#second part will be up soon

[egophiliac]

DOGS

IN

SPACE

[sigsfigs]

jane of all trades

@professorfcknmoriarty

[afewproblems]

Prompt 53. "I'm flirting with you!" Part Two

A follow up to This Post

@happymediummm I promise the answer to your ask will be up soon in part three!!

Eddie stews in his room for three days following the incident at Steve's house. 

Wayne attempts to coax him out with food and coffee, even opening up the pack of bacon they'd been saving in the freezer, anything to try and get Eddie to talk to him. 

"I'm just worried s'all," he says softly from Eddie's doorway on the third day, his expression pinched in that way Eddie hates, "you should go out, do something, come on".

Wayne claps his hands together and disappears for a moment only to return with a tape case from the living room.

"Wayne, no--"

"It's overdue Eds, just bring it back for me would ya?"

Eddie groans into his hands at the triumphant expression on his uncle's face as he gets up from his bed and tugs on his leather jacket. 

"Since your friends work there," Wayne says brightly, gesturing with the tape as he hands it over to Eddie, "you should see if they waive the late fee for us". 

"I agreed to take it back, not talk to people," Eddie grumbles under his breath as Wayne shakes his head and gives his shoulder a squeeze.

"At least you won't be growing mold anymore, sitting there in the dark," Wayne says with a wink, ignoring the indignant scoff Eddie makes.

"Store closes in a half hour kid, you better hurry!"

Shit.

Eddie grumbless petulantly as he hurries out the door, ignoring the way Wayne compares his groans to a haunted house door.

He doesn't smile at the jib, and it doesn't make him laugh for the first time in days as he gets into the van, it doesn't!

The parking lot of Family Video is empty, but what did he really expect on a Wednesday at half past eight in the evening. 

The Open sign is still on at least but the low lights in the building and the bright copper glare of the sunset make it so much more difficult to see who is working tonight. 

He could just toss the tape into the return slot and wait out the late fees, he's sure another video store will eventually open up in Hawkins, they can take their business there.

Eddie sighs heavily as he shuts off the van and yanks out the key, "dammit Wayne," he mutters under his breath as he gets out and makes his way to the door. 

Eddie winces at the sharp jingle of the bell above the door and looks around, his head on a swivel, looking for any sign of Steve and his big, stupid, hair.

Robin waves from the counter as Eddie spots her, she's grinning at him with a sly look on her face as she leans against the counter, the multiple buttons and pins on her vest clink against the glass surface.

"There he is," Robin crows, drumming the counter, "I was beginning to think Steve had kidnapped you or something, were you allowed out for good behavior?"

She seems to realize what she had just implied and winces, shaking her head as Eddie snorts mirthlessly. 

"Uh, no, I just came to return this for my uncle," Eddie mumbles, keeping his eyes level with the counter rather than Robin's eyes. 

She frowns at him, taking the tape he slides across the counter and scanning it without dropping her gaze. 

"What's with you?" She says suspiciously. 

Robin drums her fingers lightly against the counter, as the large computer beeps acknowledging the return.

"Nothing, tired," Eddie shrugs, he's not about to tell Robin about what happened, though it is weird that she doesn't already know? 

Maybe she wasn't in on it, he can't imagine that Buckley would approve of a prank like that on another 'friend of Dorothy' but she was Steve's best friend first and foremost.

A song comes on over the small Family Video speakers, humming in the background. 

'All I wanna do when I wake up in the morning is see your eyes

Rosanna, Rosanna…'

Robin wrinkles her nose, her eyes traveling towards one of the large speakers in the corner before looking back to Eddie, a large grin in place.

"God this sappy shit, I told Steve not to put this one on the tape, you must hate Toto".

Eddie shrugs again, glaring at the floor, wishing he could burn a hole into it that he could escape through. 

"He did play it…didn't he?" Robin asks quietly, a small trace of anxiety in her voice as she leans away from the counter.

Eddie stops himself from rolling his eyes; if he was being honest, the tape was a nice touch --really sold the whole prank, honestly.

He looks back up to find Robin staring at him, and sighs heavily, thrusting his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah," he huffs, taking a step back towards the front door, Robin's eyes follow his path in confusion, "I wasn't much of a fan of the choices".

