#roll 4 fuckery

[roll-4-fuckery]

⚡⚡GREETINGS TRAVELERR⚡⚡

I am THE DUNGEON MASTER, a seeker of the ARCANE TRUTHS and MASTER OF FUTURE-SIGHT!

Using my DICE OF FATE, I shall reveal to you the outcome of thyn QUEST to configure a CAT TREE most exquisite!!

BEHOLD!!!!!!⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡

OUTSTANDING TRAVELLER!!!

Yon CAT TREE shall be IMMACULATE and above all, be made with LOVE!

💫FAIR THEE WELL!!!💫

What are the sticks for? I have some options for you depending

Cat tree!

[roll-4-fuckery]

'Tis I, ⚡THE DUNGEON MASTERR!!⚡

I shall roll the DICE OF FATE to determine the direction of which your choices may lead you... BUT REMEMBER TRAVELER! For the dice are not the harbingers of thy demise, simply the messengers.

So don't blame me if your shit gets fucked!!

in-character tag: #fuckery rolled!

out-of character tag: #DM fourth wall break

reblog responding to my post: #responce reblog

[thingswhatareawesome]

¨

[roll-4-fuckery]

⚡⚡GREETINGS TRAVELERR⚡⚡

I am THE DUNGEON MASTER, a seeker of the ARCANE TRUTHS and MASTER OF FUTURE-SIGHT!

Using my DICE OF FATE, I shall reveal to you the paths made possible through your most recent WONKING,

BEHOLD!!!

OUTSTANDING TRAVELER!!

Henceforth, you shall never FUMBLE a BADDIE for the rest of thyn days!

💫GOOD BYE TRAVELER!💫

Took her to my factory and then I wonk'd it

[spookyfbi]

Ok so. Confession time. I’ve been in fandom, shipping various pairings on and off for like 20 years, give or take, and I have never. NEVER. Felt so satisfied by what canon has done with my ship as I was today watching Our Flag Means Death.

It felt like I was reading a fanfic.

LITERALLY.

No no really, you don’t understand.

Our Flag Means Death is LITERALLY structured like a fanfic.

Normal shows, right? The character and relationship development serves the plot. If it doesn’t serve the plot, it gets cut.

In fanfics, on the other hand, the plot serves the character and relationship development, if there’s even a plot at all.

And guys, I didn’t realise this until today, but in Our Flag Means Death, the plot serves the character and relationship development.

Like, let’s look at season 1. The first 3 episodes introduce the characters, set the scene, and get the ball rolling. Then episode 4 is all about Ed and Stede getting to know each other and getting rid of the Spanish ship that only served to facilitate Ed and Stede meeting in the first place.

Episode 5? The dinner party. Does anything of consequence happen in that episode? It’s all there to facilitate the ‘you wear fine things well’ scene

Episode 6? Who cares about the ship they perform the fuckery for? They never come back. It’s all to explore Ed’s past and give us the bathtub scene. And then Izzy leaving the ship

Episode 7? We’ll, we get a Jim backstory, and ‘Oh my god this is happening’ and Ed & Stede deciding to be co captains.

Episode 8 is just an excuse to enjoy jealous Stede and then ‘you came back’ ‘never left’

And then the plot comes back but it’s still all about the relationship and character development.

Think about the middle episodes though. The plot could have been literally anything and it would have made absolutely no difference as long as the character and relationship beats still happened.

And now look at the two episodes we got today. Did… did anything actually… happen in Fun and Games? I mean other than relationship development and character stuff. And episode 5 (I can’t remember the name). Do you think the cursed jacket will have any consequence to the plot? Maybe the ship they left it on will come back, but you could probably swap out the cursed jacket with literally anything else and it would make no difference.

GUYS THESE EPISODES READ LIKE FANFIC CHAPTERS.

You’ve got the first few chapters to set the scene, then you’ve got a bunch of chapters where things happen and in each chapter it all culminates in a progression in the characters’ relationship. Then in the last few chapters the plot gets resolved.

This is just so surreal that an actual TV show is doing this. It’s like, have you ever fantasised about being a show runner, and how you’d just be so indulgent towards the shippers with your show? David Jenkins is living that fucking fantasy and we are all being so fed.

Listen.

Look at me.

We DESERVE this show.

If you’ve ever had your heart broken by canon, and not in the good fanfic way, you DESERVE this show.

I still cannot believe this is happening.

[buckyalpine]

Cute

I love grumpy Bucky. I love sunshine reader. This is another ridiculous fic. Does it even make sense? Tbh no. I should have a section on my master list for utter fuckery and tom foolery. 

Bucky being offended he looks cute. He’s a tough beefy muscly super soldier so how. dare. you. 

You watched Bucky carefully as he took apart his gun, his brows furrowed as he focused on cleaning the different parts, setting each piece aside carefully so it wouldn’t get misplaced (after cursing under his breath when one part rolled under the couch) Every so often his tongue would dart out the harder he focused, completely in his own world. It was adorable. 

“You look so cute” You giggled, setting your book down while he narrowed his eyes at you frowning. Did you just call him cute? How dare you. Bucky thought of himself as many things but cute? Absolutely not. 

“M’not cute” He mumbled, internally retching at the word, shaking his head while you rolled your eyes, ignoring his grumpy staring. 

“Yes you are” You stated, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You grabbed your book, deciding to make yourself some tea, leaving the super soldier utterly perplexed over what the hell was wrong with you. Bucky stared at you while you getting up to go to the kitchen, he’d never been so offended. 

Bucky didn’t understand you. You were the newest member of the team, he’d only really interacted with you on missions. You never seemed to hold back your tongue, always complimenting others with random statements. You were always sweet to everyone. Smiling. Bubbly. Happy. Kind of like sunshine in a bottle. 

That didn’t excuse what you just said to him. 

Cute. 

Cute was what you used to describe puppies and ducklings and kittens. He was 6′4 with a metal arm, a trained assassin and super solider. How. Dare. You. He lifted his shirt up, inspecting his abs, all 6 of them right there. 

Cute. 

Except it didn’t stop there. 

Everyone sat together for movie night, you sat in your designated corner of the couch; everyone sitting in their favorite spots, munching on snacks, cuddled up with blankets. You smiled at the way Bucky had curled up on the large bean bag, his soft Henley stretched over his broad chest and thick arms. He snored softly, half asleep, occasionally blinking at the screen before closing his eyes again.  

“Oh he looks so cuddly!” You whispered, while Sam’s face twisted in confusion to see what the hell it was you were looking at. His eyes grew wide when he realized you were looking at Bucky, shaking his head while you continued to admire him. 

“You think the killing staring machine looks cuddly?” 

“Very much so” You nodded, draping him with a fuzzy blanket before going back to the movie, smiling when you saw him snuggle into it, falling asleep immediately. 

Bucky wasn’t sure if he dreamt someone calling him cuddly or if it really happened but he was some how more offended than before. He was pure muscle. Metal and muscle. How does one look at him and think of cuddling. 

No. 

“M’not cuddly” He grumbled half in his sleep, before burying his face into the bean bag, going back to sleep. You snickered at his antics, going back to the movie while the rest of the team quietly eyed you both. 

It didn’t stop there either. 

You sat on the stool at the kitchen island, eating some berries while Bucky and Steve walked in after training. Steve smiled at you while Bucky quietly made his way around the kitchen to get his coffee, he didn’t know why his heart started to do this weird jumpy thing around you, it was probably a defect of some sort, he’d make an appointment with Bruce soon. 

It had been a while since he shaved, his beard had grown fuller and his hair was a little fluffier. You thought it made him look soft, paired off with his size, he looked like he’d give the most warm hugs. 

“He’s like a teddy bear” You said, more to yourself but both men heard, given they both had enhanced hearing. Steve smirked to himself while you continued to munch on your snack, unaware Bucky was deeply blushing, stirring an empty mug, now utterly distracted because of you. 

“Teddy bear y/n?” Steve gave you a pointed look while you nodded. 

“Yeah, he looks so huggable like he’d give the best hugs” You hopped off your stool, making your way over to where Bucky was standing. He froze while you smiled up at him, your sweet face making his insides melt. Wait, since when did he think your face was sweet- “Look”

“Y/n, I don’t think thats a good-

Before Steve could finish, you walked over, wrapping your arms around Bucky’s waist, resting your head on his chest. Bucky’s body moved on its own, wrapping his arms around you, enveloping you into the warmest, safest hug you’d ever felt. You lost yourself for a moment, nuzzling yourself into his chest while he squeezed you tighter, holding you close to him, secretly hoping you wouldn’t let go. 

Steve’s soul nearly left his body, staring at you both, his best friend practically rocking you while you were in complete bliss, clearly reluctant to ever let go. You soon realized you had been hugging him for longer than necessary, letting go while Steve watched you both with a shit eating grin on his face. 

“See? Good hugs” You quickly pulled back as if nothing happened, grabbing your things and leaving the kitchen. Bucky turned back to his mug, diligently stirring, ignoring the way his heart was beating out of his chest, ready to escape. 

“The mug is empty punk” Steve snorted while Bucky groaned, his cheeks pink while he filled his cup this time. What had you done to him. 

Ever since you called Bucky cute, he’s been sneaking glances of himself in the mirror. 

Was he cute?

He carefully inspected his features; if the sweetest person on the planet said he was cute then he had to be true. You also called him cuddly. And huggable. 

Ever since the team made note of your exchanges, they’ve been having a field day with it. 

“Rogers, you’ll be paired with Romanoff and Barnes who is not cute, will go with Wilson” Tony stated, snickering to himself over the way Bucky stared at him. 

