#shuttle run with music

[friendlycursedspaceotter]

honestly, dyspraxia would explain a lot. why i randomly fall and trip when there is literally nothing to fall or trip on. time blindness (that could just be the adhd, but you never know). why i hate driving with a burning passion and only do it because america is stupid about public transit. and also why autocorrect must save me and why i don't type with my thumbs and probably why my handwriting looks the way it does. and i can't catch things except when all the physics aligns and-- wait, did i have difficulty learning how to ride a bike? does this explain my dance issues?

was i just masking YET ANOTHER DISABILITY? HOW MANY DISABILITIES IN A TRENCH COAT AM I? AND HOW DID I NOT PUT THE PIECES TOGETHER UNTIL LITERALLY THIS WEEK?

and just so you don't beat me to it:

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hotter Than Texas | Part I

(unofficially: Brother's Worst Enemy)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Alrighty y'all, this is for everyone who has so patiently waited for me to make this a thing XD Not sure if I could squeeze a whole series out of this one but we shall see. Maybe at least a part 2. Enjoy!

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

The mission is simple. Collect Seresin Junior from the train station near the main gate of the base and deliver said cargo to the Seresin homestead in Eastern Texas on his way to Atlanta, Georgia for a long overdue visit with his grandparents. It isn’t rocket science. It sure as hell doesn’t hold a candle to the canyon run he pulled off just the other month. And yet, Bradley’s drumming his fingers anxiously on the hood of his Bronco as he leans into its frame, waiting on the trolley from downtown San Diego.

While Jake and Bradley have recently made peace after their longstanding cold war, Bradley isn’t exactly thrilled to meet another one of his kind. Besides, he isn’t one for small talk, and the prospect of spending the next two days with a complete stranger is downright daunting. He prefers music to conversation and he’s hoping that his road trip companion won’t be offended when he turns up the radio and forgets there’s anybody else in the car.

When Hangman had asked for the favor, he assured Bradley that he was his last choice – which wasn’t exactly a compliment, but Bradley appreciated the gesture, nonetheless. By the end of the term, there was nobody from their squadron left on base except Bradley, and he would be heading east anyway, might as well provide shuttle service while he’s at it.

As the trolley whistles into the station, Bradley pushes off his car and straightens his back, watching the tinted windows as they zip by, a blur at first and then gradually separating as the trolley comes to a stop.

Bradley leaves his car to walk around the fence, not quite sure how he’s going to be greeting a person he’s never before seen, but it’s not like he’s going to fashion a sign for the occasion. He sticks his hands into his pockets, the breeze picking up his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt like a parachute before it starts whipping around his torso in the wind tunnel on the platform.

He glances around at the commuters stepping off the trolley, trying to pick out the blondes that might resemble his colleague, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns his head, just as you say, “Rooster, right?”

He blinks at you, slightly disoriented. You look nothing like Hangman, thank fuck, because Bradley can’t take his eyes off you and, as inappropriate as this reaction is, it would make it that much worse if you did. He gives you a sideways grin. “What gave me away?” he says.

“My brother told me to find the dorkiest guy at the station,” you respond, grinning at him.

Bradley chuckles. “So, you’re walking to Texas, then,” he says, stepping around you.

You laugh, struggling to redirect the wheels of your suitcase.

Bradley bends down to grab the handle. “I can take that,” he says, tucking away the retractable bar and lifting it off the ground by the strap.

“Thanks,” you say, cringing slightly as Bradley lifts the luggage as though you’re embarrassed by its weight.

But after the countless exercise drills over the years, Bradley hardly notices that it’s heavy. In fact, he could probably carry it over his head. He eyes you inconspicuously as you fall in step with him, wondering if perhaps that might impress you – not that he wants to impress you.

“Actually, he said I couldn’t miss you because you’d be a head taller than everyone else, and probably wearing a very bright shirt.”

Bradley looks over at you with a grin. “Hopefully I didn’t disappoint?”

You eye his shirt flapping in the breeze. “I found you, didn’t I?”

Bradley lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car and walks around to open your door for you.

You give him a suspicious look. “Thanks,” you say.