"But it's fine right," Eddie scoffs, "he can use his little tape on someone his shit will actually work on next time".

"What?" Robin says incredulously, her face scrunches into a frown as Eddie laughs.

"You know Buckley, I'm surprised you were on board with this?" 

"Eddie, what the fuck are you talking about?" Robin hisses, shrill and loud, as she finally walks around the counter towards him.

"Oh don't give me that, he's your best friend, you're going to tell me he didn't tell you about his plan?" Eddie shakes his head as a high pitched laugh bubbles up out of his chest.

"I don't know what plan you're talking about Eddie," she says in a low voice, her eyes wide and angry, "the only thing Steve was going to do that night was tell you how he felt about you". 

"Yeah right, Steve Harrington, wants me? And that's not a fucking joke?"

She sucks her teeth, letting her eyes roam over his face, "this was such a mistake, okay, get out". 

Eddie sneers sharply, "a mistake?"

"Yeah, I never should have gotten his hopes up". 

Robin crosses to the window behind the counter and shuts off the second neon open sign before breezing past Eddie to pull the cord on the other sign, nearly hard enough to yank it down. 

No, no, no, no, it's not true, she's just saving face, she has to be…

Robin stands beside the door, a furious glare aimed at Eddie, "we're closed, get out, I need to go check on Steve". 

Unbelievable, Eddie does roll his eyes at this and heads towards her for the door, he takes the push bar in his hands and leans on it to swing the exit open before turning to Robin one last time, he wants so badly to have the last word it hurts.

"Better go check on King-Steve, I'm sure he's devastated," Eddie snarls, the furious fire from before burns bright in his chest as he watches Robin stiffen in the doorway.

"I haven't talked to him since Sunday Munson, until just now, I thought he was with you!"

Robin reaches out to grab both doors in her hands.

"Asshole," she scoffs, her eyes never leaving his as she locks the doors in his face. 

***

1980, Hawkins, Indiana

Eddie sniffles as he walks home, he can feel blood trickle down his chin from the split lip Paul gave him while his knee aches from where he hit the ground. 

He's not even sure what he did.

Paul had been so nice recently, talking with Eddie almost every day, eventually taking him under his wing. Paul was a year above Eddie at their Middle school, and when he had told Eddie to meet him under the bleachers after school, how could Eddie say no? 

It didn't help that Paul had soft blond hair, big hazel eyes that crinkled when he smiled, and the nicest laugh Eddie had ever heard.

What Eddie hadn't been expecting was Randy and David, also in Paul's grade, to be waiting for him. 

He breathes out a wet sob and keeps walking, scrubbing his face harshly as their trailer in Forest Hills comes into view, almost home.

Eddie reaches into his pocket and winces when he realizes his keys are gone, alongside his backpack.

They must have fallen out of his pocket in the scuffle.

The backpack was a different story.

He limps up the steps of their porch, wincing as the fabric of his jeans pulls at the drying blood on his knee, and knocks on the front door.

"Comin," Wayne calls from inside, "coming, wasn't expectin' anyone-- Ed?" 

Wayne's face goes through a series of expressions, from surprise, to anger, before settling on concern. 

He leans down and brings his hands up to Eddie's face, turning it gently to see the damage.

"Who did this," Wayne says quietly, he stands up to his full height, looking around the trailer park behind Eddie while tucking him closer.

"It was at school," Eddie sniffles again, his voice growing tight, "I'm okay". 

Wayne looks down at him for a moment before shaking his head and moving out of the door to pull Eddie inside.

"Hurt anywhere else?" Wayne asks as he walks Eddie to the kitchen, one arm around his shoulder as though afraid the fourteen year old will collapse at any moment.

"I fell, my knee hurts," Eddie mumbles as he sits at the kitchen table in the corner while Wayne crosses to the cabinets and busies himself with grabbing two clean wash clothes and peroxide from the cupboard above their stove.

It's quiet for a moment while Wayne wets one of the clothes at the sink and makes his way back to Eddie.

He kneels on the floor, balancing his weight on his good knee while the other remains bent at a more comfortable ninety degree angle. His joints creak slightly as he gets comfortable but he still smiles at Eddie all the same.

"Won't you be sore after this?" Eddie sighs, wishing Wayne would just let him go to the washroom now to clean himself up. 