“I am cute” He pouts, grabbing his gear at making his way to the jet. 

“Yeah, based on what tinman”

“Y/n said so” he shrugged, while everyone else watched carefully, wondering how much longer it’d take for you both to get together.

*****

You made your way to the kitchen, passing by Bucky and Steve, both men sitting on the touch watching some documentary on something you’d probably fall asleep to. Bucky watched you carefully, wondering what you’d say about him this time, his heart hoping you’d come and sit with them while you went to grab a snack. 

You weren’t sure if Bucky actually liked you or not, you decided to give him some space since they’d just gotten back from a mission, quietly sitting off to the side while Steve rolled his eyes watching Bucky ignore the TV, sneaking glanced at you instead. 

“Y/n, your cute cuddly huggable teddy bear’s been waiting for you to-Ooof” 

You looked up to find Bucky smothering Steve with a cushion, only to have Steve wiggle his way out, scrambling away on all fours before finding his footing and running off, cackling to himself. You felt your face heat up, making your way over and plopping on the couch beside Bucky, both of you inching closer and closer until your thighs brushed against his.  

“I-I think you’re cute too” He blushed, smiling while you tucked yourself by his side, sighing contently at his warmth. He hesitantly put his arm around you, pulling you closer, “and you’re really huggable” He pressed a soft kiss onto your cheek. “and I like you” 

You giggled, snuggling up with him, grinning when you looked up at him, his perfect puppy eyes gazing back down at you. 

“I told you, you were cute” 

Somewhere down the hall

“CUTE GRUMPY CUDDLY TEDDY BEAR AND SUNSHINE ARE FINALLY TOGETHER” 

Tags:

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[roll-4-fuckery]

⚡⚡GREETINGS TRAVELERR!!⚡⚡

I am THE DUNGEON MASTER, a seeker of the ARCANE TRUTHS and MASTER OF FUTURE-SIGHT!

Using my DICE OF FATE I shall reveal to you the knowledge of which you seek,

💥BEHOLD!!!💥

...oh, uh.

That's a foot, that's a dismembered-disembodied foot in your hands.

Well, 💫GOODBYE TRAVELER 💫

jerking something. not sure what

[t-underneaththeradardancing]

its not about the ice cream ffs

is that 2 strident for so early and its we gonna have some fukken coffee kind of morning

dont forget the moon we wouldnt sea otter

wise -try to find reasons every daze to look for joy some new

music or half remembered mary oliver

anywhat lets get the ball rolling - starting w a good and always kitty - still unhappy she cant play in toxic dust of construction - she not a lap cat - ever - once in a while is nice but yah up and down too much like a boxed jack unbound - a musical to go to later - we mention - the moon awready - too early 4 murder - gray sky as is normal and usual witch reminds me of rayleigh -witch unpoet wuz axing about and i couldnt find the words to mansplain - now armed w the internet ...birdsong in the evening mainly - sometimes they feed b4 or apres corvids -delighted if they get more than crumbs - in 1's and a rare 2

yah the fuckery despite it being gospel sunday - and yah theres some problematic like hollywood but then therz mavis staples

the usual mixture of not quite poetry - oh weight the dreams are all trynna get somewhere or home and getting nowhere man in a not quite accurate version of so called reality but not so much surrealist pillow if you pleez - o fux we looked at the news today oh boy and we r terror fried tho no worse than most daze

we actually edited by the way

an infinity of laundry

hallelujah

[autisticlancemcclain]

fic rec friday 43

hello and welcome to fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

These Walls Have Ears by notverystraight

Before Lance’s friends arrive at his apartment for their weekly movie night, Keith is in Hunk’s car on the phone to Lance, trying to explain why they’re late, again. Mid conversation, Keith drops his phone under the seat. Assuming Lance has hung up, Pidge and Hunk start pestering Keith about certain feelings that he may be harboring, leading to some quite personal confessions. Little do they know, Lance has not hung up, and is listening in on every word. Shenanigans ensue.

the second best part of this fic is how sweet and funny this is. this fic is blushy and silly and dorky and so so so!!! it is just fun and garrison trio my love. the BEST part of this fic is lance knowing hes hot shit

2. That Won't Last, He's Gay and She's An Alien by notverystraight

Lance didn’t know what he’d expected to see when he came onto the Garrison’s training deck, but it definitely wasn’t this. Keith was panting with exertion, pinning someone to the ground with the edge of his training sword just brushing their neck. And by someone, Lance meant Acxa, one of Lotor’s old half-Galra generals. Or, Lance walks in on Keith and Acxa sparring. He has not-so-mixed feelings about it.

usually every jealousy trope fic i read induces the PHATTEST eye roll literally of all time but this one made me laugh lol. its just such a ridiculous concept and its fun basically. also krolia lowkey being a thot is hilarious

3. Go the Distance by orphan_account [EXPLICIT]

Keith is a sprinter, Lance runs long distance. Despite not competing against each other directly and despite the fact that they're training to bring glory to the same high school track team, the two end up becoming rivals who are wholeheartedly committed to victory. Along the way, however, they find themselves awfully sidetracked by the other's inspiring legs--er, skills. Much fluff and smut and no angst.

bro lance is SUCH a goober 😭😭 he gets himself into the most embarrassing situations and there is truly no one he can blame but himself. honestly this one is such a fun read and if the explicit warning bothers you, it's not the whole fic! you can easily skip it. the rivalry and getting together is just as fun and stupid as you'd expect from them truly

4. Haunted House Hang-Up by Creatortan

Keith runs a paranormal investigation YouTube channel with his friend, Pidge. Pidge is friends with Hunk, who is friends with Lance, who is very, very haunted. And also, very, very pretty.

oh my LORD i love this. nd team? check. supernatural fuckery? check. cute flowery lance? check. dorky suave keith? check. side of hot firefighter shiro? check. just an 11/10 in general top notch

5. Rambling by Creatortan

Lance was a talkative person, and he thought he had accepted that.

no seriously bc the Can't Shut Up Syndrome is the Worst side effect of adhd and other nd's tbh. i hate the way you're excited and you can feel yourself start to build and trip over your words but it doesn't matter bc it's so background! there's so much cool shit ur sharing!! and then you see the eyeroll or the shrug and it just comes crashing back on you so so quickly and hard and. god. this fic captured that so well

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

[its-in-the-woods]

The Woman Who Couldn’t Die Part 13

master list

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Par 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 , Part 11, Part 12,

Pairing: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x Original Character

Synopsis: “Mind if I take your shirt off?” He asks as he straddles her hips. Jade nods he can feel her tremble as his fingers go under the well-worn material.

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning: This is based on Fallout expect typical horror as well as: scars, lovely dovey, fluffy, , soft!cooper, angst, slow burn, Smut, p in v, age-gap, oral F receiving, mention of scars, multiple Os, Fingering, monster?fuckery, idk look these two finally get to have fun k?

Notes: Thank you all for reading :) I won't do this without all of you <3

“Lay back,” Ghoul says quietly, Jade hesitates for a moment but does as he asks. Laying on her back looking up at the ceiling. “Let’s make some new memories,”

The Ghoul feels a familiar ache form in his stomach as he looks the girl up and down. He can hear her heart pound, his eyes running over the different marks on her skin. The need to memorize each scar, mark, divot, and texture of her skin consumed him. It feels wrong to be touching her, for him to be granted access to something so pretty. 

“Mind if I take your shirt off?” He asks as he straddles her hips. Jade nods he can feel her tremble as his fingers go under the well-worn material. Noting that he needs to get her something newer tomorrow, he takes it slow. He is watching how her expression changes, looking for any indication of discomfort. 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Jade answers, sitting up so he can take it off of her, the material dropping on the floorboards.“Not like you haven’t seen it.”

Ghoul rolls his eyes at this comment, “Not like this, want this to be-.” The term special seemed like an understatement.

“A good memory?” Jade adds her fingers running across his arm, eyes not meeting his. 

He uses one of his hands cupping the back of her head. Cooper pulls her against him, tipping her head up so he can kiss her. It felt different this time, how her way body pressed back against his. She had scars, but her skin was still so much softer than his, it felt deviant to have Jade underneath him. It had been so long, long enough that this all had a thrum of being new. Something he had almost forgotten, and yet felt as if they’d done it before. Her kiss was soft like she wasn't sure if he was as eager as she was. He pushes back, teeth nipping at her lips as one of her hands runs down his back.  His skin can feel each new scar, the way the skin draws together, the ones he sewed up; and how she was permanently marked by their journey together. 

He pulls back, Jade’s green streaked eyes following him, Cooper grins pushing some stray hair back so he can lean down to nip at her neck. It gets him a surprise moan, her hands running over his smooth head, her heartbeat picking up pace as she grabs him. He licks at the mark, deepening it, the idea that someone would see it and know it was him was thrilling. Cooper keeps moving down, following along every mark and scar. Making sure to commit them to memory, every noise she made, sound, locked away for what he didn’t know. All he knew was he would savor this for as long as possible. 

Teeth and lips find skin, trailing down to her nipples, her hands digging in as he sucks at it, rubbing it along his teeth. Jade’s hips push up against his, his fingers spread across her stomach running against the edges of scars. He gives each equal attention as they perk up against his tongue. She whimpers, strings of unintelligible words urging him on as he moves from her nipples to lick down between her breasts. Trailing his tongue under her breast, fingers grabbing and massaging as he cups the flesh, palms rubbing against her nipples.

