#shit looks dope as hell

[dystopianferret]

Ghost just teased the crap out of us. Put up the billboard and laughed when the video dropped. The Ghouls and Ghulehs are cackling. Papa V must be very SHY and DEMURE remove your hands sir I beg of you

[vanlegion]

Eh, I was in a weird experimental mood. Have this. Dubbed 'Who Are You?' Pretty sure I've said this but I love characters that either are not human or beyond human... because existentialism is fun to think about.

My monitor makes this look 3-D which is awesome.

[babymorte]

men on the internet will really do everything except respect your boundaries huh

[sufficientlylargen]

It always gets me that the name "Gandalf" literally just means "Wand-Elf" or "Stick-Elf". I'm imagining old Gondorians just being like:

Librarian: I saw that weird guy at the library again today.

Guard 1: What weird guy?

Librarian: The old guy with the beard? Kinda elfy-looking, apart from the beard?

Guard 1: Oh, with the big-ass stick?

Librarian: Yeah, looked like he was carrying an entire tree branch.

Guard 2: Yeah, that's the Stick Elf.

Guard 1: Hell yeah, I fuckin' love the Stick Elf.

Librarian: The "Stick Elf"?

Guard 2: He comes by every few years, usually after some weird book or other.

Librarian: Oh. Yeah, he wanted a treatise on goblin breeding habits.

Guard 2: Like, how they have sex? We have books on that?

Librarian: Yeah, turns out we do. I was as surprised as you are.

Guard 1: What'd the Stick Elf need a fuckin' goblin-fuckin' book for?

Librarian: I didn't ask. So you just call him "Stick Elf"?

Guard 2: I mean, he looks kinda elfy and he always has that stick, so, like, yeah.

Guard 1: Dude also has some fuckin' dope pipeweed.

Guard 2: Oh yeah, his pipeweed is awesome.

Librarian: How long has he been coming here?

Guard 2: Oh, for decades. He's, like, super old.

Guard 1: More like fuckin' centuries. Dude's old as balls.

Guard 2: Wait, really?

Guard 1: Yeah, my gran-gran used to talk about him. She loved his pipeweed too.

Librarian: So he's… an immortal pipeweed dealer?

Guard 2: I think he's just, like, a connoisseur. He doesn't sell it or anything. He just always has some really top-notch pipeweed on him.

Archivist: Oh, are we talking about Stick Elf?

Guard 1: Hell yeah we are!

Librarian: You know about the Stick Elf, too?

Archivist: Oh, totally. Stick-Elf's a super chill dude. Gave me some awesome pipeweed when I was maybe 12, and tee-bee-aitch I think I'm still a little buzzed from it.

Guard 1: What'd I tell ya, fuckin' dope pipeweed!

Archivist: Also he's really old.

Guard 1: Old as balls.

Librarian: Yeah, so Éodan and Jenniforomir were telling me.

Archivist: My grandpa used to tell me stories - he said one time he saw Stick Elf enter a smoke-ring contest.

Guard 1: Ooh, I'll bet he kicked fuckin' ass.

Archivist: Apparently the guy made an entire warship out of smoke and it flew around shooting down the other rings.

Librarian: And how much of this "fuckin' dope" pipeweed had your grandfather had by this point?

Guard 1: No no, that's totally plausible. Dude's got weird elf powers and shit for sure.

Archivist: He brought fireworks for the king's birthday one year, too.

Guard 1: Oh fuck, I forgot about those! Fuckin' incredible fireworks! Dragons and knights and glowy trees and shit! I was fuckin' 6 years old or something, they totally blew my mind. Hey Éodan, did you see that shit?

Guard 2: No, I think that's before I lived in Gondor.

Guard 1: Wait, you're not from here?

Guard 2: Oh, no, I grew up in Rohan. We moved here when I was, like, thirteen because my uncle Éojeff said he could get my dad a sweet job. And also that there were houses that didn't smell like horseshit.

Guard 1: Oh shit, are you related to Éojeff and Éosteve who run that æbleskiver stand on Norndîl St?

Guard 2: Yeah, they're my uncles!

Guard 1: Shit, they cook a fuckin' great æbleskiver!

Librarian: Ok, hold up a sec, "Stick Elf" can't possibly be his real name.

Guard 1: Why not?

Librarian: What? You think his parents named him in the hopes that he would carry around a fucking tree when he got older?

Guard 2: Maybe they gave him the tree when he was born!

Archivist: I don't think a baby could carry that stick.

Guard 1: You ever seen a baby hanging onto something? They're hella strong.

Archivist: It's not a strength thing, their hands are tiny. That staff is enormous!

Guard 1: My halberd's bigger 'n I am, I can hold it just fine.

Archivist: You're not a baby.

Librarian: Also why would elf parents name their kid "stick ELF"?! Presumably they know that their kid's going to be an elf!

Archivist: Is he actually an elf? I didn't think they grew beards.

Guard 1: How'd he get old as balls if he's not an elf?

Guard 2: His ears aren't that pointy. Maybe he's just a really old guy? Like, a Numémoriam or something?

Guard 1: Did you just say "Numémoriam"?

Guard 2: Nûnenorman? Munimõrbitan? Y'know, those guys like the king that can get super old.

Guard 1: You mean the fuckin' Númenóreans?

Guard 2: Yeah, the Númenóreums.

Archivist: Even the Númenóreans don't live THAT long.

Guard 1: Plus he carries that fuckin' stick around.

Guard 2: Wait, what does the stick have to do with it?

Guard 1: That's an elf thing. Y'know, trees and shit? Very elfy.

Librarian: Ok, look, but his parents naming him "Stick Elf" would be weird whether or not he's an elf. In fact, it's even weirder if he's not - what human names their kid "elf"?

Archivist: Huh. Yeah, you're right, he probably does have another name.

Guard 2: Yeah, I guess so.

Librarian: He's been coming here for decades and nobody's ever asked his real name?

Archivist: I dunno what to tell you, he's Stick Elf. Even his library card just says 'Stick Elf'.

Guard 1: Fuck yeah, the Stick Elf!

Guard 2: Maybe we could, like, ask him his name sometime?

Guard 1: Hey, look, Elrond's over there. He's old as balls too, maybe he knows?

Guard 2: Oh, we shouldn't interru-

Guard 1: HEY ELROND, YOU'RE OLD AS BALLS, RIGHT? WHAT'S THAT OLD ELF WITH THE STICK'S NAME?

Elrond (coming over): Do you mean an old man cloaked all in grey and blue, leaning on a rough-cut staff, who came to the great library this day?

Guard 1: Yeah, the Stick-Elf!

Guard 2: (Sorry to bother you, sir...)

Librarian: He's got to have a real name besides 'the Stick Elf', right?

Elrond: Indeed, for no elf is he. You speak of the wizard Olórin, wisest of the Maiar, older even than Eä itself. Many are his names in many countries: Tharkûn among the Dwarves; Incánus to the south; Mithrandir he is called among my people, the Grey Pilgrim.

Librarian: Oh.

Elrond: And here in the North he is called Stick-Elf.

Librarian: Oh.

Guard 1: Fuck yeah!

[yidiyada]

I am about to say something that is gonna sound so backhanded but like I really hope Gigi Hadid stays modeling into her old age cause she really would have such an air about her.

Look at these pieces from Chanel

Like obviously Gigi is 29 and her fave just looks older at that show because she’s just given birth and also yeah she fucked around and found out with some fillers but like I think it totally works for this look.

Those pieces only look good when worn with a more mature face and would look totally tacky on some 19 year old model.

People have been giving her shit all year for not being as skinny or as young as she was before before yk giving birth and shit but I’m totally into it. She DOES look comepletely different from her it girl hilfiger years and she DOES look older and I think it’s really working for her and I wanna see more.

[walking-loather]

Anyone with nipple RINGS instead of barbells is fucking off their rocker insane and stupid but also 100000% braver than anyone else in the world ever Also they have inhuman luck and skill to have so far avoided the Terrible Fate That Will Befall Them

[elecman108]

I'd like to say I was drawing more this month, but tbh, with work on Outbreak and one of my coworkers getting sick (on top of going from good mental health at the beginning of the month to baaaad mental health towards the end) I really don't have much to show for it.

