t technically human and forgot that it didn’t negate his humanity; he looked for supernatural explanations instead of seeing the obvious right in front of him. And Hob has been in enough wars to know what a flashback looks like. He considers everything that he has witnessed in the past fifteen minutes and feels like a fool for not seeing it immediately.

There are a dozen questions lining up behind his tongue. But Dream still won't look at him, is still trembling under his hands, is clenching his jaw so hard it looks painful. There are more important things than answers.

“...Would you like to get dressed?” he offers softly.

Dream’s breath hitches. For a long minute his lips part and press closed again and again, the words warring in his throat. But eventually, he closes his eyes and nods miserably, “Yes. Please.”

Hob nods, standing up and walking to the dresser, turning his back to give Dream a sense of privacy. There is a churning in his gut, his instinct telling him that Dream needs him to not look at him right now, despite everything they’ve done together. Little pieces are coming together in Hob’s mind, like arranging pieces of broken glass, sharp and cutting, pressing the edges together until he can see the shape of what was shattered. He thinks about how covering Dream with the robe in the bathroom was what finally brought him back to the present. He thinks about how draping fabric over his skin let Dream breathe easier.

Dressing quickly, throwing on the first loose sweats his fingers find, Hob takes a moment to go to the closet and finds a particular forest green hoodie, oversized and with fleece lining the interior. A human would get heat stroke wearing it in this weather, but Dream is not bound by earthly temperature like Hob is, and he knows that this is Dream’s favorite piece of clothing to steal.

When he turns around, Dream is still wrapped in the robe and sheet, but he has a long sleeve, high neck black shirt and jeans on beneath it, and his hair is dry. He looks more like himself, less curled up and trembling, his back straightening and his legs criss-crossed. Even breaths escape his lips, and he has pulled his stoic expression back together, though there is a shadow of shame that he cannot seem to cover completely.

Hob offers him the hoodie wordlessly, and Dream looks like he might start crying again. But he blinks it back as he accepts it, pushing the robe from his shoulders and wrapping himself in soft, thick fabric. When he zips it up to the neck, Hob catches him tucking his nose down to inhale the familiar scent. Hob climbs back onto the bed, sitting in front of Dream close enough for their knees to brush, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but it occurs to him that Dream could have easily vanished while his back was turned. But he didn’t. That’s got to count for something.

“Are you feeling better?”

Dream nods slowly, eyes darting up to search Hob’s face. “Yes. I apologize. I did not mean to…”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Reaching out, he takes one of Dream’s hands, the palms covered by hoodie sleeves, just the tips of his fingers touching Hob’s skin. “Do… do you know what triggered you?”

There is a long pause, a war happening behind Dream’s eyes, before he finally seems to deflate as he nods.

Wrapped in Hob’s sweatshirt, covered and safe with Hob holding his hand and speaking gently, Dream feels the words pool in his mouth like acid. He has been granted patience and comfort. The least he can do is tell the truth.

“I told you I was captured.”

Hob’s chest hurts, like he’s caving in under the weight of fear and sorrow. A selfish part of him wants to tell Dream to stop, please, he knows already that he doesn’t want to hear this.

He holds his hand tighter and says nothing.

Dream swallows, voice shaking as he finally, finally elaborates.

“They took my tools of office and. Stripped me. Left me bare. In order to ensure I did not escape their spell, I was then. Caged. In a sphere made of glass.”

Hob’s jaw clenches so hard he thinks he might break a tooth. It’s selfish. It’s so fucking selfish how much he doesn’t want to know this, how much he wishes he could go back to this morning before the weight of this terrible truth settled in his lungs. And he wants to scream, wants to shake Dream, because the truth hurts so much more now, now after so much time has passed, now when he can look back on their months together and think of how many times he has hurt Dream. How many times Dream has let him. Hob feels so angry, and so monstrous, and so, so selfish.

But.

But in the stretch of silence between them, Hob is reminded that the selfish part of him is miniscule compared to the part of him that loves Dream of the Endless. His selfishness cannot survive that love.

He makes a mental promise to allow himself a good long scream in a pillow later. Maybe a few punches against the drywall. Later.

“Okay.”

Dream’s head snaps up in surprise, and Hob realizes that Dream had been bracing for selfishness, and Hob thinks he might have died of heartbreak if not for his immortality.

“W-what?”

“I said okay,” Hob takes his other hand, stroking his thumbs across sharp, pale knuckles, “I-” He has to clear his throat, remind himself that he can scream later, “I definitely. Understand how you were triggered.” His screaming might be accompanied by a baseball bat in his bathroom.

Despite his best efforts, he can’t help but whisper weakly, “...Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did not wish to burden you.”