“Oh, oh damn,” Jade whimpers, her hands running from his back, up Cooper's neck, fingers digging into his scalp. “That feels so good.” 

Cooper grins at the encouragement he licks around her navel, her stomach sucking in as she squirms. His texture lips made her skin shiver as he laid a path of bruises. Now at the edge of her pants, he leans back, locking eyes with hers. Jade nods her head eagerly. Cooper doesn’t wait for a verbal answer, hooking his fingers into her pants and sliding them down. He hums at the sight before him, there are more marks here, some are in patterns, and others are more random. Her leg hair prickled under his skin, the texture pleasant as he starts at her ankles, kissing inside against the joint. Jade moves her legs back and forth, squirming at the attention. The sheets ruck up as she squirms, her hand clutching the pillow behind her head.

“You are a tease,” Jade huffs, fingers moving to clench at the sheets as she groans. Her eyes roll back as he moves over to the other ankle,

“Nothing stopping you from enjoying yourself,” He grins as he licks across her calf, watching her face go red as her hands run over her lower stomach. Cooper pauses watching as her fingers go lower into the dark curls that sit just above her center. A slick wet sound making his cock twitch against his pants. 

A growl leaves his throat, as her fingers dip between her folds the smell of her deep and sweet. Cooper Can feel his mouth get wet as he watches, entranced by the way Jade touches herself. Lip caught between her teeth as she tries not to make noise, he leans forward and bites into the flesh just below the inside of her knee. Her mouth opens as she lets out a gasp. Cooper keeps at it sucking more flesh into his mouth. The hunger grew in his stomach as a welt grew under his tongue.

“Oww,” Jade grimaces, despite the protest her fingers don’t stop. The Ghoul moves to the other side, biting his teeth into her skin, not enough to draw blood but close. “Fuck, Cooper.”

He lets go with a smack of his lips, a dark purple bruise spreading out from where he bit, “Seems like you're enjoying the pain.” The Ghoul adds emphasis by moving a little further up and nibbling along her thigh. The smell of her arousal fills the small space. Her fingers move more fervently as he adds more marks.

“Maybe, maybe.” Jade teases, her fingers moving further down in-between her lips. The Ghoul nips a little harder leaving a trail of little purple and pink bruises which gets him a louder groan from Jade.

Moving Cooper pushes her legs open further, a little gasp escaping Jade as he grabs her hand and pulls it away. Bring it up to his lips, he opens his mouth, eyes locked on hers as he takes her fingers into his mouth sucking on them. One at a time licking and sucking her fingers, his tongue swirling around each individually. A groan left his lips, she tasted like nothing he'd ever had. The sweet taste of musk and something just her, made him shiver. Cooper’s fingers find the soft curls, Jade whimpers her body shuttering as he twirls the curls in his fingers. 

“No maybes here. Not from what I am feeling,” Cooper hushes, kissing along the inside of her thigh, moving up to where her hip and leg join. “You taste so good. ”

Jade groans, trying to squirm, her hands pushing against the bed. The Ghoul grins, fingers along the edges. “Please touch me,” She wiggles more, her face pink, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. “Please Cooper, stop being a tease.” 

Cooper keeps teasing, kissing, and licking along her soft skin, paying extra attention to any mark he finds. Committing them to memory, hating himself that he had waited so long. Now that it was here he was going to drag it out. Jade’s fingers run along his head, latching on and trying to direct him. He moves up and puts her hands above her head, glaring down at her when she tries to struggle away. 

“Keep’em there, Tiny,” He growls peppering kisses along her forehead, down past her cheeks. Making sure to keep her legs spread open, dragging his worn pant-covered legs across her bare ones. Feeling her body finally relax, the girl loved putting up a fight. Knowing that she was at ease with him made it so much better.

Jade whimpers hips moving as she grabs at the pillow by her head, her eyes nearly black.“If you don’t get moving-”

Cooper nips hard right below her belly button, enough to leave a deep purple bruise. She whimpers, goosebumps spreading out across her skin before he goes down further. The hair tickling the inside of his nose he shakes it off, instead using his fingers to move the hair where he needed it. Sneezing was not on menu tonight. Jade’s legs clench as his hot breath blows on her pussy, he flicks his tongue out finding her swollen clit. Jade’s reaction is instant, her hips moving up, fingers moving from the pillow to his head. Which only spurs him onwards as he laves at her clit. 

“Fuck, Cooper,” Jade whimpers, he licks in small circles around it, having no nose made it easier to get to what he wanted. Being able to press right against her body, feel the heat radiating off of her.

Using his fingers he spreads her lips open, making more room for his tongue to suck and continue to lick Jade’s body bucking and jumping. One hand is tucked under her thigh, the other moving down to feel the wetness. He growls as he feels how slick she is, Jade, gasping as his finger goes into her. 

“That-” Jade shutters, “So good, fuck.” She keens whining as he starts to move it in and out. “Fingers are thick.”

The Ghoul chuckles, pulling back with a slick pop, “One finger.” As he crooks the finger just right to find that spot that made her eyes roll. 

Jade’s insides flex around him at the words, he can’t help the chuckle that leaves him again as he goes back. Making her clit swell under his ministrations, sucking it into his mouth and humming. Feeling Jade get wetter as he pushes a second finger in alongside the first, tongue going from her clit down to where his fingers are. Her hips twisting and moving down against him, he moves his fingers out to taste her. The smell alone was driving him up the wall, her back arching pushing against what was left of his nose. Covering his face in the wetness, wanting to drown himself right there. He moves his head back and forth, tongue and fingers working to open her up. 

“Don’t stop, please,” Jade groans, Cooper continues before switching up and going back to lick at her clit. Two fingers moving inside, he leans up kissing her stomach. Feeling her stomach flex, eyebrows furrowed as her orgasm builds. 

“Let go, Jade,” He hushes, before returning back to his work, wanting to feel her come apart under his hands. 

Her whole body arches, the muscled walls around his fingers clenching and unclenching around his fingers in waves. He looks up at her, Jade’s head tipped back and mouth open in a silent scream. 

“Breath, girl.” Cooper teases, croaking his fingers just right at the spongy spot that has her gasping. “There you go, fuck your pretty.” 

Jade’s chest moving up and down in gasping breaths, she tries to squirm back, “Too much, too much, oh dammit.” 

He slows his movements before gently pulling his fingers out, not hesitating to bring them to her lips. Jade parts her lips, the green-streaked eyes watching him as she sucks at his fingers. The Ghoul feels the heat burning low in his stomach pushing forward, his breath getting caught in his chest. He wanted to feel her lips somewhere else, but that would have to wait. 

Cooper leans up to kiss her, tongue pushing as hers pushes back. Jade’s hands are moving to his belt and jeans, pulling at the scorpion buckle, he grins at her eagerness the two fumbling over one another. Finally having enough Jade rolls so she’s on top of him, dragging his worn pants down and tossing them aside. The Ghoul groans as his cock plops heavily onto his lower stomach, Jade swallows looking down at it then back at Cooper. 

He shifts a little, the attention making him feel exposed and raw to the world. Jade moves, her fingers reaching towards it, watching it twitch and leak at the tip. She bites her lip as she wraps her fingers around his cock. It’s not a thing of beauty, he had been average before, but radiation enhanced some things. Now it was thicker, more textured, and overall bigger than what you’d typically find. How she looks at it makes Cooper's stomach clench, her eyes wide with desire.

“Well,” Jade licks his lips, her fingers squeezing at the base before giving it a few strokes. Her small hands squeezing and twisting just right. “How the hell you hide this thing?”

Cooper’s head tips back laughter rolling out of him like thunder, Jade joins in the laughter, “I got two belts for a reason, Tiny,”

Jade raises her eyebrows as she starts to stroke him, the Ghoul rolling his hips back, “There is nothing tiny about that.” She comments, doing her best to hide the grin at his eyeballs. She licks her palm, making sure to watch Cooper as she reaches lower to cup his balls, the feeling making him twitch more. 

“Thought you-,” He groans as she twists at the top of his cock, rubbing her thumb over the slit. “Didn’t remember much.”

Jade continues her movements, the speed picking up, as a mischievous smile spreads across her face. “Muscle memory or something.” 

Cooper reaches up for her, she moves towards him, keeping one hand on his cock as she captures his lips. His hands find her thighs digging his nails in, the soft flesh a stark difference from his. She lifts herself up, rubbing him against her slit, before pushing back just enough for him to start to sink in. Jade's lips in a tight line as he starts to stretch her open. 

He groans, pulling her against his chest as Cooper stills himself so she can guide herself down onto him. It was torturously slow, and so perfect, their fingers digging into the other's skin. Arms wrapping around Jade’s waist holding her tight against him, her heart pounding rapidly against Cooper’s chest. She is incredibly tight, her muscles slowly easing him inside. Can feel his own heart picking up, as she slowly fits him entirely inside, her chest heaving as she sits there for a moment. It’s too long and too short all at the same time, then she is moving. Her hands are on his shoulders so that she can start to lift and arch her hips, a moan rips out of both of them. 

“Fuck me,” Jade groans, her voice breathy and broken, as her hips start to swivel in circles. “Please,”

Cooper grips her hips, helping her up and thrusting as she comes back down. The two have given up on being quiet. Raw sounds vibrate around the room, as they pick up the pace. Cooper can feel Jade’s nails dig into his shoulders, as his fingers dig into the flesh of her hips.

Groaning Cooper flips her over, steps off the bed, grabs her ankles, and drags her to the corner in one fluid movement that has her eyes wide and chest heaving. He doesn’t wait, instead manipulating her legs around his waist, Cooper lines up with one hand and slowly slides back inside her. He feels her clench down around him, making his mouth drop open.