So here's my Shapeshifting Horny Fey Artist who's in an artistic slump going on adventures in the material plane and having existential crises... Or more likely, my man is memeing on himself.

[cringefail-clown]

Beat Mesa and Cardinal Movement are such sickass names. and the designs are dope as hell. every time Beat Mesa appears in the first acts of the comic i have to pause reading and just look at that scratch construct all giddy and in awe. just such a fun and fascinating concept

like look at those and try to tell me this isnt cool as shit. hussie was cooking designing those things

[transmunsons]

Steve Harrington had known for a while that he was on thin ice. His parents let him change his hair and clothes and name after a harrowing night that ended with him in a hospital bed.

So he tried to behave. They couldn’t complain as long as he played the perfect son. He did everything right. He excelled at sports, he didn’t make a fuss, he even fell in love with a wonderful girl.

Though, things got a little rocky when his dealer left town and handed things over to the local freak show. When he went to pick up his bottles, Loudmouth Munson tried to get under his skin.

“Y’know I always had a feeling you were doping.” Munson said, leaning against the picnic table.

“Would you just hand it over?” Steve held out his hand for the containers Munson was keeping hostage.

“This is a lot, Harrington, you’d think Hawkins would have actually won a championship by now with you on this stuff.”

Steve resisted the urge to rip it from his hands. Munson grinned an insufferable smile, like he enjoyed how much Steve was glaring at him.

“I’m not taking it because of basketball,” Steve said.

“So why then?”

“I don’t have to tell you shit.”

“Dude,” Munson raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. Call it fair play. Didn’t think you’d be so sensitive about it.”

Steve’s hands were still itching to grab it. Munson seemed to notice how antsy he was, following his anxious gaze flickering between the package and Munson’s face.

“Don’t ya trust me, Harrington?” He said.

“Not even a little,” Steve replied. He felt a tendon jump in his jaw.

“Can’t handle the thought of not having your steroids? Some people actually need these hormones to survive, rich boy.” Munson’s tone switched from teasing to something more somber, or maybe bitter. It was hard for him to tell those things.

Under normal circumstances he would have never said what he ended up saying. Munson had a way of pushing his buttons.

“I need them.” Steve watched an ant crawl around a knot in the wood in front of him. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Nobody in this town would understand.”

Steve looked up at a shocked Eddie Munson and held out a handful of bills. “Give me my drugs, take your money, and don’t tell fucking anybody about this. You got it?”

Eddie didn’t move for a long moment, carefully studying Steve and his outstretched hand. His rings flashed as he pushed the package over to Steve’s side of the table and grabbed the money in one swift movement.

“‘Course, Harrington. You get dealer-dealee confidentiality just like everybody else.”

Steve was glad the transaction was over. He grabbed his hormones and stood up to leave when Eddie’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“You’re not the only one.”

Eddie looked very serious, dark curls brushing the tops of his furrowed brows. It was a good look on him.

Steve felt his hopes rise. There were others like him in town. But, how could he be sure that Eddie was talking about what he thought he was talking about?

“Munson,” Steve said cautiously, “I don’t think we’re on the same page.”

Eddie, still seated, crossed his arms. “I guess there’s no way to know for sure unless one of us says it plainly, and I’m sure as hell not going to. I don’t want to end up on the news.”

“You don’t trust me?” Steve echoed, quirking up the side of his mouth.

It got a small smile from Munson. “You don’t even know who it is; dealer-dealee confidentiality goes both ways. I can’t go around blabbing about what drugs everybody’s on, I’d alienate my customer base.”

“Then I guess we’re at a standstill.”

Eddie looked at him with a curious expression. “I guess so.”

Steve took a few steps away from the table, leaves crunching under feet, before turning around. He hesitated. Eddie looked at him with those dark brown eyes of his, which didn’t help his resolve.

“Eddie,” the man’s eyebrows raised at the use of his first name. Steve continued, “if you ever feel like blabbing, you know where to find me.”

Eddie stayed quiet for once, the sounds of the woods surrounding the two of them as they lingered.

“Same to you, Steve,” He finally replied.

[rafesbabygirlx]

ONLINE LOVE | 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚎𝚍

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚍!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚄

𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 - 𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎’𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎.

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝙰𝚄 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

Rafe had never been one for love. He screwed probably every kook girl around his age and then showed them to the door once he was done with them. No one on the island batted him an eye anymore. Not even his daughter's mother. When she dropped the sleeping baby off at his doorstep 2 years ago and never looked back. He honestly wouldn't even remember her name, if it weren't on Harper's birth certificate.

Now, being 27, a single father, all alone at Tannyhill, he wanted more for his love life. Wheezie and Rose are gone, Sarah hates him, Ward is dead. The only sense of love is what he gets from his little Harper, his now 3 year old. She's showed him unconditional love. He's become the biggest softy when it comes to her.

He’s done his soul searching, attempts at dating on the island. His reputation precedes him. He wanted nothing but to find someone who could love both him and Harper. So he did what he’d never thought he’d do. He downloaded Hinge.

He set up his profile. Added photos. One business, one fun, one sexy. Overthought all his answers before hitting complete. One thing he didn’t overthink was his location. He set it for a city out in mainland North Carolina.

He didn’t match with anyone for the first few days. Even when he got so desperate and rapid swiped right at 2 am. Even when he couldn’t believe how no one would want someone like Rafe Cameron. He didn’t even care anymore. He just wanted a match.

It wasn’t until he got to your profile. He was completely enamored. The photos of you were gorgeous. He even found himself giggling at some of your responses to the prompts given by the app.

He sat on the couch, brushing his hand through Harpers hair as she rests against his chest playing with her dolls. He was nervous. He knew why. This was a big step for him, even more so now. He didn't know if it was stupid or not but he didn't plan on mentioning Harper until things were serious with someone. But you had this look about you that didn't scream "avoid."

He held his breath and swiped right on you. Much to his disbelief, he matched with you immediately. He got nervous all over again, yet took the plunge and messaged you first.

7:02pm: Hi, I’m Rafe. It’s nice to meet you.

“God, could you sound more like an idiot?” He muttered to himself right before he hit send. He put his phone down not wanting to obsess over a response from you. 10 minutes later he heard his phone buzz on the coffee table.

7:12pm: Hi Rafe! I’m y/n. It’s very nice to meet you too. Tell me a little about yourself.

He felt a little at ease seeing your response. It was similar to his and simple. Maybe he didn’t come off as big of a dope as he thought he did. But how the hell was he supposed to talk about himself? He’d never been in the talking stage before, even at 27 this was all way too new for him.

7:14pm: Sure. I’m from the Outer Banks. I took over my father’s company a few years ago after he passed. I’ve been running it for 5 years. I live in the same house I grew up in. And… my favorite color is green. How about you?

Pathetic, Rafe you’re pathetic.

7:15pm: You live in the Outer Banks? It says you live in my city. Weird. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Shit…

7:15pm: Anyways! I’m from Toronto originally. I came to North Carolina to go to school for medicine. UNC has one of the top programs. I’m currently in my first year of interning. I’m hoping to stay in NC once I’m complete.

7:15pm: Oh and also my favorite color is pink! Not a crayola crayon pink. A specific type of pink. Soft, kinda like a soft natural pink. But not a salmon, that’s too orange.

Jesus, she is cute. Smart and beautiful. She’s already so comforting. That’s crazy right? It doesn’t help I already look like a liar. How could I slip up that fast? Play it cool, Rafe.

7:16pm: I was in the area a couple weeks back. I had changed my location when I was there. I must’ve forgotten to change it back when I got home. Hope it’s ok.

I’m already lying. This is so bad.

7:17pm: Totally fine I get it! I don’t mind it. OBX really isn’t far. My roommate and I spent a few days there last summer. We loved it! Plus, is it bad I’m already enjoying talking to you? You might be the first normal guy I’ve matched with.