"You let me worry about that," Wayne grumbles as he reaches up to wipe the blood and dirt from Eddie's face with the wet cloth. It's warm from the water and Wayne's gentle hand.

"So, you gonna tell me what happened?" Wayne asks softly, as he reaches for the bottle of peroxide and tips it into the second cloth. He tilts Eddie's face to dab gently at the now dirt free cuts.

Eddie sucks his teeth at the sting and closes his eyes.

He doesn't even know where to really start. 

Paul hadn't been the one to push him off his feet, that had been Randy, but that hadn't stopped Paul from laughing and calling Eddie a fairy. 

David had been the one to take his bag, dumping everything out into the dirt and ripping it until the zipper broke. 

Luckily all of his school books were still in his locker, but all of the campaign notes from his most recent D&D game had been in there, along with the worn copy of the Hobbit his mother had given him. 

All of it was still sitting in the mud and grass by the bleachers, stomped into the ground by David's white sneakers.

Eddie shrugs as Wayne leans back slightly. He takes Eddie's leg and slowly bends the knee at the joint, his eyes search Eddies for any sign of strain. The only sting comes from the way the jean material pulls at the drying blood from his scrapes.

Wayne breathes out and scrubs a hand over his tired face, his fingers catch on the grey stubble as they slide down and drop into Wayne's lap.

"I'll make an appointment on Monday with the principal," Wayne says as he stands up with a stifled groan, turning away from Eddie who shakes his head like a wet dog. 

"Wayne you can't--"

"Edward, what do you expect me to do? You come home lookin' like hell and you won't tell me what happened?" 

Eddie bites his split lip hard enough for the faint taste of copper to stain his tongue once more, how could he tell Wayne just what those boys had yelled at him as he sat in the dirt cradling his head, wishing he'd just gone home.

Wayne sighs loudly as he raises his face towards the ceiling, his lips move slightly but Eddie can't make out what he's saying before he looks back at Eddie, his expression worn.

"Okay, okay," Wayne murmurs, walking back towards Eddie, he pulls one of the other mismatched chairs towards himself and sits down, "I won't call, but you have to meet me halfway, alright?" 

Eddie hesitates, swallowing roughly, maybe there was a way to tell Wayne without telling him everything.

"There were some boys at school, um," Eddie picks at one of the holes in his blue jeans, pulling at the frayed thread absently, "I guess just, one at first but…".

His eyes burn suddenly as the words rip through him once again.

"He told me to come to the bleachers and then," Eddie's voice wobbles this time as his throat tightens, "there were more of them and they…called me--" 

Eddie shakes his head, ducking it down to hide his shining eyes, he doesn't notice Wayne coming closer until he feels a hand in his hair and the dam finally breaks.

Six years later, Eddie can still remember what his uncle told him that day as he cried in his arms.

"People can be cruel, especially when they don't understand, and sometimes that means being careful of who you open yourself up to. But you can tell me anything Ed, and I'll love ya no matter what. You always have home to come back to". 

Eddie knew people like Steve Harrington. He'd been around them his whole life. 

Sometimes they went by Paul, sometimes by Jason, or Billy.

But that didn't make them any less dangerous, any less capable of inflicting hurt on people that were different. 

So, Robin could say that Steve wasn't like that until she was blue in the face, because she was…wrong…

Wasn't she?

Taglist: @ihavekidneys @superchellerific @zerokrox-blog @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @croatoan-like-its-hot @messrs-weasley @samcoxramblings @warlordess @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @lostonceandneverfound @shunna @fairytalesreality

Part Three now up!

[idontmindifuforgetme]

There will not be a single moment next week in which I’m not running around doing something

[elderberries-and-honey]

The only thing Lawrence could hear other than his own footsteps against the cobblestone beneath his shoes was blood pumping in his ears as he approached Mr. O'Doyle's gentlemen's club.

He had no plans to become the richest man in Ireland, nor did he even want to be. He just needed to put his money into something that would generate enough wealth to pass down to his children, and their children's-children, and each step pushed him closer towards his new dream of finding a way to secure this new-found wealth.

Inside, there were only half a dozen other men; smoking cigars and playing poker, beers already cracked and opened at half past noon. None of them even noticed his arrival, too entranced by the idea of winning big, as if their pockets needed to be any heavier.