“Damn, you feel so good,” He groans as he starts to fuck into her, looking down to watch as he squeezes inside of her. Jade bucks up as he pushes down, the heat in the place making her chest glisten as her tits bounce. It’s hypnotic to watch them move together, not able to take his eyes off of her.  

They find a rhythm quickly, as if they’d done this a hundred times before. Jade drags him down kissing him deeply, holding him close her hands moving against his skin like his own hands had. Knowing she wanted to remember this made the delirium so much better. He could feel the pull coming deep from within, he pulled back resting his forehead against hers. Jade leaning up to kiss around where his nose would have been.

“M’close,” She mumbles, her eyes rolling back as she keeps up with the brutal pace. 

Cooper wiggles his fingers between their hot sticky bodies, finding her swollen clit. She jolts as he touches it, “So sensitive,” He murmurs into her ear, finger making soft circles around the edges of her clit. 

Jade’s body reacts, hips arching, “Oh fuck,” She whines her body trembling, as he keeps going adjusting his hips ever so slightly. The way her body arches up, ridged, mouth open as she lets out a guttural moan. Cooper is not far after her, sliding back he slips out of her Jade wrapping her legs around his hips. They kiss deeply as Cooper quickly strips the over-sensitized flesh, his teeth biting into her lip as he growls. Cum shooting thick ropes out onto her stomach

The two collapse onto the bed in a sweaty mess, Jade has a lopsided grin on her face as her hands run up and down his back. Cooper’s heart pounding against her own heart, their breath ragged gasps as they come down from the high. 

“Gonna need another shower,” Cooper mumbles against her shoulder, carefully rolling onto the bed beside her. The two staring up at the ceiling, the two working on catching their breath. The whole place smells sweetly like sex and sweat. 

Jade snuggles against him, leaning her head against his chest. “Only if you scrub my back, and we do this again.”

Cooper chuckles, turning to face her. “Careful what you wish for darlin’. Might end up with a hitch in your step.”

“So many promises,” Jade teases, kissing under his chin. “Remember I regenerate, have to keep up with me.”

Cooper gives her a look, “And who in this bed has been regenerating longer.”

Jade giggles, “Look at us, arguing like a couple or something.”

Cooper smiles, leaning down to kiss her, holding her tight against him. “Or something.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Part 14

Need some happiness for these two! Let me know if you enjoyed it below <3

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[rosewaterandivy]

Part 4. all fired up

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by Trouble instead, depictions of drinking & drinking games, cursing, Eddie being shockingly graceful, and laundry room confessions

A/N: Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance. Here’s 3.8K of multi-perspective tension, sexual and otherwise, and timeline fuckery; feedback and reblogs are appreciated, enjoy!

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Now - Spring break, March

Steve asking you to move into the loft was the last thing you’d expected. Not that the house hunt had been going so hot, to be fair. And you found yourself back on the couch of 4B more often than not. 

He’d broached the topic with you a few weeks ago before school started. Seated at your desk and hastily applying your makeup using the mirror from a compact. Steve hung out with you most mornings before first period, shooting the shit and gossiping about students. Eddie and Robin would join you when they could, but usually it was just the two of you.

“Are we aligned for quarter 3?” You ask, attempting to curl your eyelashes without pinching yourself. “I’m doing Night just as you roll into WWII with AP World, yeah?”

Steve nods, “Right, we have the field trip to the Holocaust Memorial Museum before spring break, so that tracks.”

“Good,” you swipe mascara through your lashes. “We should send out the permission slips this week then. I’ll send out an email to parents if they wanna volunteer as chaperones.”

He goes quiet, as if he’s lost in thought while you begin the same meticulous process with your other eye. 

“Y’know Nance is moving out soon,” he says casually, his loafer toeing the tile on the floor. “Her and Jonathan finally found a place; she’s thinking she’ll be out in time for spring break.”

“Ugh, finally,” you comment, setting the lash curler down. “Thought the day would never come.”

He laughs at your flippant response, watching as you continue your routine. And just as you were going to consider your makeup application for the day ‘mission accomplished,’ Steve says, “The room’s yours, if you want it.”

Shocked, you nearly stab yourself in the eye with the mascara wand, tears beading at your lash line, “Fuck!” 

Dropping the wand and compact, you screw your eye shut in pain thus ruining your mascara. May as well accept you’d walk around looking like a raccoon again. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

“Are you okay?”

“Considering that I nearly put my own eye out? Yeah, I’m just peachy.”

He cringes watching as you blink, “Sorry, that was probably my bad.”

“How,” you laugh, pain dissipating slightly, “I don’t recall asking you to do my makeup today.”

“No,” he huffs, “I mean with the whole asking you to move in thing. Shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that.”

Surveying the damage in the mirror, you admit defeat and grab for the makeup removing towelettes. “Mmhm, really missed an opportunity to wine and dine me there, big guy.”

The joke lands like a lead balloon. Ba dum tss!

You scrub the towelette across your face, paying special attention to your overly mascara’d eye, and pop open your moisturizer. “It’s not a big deal Steve, and you’re not wrong to bring it up.”

“Yeah, how you figure?”

Your shrug dotting on your moisturizer, “Solves two problems, doesn’t it? You need a roommate and I need a place to live.” 

He stays quiet as you finish your ablutions, omitting the fact that they don’t necessarily need another roommate to make rent since his trust fund kicked in. But then again, Eddie and Robin don’t know that either.

“I guess,” he says, checking his watch. “Well, no pressure, either way. But I gotta bounce, I have hall duty.”

“Sure,” your voice is a clip as you zip the makeup bag shut, “See ya later.”

He gives you a small smile and wave as he leaves. The door closes behind him; the silence left in his absence deafening.

“It’s too soon, Nance,” Robin says, voice a crackle in the slow, calm of the morning. 

Nancy considers her words, taking a sip of coffee from her travel mug. And true, Robin knows Steve well and is understandably protective over him. But Nancy knows you and Steve, and that you’re both chickenshit.

“Maybe so,” she breathes, eyes glancing out the window and settling on Steve helping you to unload a few boxes from your car. A half-hearted shrug, “But then again, maybe not.”

She had made quick work of moving out, room packed in an orderly fashion and boxes labeled appropriately. The moving company arrived promptly and Nancy had successfully moved out of the loft before you had arrived that morning.

Jonathan and Argyle would meet the movers at the house, and she’d head out then. For now, she observed the debacle unfolding on the street outside of the loft. You had packed your car in typical fashion, which was …chaotic, to say the least. When you and Steve couldn’t free a box wedged against the window of the backseat, you hollered from the street for Eddie until he woke up.

Understandably pissed, he trudged out of the loft in his sweatpants and a crop top that had to have been Robin’s at one point (a goldenrod yellow shirt with red text reading ‘Lasagna Del Rey’), muttering something about you being a dumbass. And now, Steve and Eddie eyed the boxes warily, debating how best to wrest them from the backseat and trunk.

“Sup, bitches?” You greet, having successfully snuck away from the boys downstairs, and drop your purse and a box by the door. “Ooh, are the girls fighting yet?” 

Joining them at the window, you spy Steve yelling something at Eddie, who has taken it upon himself to open the sunroof of your car, thinking that the best way to unload the ridiculous amount of boxes in the backseat. He’s laid himself partially out on the roof and trunk, shoving an arm in through the opening, like a human claw machine.

“For fuck’s sake,” Nancy says with a shake of her head, “They don’t have a brain cell to rub together between to two of them.”

Robin snorts, phone out and already recording for posterity’s sake. “You can say that again.”

The boys, only somewhat successful in unpacking the car, badger the group of you in the loft until you’re annoyed enough to come downstairs and help. By the time the movers had arrived and placed the furniture in your new bedroom, your car had been unpacked, boxes organized by Nancy in the kitchen for the time being.

“The end of an era,” you say, hugging her goodbye. “Can’t believe the great Nancy Wheeler is shipping out to war.”

Robin and Eddie laugh from the living room, where they’re currently preoccupied laying out beers some semblance of a shape, a bottle of whiskey at the center of the coffee table.

She hits your shoulder playfully, “It won’t be that bad,” she tells you, “S’not like I’m dying over here.”

“Sorry, what was that?” You turn to Steve, stubbornly ignoring her presence, “I swear, it’s like she’s in the room with us.”

“Spooky,” Robin agrees, with a waggle of her brows, “I can’t remember the last time I saw Nancy Wheeler.”

She scoffs behind you, “Okay punks, I can take a hint,” and places her key on the counter. 

Steve pulls her into a bearhug and says, “Oh, y’think you’re getting out of here without a rematch?”

Nancy pushes back, eyeing him warily. “You wanna go toe to toe with the reigning champ?” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” you cut in, strolling casually to the living room and catching the beer Eddie tosses your way. “We’re all adults here.” Your voice is eerily calm and reserved, “We can do this with dignity, self-restraint, and, dare I say, honor.”

Robin grins, “The name of the game is True American,” tosses two beers Steve’s way.

Eddie counts it down, “One, two, three, four. JFK!”

“FDR!” is chorused in return. 

Beers are cracked open and shotgunned with abandon.

“Steve, you’re in the lava!” you shout from your perch on the dining table, “Get outta there man.”

He stops drinking his beer and looks at you, puzzled, “I thought this was Nancy Reagan’s gun closet.”

“George Washington, Abe Lincoln,” Eddie croons, as you reach out to haul Steve on the table with you.

“Cherry tree!”