7:18pm: Yeah this place has its charm. I’m glad you liked it! And thanks for understanding. I’m not gonna lie, I’m new to this whole dating app thing and you’re the first person I matched with. I’m glad it was you and I’m glad you’re enjoying it too.

7:19pm: I am I really am. But listen, I only have a 10 min break which ends in a minute. I won’t get off until early in the morning. really would like to continue talking to you, Rafe. Get to know each other more. Here’s my Instagram- @/futuredr.yn. Message me there. Hinge’s messaging sucks. lol

7:19pm: I hope you have a really nice night. 🥰

7:20pm: I’ll go add you now, future doctor lol. You have a nice night too. Can’t wait to talk again.

Rafe couldn’t believe how content he felt after just a 10 min conversation. It’s like you put some sort of spell on your profile that made him want to fall in love with you.

He spent a few minutes searching through your photos. You back home, your med school graduation, photos of your cat. Funny enough, photos of your trip to OBX. You at the boneyard, eating at the Wreck, drinking at the country club. He liked a couple of those photos, not caring to make it obvious he snooped hit follow then went upstairs to bring Harper to bed.

4:04am: @/futuredr.yn started following you

4:04am: @/futuredr.yn liked your photo

4:05am: @/futuredr.yn liked your photo

4:05am: @/futuredr.yn sent a message

𝚊/𝚗: 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚊𝚢𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚝𝚠.

𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝. 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙰𝚄 - 𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚙2 𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚒'𝚖 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐

tags + some moots

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @whydoesthemirrorhateme @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @nemesyaaa @frankoceanluvr11 @maybankslover @writingroom21 @maybejj @whytheylosttheirminds @drewsephrry @cameronsprincess @cherrywriterrr

[greatunironic]

eddie wakes up in a strange room. this was not particularly unusual for him, historically: he’d spent most of his twenties waking up in new and interesting places (including a handful of jail cells). but after eddie, the label, and the los angeles superior court system decided it would be best if he stopped drinking and doing blow, it stopped being such a regular occurrence.

so it’s almost alarming to him, now, to be blinking up at an unfamiliar cement ceiling with the raging bitch of all headaches and generally feeling like he got hit by a truck, got whiplash in a crash with the way his neck aches. he’d think he was hungover like all those times before except for how sharp the pain is, bright.

he worries, briefly, he’s relapsed, or someone’s slipped him something. but he remembers what him and the boys had been up to, before this, and he thinks it’d’ve been a strange night indeed if someone roofied a c-list (b-list if he’s feeling charitable) musician at a fucking frozen four game.

because yeah, eddie remembers: they’d been third row, watching the wisconsin ladies clean up and cheering for jeff’s kid sister like she was about to get olympic gold. (she probably would, someday. her and that mayfield girl who played defense were looking down the barrel at a 2026 run apparently.

eddie’s been to a handful of games over the years, when touring and recording allows them to go. he’s resolutely never been a sports guy but he’ll admit, when pressed, that live hockey is pretty dope. to say nothing, of course, of how jeff would probably murder them all in their sleep if they didn’t rep the red and white for lottie.

(and also — and this is between eddie and his god alright — but lottie’s coach? standing back there in his suit, hair styled and dialed, snapping his gum, yelling at the refs? kind of doing it for him, okay. worth the price of admission, even if the tickets weren’t free.)

when he thinks harder — which hurts too — the last thing he clearly remembers was someone from the beavers scoring, bringing their lead to 5-1, and a slapshot from the other team getting out over the boards and nearly taking out some lady’s popcorn. someone behind them in the seats said, “jesus they’re getting desperate, eh?”

then shit goes dark on him, not even a fade to black, but a full on smash cut, roll credits black, and the post-credits scene is where ever the fuck eddie is at the moment. it smells like human and cold and icy hot, so obviously, he thinks, he died and went to hell like all the church ladies said he would back in hawkins, or probably just a locker room. what the fuck?

he blinks at the ceiling, at an interesting water stain on the cement texturing. he’s in the middle of wondering where the rest of his band has gone if he’s here alone, fucking abandoners, when a sweaty redhead with the bitchiest expression he’s maybe ever seen enters his field of vision.

“you’re alive,” she says.

eddie blinks again. “why do you sound so disappointed?”

“yo coach!” she shouts, already on the move away from him. “he’s alive!”

he tries to sit up, but that makes the pain in his head worse, and also draws attention to the fact that his back also hurts. he squeezes his eyes shut and makes a truly embarrassing noise of pain — if pressed, he’d call it a whimper — and a pair of big hands land on his shoulders.

“out, out ladies i got this! hey!, hey, man, don’t move just yet,” says big hands.

“yeah, no problem, i don’t want to anymore,” eddie says. he stirs up the will to open his eyes again and very nearly slams them back shut. because of course the person staring down at him is fucking coach hottie snackycakes himself. he’s even better looking in person, too, big droopy eyes, lips as pink as his bubblegum, and shiny, jesus christ. he’s still got eddie by the shoulders, hands warm through the thin cotton of his flannel and tee — because eddie’s always been more fashion than sense, wayne always said, and it’s even worse now that the paps are on him—

“oh, fuck this is gonna be all over tiktok later, isn’t it?” he moans.

“maybe not.”

“don’t lie.”

“listen, eddie — it is eddie, right?” asks coach hottie. “i’m steve. coach harrington. faughnsie — lottie, i mean — she said you’re eddie. her brother’s guitarist? what do you remember?”

“more like he’s my singer,” he says, “but sure. and not much.”

“well, you’re gonna be okay,” says coach hottie — steve. “it really wasn’t that bad, and it was probably too fast for anyone to get it, unless they already had a camera on you. you took a puck to the head when one popped up. i’d apologize but it wasn’t one of my girls who did it, so. anyway — you weren’t out for long, which robbie says is good — she’ll get a look at you in a second — but you got your bell rung pretty good. and you’re gonna have quite the shiner, trust me.”

“speaking from experience?”

“oh, yeah. closer and faster too.” he gently raps his head with his knuckles. “too many concussions too early ended my nhl days, in fact.”

“oh. oh shit, sorry, i—“

“don’t worry about it, man, it happens,” he says. “and if it hadn’t, i wouldn’t be here.”

“at the frozen four.”

“yeah, sure, that too.”

“what?”

“what?” steve waves him off. “anyway, i’m just glad to see you up, ish, and talking. looked pretty scary, from the bench.”

“i really don’t remember,” says eddie. “but i’m sure i’ll see it on tiktok later, like i said — at least, my unconscious, bleeding form.”

“i got up there pretty fast, so i doubt it,” says steve.

eddie blinks, twice. “you—?”

“you were behind my bench, and you. well,” he says with a shrug, but he’s clearly a little embarrassed, finally putting those hands away — weapons of eddie destruction, he thinks — and shoving them into his pockets of his tight slacks. “i should be getting back out there.”

“do you? you’re murdering them pretty good, unless i black out and missed them getting four more goals,” eddie says.

the corners of steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. eddie thinks he might just pass out again. “no, we’re still gonna cinch it, i think. looks bad, though — first time coach missing the final period so’s he can hit on the cute musician who got his clock cleaned by the biscuit.”

“oh,” he says. swallows. “uh.”

steve’s crinkly, smiley eyes go wide. “unless—“

“no less!” eddie shouts and then immediately winces. at a better, less damaging to his more than slightly concussed noggin, volume, he says, “more, actually. because pretty sure i shouldn’t be left unsupervised, and i’ve clearly been abandoned by the band, so—“

“so,” says steve.

“coach, two minutes!” someone calls.

“so, i was hoping maybe i could keep hitting on the hot hockey coach back at his?”

“i’m at the ramada inn,” he says, “and i got tape to watch for the finals.”

“i live for room service,” eddie tells him seriously. “and i’m suddenly very into wisconsin sports teams.”

“coach! go time!”

“yeah?” he asks.

“yeah.”

“COACH!”

he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “i gotta — but, uh, later?”

“pick me up in twenty?”

“probably more like half an hour, with stoppage,” he says.

someone bangs on the door. “COACH!! let’s boogie!!”

with one last look, wide eyed and smiling, steve leaves. eddie watches him go. he’d heard hockey players were caked up but lord — eddie is about to convert to a new religion, or maybe found one, over the stretch of those slacks.