“It’s not a burden to not hurt you!” He’s so desperate for Dream to understand, he leans forward to cup Dream’s face in his hands, “I love you.”

Fresh tears well in Dream’s eyes, but he does not look away from Hob’s gaze, “I have given you so little.”

“You don’t need to give me anything at all. Especially not anything that hurts you. Dream,” He pressed their foreheads together, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Dream lets his eyes fall closed, sighing, “I love you. And I have not been good to you in the past. I cannot deny you anything now.”

“Oh yes you can.”

Hob’s response is so quick, so light and fond that Dream lets out a soft breath of laughter before he can stop himself. When he opens his eyes, Hob is crying, but he is also grinning, “You’re stuck with my love, you’d never get rid of it so easily as just by saying no to me. I’ve loved you for six hundred years, even when you claim you weren’t good to me. I have no intention of stopping now.”

None of this makes sense. It doesn’t feel like the kind of love that could ever be directed at Dream. Ever be given to Dream. But Hob has never made a habit of lying, especially when it comes to his own feelings. Dream thinks it is a quality he should attempt to emulate.

So Dream admits, with a trembling voice, “I would prefer. To remain covered, when we make love. With clothes or bed sheets. Even when the weather is hot.”

Hob nods, smiling like Dream has given him something precious.

(Because he has).

“Okay. We can make that happen.”

Later, Hob will in fact scream into a pillow, and he doesn’t have a bat but he has a hammer that shatters his shower almost too efficiently to be satisfying. In the coming weeks he will renovate his flat, hauling in a claw foot tub and an expensive air conditioning system that he keeps blasting cold air at all hours regardless of his energy bill so that he can stay wrapped up and warm with his lover, listening to breaths that are so calm and even it makes him realize just how much they didn't used to be. Slowly, Dream will open up more about his boundaries, and his wounds, and Hob will kiss away the anxiety each time and make the space around them just a little more comfortable for him. They take a few steps back and a lot of steps forward.

Tonight, Hob turns the lights down low, and wraps Dream in blankets and then his arms, kissing the crown of his head, and takes comfort in discovering the new sound of Dream breathing deep and peaceful.

[onelatenight-longago]

Stepping Into the (Spot) Light

Warnings/Tags: Fem!Reader, Depictions of Violence and Torture, semi-soft Buggy, he's a danger but also a marshmallow of a man, life on the Big Top, becoming one of the crew, sexual tension and teasing, romance, finding freedom and found family

Description: Buggy plays the hero just the one time and now he's a got a new crew member who will change everything for him.

A/N: I'm going to double post this story, first in 1st person then again in 2nd person.

Chp. [1] [2] - First Person Chp. [1] [2] - Second Person (below)

You awoke on a soft bed, its satin red sheets wrapped gently around you. The room was dark, lit only by a small candle on the bedside table but it did not matter. You were too exhausted, too worn down and weary to focus on much more. Your body ached and your mind was clouded. All you could do was take in the warmth of the bed around you, and the smell of smoke, paint, and the faint scent of sweet apples. 

You had never known comfort like this and settled yourself deeper into the soft bed.

Too soon you were interrupted by a burly looking man busting through the door. “Wear this and come to the ring, you’ve got five minutes.” He spoke gruffly, throwing clothes down on the bed then turning and quickly stomping out, barely even looking in your direction.

Your heart slammed its way into your throat, the events prior now fully flooding back into your mind. Your escape from Wasp, the curious red smoke that crawled its way through town, the man who called out to you as you faded into unconsciousness. You had no clue where you were but the bonds Wasp had on you were gone and your cuts and scraps were carefully dressed and you were laid down comfortably in a bed so divine you were sure you were dead and in the afterlife. You should have been scared, surely waking up in a strange place. But instead you felt excited, the anticipation of what laid beyond this room drove you to your feet. The clothes thrown onto the bed were as equally beautiful as the bed you had found yourself in. It was a shimmering dress, tattered in all the right spots as to look nearly intentional. Fishnet tights, that the sight of made a blush crawl across your face. A red and white striped bandana and black boots, rough and well worn. 

You dressed quick enough and with a deep breath you opened the door, unsure of what lay ahead but certain that it was far better than being Wasp’s captive. 

As you wandered down the long walkway, clearly makeshift and surrounded by tattered canvas, it became clearer and clearer that you were in some circus tent. The myriad of people you had passed, barely sparing you a glance, were all dressed in either wild show costumes or jester-like outfits ranging from simple to intricate. The shouting of orders and questions and answers all around  you had begun to become overwhelming so you picked up your pace, following the winding walkway, hardly paying mind to the branching rooms.  