Robin whistles, swaying precariously on the windowsill, “All right Americans, ya ready? Let’s do the count.”

“One, two, three.”

You slap the back of your hand to your forehead, one finger raised and inspect everyone else’s numbers; Nance and Robin both had threes, while Eddie came at a close second with a two, Steve was dead last with a four. 

Squinting, you smile and call out, “That’s me!” Moving unilaterally from the tabletop and stepping across a chair and stool to take your new position.

Steadying yourself on the countertop, you signal for their attention. “The only thing we have to fear–”

“Is fear itself!” they call back in response, “Drink!”

_

An hour or so later finds you several beers in and slung across Eddie’s back in a piggyback ride as he steps precariously across blankets and pillows.

“Jimmy Carter atop Grover Cleveland,” you say softly as he takes his turn, well both your turns since it’s turned into a team game now.  

He stops and looks from left to right, “What now?”

Untangling an arm from where you’d wrapped it around his shoulders, you point to the right. “Over here.”

“Huh,” he grunts swaying slightly, “M’over here,” and moves another space to the right.

“I gotta get to the castle!” Nancy yells, hopping toward the coffee table with the help of an overturned barstool.

“Go, Nance, go!” you cheer her on, safely deposited on an armchair near the couch.

“JFK!”

“FDR,” you chant, taking another swig of beer, watching as Steve and Robin intertwine arms to pour beer into the other’s mouth. Most of Seve’s spilling out and onto his shirt as Robin laughs.

_

“Y’know,” Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair, “You’re pretty good at this Nance.”

She smiles, toasts him with her beer can, and takes a bow.

He thumbs his lip, eyes glinting dangerously. 

“But not good enough.”

Slowly, you meandered from the armchair to the coffee table while Steve was distracted and grab the handle of whisky; check mate. You wave to Eddie from where he’s stood next to Steve. 

“D-does this–” he blinks at you, dazed.

Steve turns quickly from Eddie to you and back again. “What–No!”

“Is it–” Eddie continues, treading carefully across the floor to the coffee table. “This means we win?!”

“Yes,” you crow loudly, “This means we won! Suck it Steve–who’s the King now!?” 

Eddie picks you up and swings you around in victory chanting, “U.S.A., U.S.A.!” Your bright laughter rings out amidst Steve’s groans of defeat. 

The next morning finds you all piled on your bed, groaning as the spring sun lances through the windows. Your brain is mush, leaking from your ears it feels like. You turn to get out of bed, cursing the sloshing of your stomach. Still reeling from your celebration after winning True American, you flop on the floor with an audible thunk and belly crawl toward the door.

“You okay?” a low rasp, followed by the rustling of sheets.

You grunt as someone scoops you from the floor, dragging you upwards. Body limp as a ragdoll’s you allow yourself to be carried out of the room, hazarding a glance behind to see Robin, Nancy, and Eddie still passed out on the bed.

Mmm, must be Steve then. 

He was always quick to rally after nights spent barhopping in college, kept his liquor better than you ever could. Hands scrabbling for something to hold on to, you settle for the threadbare fabric of his shirt. He shifts you in his grasp, readjusting the grip he has on you and sighs.

“You’re…freakishly…quiet,” he whispers as he deposits you on the couch, leaning forward to get a better look at you, hair falling in his face. 

Batting your hand at him blearily, you burrow down into the couch hugging a pillow for good measure. Steve leaves you, starting the coffeemaker in the kitchen and mumbling about the moving boxes cluttering the counters.

“Everything is shit.” You whine, “Fucking True American… Fucking whiskey. My bones hurt. I feel like I’m dying. My sweat is sweating. Did I even fall asleep in my own bedroom?”

Steve snorts because at least he wasn’t that sloppy. He doesn’t remember a lot from last night, but something like clarity returns to him, a chorus of cheers and something being tossed. “Was that before or after you took off your panties?”

You whimper and bury your forehead into the pillow beneath you, cheeks coloring in embarrassment. “You remember that? S’last time I rock a lace thong, felt like my ass was eating it.”

He shuts his eyes at the image, tries not comment on anything involving your ass. Instead he asks, “So how do we want the coffee this morning? Regular strength or trying to vibrate yourself out of existence?”

“Jus’ wanna feel normal again. Remember? Bones hurt.”

Steve hums in the affirmative, pouring the coffee into two mugs and adding a splash of creamer to one. He pads over to you, sets both mugs on the table and lets you choose. Opting for the black coffee, you take a bitter sip hoping to feel something other than remorse.

“Mmm, s’gonna be that kinda day I see.”

“All due respect, which is none,” you grouse, “You can fuck all the way off, Steve.”

He sputters the next mouthful at your response, and it catches in his nose, makes him choke and cough all over the coffee table. You suddenly follow suit, except it’s on your own spit and the two of you look like complete morons to Eddie, who is sauntering in, completely fine.

“Told you to lay off the whiskey last night, Trouble,” he says reproachingly. He pauses by the hallway entrance before walking out into the living room, stepping on the back of the armchair with the grace of a prima ballerina. You and Steve gape at how he balances on the back of it, reaching up toward the ceiling.

With a thump he lands back down, arm pulling back before a tiny purple thong quietly smacks Steve in the face.

“What the fuck!?” You shove Steve off of the couch in a poor effort to retrieve your unmentionables. He grunts and shakes it loose, one hand pushing your face back as the other grips your thong. He opens his mouth to cuss out Eddie but the look on his face shuts you both up.

Eddie looks like a dog with a bone. The cat who caught the canary. Smug and casual as he leans against the counter, arms crossed as he looks from your pink face to Steve’s, to the triangle of fabric in your hand. Eddie waggles his brows, sucks on his teeth, and grins– shit-eatingly proud.

“Thought you’d want those back, Stevie. You’re the one who took ’em off her last night.”

The rest of the day slips by lazily. Jonathan collecting Nancy around noon or so, offended at having missed a rousing game of True American. They say their goodbyes and head off to the new house, leaving the rest of you to clean up from last night and unpack the boxes in the kitchen.

Steve is trying to do laundry. He prefers to do it himself, though Robin always offers to throw it in with her stuff. That’s fine though, he’s got a system, one he’s perfected over years of uninterrupted Sundays doing laundry. 

Anyway, he’s trying to do laundry when you saunter in.

On top of an empty dryer, you swing your legs uselessly. “Harrington,” you instruct seriously, “Don’t put the red sock in with the white stuff.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he retorts sifting through his hamper. Separating out the darks from the lights, whites elsewhere—it’s a system. 

You tilt your head, amused, and stare at him. It’s midafternoon now, the boxes had been unpacked and your own items absorbed into the communal drawers and spaces of the loft. Robin and Eddie busied themselves with their usual activities, whatever those were, and the loft had been quiet save for the a/c kicking on.

“D’ya wanna talk about it?”

Your hesitant to ask, voice soft as you bite your lip. He stops sorting the clothes to look at you, brow furrowed. 

“Talk about what?”

It’s only then that he notices you’re wearing his shirt. He shouldn’t be surprised, not really, you’re like a raccoon, always rifling through his shit and stealing his stuff. As if he wouldn’t notice.

An old white t-shirt from some vintage store or another that read ‘Stanley Cup.’ It swallows you, the white dips and stretches over your chest, and drops as its hem reaches the tops of your thighs. Your bare legs stick out, bottoms obscured by its larger size. You’re distracted by the material and fit, fingers tugging at the collar and adjusting the sleeves.

Something feels weird. Kind of funny like how a jab to the side hurts and tickles at the same time. Shock? Relief? Confusion, at the very least. He catches himself staring.

“Y’know,” you say after a while, hand stroking at your sternum languidly, “Christmas? We should get it out in the open.”

That snaps him out of it.

“Don’t you mean Thanksgiving?” 

He goes back to sorting the clothes, anything to distract himself in the moment.

“What do you mean? Thanksgiving?”

If he had to pinpoint it, the moment this whole thing was set off for him, it was that first night in the cabin over Thanksgiving break. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, could barely keep his hands to himself.

He sighs, brushing away the hair that had fallen into his eyes frustratedly, “Yeah. When the idiots conned us into a one-bed-short situation? You got drunk, and I had to take care of you?”

He just stops himself from saying, like always. Just barley, but he does it. Steve knows this has been difficult for you, doesn’t want to belabor the point.

“Oh,” you say. It’s soft, maybe a little dejected, too. Your legs stop their idle swinging. “Sorry, I didn’t know—”

“S’fine,” he says with a wave of his hand, tosses in a load of dark clothes to the washer. “I mean, we probably should discuss it. Just for like, ground rules or something.”

He eyeballs the amount of laundry detergent and shuts the machine, turning the dial and pressing ‘start.’ As the washer begins its cycle, he leans back against it, arms crossed. 

You take a deep breath in, “I didn’t want you to be that guy,” you admit, voice catching. “I couldn’t— I wouldn’t do that to you, Steve.”

“Then why did you–” he responds after a second, pausing to make eye contact, watches your wavering expression, wincing as you recall the events of last December.

“Jesus, Stevie,” you say gently, “You’re--my best friend.”

The door of the loft bursts open as he begins to reply. He takes you aside in the hallway, further from the laundry and closer to your bedroom. Hears Robin shout something about take-out orders, but dismisses it for the time being.

This isn’t for anyone except you and him. You can’t even articulate it to yourself, much less anyone else, so Steve nudges you into your room and shuts the door. You turn to him and the look in your eyes makes his breath stick to his throat. Jesus.