“damn,” he says quietly.

“gross,” a woman says. eddie startles and looks to the side, where a lanky brunette with a bob and an undercut is staring at him, unimpressed. she’s in some get up that screams athletic trainer, and there’s a white board in her hand.

“how long have you been there?” he asks.

she raises an eyebrow. “long enough, and honestly, i don’t know if that counts as a you rule for him, or a you suck for you,” she says and does not elaborate when he asks. “also don’t look at him like that. it’s steve. he’s basically my sister.”

“yeah? any tips then?” asks eddie. “i promise i’ll only use them for good. well. mostly.”

“god,” she says with an expansive eye roll. “you’re gonna be a nightmare, aren’t you?”

a cheer goes up outside the room as the teams, presumably, take the ice again. eddie, head throbbing, concussed, embarrassed, grins. “sure hope so,” he says.

[wynnyfryd]

‘bush woods’ by dope smoker

written for the @steddiemicrofic june prompt ‘hot’ + 315 words bc i wrote this immediately after listening to the song ‘bush woods’ by dope smoker and it came out to exactly 315 words which is a coincidence bordering on a gay miracle, happy pride month | rated M | cw: smoking

Steve’s just sucking down the last little nub of a second joint when Eddie gets up to put a record on. The song starts with a scratch, a wind-up crackle, and then a riff comes in that’s just…

Wow.

Really fucking hot.

The guitar sounds like someone replaced the strings with chainsaws, but it’s warm and honeyed, too, beneath that—something slow and droning that makes him feel like he’s melting into the mattress. Reminds him of the old steel mill across town: warm copper and rust tones in a late afternoon sun, the clank and hiss of groaning metal and steaming pipes. Then the singer joins in, and the vibe shifts to something almost-but-not-quite spooky. Morticia Addams with her eyes in a beam of light. Bubbling cauldrons, nimble fingers stirring clockwise.

Eddie drops down on the bed beside him.

Steve rolls his head to the side. “Shit, man,” he smiles. His eyelids won’t stay open. “Is this a come on or what?”

Eddie goes flush and pale all at once, a worried question in the knit of his brows. And Steve’s just screwing with him, mostly, but the tempo is kind of making his blood pump. He rolls his hips up off the bed in time with it once, and god. Yeah.

“This is—” he laughs, a little breathy. “This is good fucking music.”

“Hell yeah, it is,” Eddie nods emphatically.

Steve snorts; stills his hips. Swats at Eddie’s bicep with a lazy flop of his wrist. “Not like that, dude, like—”

Eddie rolls up onto his elbow, looking ready to fight him for suggesting his music isn’t good, so Steve stresses, “I mean, it is that, too. Just meant it’s, like…”

He wags his eyebrows—tries to play it like a joke, like he can’t feel genuine arousal starting to wiggle its way through him with every cymbal crash. “It’s good music to fuck to.”

—

ps i know the addams family movie came out in 91 so a) let me have this b) i guess this is either a future fic or a 90s au and c) LET ME HAVE THIS lmao

[elanorpam]

it's been way too long since i last did wildly self-indulgent fanart, so of course i did it for an SVSSS AU that doesn't even have any actual fanfiction written of it yet. but what can i say! it's a compelling scenario! Just check the original post for details!

here's a workplace doodle for his mess of an outfit, too:

Xin Mo is floating behind his back, wrapped in talismans. the collars are meant to be vaguely inspired on a flower bud.

Some notes i came up with for this version, copied straight from a month-old discord convo:

he may have protagonist halo now, but he's for sure not a stallion protagonist. he literally exchanged fates with his favorite person in the world in order to spare them a hellish trial-- that's romantic as fuck!! damn!! this is old CLAMP shoujo and no mistake!!

binghe may no longer be the protag, but he's still a half-heavenly demon. power-wise, heavenly demons can't be topped, and all the remaining heavenly demons are accounted for. so, SQQ can't be a heavenly demon, even in part.

HOWEVER, as a protagonist, there's a factor more important than power! it's the CHUUNI FACTOR. what's more CHUUNI™️ than being part demon?

one option is being part demon and part angel.

how would that even fucking work??????? IDK man, you can either pull from chinese folklore for fairies or heavenly beings or spirits, or you can blame Airplane and go "he accidentally implied the existence of christian elements by means of importing unexamined anime tropes"

Shen Jiu conveniently has a big fat blank on his parentage. We as fans can and have put whatever the hell we wanted there.

SQQ would jump into the abyss still under the impression SJ was a shallow villain. If his trip through the abyss involves recovering SJ's memories somehow, that sure would be fun times, huh?

so he awakens a mysterious ancestry and survives the abyss and takes Xin Mo, but he probably takes longer than Binghe did due to being squishier.

but Xin Mo isn't ACTUALLY his! so he papers it over with sealing talismans, and to battle the temptation to wield it he takes to wearing these longass sleeves. they're probably covered in talismans as well.

guessing Xiu Ya stayed behind to be mooned over by the clown trio in Cang Qiong. let's go full sparkle-sue here and say he's now fighting almost entirely via musical cultivation. i like swan-necked konghou harps so let's go with that, it'll look dope.

why is he barefoot? why WOULDN'T he be, is the question. fragile!! suffering!! dainty!! he's a shrinking flower, tormented by the weight of the One Sword To Rule Them All!!

also for extra pathos, his constant mental struggle against Xin Mo means he can't spare energy to front. it takes constant focus! he's still a bit in his delusional shit, but even when he's going "oh no, binghe is only latched throat-deep onto my dick because he's a good boy who's concerned about me and the danger i could pose by losing control" he'd probably… well, he'd probably say that out loud to anyone who asked. he's in a half-trance, mentally battling the crazy-making sword. lying is too much work.

Wouldn’t resisting Xin Mo’s influence be the mental and spiritual equivalent to training under 400x gravity or something? his wife-beam is going to be off the charts when he puts it down.

also also: who the hell dressed him like that? fucking shang qinghua, of course, after SQQ showed up in the northern palace to punish MBJ for hurting binghe in the conference. did the system explain shit to SQH? on the one hand, extremely funny if it updates him on the role change out of nowhere mid-alliance. on the other hand, extremely funny if he only finds out because Binghe is crying safely in Qing Jing while the scum villain apparently jumped into the abyss.

Here's another link to the original AU post! I've had it open on a tab all this time just so i could point to it when I was done, so make sure to check it out!

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve and Gareth as cousins warm up, part two! 

First part is HERE. 

Next part is HERE. 

Reminder: Someone on Twitter proposed Steve and Gareth as cousins whose family had a major falling out, and then someone else brought it up recently and long story short no idea who to credit the idea too bc you can’t search for SHIT on Twitter but it's theirs not mine.

Warnings: Steve and Robin Get (canon-S3) Drugged. 

"I'm just saying the other theater is cheaper." Eddie said around the straw jammed in his mouth. 

He carried the largest bucket of popcorn Starcourt’s movie theater offered, alongside the two boxes of candy he'd also demanded Gareth buy him. 

"Easier to sneak into, you mean." Gareth corrected, with his significantly smaller bag of popcorn. His, he planned to share with Jeff, Grant having snuck in his own food. 

Gareth himself would have snuck in the cheaper (and far larger) snacks, but Eddie had thrown a fit about going to the mall to see a new movie instead of Hawkin’s far older theater. 

Of course, the older theater also had several disadvantages, key of which was terrible seating, and so, Gareth had bribed him with whatever treats he wanted. 

His wallet took a hit but fuck it, at least they got to actually see the screen. 

Not that they even made it into the fucking theater, because someone chose that moment to crash into Eddie. 

Popcorn kernels and soda flew everywhere, with Eddie only avoiding it landing on him and Gareth both by years of dealing with this exact bullshit in school. Of course, the mall wasn’t school, and neither of them had their guard up. 

"What the hell man--" Eddie spat, immediately on the defense, as they both turned to see what jackass wanted to cause problems this time. 