When you finally came to the end, faced with a canvas entryway, someone had finally stepped out and spoke to you. 

“You can wait in here.” A man stepped up, his green hair and absurdly large checkered scarf catching you off guard. “Come, there is tea laid out.” He stepped past you separating the canvas curtains and holding them open for you, gesturing for you to step through into the small room. “Please, sit and relax. I will be back soon to show you to your seat.” Without so little more an explanation he walked out the way you had come and you were left to take in your surroundings.

The room seemed small if only because it was stacked with so much equipment there was barely room for the plush couch and table sat off to the one side. As you made yourself comfortable and began to fix yourself a cup of tea you looked around, taking in the sight of unicycles, juggling pins, ropes and rigs of all sorts, silks and fabrics, whips and canes, torches, stands, platforms, mats, and so on and so forth. All the makings of any other traveling circus. 

It occurred to you that you supposed host was the clown-looking man who you had silently begged after Wasp’s torture. You wondered who he was, his image vaguely familiar. Clearly a clown, this was his circus, and the green-haired man mentioned coming back to show you to your seat. You sipped gently on the hot tea, conflicted on whether you should be anxious or excited. You settled on both, steeling yourself, resolving to keep your guard up but also resigning to just go along with whatever lay ahead.  You were free of Wasp, and though that meant potentially falling into the hands of another similar situation, you were interested in seeing where this silly little circus went. 

You were content with your pot of tea, cozy sofa, and more pillows than any one person should ever have on a sofa, so when your peace was interrupted by the green-haired man’s reappearance you shrugged the sense of comfort off and readied yourself. 

“If you’d like to follow me?” The man asked primly with a slight bow, he crossed the room and untied another canvas opening, holding the one curtain back and gesturing you through. With caution you followed his cue, stepping into a darkened room that was incredibly spacious. This must be the main event space. The man gestured to you to follow him and you soon found yourself settled into a plush wingback chair.

“Best seat in the house.” The man said with a smile before taking his leave. You sat and looked out, your eyes adjusting to the semi-darkness and seeing the empty circus ring form. It wasn’t long before the music started up and performers began pouring from what seemed every corner of the big top. You were entranced as you watched fire breathers stalk the edges while acrobats tumbled around them. Closer towards the center were the jugglers all juggling a mix of pins, knives, and lit torches. Just beyond them was another ring, this one with sword swallowers. Above it all aerial acrobats were swinging and tossing each other without a care. And in the very center of the ring was a lion standing amid a platform just big enough for it, while a tamer with a whip and chair antagonized the snarling and snapping beast. 

You watched on, your eyes tracking the fluid movement from act to act. You couldn’t help the smile spread across your face so wide it nearly hurt. You clapped and laughed and hollered, you had never seen such a show before. As the music crescendoed your breath caught in your throat, the acts had begun to pick up their pace and their stunts became more dangerous. You were in complete awe and wonder at their skillmanship. On the top of the crescendo, the lights fell while the performers continued on. The light of all the torches fire breathers instantly changed the mood of the show, the wonder of it all now had a darker and sharper edge to it. Slowly the performers cleared from the center of the ring and you watched on, nearly half out of seat, as a form began to build itself in the center. Before you could even begin to wrap your mind around what you had seen, the spotlights all immediately flickered on and zeroed in on the man in the center. 

It was the man whose eyes you met across the roadway as you lay gasping in pain in the dirt. He was smiling, something razor sharp but delighted all in the same expression. You threw yourself from your seat and clapped and hollered wildly as he spread his arms, clearly displaying himself as the curator of the wonderful show you had just had the pleasure of watching. 

“Thank you, thank you!” The man shouted, bowing dramatically. “However, this was but only the first act.” With a snap of his fingers his performers, all as one, ceased their acts and moved to the outer edge of the ring. Their smiles morphing into something more vicious. Slowly the house lights began to raise and it was then you noticed that you were not the only audience this show had. Off to the side in a set of bleachers, all chained and gagged was Wasp and his crew.

[scholastic-dragon]

Happy Birthday 🎂

Birthdays with the TMNT boys cause it's my birthday today!

They have a calendar in their kitchen (it's mostly cute baby animals) and your birthday is written in sharpie so they don't forget

If you come over to the lair...

Donnie hung fairy and Christmas lights all around the living room. He's even rigged them to be your favorite color(s)

Mikey's made you a birthday cake, your favorite kind and even put some cute candles on top (thanks April)

Splinter even makes an appearance and got you a nice card. He signed it, "I'm glad you're my son/daughter/child in law, love Splinter" (instant tears)

They put on your favorite movie/show and talk all night with you. Asking about how your day was, how does this birthday compare to others, etc.

If you spent the night...