This is worse than sympathy and he wishes it were that simple. But this is heartbreak— and you’re the type of person who feels heartbreak in unimaginable ways. Steve shakes his head, doesn’t know how to navigate this part.

The first time this happened, he joked for your sake, and you laughed back for his. You both were younger then, inexperienced and wary; fumbling hands and lips after the Homecoming dance. The last time this happened, the glances were more pointed, the touches were measured and precise.

He’s thought about that night more than he’d care to admit.

Your mouth falls open in a hoarse whisper, “Sorry— I’m—”

“Hey, none of that,” he chides taking a step closer. “S’nothing to worry about.”

“But I—” you choke up, “I hurt you, Steve. I hurt you so much.”

He sucks a breath in. It was a lifetime ago. It was nothing. He was young and dumb and interested in Nancy, your best friend, and not the girl next door. And then, when he had realized his mistake, you were in love with somebody else— wearing his ring and planning to take his name.

Idiot.

He wishes he had a similar excuse for Christmas, but god knows he doesn’t. No excuse whatsoever, just raw feeling and need. He shakes the thought loose before it can take hold. Steve’s hands find purchase along your arms, his weight the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“But I’m okay. I’m good now. I got you with me. I’m okay.” All his rambling rushes out through a harried stream-of-consciousness. His thumbs running smooth circles against your skin, “You— You gotta stop cryin’. It’s killin’ me, honey.”

You blink your eyes, not recognizing the tears beading along your lashes. You press your palms into your eyes, take a deep breath in and out. “Okay.”

You keep to yourself for the rest of the day, only coming out for food when the take-out arrives. And even then, you eat quickly and make some excuse about needing to organize your room before leaving the table. 

Robin eyes Steve suspiciously, “You two alright?”

He leaves the table rather than respond and follows you down the hall. Your door is cracked open, laptop playing some sitcom or other on the desk as you fold clothes on your bed. You pause hearing the groan of an old floorboard, “That you Steve?”

“Yeah, s’just me.” 

Not turning from your task, you wave him in over your shoulder and continue pairing socks. He helps you return the clothes to their respective drawers and flops on your bed, exhausted, while you shut your laptop closed.

“Guess you’re staying then.”

“Guess so,” his voice is muffled by your impossibly comfortable duvet. Like clouds or some shit, Steve wonders passingly where you got it from.

Half-heartedly, you shove him to the side and turn down the sheets. You pat the side next to you and fluff up some pillows. He lays down next to you on the bed, propped up against a pillow or two, settling down for the night.

Steve watches as you burrow down in the sheets, mumble something incomprehensibly, body sliding briefly until you’re completely pressed against him. He tugs the blanket up and shifts so he can lie down comfortably, grabs your phone from the center of the bed.

He’s looking at your background wallpaper when you mumble something unintelligible in your sleep again. It’s a picture of him from a Zoom faculty meeting during the pandemic, brows raised at something some dumbass had said, you’d texted him a moment earlier saying ‘this idiot saying the quiet part out loud’ and he had to cover his laugh with a cough; you’d isolated his cell on the call and posed next to his face as it filled the screen of your monitor, a cheeky grin and thumbs up as Eddie snapped the photo.

A short sigh followed by a deeper one. “Yeah, you know.”

“Uh huh,” Steve smirks, entertaining your babbling. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.” A grunt, a huff of breath before you flip on your side, dreaming now. “Yeah. I love you.”

Steve fumbles and drops the phone on the floor, its screen going dark. He stares wordlessly at the deep blue of your ceiling, sleep-drunk words sinking to the bottom of his swollen heart.

[octopiys]

The Screaming, Heaving, Fuckery of the World

Relationships(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

Warnings: blood, violence, explosions, Soap faints like a Victorian woman, religious imagery, Graves

Chapter 4

"-ell's fucking bells!" Johnny had exclaimed over the comm, surprise and fright written clear in his voice. It took Ghost a minute to find his comm button, was it a minute too late? But then Johnny continued. "Do... D'ya see the caged dog?" He was quiet.

The other man wasn't far behind him, in fact, he had avoided the house almost entirely. The dog was originally chained outside, frothing and barking its head off at Ghosts's sudden approach, alerting a few Shadows in the process. He slunk back into the darkness of the looming houses and kept moving. They must've put the dog inside after that.

"Big geezer. If he barks, shoot him and repo quickly." He had responded. A few more moments of silence, and he realized that Johnny wouldn't engage with it, either.

"Yer st-ne cold, Simon." Came Soap's reply, effectively stopping his heart for a second, at least.

Simon. He called him Simon. But Simon wasn't here, not anymore, Ghost was. This was Ghost. This is what happened when he killed Simon. There was nothing left of the man who came before.

Was there?

"What has two legs and bleeds?" Ghost changed the subject suddenly, was it too suddenly? He didn't know. But he had something to quickly ease the situation that his own mind had created, an endless pit of darkness that threatened to swallow him whole.

"-on't....Don't tell me...." Soap's strained reply came, as Ghost went quiet. Two of Graves' men had rounded the corner of the square, bickering amongst themselves. Americans. He recognized them as two of the younger transfers, ones Graves had put in for personally, 3-1, and 3-2. 3-2 was a bit of a pretentious ass, which is why he could see Graves had wanted him. 3-1, on the other hand, seemed to be in slight support of the 141, before being quickly shut down by 3-2. They entered a house and were gone. He kept moving.

"'Alf a dog." He replied, smirking to himself without knowing at John's horrified response.

After that, there was a bit of quiet on the other end of the Station, aside from the two's different breathing and the rain, it was quiet calm. Too calm.

Something splashed behind him, and Ghost turned on a dime, firing his silenced pistol twice into the one who snuck up on him, but not before the attacker fired.

The Shadow dropped to the ground, red spilling profusely from his chest and he weakly reached to radio. Ghost kicked his hand away and watched the light fade from his eyes.

"Give me a sit rep." Ghost said, trying to stifle his own wound. It wasn't anything major, but the bullet grazed his leg, leaving a less than deep laceration on his thigh. He pulled some supplies off the body and bandaged it up, tying himself a tourniquet around the upper leg of his pants, wincing.

"I'm outside. Gated alley." Soap said, the strain in his voice now only slightly worrying Ghost more.

"Stick to the sides. Stay low." He advised, glancing around his area and deciding to keep heading towards the church. One of his knives soon became embedded in another silent attacker, but the barks of men below him made him stumble for escape.

"Copy."

"You may get a brag rag for this." Ghost said, cutting himself off as he painfully hit the ground after vaulting himself from a window.

"A medal...?" Soap asked.

It took a second for Ghost to respond, the makeshift bandages bleeding through on the impact, and he crouched behind an ac unit, trying to fix it. "Chest candy."

"That's all rubbish." Ghost could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

"Said you wanted a win. Congratulations. You're a winner." He deadpanned. The bleeding slowed, only a little.

"Away an bile yer heid...!" Soap spat, thoroughly confusing Ghost more than the other man usually does.

"English, Mactavish..." Ghost murmured, doing a quick inventory check. He was down three of five knives, and he had probably six good bullets left in his gun. Gotta make them count, somehow.

"Sorry sir, let me translate. Go fuck yourself."

"Much better." Simon smiled.

Soon enough, he found his way into the church through a hole in the locked iron gate. He snuck through around the back, the janitorial door having been left unlocked. Surprisingly enough, the church was empty. Firelight spilled through the stained glass onto the floor, highlighting the pews like it was a hint.

Ghost wasn't a religious man, never wanted to be, never will. The effects of Simon's father had made good on that. He left the pews behind, and found the staircase leading to the steeple.

"Church is on the north side of the city." Ghost informed, the stairs taking him longer than usual with a wounded leg. "I'm gonna find a sniper position in the church tower. Find your way there, you might just make it."

There was a pause before Mactavish responded. "Graves is roundin' up cops...."

"He's judge, jury, and executioner now." Ghost snarled, looking through a bin he had found that had spilled its contents down the staircase. It almost made him trip up, not having seen it all in the darkness. He wished he still had his flashlight, but he had lost it somewhere between he and Johnny, no matter how far that was.

"Found a bottle."

Ghost's mind jumped into gear. "Use it as a distraction if you're in a pinch."

There were a few minutes of silence that confusingly worried Ghost. He worked alone, he didn't care much if that's how he continued doing so. But for once, once in a very long time, he hoped that would be the case.

"Worked li-e a charm." Soap crackled over the radio.

Ghost breathed out a sigh of relief. "Told ya. Listen to me for once, and you might just learn something."

"-big boy with the skull, and you're already dead." He heard another voice, mousely quiet. Background noise. Johnny told him he had picked up a few items that Ghost recognized that could be made into an impromptu smoke bomb.

"Sweet, I like it." Soap smiled, he could hear.

"Guarantee you they won't."

"I wanna - English motherf-ckers. The one with the sk-l and the leprechaun." More background noise he could hear. Soap had forgotten to click his mic off.

"Leprechauns-? Dude, th-'re Irish, I - you." Sounded who he could barely recognize as 3-1.

"Yea -udes with the skirts."

"It's ca----d a kilt."

"It's a dude in a dress. That's all I know." 3-1 said. Ghost took a shaky breath. He'd kill him if he ever saw him again. This can't stand.

"You- an a--ho-" The comm cut off abruptly. John must've noticed, but that didn't keep Ghost's blood from boiling. How close was he, already?

"Ghost, you missing a knife?" Soap asked suddenly.

"Several." Ghoat reached a door at the top of the staircase, barely winded, but his leg hurt like a bitch.

"I think I found one."