Except Gareth had recognized the person who bumped him. 

"Steve?" Gareth asked, causing  his cousin to totter around and face him. He was in his Scoops Ahoy uniform, which remained to be absolutely ridiculous, but that hadn't been what had drawn Gareth's attention. 

No, that would be the absolute wrecked face staring at him with a doped up grin. 

All thoughts of the movie immediately faded away. 

"What happened to your face!?" Gareth demanded, immediately stepping up into his cousin's space, eyes darting over the damage. 

Recent black eye, split lip, blood splatter all down one side of his neck, nevermind his clothes… 

"Robs!" Steve called over his shoulder instead of answering, body moving as if he was walking on a wildly rocking boat and not solid ground. "Come 'ere!" 

He beamed, which had the horrific effect of resplitting his lips. "Meet Gareth, my baby cousin!" 

"I am two years younger than you." Gareth argued on automatic. He didn’t look to see how Eddie took this little piece of info--he’d figure out what he’d say later, when Steve wasn’t covered in blood. 

It did not stop Robin from reaching out to pinch his cheeks. 

She too, Gareth realized, was clearly high on something, both of them giggling and weaving on their feet. 

At least Robin didn’t appear to be hurt--or at least, not hurt as badly as Steve. 

"What the hell did you two take?" Gareth demanded, looking between them as he quickly put his popcorn back off to the side. 

"We didn't take anything, dad." Steve said bossily, rolling his eyes. He spoke in a voice so unlike himself that Gareth knew his own face was doing something crazy. 

Not that he could stop it because what the hell. 

"What my patriotic friend here means is that we don't know." Robin added, smacking a hand onto Steve’s shoulder. 

(The entire sentence was slurred and sounded like she'd shoved candy in her mouth before she started talking.) 

"You don't know?!” Gareth asked, taking in the way Steve flinched when Robin touched him. Added a mental note to check his cousin's shoulder too. “How do you not know?" 

Gareth wasn't panicking, he wasn't, except he absolutely fucking was. Steve's dad was going to kill him, disown him, and throw the body out of his house--in that exact order. 

Gareth’s parents wouldn’t take him in, not unless his mom felt she could use it to one up her sister in some way which meant that Gareth was going to have to sneak Steve in and out of the house like he was some--some puppy Gareth was trying to keep and--

"Did someone give you two something?" Eddie asked, interrupting Gareth’s spiraling. 

"Give is a very strong word." Steve said with a snicker. 

Robin nodded so much she looked like a bobble head. She leaned in, nearly falling into Gareth in the process. “In fact it’s not the word I’d use at all! I’d use…” She trailed off, screwing her eyes up in thought. 

“Made us?” Steve suggested as Gareth finally gave in to his instincts and reached out to steady his cousin. “Forced us?” 

“Socked it to us!” Robin added with a weird amount of glee, and the two of them once again collapsed into giggles.

Literally, forcing Gareth to try and steady them both. 

Which meant Eddie was right--they’d been drugged. It made perfect sense-- Steve wasn’t the kind to experiment with drugs beyond weed. Had in fact, given a very long lecture about how he’d make Gareth go on runs with him if he ever found out Eddie had given him anything stronger than weed. 

There was no way he’d change now, and especially not around a jobsite. Particularly one as busy as the mall. 

"You can't tell anybody." Robin continued, eyes so wide they were more white than pupils. "But we got truth serumed!" 

As if that made any fucking sense. 

Gareth turned a half frantic, half disbelieving look to Eddie--whose own face scared him almost as badly as Steve's did. 

He was hiding it, and doing a good job of doing so, but Eddie was the one person Gareth knew better than Steve. 

Right now? Eddie Munson was furious. 

Not mad, or upset, or even as pissed as he had been the time Tommy Hagan had thrown his drug box in the river. 

He was enraged. 

"Hey." He said, and the only thing more shocking than realizing Eddie was this mad was hearing him talk in a calming, almost playful voice. "Sounds like you two sailors had a pretty rough time. Why don't we go to the bathroom and get you both cleaned up? I bet you'll feel a little better." 

It was clearly the right move, because both of them looked downright delighted. 

"He thinks we're sailors!" Steve said, cupping a hand around his mouth and leaning to talk in Robin’s ear as if he was whispering. (He wasn’t.) 

Robin’s grin grew impossibly wider, before Eddie stepped forward to help Gareth half guide half herd the two into the nearest bathroom. 

"I know you." Robin said, squinting dramatically as Eddie opened the door with his regular flair, bellowing for anyone in the place to get out. 

It was Steve's turn to nod enthusiastically. "That's Eddie, Robbie." He said.

"I'm honored King Steve knows such a humble peasant's name." Eddie bowed as Gareth finally got both Steve and Robin into the bathroom, trying to get them to sit on the floor before they fell on their asses. 

Which just made a hurt expression appear on Steve's face. "’Course I do. You have really pretty hair." 

It had the effect of making Eddie look like he’d been punched and Gareth had to quickly turn his bark of laughter into a cough. 

"I bet it's soft.” Steve continued, as he pressed his back against the tiled wall and slowly slid down to the floor. “Gare, is it soft?" 

"It's very soft." Gareth agreed, trying to wet a paper towel with shaking hands. Finally he gave up entirely, ripping the plaid sweater he had tied around his waist and shoving one of the sleeves into the sink. 

“Oh my god.” Robin said abruptly, sitting up from her own slouched spot on the floor as if she’d suddenly been stricken sober. “It’s him! He’s your type!” 

“What’s my type?” Steve turned to her, as Eddie leaned his back against the door to the bathroom, blocking anyone else from entering. 

“It’s like--like Nancy! But boy Nancy.” Robin seemed to think this made a ton of sense, and given Steve’s immediate groan maybe it did to him, but Gareth was too freaked out to even begin to process what the hell they were on about.

Probably nothing, given they’d been drugged. 

Eddie seemed to pick up on his general anxiety and poor attempts at shoving down his own freakout, because he gently called out Gareth’s name. 

“I think it’s wet enough.” He added with a raised eyebrow. His eyes drifted purposefully to the sink and with a curse, Gareth snapped shut the water off. 

His hands were still shaking. 

“Give it to me.” Eddie said gently, moving to take the shirt from Gareth’s hands. “Here, swap me Gare, and guard the door.” 

Gareth did, as Eddie knelt down to take Steve’s chin in one hand, and carefully began dapping his wounded face with the wet sleeve. 

“May I ask what battles you two sailors have been involved in?” He said, continuing to sound like playful, fun Eddie and not like he was about to murder half the town (which, Gareth could tell by body language alone, is what Eddie actually felt like) “Did you happen to catch a glimpse of the villains who did this?"

“Robin melted into Steve, rubbing her face in his shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe us.” 

Eddie smiled his most charming smile, a full blown rouge grin he played up as he continued to wipe and dab at Steve’s wounds. “You’d be surprised at what I believe in, my fair lady.” 

Steve tried to talk, but ended up hissing as he ran into Eddie’s fingers. 

“Russians.” He managed to get out, when Eddie quickly took the sleeve away so he could talk. “We got kidnapped by fucking Russians. Also we kinda saw some shit and they’re after us. Possibly you now if they saw you with us.” 

There was the briefest of pause as Steve and Robin stared at Eddie, as Eddie stared back. 

Then Steve and Robin as one started howling with laughter, so hard that Robin’s head ended up in Steve’s lap with Steve’s own head resting on hers. 

Eddie turned to give Gareth a pinched look. “Russians.” He said, still calm despite it all. “Right.” 

Which had to be the fucking drugs speaking. 

Gareth just took a deep breath as Eddie managed to gently prod Steve back into putting his chin in his hand, shaking his head ever so slightly. 

He didn’t know who he was going to actually have to murder, but at least Eddie looked to be on board with acting as his backup. 

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch.1

Warnings/Mentions: History of abuse, neglect, strong language, mentions of character death, alcohol and drug abuse, ptsd, shared trauma, reader is cold, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Summary: The little boy you patched up in the trailer park grows up, your paths finally aligning to bring you together. The man who was once only a rare source of comfort becomes your other half, only to pull back when you need him the most.