These men didn't shout or curse or cheer the way people did in the pubs back in Wales; instead they were focused and poised, their attention locked into the hand in front of them. But they weren't betting with their families' milk money; children's new shoe money; or gambling with their rent. They played just to show their opponents that they could win.

As he passed by the table, Lawrence couldn't help thinking how he could put any old drunk from his hometown at that table, and they'd be able to walk away with enough money for a new cow and then some.

As he climbed up the steps towards Mr. O'Doyle's office space, he heard two voices speaking up above his head, the grip on his briefcase handle tightening as he listened in on their conversation.

“I had truly hoped after it passed the house of commons…” A man’s voice grumbled.

“I had a feeling it wouldn't pass through the lords, what bullocks!” A woman replied.

“I had thought with Gladstone," there was a long pause, as if the man was sighing or perhaps thinking, "we might stand a chance.” The man sounded disappointed, almost pained.

Lawrence had very little knowledge about what they were discussing, only that Gladstone was the current prime minister.

When he finally reached the top, he located where the voices were coming from and peered inside, where a woman with bright, almost wildly curly red hair sat holding a newspaper and a man looked over her shoulder as he puffed away on his pipe.

The woman was the first to notice him and invited him to enter; her voice was stiff, almost as though it were unmoving, but her eyes were kind.

The man introduced himself as Mr. O'Doyle, offering a sturdy handshake and a friendly smile before gesturing towards the red-headed woman standing next to him, who he introduced as his wife, Florence O’ Doyle. He explained that she would be listening in on their meeting, as she operated as something like a secretary for him.

After the last syllable left Mr. O’ Doyle’s lips, “flaw-ruhns”, Lawrence felt a tug buried within his chest and grimaced for only a split second before regaining his composure; he knew he couldn’t dwell, nor did he want to mention the coincidence and put a damper on the mood. 

After more pleasantries were exchanged, Mr. O’Doyle invited Lawrence to take a seat and have a cigar, which he politely declined.

Once situated, Lawrence pulled out the blueprints an architect had drawn up for him and laid them on the table, proceeding to tell them of his plans for the mortuary, and ask for their investment into his business.

They both listened wordlessly, but watched on with intent while Mr. O' Doyle resumed puffing away on his pipe. Their vacant stares only added to Lawrence’s nervousness, and he could only hope they didn’t notice the sweat forming above his brow. However, the more he spoke, the more confident he became even with their expressionless faces.

When he was finished, the room fell into a dead silence, aside from Mr. O'Doyle's lips puckering and unpuckering tightly around the mouthpiece of his pipe; his brows furrowed deeply in thought.

next / previous / first

[qprpbj]

Sorry if this has been asked before, but I was curious if you had any head canons about Darry and Soda’s emotions watching Ponyboy grow up/realize he doesn’t need them as much (i.e. learning to shave, drive, moving into his own room)? How do you think they react to their little brother/baby become this independent person?

i love you for this!!!!! first i’m pointing you to my little fic of darry teaching pony how to shave bc you mentioned that specifically so here you go <3

i’m ngl i see these guys as so pathetically codependent that even when pony starts fr growing up he’s still pretty reliant on them even if he doesn’t need to be bc he’s always been a very independent kid. i think through the course of the book we see him learn that growing up too soon and hyperindependence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be so he learns to lean on his community a little more which i think (or hope at least) that that carries on further in his life.

as for headcanons i think just a lot of teasing from both of them so they don’t get too sad about it. i’m a tall!pony and a forever short!pony truther depending on the day and i think tall!pony never lets them live it up that he’s .25in taller than darry once he’s fully grown lol. soda definitely cries when pony moves back into his own room and even then still probably ends up in soda’s room by morning like 50% of the time. & is it just me who thinks pony would be a godawfully shit driver

[peridots-pixiwolf]

been forever since i posted any art here so. wheat field i drew as a tribute after finishing portal 2 three months ago upon you all :]

[Start ID. A sketch-like, pixellated rendering of the seemingly endless wheat field at the end of Portal 2. The wheat is golden with harvest, and stretches out to fill the entire lower third of the frame, the sky is a deeper blue and dense with far-off clouds. Uncountable rows of almost-parallel lines, some much on the shorter side and others long and sweeping, shade and highlight the grasses, give texture to the sky and clouds, and halo the sun at the top center. Each of the four blues that make up the sky are the exact inverse of an orange tone in the field, and vice versa. End ID)

[Start ID. An edited version of the previous, wherein the transparency in the sun has been filled in with white and the sky with blue. An obvious filter has been overlayed which makes the whole piece look vertically striated, like the effect of an old computer or console screen, darkening it overall and creating odd tinges of red, green and magenta in some spots. End ID.]