"Some of the dead Shadows are my handiwork." He said proudly, trying the handle. Locked.

"Ya come through here?"

"On my way to the church." Right before he bucked himself through a window and his behind the air conditioning.

"And ya left me?" Soap sounded betrayed, leaving a pang in Simon's chest.

"I'm used to working alone." He defended, being the first thing that came to mind.

"So much for no man left behind." The other man grumbled.

"Just get yourself to the church." Ghost replied, quietly. "Busy trying to keep you alive and get here in one piece. One of us needs to survive to tell the tale." The last part he didn't exactly mean, but it still came out that way. He wanted them both to get out alive, or Johnny at the least. But there was always that feeling in the back of his mind that any mission he took with someone else, they never turned out well. He worked alone for a reason.

He was cursed, after all.

Soap paused, unsuccessfully hiding a shaky voice. "....what're my odds?"

"Don't make me bet against you. You still got a lot of ground to cover." He said softly. His way of apologizing.

"Found a mousetrap." Soap informed suddenly.

"Very useful." He whispered, breaking through the door, using the butt his other empty gun to bash the handle.

"Can act li-e a tri--er?" John had asked, sounding hopeful.

"Good, Johnny. Not an airstrike, but it'll do." He murmured, setting a few of his things down to secure the door.

He could hear John's breath catch on the other end, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in amusement.

"Black powder...." Oh. Not the reason he thought.

"This could get interesting..." Ghost said, getting in a snipers position after securing the door, the jostle of his gear unwillingly adjusting his mic, and sending a fresh throb through his leg.

It was a few minutes before he heard shouting on the other end. Johnny had gotten rather close to the comm, his breathing ragged, he could hear, and other voices started the trickle through, shouting commands.

"Mactavish? What's going over there?" He asked, feeling his blood pressure start to rise.

Static.

"Soap?"

....

"Johnny! Come in!"

He was almost shouting into the mic. Had they gotten to him? Had Graves found him? Was he dead?

"Mactavish!! Johnny! Status, Johnny!!" He was full on shouting now, foolishly not caring if any of the enemy heard him from his perch. Worry was evident in his voice, but he did not care.

A drawn out groan from the speaker. "......fuckkk..."

"Soap! Soap, come in! Sit r- Sit rep, Johnny!" He commanded anxiously.

"Copy, Simon." A vague mumble.

"Bloody christ, Johnny. What the fuck happened?" He took a minute to calm himself down.

"Not sure. Blacked out.... I think...." The Sergeant trailed off, voice wavering.

"Stay with me, Johnny. Find a gun." If there's anything that Ghost can relate to, it's pain. Or more of, getting through it. In his head, if you can focus on something else, than it'll distract you from the fact that your life could be about to end momentarily. It wasn't healthy, Price made him sure to know that much, but it was a mechanism he hadn't been able to shake.

"Got yer knife..." Soap said, his voice fading in and out.

"Not for suprise combat you don't. How injured are you?" He almost scolded him for not telling sooner.

".......arm." Soap said weakly. He could hear the self hatred in the admittance.

"I stand corrected." He softened his voice, only slightly. "Stifle the bleeding. We'll get you outta there." Ghost promise.

Johnny screamed on the other end, almost shorting out his comm.

"SOAP?!" Ghost panicked.

Silence.

"Killed a Shadow." The other man whispered.

"Take his gun, move on. We'll deal with it later." Ghost's voice was still soft, surprising himself. He knew how the Sergeant must be feeling. We'll deal with it later, when we're safe....

"Ghost...." Soap started.

"All clear?" He asked.

"Appears to be."

"Good. Stay on guard and keep moving to the church." Ghost hesitated, but asked anyways. "Feeling weak, are you?"

"...a bit shaky sir, yeah." Mactavish said faintly.

"Graves tried to kill us. Makes sense you'd be a bit off. Find a stim. It'll give you a good boost." Ghost advised, taking out a too curious Shadow near the gate.

The rain was coming down hard now, almost obscuring his vision. The streets were starting to flood, and Ghost watched, as if mesmerized, as the Shadow's blood flooded out, mixing with the water, and going down a storm drain.

"It's pishin' it doon out here." Soap grumbled incoherently.

"Speak english." Ghost groaned in frustration.

"It's raining fucking hard." Soap, the Now American with a Terrible American Accent, said. Ghost's lips twitched.

"Then say so."

"I did!" Soap replied, mock offended.

"Rain'll cover your tracks." Ghost said, taking aim on a group of Graves' men that were crawling the streets like rats, just discovering their fallen comrade.

"It'll cover theirs too. Found a stim." He heard the slight squeak that Mactavish made when he presumably stabbed himself with said stim. Undeniably....

"Let's just focus on you, Johnny." He murmured, shifting.

"So you do like me." Soap's smug scottish accent purred through the mic.

Ghost choked, unwillingly. "I- I like you alive..." He spluttered. Nice save, Simon. Ghost.

"Ghost...."

"Soap?"

"Found a tripwire attached to a shotgun. Disarmed it. Took the gun. It's nice..." Soap was clearly more excited about it than he let on.

"Open hearts and open minds with it Johnny." He paused, watching a clearly defined figure nove into the streets and curse loudly enough to hear over the rain. The commander. "Graves is burning the midnight oil to find us, Johnny. Why?"

"Graves and Shepherd are both involved." Soap theorized, but it was as much as correct as Ghost hoped. "No matter what, this is an unprecedented amount of fuckery." Johnny was angry. Simon almost laughed. "We need to get to the bottom of it."

"Deadly accurate shots are one way. Right now, we're not safe here." Ghost said to enforce, just in case.

"Right now...? We're not safe anywhere L.t." The Sergeant's anger wasn't misplaced, but he had no other outlet. He went quiet after that. Until... "L.t., about to play rough with the Shadows..."

"I like the sound o' that." Ghost grumbled affirmively..

"Fashioned a trip mine."

"A man after my own heart." Ghost responded, sounding almost fond. Simon.

God, he had to shut himself down. Not again.

"You have a heart?" Soap interrupted his thoughts.

"A cold one."

"I'm in the coffee shop." Soap informed the Lieutenant. He almost had a visual.

"Get us a tea."

"Fucking Brits..." Johnny breathed, sending a flare through Ghost's chest.

Shut it down, Simon.

"Yer gonna owe me for this." Soap said in a warning.

"Why?" Ghost asked curiously. As far as he knew, Johnny would owe him, not the other way around.

"We're fixing each other's problems." He said it like the simplest thing in the world. There was too much of him to fix, and he wasn't entirely sure Johnny could fix them all. Could he?

"What's my problem?"

"The mask.... take it off." Mactavish whined, sending Simon into a heated full body flush.

"Sh- Show my face?" Ghost stammered.

"Yes sir."

".....Negative."

He can't look himself in the mirror. It was December 26th. The day after Christmas. There was blood running down the drain, from his wounds, and from whatever washed off of him. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn't get the light heaviness of Joseph off his palms. He was so small, so broken- he was-

"Are you ugly?" That was one thing he... enjoyed, about Soap. He cut straight to the point. No sugarcoating.

It was his fault, he believed. Simon's. The moment of letting guard down. They were gone. He could see the mirror. The Ghost of who he was shined back at him. Soulless. Unfeeling.

The mirror shattered on impact.

"Quite the opposite."

"I doubt that."

Ghost debated killing Graves then and there. He was too distracted.

The commander stormed down an alleyway, for lack of words. The combination of the wind and rain chilled Ghost. He hoped Soap was doing okay.

"Johnny... Towns full o' tunnels. One leads out across from the church. Be advised. The tunnel is flooded." He warned. "Prepare for a cold swim."

"Can't wait." Soap responded sarcastically.

He had managed to avoid the tunnels entirely, but he wished he had gone through them, for he wouldn't have the pain in his leg if he did.

"Found some oil!" Soap said enthusiastically.

For a few intervals of time, he heard gunfire. It seemed like someone had gotten onto Soap. But it continued. He held onto the sliver of hope he had bathed himself in.

"Oil, bottle, find some rope for a wick..... Time for a cocktail." Ghost mused, wiping some rainwater from his scope.

"You still standing, Johnny?" He asked when the gunfire ceased.

"Think I'm clear...." Came his stressed response.

"Good. Stay sharp and meet me at the church."

Soap eased himself into the cold water of the flooded tunnel. By 'easing himself,' he means mindlessly sliding down the algefied slope with no way to stop himself or prepare him for the cold. The water iced him all the way done to the bone, and he chattered almost immediately. "Creepin bloody jesus...- Ghost-"

"Talk to me Johnny." Came the Lieutenant's immediate reply.

"Found the tunnel."

"The church plaza is on the other end of the tunnel. Push through, you're nearly there." He couldn't help but hear the anxiety in the usually emotionless man's voice.

Something fired, and pinged wildlessly off the walls. Shadows had found their way into the sewers.

"Ghost! I got Shadows wearing body armor!" He called, not being able to keep his voice quiet, and fired back. "Here we go...."

"You'll have to get in close and find the gaps." Ghost said quickly.

"Rog." This meant he had to swim. God, what kind of foreign materials and bacteria would get in his shoulder.... He didn't even want to think about it. He ducked under the surface of the water, only popping back up for air or to shoot a Shadow in the back, their blood mingling with his, and the other nuances in the water.

Soon enough, he found the staircase that lead upwards. He came out roadside, the church and its towers in wondrous glory.

"Got eyes on the church?" Ghost asked.