Notes: Based off of this post. Basically an angsty story detailing your relationship with Daryl and the group over the years, and when Daryl starts to grow distant from you.

Growing up was hard. Growing up without your loving father was even harder. 

You accepted the cigarette pressed in front of your lips from his hand and took a deep pull, holding it in your lungs until you felt your heart finally slow from its painful pace. He took his hand away from your face and took an equally long drag. 

“When's Merle getting out?” You asked as you absentmindedly scratched the dry blood off your fingernails, your nose still throbbing from your mother's fist. 

“Next week.” 

You were young then. God, way too young to be smoking cigarettes. Most kids your age stole them from their parents, bringing them into the eighth grade classrooms to sell or trade. 

Merle did come back the next week, but not for long. He eventually abandoned the two of you for the military, something his younger brother was really torn up about. After Merle left, said younger brother spent a lot of nights on your back porch couch. Your mother didn't mind, in reality she didn't give a shit at all, normally too high to care, or going through withdrawals so bad she only wanted to beat on you and blame you for your father's disappearance. 

You began to deeply miss Merle and the comfort he would bring, mostly in the form of alcohol or illegal substances. He'd always make you promise not to tell anyone, and you'd always say you weren't a fucking idiot. You were lucky you'd grown up on the same street as the Dixon brothers, it had inadvertently caused the older to view you as an estranged little sibling, sparing you from his foul advances. 

The Dixon brothers eventually became a rare sight. You all were just too busy with your own bullshit. You had a little brother to look after, and you did your best to shield him from your mother's antics, but one day the teacher saw that big bruise on his back and CPS took him away. You really missed Merle then, because at least he had the decency to sell you drugs instead of asking to trade for sexual favors. That made a substance induced escape a lot harder, forcing you to go into the city to find a decent dealer. 

You were sitting on your back porch crying with blood all over your face when you saw them again. 

They were frantic, tearing into your driveway with their dad's truck, shouting at you to get your shit and get in. Your mother was too doped up to understand what was happening, slumped on your dirty living room sofa with a bloody straw still on her lap. Merle had tried to get her to get up and come, shouting about ‘goddamn dead people eating everyone’(using a less kind word than people), but in your post-beating rage you left without her, leaving her on your couch to succumb to either an overdose, or whatever the hell the Dixons were warning her about. 

You begged Merle to go by the foster home to look for your brother. Begged, cried, and eventually screamed, and he screamed right back at you. Daryl barely managed to calm the two of you down with a hopeful explanation that the building that housed your brother was the safest place he could be. That didn't stop you from trying to steal their truck later that night though, which only ended up in another screaming match and a bloody spat with the undead. 

“Turn left here. Left, here!” 

“Well shit, give me more than a goddamn two second warning fucktard!” It was a wonder Merle hadn't lost his voice from the near constant shouting, at Daryl and you. This time it was the former, attempting at giving his brother directions to the safe zone in Atlanta, reading off a dirty crumpled map with text made for ants to read. 

You rubbed between your eyebrows and continued looking out your window as Merle turned around in the middle of the road to take the left into the highway. 

The sound of your name being called had you internally groaning. “Hey,” Merle snapped again, looking over at you in the passenger seat. “I said get my bag.”

You all but slung his plastic baggie into his lap. He took out a pill bottle with the label ripped off and fished out three pills, dropping them into his green pill grinder as he drove with his knees. 

“Just let me drive, man.” Daryl complained after having to correct the wheel for the elder brother. 

“Ay! Keep your stupid fucking hands off my wheel before you lose ‘em.” 

Most of the drive was like that. And it was even worse when after seeing Atlanta fucking napalmed. You were all close to losing it, and thankfully right before your Mexican standoff ensued, you found a group. 

You couldn't stand most of them. Most were too soft, too nice, too stupid or too weak. The strongest men were pieces of shit, and the men that weren't despicable were either weak or insane. Glenn didn't bother you too much, especially after you witnessed his weasel-like skills. He was like a roach, always surviving, even when a building fell on him. 

The majority of your time was spent hunting. 

The first day you went out with your recurve bow, which had once belonged to your father, Shane had questioned you. 

“You know how to use that thing?” He asked as he watched you flip your raggedy leather quiver over your shoulder.

You bent down to tie your boots and nodded. 

“You ever use one of those before?”

“Yes. You got a light?” 

Shane took a second before fishing out a lighter from his back pocket, moving intentionally slow as if to show you he was your superior. You snatched the green bic from his hand and lit your cigarette, shoving it back out towards him. 

“Dixons are already out hunting. Left this morning. Why don't you just stay here and help out? We could really use the hands. Women of the camp are sometimes more important-”

You walked off into the woods before he could continue. 

It was satisfying bringing your doe back to camp, even though dragging the thing back was a cruel and grueling process. You asked T-Dog and Ed to help you string it up, making sure to be as noisy as you could, a thick middle finger to Shane. You drained and gutted the carcass, making sure to ask Shane with a smug smile what he wanted to do with the intestines.

“Take it away from camp.” He spoke with his fingers a lot, rough pointing in an aggressive manner. “That shits gonna draw those things near.”

“Makes good bait for fish.”

Andrea and her sister Amy backed you up, even though they cringed and grimaced taking their share down to the quarry. 

Merle and Daryl had finally settled down after a while in camp. Merle wasn't seconds away from murder anymore, and Daryl found peace in his hunting. Eventually Glenn got you your own tent, which you were ecstatic about, no longer having to share one with the two men. 

Merle called your name through a mouthful of stewed deer meat. “Sweetie, hand me a beer why don't ya.” 

Lori looked up over her bowl. “Would it kill you to say please?”

You tossed the warm bottle to Merle, not acknowledging her attempt at sticking up for you. He didn't bother you, his insults or disrespect never did, growing up with someone like that sort of makes you blind to it, especially when you were used to so much worse from your mother. 

“Would it kill you to suck my nuts?” 

Shane stepped in and you groaned, rolling your eyes and taking your stew back to your tent. 

After Daryl's mother passed you saw him more and more. You were about eleven when it happened, you remembered the house fire and the day they moved into the trailer closer to yours. Daryl was almost constantly covered in bruises then. Always a black eye, always a purple bicep, always dried blood under his nails. He didn't smoke with you much after that, his mother having died from a cigarette induced house fire. That was when Merle had left, but your memory of the timeline was foggy. It had been so long ago and so much was constantly happening that you might've misremembered a lot of it. 

“Sleep good?” Your groggy voice caused Daryl to look up from his task of sharpening his knife.

“Nah. You?”

You yawned and sat next to him in front of the fire, stretching your sleepy limbs and taking a sip of his water. “Now that Merle's farting and snoring aren't waking me up every ten minutes, yes. Thought he would shit himself with how bad that tent stank.”

Daryl let out a knowing chuckle and tossed his whetstone in the open flap of his tent. He slipped his blade back in its holster on his belt before grabbing a crooked cigarette from his shirt pocket. 

“Fuckin' hate this place.” He muttered around the filter as he cupped his hand around the flame of his lighter. He snapped his zippo shut and put it back in his jeans pocket. “Me and Merle been talkin’.”

“About what?” You began crunching on a handful of almonds you stole from Lori the night prior. 

“These people, they're… they're fuckin’ idiots.” He sighed as he blew out a stream of smoke, waving his hand around for enunciation. He held it to your lips for you to take a drag, watching as you pulled in a lungful before he took it away. “We should just leave 'em. They probably want us gone anyway.”

You observed him, not responding, chewing on the inside of your cheek. 

“Well? You comin’?”

“Course I am. But I don't think we should leave.”

“Why the hell not? You hear the shit they say about us?” He scoffed, his brows furrowed. “Inbred hicks with their ‘trailer trash whore’. Y’know, they think we all fuck each other when we go off huntin’. Good for nothin' bastards. Should just rob ‘em and leave.”

“I don't give a shit what they think. I give a shit about my odds of survival, which are higher with guns.”