[therentyoupay]

#24 JUST SAY IT JELLSAAAAAA ARTGHHHAHAHNSNNEMWMEMWJAJHAJAHAHHAHA

On July 1st, the lonely house at the top of the mountain was finally sold.

— In which Jack(son) Overland tries his best to befriend his neighbor, one woodworking project at a time. { neighbors-to-lovers!fic, modern-mountain-living!au }

Prompt from @aicosu: Three-word sentences: "Just say it."

ao3 ❆

[forcedhesitation]

why should it just be steve who has all the torturous purgatory realm fun?

[empressofmankind]

You ever write a line for your fic, and it feels like the literary equivalent of running straight into a knife?

Yea.

Yea, I just did that and now I am having feels.

[kyouka-supremacy]

Well.

[thewalkingjez]

Dog Days - Part One

18+ , minors DNI you will be blocked!

the story I’ve been working on that inspired me to make this blog in the first place! yay !! this is part one and there will probably be a lot of parts coming soon, I actually have more of this written than what I’m bout to post (this is a pretty short lil intro) - but I think it would be fun to release it, like, sequentially. anyway this story contains (or will eventually contain):

violence (both sexual and non sexual), power dynamics, basically kidnapping, death, dubious consent, pet play, bondage, torture, blood (obviously), and probably more stuff that ill have to update this list with.

and Negan also tw for Negan this is absolutely just self indulgent fanfic skdjks

there will be references to Pussy but the ‘you’ in this story is genderless. because it’s my story and that’s what I decided to do this time

okay uh enjoy *hands these words to you in a fast food bag*

————— 🔪 —————

Your heart aches in your chest when you try to breathe. You can hear your own lungs wheezing, like the pathetic song of dying cicadas. You taste blood in your mouth, you’re not even aware of it’s origin. Is it your own? There’s so much pain thrumming through your body as you move, you can’t tell if it’s your blood, or one of your friends’. You heave in air, trying to gulp as much of it down as possible, your head numbing and beginning to spin as your fingers claw desperately at the ground for any possible means of moving forwards. Rocks and dirt lodge painfully under your fingernails.

Your ears are still ringing from the gunshots, but you can make out the sounds of men yelling commands behind you. The lights of their massive truck illuminates the ground around you. The bulbs were painted in blood when it happened, the red ambience around you almost causing your body to upheave what little food it was given for supper.

You swallow your fears with the bitter taste of acid staining your tongue, as you force your body to roll over onto it’s back. Air is a little bit easier to get in that position, but you don’t have long to relish in that fact as the whistling starts up again. Adrenaline fills your body, the bullet wound within your forearm pulsing as you sit yourself up, staring at the obscured faces around you. Strangers, strangers who stalk and torment you for days, taunting you and your group with a coordinated whistle- they circle around you like starving vultures.

You respond like an injured, feral dog, gnashing your teeth and screaming, spittle and crimson blood flying from your mouth. A few of them laugh, one almost nervously shifts a gun pointed in your direction. They all watch and wait as you thrash, writhing in agony and clutching your wound.

Finally, after a moment or so, the group parts to make room for their leader. A tall figure meandering confidently towards you, a barbed bat resting against his shoulder. It drips foul, chunky gore, fresh from Dillan’s temple. Images of his head collapsing in at the behest of that bat flash through your mind.

The man stares at you for a few moments, and through the glare of the lights you can just make out the awful grin against his lips. The spatter of Dillan’s blood shining against his features. Hatred bubbles within you, threatens to make you throw your life away if only to punch this asshole. You grip the grass with your fists, as if to anchor yourself to the earth.

“I tried to tell you morons what would happen if you didn’t cooperate. Didn’t I tell you?” He moves, takes a step forwards and crouches, taking a better look at you. “Answer me when I ask you a question.” He says this a little quieter, though his level of threat is perfectly maintained.