"Aye. I think I found a way in." Soap said, hopping a fence. He wasn't as graceful as he'd wished, landing on his feet and stumbling some. Ghost was always graceful when he jumped a fence. The perfect control over his entirety of body mass movement. And that ass-

Hold on a minute.

He shook himself free from his thoughts, an indescribable look crossing his face.

"-crawling with Shadows. I'll hold em off until we RV in front of the church and secure a vehicle for exfil." Ghost had continued speaking over Johnny's thoughts.

"Roger that." He agrees, moving through the hallway.

"Give em hell, Johnny, we're almost there." Ghost encouraged, and he could hear the slight slip in his voice into something else unidentifiable. He'd have to ask later.

There was a door into the courtyard he had to get through, fashioning a prying tool he used to open it. It opened much easier than the others, mainly because of the help from a not so friendly nor helpful Shadow. He seemed as surprised as Johnny felt, uttering his confusion before body checking the Scot, sending him flinging to the floor. John cursed, raising his gun in his left hand, his right arm to pained to do much with from the impact on the floor.

"All Shadow stations, got one near the church!" The attacker said into his comm, kicking the gun from his hand.

"Kill him!" There was one unmistakable voice that he did not wish to hear right now. Graves.

Just then, the soldiers exclaimed, and his body jerked as a bullet pierced his chest. He went down like a lead balloon, trying to stop himself from bleeding.

"Holy hell...." Soap grabbed his gun. "Ghost, was that you?" He put a bullet through the helmet of the Shadow.

"Who else? Now go!" Ghost was pissed. This was not a good sign for anyone who he had deemed an enemy. So... that meant everyone.

He ran into the courtyard, sliding to a stop behind a car, firing some at the oncoming soldiers.

"Give me a bloody break.... Ghost, how copy?" Soap yelled into the comm. "Ghost! How copy!?"

"Got -ompany in --- church! They're not here for forgiveness!" Ghost ruggedly shouted back as gunfire raged in the background. "Get to the -- steps! I'll be there!"

"Copy L.t!" Soap ran.

He ran for what his life was worth, but bothering to fire backwards, or fire at all unless someone was directly in front of him that wasn't Ghost. None of them were.

The church was in sight, and well in reach. He slid on the wet cobblestone, but kept his forward motion. He could see a figure at the open doorway.

Ghost.

Something was flung overheard, a small round object sailing through the air. It fell through a window of a car he was just about to pass, and he realized too late what it was.

Everything turned dark the second after he was sent flying.

The grenade blew, launching the car into immediate flames.

masterlist | prev. / next

taglist: open

[dragongirlsnout]

underappreciated category of TASes: mario party TASes that aim not to finish a game as fast as possible, but instead to get as many stars as possible in as few turns as possible

imagine sitting down for a nice friendly 8-player game to instead have one team make several thousand coins off of rolling sextuple fives on every turn and buy 3-4 stars in a row on a classic-style board. all of the minigames are also a great showcase of TAS fuckery

[davekat-sucks]

I do have to say that anon who soeculated on Dirk’s role does have a good idea for where the plot may be going and the setup for Dirk’s ultimate session, although I never considered the horrorterror session, generally because I have a hard tike taking it seriously. What’s notable as well is apparently it was 48 players that made the 48 zodiac signs of Alternia, but that got retconned to 288 signs of Hiveswap. What I think Dirk is doing is two-fold.

1. Dirk states in the epilogues this is being done to maintain the existence of their Universe. Homestuck is shoulder-deep in metatextual fuckery so of course the characters treat the in-universe existence of canon as real and like a story they exist in. If the story ends, the characters will decay away into unobserved, undefined, and untended void of irrelevance. Without us, the audience to pay attention to the narrative and characters of Homestuck, Homestuck doesn’t exist. Of course, narratives need conflict, and Dirk makes a new session to run a new overarching story that keeps Dirk and Rose in focus, and in a sense the cast alive. It could have gone a lot of different ways but Dirk is better at abrupt action than long term planning, the real plan comes from the second reason.

Earth C is the Cherub’s birth planet. Billions of years after Earth is ruined, a cherub will lay the egg of Caliborn and Calliope inland a ruined field somewhere on the dead planet, with only communications via a radio tower that transcends the narrative… Hussie’s IP server!

Of course, the earth now orbits a red giant with all the water evaporated and food wasted, so they are cared for by Gamzee who got sucked into the black hole caused by Lord Jack’s big-ass head implosion in [S] collide, giving that version of Jack his one true purpose: to die and transport the cherubim guardian to the right place.

Now the next requirement for Earth C to house the Cherubs is all the immortal Gods to be gone. Inevitably over the course of 3-4 billion years the beta and alpha kids, Kanaya, and Calliope are going to have to leave Earth C and never come back. Something happened for them to be gone. The cause doesn’t matter, only the effect is destiny. Dirk was nesting the Cherubs, he just had to pull their biggest threat off the Earth.

One final addendum, I don’t know what Dirk’s successful species is gonna be, and if the HICU will actually let the species exist and build the new sburb session or fakeout kill them in classic Hussie trolling style. What matters is Dirk gave the species a name: Sartyr, amd looking at sillhouettes it looks to be a bipedal anthromorph, much less a squid creature. I don’t think the HICU has the balls to do the horrorterror session.

They don’t have to, they heavily implied Dirk is dating Rosebot and fans on r/homestuck avoided the topic to talk about how good the art is and how the update is finally getting the ball rolling and how the sequel writing is finally good, stuff we’ve all heard before. The HICU posted another 12 pages of a monthly update where something almost happened and fans ate it up. This is Homestuck now. Where something almost happens, and then we wait a month for something to almost happen again.

That really seems to be the case. Before under Hussie and Whatpumpkin, the bad art and story were noticeable within each update. It's been routed in our brains that every update would be this. James Roach and HICU took advantage of it by getting to focus on the pretty art first before the story because most of us would skim through the text. Nobody would actually pick up on what it is going on until they read it 3-6 more times to let it sink in. It was like this before for many new readers of Homestuck. Most would look at the pretty picture or flash and less reading on the text. Vox's Let's Read at least makes it accessible for those who struggle reading, but even they don't update frequently and are at a certain stopping point where others need to go to the webcomic to continue. And I think a person watching the LR Homestuck and having to go back to the webcomic during ACT 6, is probably not a good experience for those entering the series. It's funny back in MSPA Forums, talks of incest was banned despite the themes of said incest being a common thing in Homestuck. And it was TOBY FOX who made The Baby Is You to troll at the mods that tried to cease the topic of incest. People may have known Toby Fox wrote some crazy funny m-preg song and it got relevance again thanks to a modern Pokemon game, but I don't think people actually knew the context and history behind on WHY he made it in the first place. And now we got people too scared to speak about it openly.

[satin-polar]

AAAAAAAAA

I finally watched the 5th episode of the X-Men. After avoiding few spoilers, but I get the what vibe will this episode have from them.

And it Didn't Get Me. I mad about this, cos this episode was a bomb. And I can roll cause of this On episode 4th. Episode 4 should be something completely different. Episode 5 starts at random, I guess episode 4 should be a breather before THIS. But it doesn't work. If so, in episode 4 should be more clear hints what will happend at the start of episode 4. And im not talking about Finnaly, Im taking about Rouge, Magneto and Gambit going to Genosha, That Genosha creating whole cities on it self. We didn't get anything more about Genosha from like Episode 2. And we have whole council in there. And im just taking Episode 4 should be something else, cos episode 5 doesn't work from episode 3, the 4th episode should exist, but should someting completly diffrent. Cos my mind was stack on concil out of nowhere, expecting someting to fuck up (i mean look at them, they look evil) & Creeping Me out Romance beetween Magneto and Rouge (this thing fucked up my brain). God fucking dame it, I completely miss out the build, even if the end should be A Suprise, ther should be build up, and we just (i feel like) wasting time on Tom Fuckery - Will they Won't they between EVERY Love Triangle in this God Dame Series. And it could work But it didn't. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

But the Cable was cool. But he totally broke my suspension of disbelief in whatever gonna happend. Yeah Time Travel

[inky-quilled-dragon]

My ideal 911 series finale (far in the future ofc)

1. It has been well over a decade of absolute batshit bonkers fuckery afflicting the city of Los Angeles.

1a. This is including but not limited to: earthquake; serial bomber; tsunami; train crash; mudslide; sniper; cyberterrorist blackout; hospital explosion; lab explosion; evil paramedic; bridge collapse; shark on the highway; crazy Speed impersonator; cruise ship sinking while in a hurricane off the coast; hostage situation, breakdown, and fire all at 9-1-1 dispatch; Plane crash; train crash; blimp crash; multiple mass car crashes including one where a truck was carrying radioactive waste; and last but certainly not least, 44 million killer bees that formed a beenado and caused a commercial aircraft to have to land on the freeway. This list is ongoing.

2. Thus, the city of Los Angeles collectively and understandably decides to hold a mass exorcism. Bay leaves and bells are included in the proceedings (thanks to the wikipedia page Chimney once found)

3. This backfires, and a portal to the netherworld opens up under downtown.

4. Chaos. Maybe there’s bloody godzilla or something. Maybe there’s ghosts. Is anything really out of the question at this point?

5. It is eventually discovered that, in fact, LA had been cursed by some malevolent entity/been built on a ley line convergence/been just. Unimaginably unlucky. That last one is least likely, because at some point just luck can’t account for everything. The curse is eventually lifted.

6. Everyone in that bloody city goes to therapy. Lots of it. Including the therapists.

7. Roll credits.

+1. win every Emmy/golden globe/bafta/sag award/etc they’re eligible for.