“We got guns. N’we can jus’ take theirs.” He argued, referencing the duffle bag of stolen guns in the hidden compartment of their truck. “Besides, chances are we're safer on our own than these dumb shits, catching frogs with the kids in the damn quarry.” 

“Hey, I'll come if you leave. I couldn't care less about these people. But they keep that RV locked up real tight. It's gonna be a bitch to get into, especially with the rifleman wannabe on top and his gun slingin’ daughter, or whoever the fuck she is to him. Shane's already watching us too much. Let's just wait a while till he stops following me around like I'm some sort of violent nutcase.”

You had unknowingly sealed the fate of many lives with your argument. 

“Gonna go in the city.” Merle said as he slung his rifle over his shoulder, jumping out of his truck bed, careful to not knock over his bike in the process. “Y'all need anything? Tampons?” 

“No.”

“Was askin’ Darlene.”

“Shut the hell up man.” Daryl grumbled and finished preparing his crossbow for his hunt. “An’ no, don't need a damn thing.”

“Get some SlimJims.” Your favorite low cost snack. Growing up in a trailer park gave you a superior taste in snacks, SlimJims and Funyuns being your favorite. 

“Why you want that when I got all the meat sticks you need sugar?” Merle laughed crudely, nearly bumping you over with a sloppy kiss goodbye to your cheek. You smirked and playfully pushed him off, watching as he left with the rest of the supply group. 

“C'mon. Let's go before all the damn squirrels get eaten.” Daryl put his crossbow on his back and you picked up your weapons before following him off into the woods. 

You had good luck that day. Daryl had a rope full of squirrels and you were tracking down a deer he'd sunk a few arrows into. 

“Not gonna need SlimJims no more.” Daryl breathed as the two of you crept silently through the woods, following the trail of bubbly blood. 

“As much as I love your roasted squirrel, it just doesn't have the same kick to it.”

“Never heard you complainin’.”

“Yeah, it's ‘cause I'm not a bitch.”

“You? Not a bitch?”

“Only to people who deserve a good bitchin’.”

“Seems like everyone these days needs a little of that.”

“Hah, yeah. We better get that deer before the dead do, Merle's gonna be hungry as fuck when he gets back.”

You didn't react when Rick Grimes told you he'd cuffed Merle to a roof. You didn't react when it was revealed T-Dog, one of the only people you liked in Shanes group, had dropped the key and left him up there. He'd profusely apologized and you just stared at him, doing everything in your power not to punch him in the throat. 

You did react when you saw Merle's hand on that roof, his body nowhere to be seen. You cursed and shoved Rick so hard he hit the metal side of the fire escape with a bang, and Daryl, eager to jump in, ran to your side with blazing eyes. If it wasn't for the other people there and the guns they held,  you would've killed him that day. Mauled him like the animal you were and left him there just as he did Merle. 

In the absence of his brother, you found Daryl had seemed to subliminally put you in his place, a figure to follow and learn from. Not that you had too much to teach him, but knowing you were the eldest sibling in your family had you fitting into place with him perfectly. 

You guessed you could call Daryl your friend now. You never had many friends, only in elementary school, sticking to yourself most of the time. The kid going to school smelling like cigarettes with the same clothes they wore the day before was never a popular choice for companionship. You never minded it though. The abuse you suffered at the hands of your mother had turned you into a cold and calloused human. Daryl was simply an object of mutual benefit for you back then, a source of company, cigarettes, alcohol. Whatever he could get his hands on. And he was easier to relate to than Merle, who had a good ten years on you. 

But now, he was the only person you had left. Your mother was gone, your precious baby brother God knows where, and your male mentor was still missing, out there with one hand, his state of existence unknown to you. He was most likely dead. Shane's group had quickly become “Rick's group”, and you still held no fondness for any of them. Andrea had formed an odd one sided relationship with you, she craved your status. The group saw you as on level with the men, you never needed gun training like the rest of them, you got to keep your own gun, and no one ever tried to prevent you from doing something you wanted to do. 

It was clear though, none of them really liked you all that much. They treated you like more of an outsider than they had Merle. You couldn't blame them, you wouldn't like someone like you. You were a mean and cold bitch, always keeping to yourself and only viewing them as a transactional business. They provided safety in numbers and you provided fresh kill and a gun. 

One of the only times you behaved like a friendly human being was when you arrived at the CDC. It was hard to recognize you after you showered and cleaned up, washed your clothes and didn't smell like cigarettes or blood anymore. While your clothes were washing you had to borrow some from the former employees, a deep purple sweater and black slacks that somehow fit you perfectly. You caught Shane watching you walk down the hall, and you quickly responded with a snotty face of disgust. 

A stomach full of hot seasoned food and wine loosened you up a bit. You sat next to Daryl and smiled, even laughed a few times, much to the shock of the others. 

“C'mon, one more glass.” Daryl grinned as he filled your cup with more wine before you could object. “Don't be a baby.” 

“Sure thing Darlene.” You snorted as you took a sip, earning an eye roll and a scoff from Daryl. 

“Yeah, keep it up.” He feigned aggression as he downed his third glass. “Won't be so funny when you got teeth in your throat.”

“Not before I lose my boot up your ass.” 

The banter was refreshing. The trip out of the quarry had been exhausting. It felt like you were admitting to failure when you were forced to give up your search for Merle, and oftentimes you debated on stealing his bike out of the back of your truck and going back to find him. But there was always something stopping you, every single time. 

Sleeping on an actual mattress felt amazing. You'd offered to take the couch as a joke, and when Daryl made his way to the bed you dove into the sheets before he could plop down on it. 

“You really are a goddamn bitch.” He slurred and slung his bag at the foot of the couch, falling back dramatically.

“Drink some water before you get a hangover.” You tossed him a fresh bottle from the room fridge, and he begrudgingly downed it. You turned the light off and climbed into bed, groaning at the feeling of the soft and dry mattress.

“You think Merle’s alive?”

You blinked, opening your eyes and looking towards the couch. It was dark, you'd assumed he'd been asleep by then, there had been several long minutes of silence. 

“Yeah. I know he is.” You were surprised by his question. Daryl had always been the one reassuring you of Merle's status, claiming he was impossible to kill, and that he could feel in his bones that his brother was alive. It also made you a bit uncomfortable, you'd never comforted anyone before that wasn't your little brother. Let alone Daryl. The most you'd done for him was offer him sanctuary on your porch and cleaned his wounds if they were bad. 

“Go to sleep Daryl.” 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams (wasn't sure if you guys wanted to be tagged since its eventual smut but here u go)

@hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @10hrs26mn @adribarbie (those who asked to be tagged if someone wrote this in the original post)

[winningmymind]

Based on my kevaaron post (1st kevaaron ficlet)

"I'm gonna kill him." Andrew states in a deadly tone, staring daggers from across the dorm room at Kevin Day trying for the third time this week to convince Aaron to be his personal doctor over studying neurosurgery.

"Can you do it after dinner?" Neil genuinely asks, more concerned about his growling stomach.

He evenly splits his gaze between the wrinkly paper takeout menus of several food delivery joints nearby Palmetto and admiring how devastatingly hot Andrew looks when plotting the murder of their mutual friend.

"He thinks he's slick." Andrew seethes.

Steam practically comes from his ears at seeing Kevin boldly flirting with his brother, like Aaron isn't entirely dedicated to Katelyn, but according to Neil and Andrew's leisurely stalking reconnaissance of keeping up with Aaron's boring premed life, with Aaron none the wiser of his two most annoying people butting into his business because boundaries are still being learned/old habits die hard, the bubbly vixen cheerleader is going to have a big important talk with Aaron soon about evolving their relationship.

(Neil isn't above using Marissa's crush on him to fish for that information, having been taught by Allison on how to schmooze for exclusive gossip).

"Dumb as hell to do it front of you, though." Neil wonders if Kevin is playing dumb by ignoring Andrew's death glare. "That's, like, suicide."

Neil's leaning towards Chinese, but pizza sounds good also. Sandwiches are the fastest option, however, and Neil's hunger is unforgiving after that brutal practice they returned from.