You gulp, knowing your face is scowling without your permission. “You told us.” This sentence grits out through your clenched teeth, barely above a whisper.

“That’s right. See, I didn’t want to waste your buddies here, but they didn’t give me a choice.” He leans in a little closer, the bat swinging off of his shoulder. It points into your face, the gag inducing scent of viscera, fresh and old, hitting your senses. “Are you gonna give me a choice?”

Your eyes flick between him, and the bat. You nod your head slightly, eyes wide and brimming with emotions. The man clicks his tongue, looking down briefly before gently pushing a bit of the bat into your cheek. The barbs sink into your flesh, piercing your skin, making you hiss in pain. “I can’t have you looking at me that way. Say I let you live, see what use I can get out of you if I decide to let you walk away from this. Then, you take your revenge on me for killing your pals here. That’s what your face is telling me, kid.”

Your eyes narrow, the bat’s barbed ends causing blood to bead up from where it’s penetrating you, a slickness beginning to drip down as you stare into the man’s eyes. You realize you’re probably still looking at him in that ‘I want to rip your throat out’ way, and attempt to soften your features. The moment your rage is dialed back even slightly, your eyes begin to water a bit, tears threatening to mingle with the stupid bat tearing your cheek open.

His wide smile returns, the pressure of the bat letting up as he pulls it away. The cool night air makes the small wounds it left pulse over and over, in time with the wound in your arm. You avoid his eyes, suddenly feeling embarrassed for some reason.

“That’s better.” The man says this in such a low, growl like tone you doubt any of his compatriots could hear it. He leans in closer, a gloved hand suddenly grabbing your face and squeezing it, smearing the pierced bits painfully. “I like you. You’re mine now.” He sneers, though he seems perfectly serious. You’re confused at first, your head squirming in his grasp as you snarl and try to pull back. He keeps his hold firm, watching you with a sort of satisfaction to his features. His hand moves into your sweaty, bloodied, tangled mess of hair and grabs a handful, tugging on your scalp. “You hear that? Say you’re mine. Say it or I’ll let Lucille get a lot more intimate with your face.”

You wonder silently if this is standard faire for this guy. You can’t exactly focus on the group of other people watching this, but you’re suddenly curious as to how they’re reacting. His hand just grips tighter, all this jostling eventually wrenching his gloved hand down to your throat. Now you can feel people looking away awkwardly. Their leader doesn’t falter, though, and pushes up against your throat. You can’t help the change in color that occurs in your cheeks, an impressive feat to blush at all given how much blood you’ve lost. His body moves a bit closer to you, so much so that you can feel the heat of his breath up above you, which hitches interestingly as he chokes you. Your head numbs as oxygen becomes harder and harder to swallow down, his big, gloved hand slick with blood making you gasp and drool. He lets up slightly, the crowd around this scene either looking anywhere else, or leaning in to get a closer look at your reactions to being treated this way.

You pant, catching your breath even as his hand is still resting there, adding just the slightest pressure there to your throat. “You’re fucking pathetic, how were you making it out here? You obviously need someone like me to set you straight, don’t you?” The texture of the glove sort of rubs gently into your skin, as if to reassure you. Your head is spinning, and the blood loss is starting to catch up with you. The pain in your arm is making lights dance across your vision, as you slump against the man’s shoulder, your eyes closing as your consciousness gives out right there.

[phantom-overdose]

((If anyone ever wants to write with a scruffy, kind of (unintentionally) goofy, sweet but still totally animalistic, former prisoner, werewolf-esque, character (complete with wolf tail) who has read a bunch of self-help books and who is super committed once he falls in love, and who also just so happens to be from a post-grand-fairytales fairytale realm full of magic and chaos and all that good stuff... just, ya know, let me know <3))

[hershelwidget]

Shellington and Peso made the Pink Sauce and it was so horrible Barnacles had to ban them from working together on their own. The Pink Sauce is now the world’s deadliest poison and it is capable of affecting even the Grim Reaper himself.

…

In other words writing the actual Octonauts for this AU is the FUNNIEST thing ever

[aromanticasterisms]

oh man no wonder i'm missing my little guys recently. we haven't seen kaeya in almost a year