You get woken up by your favorite turtle nuzzling and kissing your neck, mumbling "It's you birthday/happy birthday, baby"

You snuggle all morning and he even takes a shower with you, washing your hair and giving you an amazing massage.

Splinter actually made breakfast that morning (with Mikey and Donnie's help)(Donnie didn't have a choice he made the mistake of trying to get coffee while Splinter was cooking and now he can't leave) there's pancakes, waffles, eggs, sausages, hash browns, you name it

Mikey gets nosey and starts asking about your other birthdays, wondering what he can do to make this one really special.

If you have to go to work, they'll set up decorations while you're gone and get everything ready.

If you stay, you'll get an all day snuggle fest with your favorite guy, doing whatever you want (mostly as a distraction so the others can get the lair set up)

But halfway through the day Mikey will call you into the kitchen to help with dinner and your cake. He just wants to hangout and cook with you <3

Cooking is his love language

They all sing when you blow out the candles. Don't worry, as hungry and excited these boys are for cake you get the first piece.

All of them get you something, doesn't matter if you're dating or just friends, you're important to them and you deserve it <3

Raph knit you something, depending on how close you are will determine the time he put into it. If you're new to the group it'll probably be a hat and scarf set. If you're beat friends you get a blanket, it's big and warm and you both can snuggle under it. If you're his partner you get a sweater, in a pattern that he learned just for you.

Leo will probably get you something that he deems "usable" like a journal if you like writing. A yoga mat so you can join him in his meditation, or just use at home. If you like tea he'll get you and him a matching set. If you're dating he's going to get you a little necklace with both of your initials on it. (He thought it was a little too possessive to have just an "L" on it)

Donnie also got you matching mugs, most likely star wars related. But he also made you something. A new watch, or a remote that controls the fan by your bed, sound machine, speaker, and bedroom lights, or maybe he fixed your buggy computer. Either way, he did something really thoughtful for you, he'd do this for you whether you're dating or not

Mikey painted you something. He knows you have that big open wall in your apartment so he finds the perfect canvas and paints your favorite scenery on it. Whether that be the forest, new York at night, a waterfall, the stars, doesn't matter cause he painted it beautifully and it proudly sits on your wall.

You love them all so much and give them big hugs as a thank you

That night will be spent in the arms of your turtle, happy as can be.

Tags: @turtle-babe83 @thelaundrybitch

[clearancecreedwatersurvival]

Full book spoiler thoughts ahead. Okay I know some people think Nynaeve didn’t do enough this episode but honestly? I think this was perfect. It’s really setting up her need to break her block, most likely next season. She couldn’t heal her friends when they were terribly injured, this is gonna weigh on her.

Also I love this introduction of Elayne to the group and reunion of the entire EF5. I hope they do more full group reunions than happen in the books. I think we’re still probably getting the stone of tear next season so at least we’ll probably have another convergence point there.

Also!!! I fucking love that Egwene had a ta’veren moment this episode, where the pattern shaped itself around her needs so she could free herself from the a’dam. Great choice. Brilliant finale, great way to top off the themes around stilling and having channelers’ autonomy and lack of control of the one power stolen from them.

Stuff I am especially looking forward to as a result of the foreshadowing in this episode and the whole season:

Mat having been made a hero of the horn between the third age of the books and this turning and how that’s basically gonna kickstart his general arc way early. The fucking rigged up Ashandarei!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! If/when we get Rhuidean next season I’m gonna be feral for weeks.

Everything around stilling this season is gonna pay off so fucking well with what is going to happen with the white tower.

Related to that, the stuff with shielding this season was setting up for The Box in ways that are driving me Insane.

Egwene’s entire arc going forward. Holy fucking shit Egwene’s arc was set up so perfectly this season. The show established her stance on the seanchan so well I’m still boggled. Renna’s actress was incredible, I have perhaps never hated a character more. Fuck.

The forsaken. Full stop.

AND THE AIEL. Oh my god the Aiel this season. The Maiden hand talk. Every single moment Aviendha was onscreen. I’m just!!!!!

I found this season to be pretty fucking great, the pacing was way better than season one (though not perfect, they need more episodes), the effects were better, the way the magic system was displayed was better, the acting went incredibly hard (occasionally the dialogue was a bit wonky but the acting was solid basically across the board), the execution on themes was Delightful. Some marked differences from the books but I think most of it really worked in the show’s context. Cannot wait for season three. If Amazon doesn’t increase their episode count I’m going to fight. And they should increase their budget some more.

Literally my only complaint this episode was the fletching thing during the arrow injury scene. Which, it is honestly kind of funny to have the best healer in the world make such a rookie mistake.

Everything else I was down for. Great season finale.