"Either Kevin's survival instincts are slipping," Andrew starts, fingers itching to reach for one of his knives so he can stab Kevin right here, right now, "Or he's actually giving Nicky a run for his money on being a world class idiot."

Neil snorts. "Could be both." Then his face melts into consideration and he ponders aloud. "I thought Kevin didn't swing. Doesn't he have a girlfriend?"

"That's never stopped any of Aaron's admirers before." Andrew is still unblinklingly staring down at Kevin poorly peacocking for a clueless Aaron, making it an awkward and frustrating interaction to watch.

Kevin's "act normal" socialization skills when not in front of a camera talking exy, or taming loyal fans that catch him in the wild public for an autograph or picture, is absolute dog shit garbage levels of disaster thanks to spending the majority of his years with the cult known as the Ravens.

And Aaron is so tunnel visioned on dating Katelyn, busy stressing over his pre-med courses, and conserving 90% of his energy to be a grumpy hater of almost everything in life that irks him, that he's the type of person who's totally oblivious to when anyone has the hots for him. Blatant or not. Blame it on the lack of sleep as a college student athlete, maybe.

This is sadly now Andrew's cross to bear as the more observational twin. His uncanny curse and blessing that he never asked for. The ability to know and witness firsthand when his twin is being hopelessly pursued both romantically and sexually. Especially if said admirer has no idea they themselves are deeply attracted to Aaron. Most said admirers being men with the misfortune of having Aaron be their awakening.

Andrew instantly noticed this soon-to-be reoccurring issue when he and Aaron began living together and attending the same high school officially as Minyard twins. Andrew had joined their high school exy team as a goalie, then proceeded to clock four of their shared teammates either in the closet, in denial, or completely unaware of their sexuality that always hovered around and pined for straight as an arrow Aaron.

Aaron, who was either too doped up high as a kite, too depressed over Tilda's death, or too much in pain suffering the urge to relapse to realize he had a mini fan club ready to have just have one chance, one shot at the hint of a hookup or homoerotic locker room jock horseplay. If only Aaron thought outside his rigid box of science and discovered experimenting didn't just have to mean his labs. But alas, Aaron stuck to girls only.

"I'm just saying, if I was your patient I'd pay well." Kevin crosses his arms and shrugs, propped against the kitchen counter like he's posing for a cover magazine shoot. He peers down at Aaron, pupils clearly dilated and brow playfully arched, his voice dropping seductively low. Surely, he must know what he's doing. He has to.

Aaron scoffs up at Kevin, not picking up the vibes at all. "You'd be my whiniest, bitchiest patient. I'd end up losing my license killing you or whatever."

"Just think about it." Kevin smiles. It's his winning smile. The one exy fans all over swoon for and it goes right over Aaron's head, his expression unimpressed.

"I have thought about it." Aaron goes into depth of why neurosurgery is his best route. "Now, if you get brain damage or paralyzed, then we could work with something."

"This is just sad. I need popcorn for this." Neil doesn't try to hold his laughter at Kevin's disappointed frown. Looks like Aaron is immune to Kevin's pretty face. How can Kevin recover?

"I would trust you to fix whatever part of me is wrong." Kevin isn't a quitter and smoothly recovers quickly, which is a surpise because his earnestness seems to have stumped Aaron and left him speechless, albeit a tad flattered at the blind faith.

"I'm ending this." Andrew takes a step forward, unable to take this any longer, yet Neil puts his arm in front of Andrew to halt him, making sure they don't touch without Andrew's consent.

"But it's getting interesting."

"It's getting on my nerves."

"Aaron doesn't seem bothered. Kevin isn't a threat." Neil reminds.

As much as he supports Andrew's rights and wrongs, he'd like to do it on a full stomach, and they haven't chosen what to eat for dinner yet. Kevin can at least eat his last meal before biting the dust.

Andrew gives Neil a blank look. "Aaron doesn't swing. So, he should know Aaron's off limits."

"Nicky hits on people who don't swing all the time." Neil counters and Andrew raises a brow.

"Your point?"

"Kevin's harmless."

"Oh, yeah."

"Yeah. I mean, I don't even think he knows he's into Aaron."

Which is true, from both Neil's and Andrew's perspectives of the other exy striker. There are things Kevin does that makes one question if Mr. It's Easier to be Straight himself isn't obliviously internalizing a lot of feelings. Feelings that now are sprouting full force whenever Aaron is in eyesight.

"I knew I never should've let Aaron touch Kevin." Andrew clenches his fists, nails digging in his palms, scowling deeper at what's happening before him.

Last week, Kevin trained too hard and his muscles were sore, worse than usual. He asked anyone to rub icyhot on his back since he couldn't get to it. Nicky was too desperately thirsty to be considered. Andrew and Neil were preoccupied with each other on one of the beanbags and whispering Russian, lost in their bubble. Aaron, about to cram in an intense study session, was sick of hearing Kevin complain and gave Kevin the best rub down ever of his life just to shut him up. It was then and there when the Monsters discovered Aaron is great at deep tissue massages. And most likely when Kevin found a new obsession in pestering Aaron like a schoolboy teasing his crush. Silently debating if his skin was tingling from the balm or from Aaron's skillful fingers.

Neil hums, amused. "Who knew Aaron's so great with his hands."

"Say that again and I cut out your tongue."

"Jokes on you. I always wanted us to try knife play."

Andrew needs to smoke. His patience is thinning and Neil's penchant for feeding chaos isn't helping.

"Guuuuuys!" Nicky's booming voice interrupts everyone. He's returned from face timing with Erik in private, looking flushed and satisfied. "Why is there no food? It's been, like, an hour! Did anyone order dinner or did I miss the memo that we starve?"

"Undecided." Neil holds up the takeout menus for Nicky to choose from.

Kevin seems to get an idea, turning his attention to Aaron again, and never once acknowledging Andrew's disapproval.

"Wanna go check out this new food truck? It's on the other side of campus." Kevin specifically asks Aaron. Aaron is about to protest at the mere thought of walking that far past sunset, but Kevin plants the bait. "Don't worry. I'm paying."

"Fine." Aaron agrees instantly, hurrying to get his jacket.

"Ooh! Food truck sounds nice! What do they serve?" Nicky is excited at trying something new.

Kevin simply stares at Nicky all confused. "It's just me and Aaron. You guys fend for yourselves."

"What?" Neil has never heard Andrew and Nicky speak in unison. The cousins sound offended; Nicky for not getting an invite, and Andrew for Kevin's audacity at getting Aaron alone. Neil finds this all very entertaining.

Nicky immediately asks a million questions while Neil acts as a human barrier between Andrew and Kevin. Aaron heads to the door, ready to leave and uncaring that he's been chosen to get a free meal. Kevin sprints after, just now belatedly realizing Andrew is infuriated with him, and is puzzled at what he did to set Andrew off.

Aaron's ushered down the hall to the elevator by Kevin's insistence. "Why are we rushing?"

"No reason." Kevin clears his throat and checks behind him if Andrew has followed them. He hasn't. Good.

He doesn't get it, really. Kevin Day just wants to return the favor for Aaron's hospitality from the icyhot massage. He's trying to be a better friend. Sometimes friends spend money on each other and heavens know Aaron forgets to properly eat with all his difficult STEM courses to pass.

Kevin isn't, singling Aaron out and playing favorites on purpose. He isn't doing this in hopes of Aaron offering up his magic hands again, luckily in the near future, for Kevin's spasming muscles. He wouldn't go after someone who is taken, let alone for that someone to be a man.

Kevin's straight. Aaron's straight. Straight men can grab dinner just the two of them. With only one of them footing the bill. Why did Andrew look at Kevin like he was crossing a line? Did the goalie forget the only queers in their Monsters squad are him, Neil, and Nicky? Kevin and Aaron are the token straights and they both have longtime girlfriends.

"I'm not thanking you for paying, by the way." Aaron grunts, pulling Kevin from his thoughts as they ride the elevator down.

Kevin rolls his eyes, smirking down at Aaron's resting bitch face, his heart racing to the challenge of reigning in a stubborn Minyard.

"You'll thank me in other ways."