Bradley nods at you, offering a hand to help you in. Once you’re seated, he shuts the door behind you and exhales unsteadily the kind of sigh that often accompanies a guilty conscience. There’s no way he could possibly get entangled in a mess of this magnitude. And a colossal mess it would become if he were to develop any sort of soft spot for his recent enemy’s baby sister. Bradley, being a sensible, mature adult, understands this unequivocally. But, when he rounds the car and climbs into the driver’s seat next to you, the notion that he’s not allowed under any circumstances to find you attractive flies right out his rolled down window.

This is because you’re already tuning the radio like you own the place and because you smell like a goddess. Bradley has no clue whether it’s your hair or your perfume or your goddamn essence that’s permeated his upholstery in under ten seconds, but whatever it is, he certainly wouldn’t mind smelling it on his sheets in the morning.

Fuck. He’s fucking fucked.

“This alright?” you ask casually, as if you didn’t just hijack a stranger’s radio.

He cringes at the stereo; he’ll have to work on your taste in music. “Got your seatbelt on?” he asks as he pulls out.

You turn around in your seat and pull on the seatbelt.

Bradley promptly hits the breaks and you lurch forward slightly, the seatbelt in your hand getting stuck on its way out. He looks over at you with an air of seriousness despite the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The seatbelt should be the first thing you do when you enter a vehicle.” Not fiddle with the radio, he adds silently.

You raise your eyebrows at him in amusement. “Okay, dad.”

Bradley nearly shudders at your response. He’s probably a good ten years older than you, so, really, while dad might be stretching it, you’re not too far off. “Keep up that attitude and you’ll be listening to Metallica the whole way home.”

You smirk at him. “I like Metallica, so joke’s on you, bud.”

Bradley starts driving again. “If you like Metallica, then why are we listening to this trash?”

Your jaw drops and you reach for the volume dial to turn up the song. “How dare you?”

Bradley rolls his eyes. Something tells him he’s in for a wild ride.

…

About two hours later, Bradley pulls into a small gas station just past the border into Arizona.

“Want something to eat?” he asks, leaning across the console to pop his glove compartment and pull out his wallet. “Or drink?”

You purse your lips. “I could go for a coffee.”

“How do you like it?” he asks.

“With a pinch of salt.”

Bradley gapes at you. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

You snort. “I’m not joking. You should try it! Cuts the bitterness in half, my friend.”

Bradley cringes. “The bitterness is why I drink it.”

You shake your head and declare wisely, “You’ll see.”

“That you’re a nutcase?” Bradley mutters under his breath as he exits the car. He jogs over to the convenience store, determinedly blocking out the seductive quality of your persuasive tone. You could probably convince him to drink a pint of his own urine if you set your mind to it.

Bradley drums impatiently on the counter, waiting for the clerk to finish restocking one of the shelves with chips. While he’s waiting, he glances out to check on you as if you’re a child under his charge. You’ve stepped out of the Bronco to stretch your legs and Bradley doesn’t like the way the two guys in the convertible in behind are eyeing you.

Bradley cranes his neck to check on the clerk’s progress and lets out a stifled sigh. When he looks back outside, he sees that one of the men has approached you and, well, Bradley isn’t about to wait to see what happens next. He drops a bill on the counter and calls out, “Keep the change,” to the clerk before practically slamming his way through the doors with the coffees in his hands.

Why it bothers him that some random dude might want your number is not of consequence. What matters is that Bradley gets rid of this asswipe before you start enjoying his company.

He strides confidently past the man chatting you up and stops right in between you and him, handing you a coffee.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he cautions moodily, not entirely sure how to go about handling a situation in which, objectively speaking, he has no real authority.

You meet his gaze with a small smile. “You don’t say,” you respond with all the sultriness of a blazing, desert sun.

Bradley’s gaze remains unwaveringly on you as he unhooks a pair of Ray-Bans from the neck of his muscle shirt and slides them over his eyes. “Ready to go?” he asks in a level tone, hoping he can avoid what is bound to be an unpleasant interaction with the man still standing behind him.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man speaks up. “Didn’t realize you were with someone, honey.”

Bradley keeps his eyes on yours for several moments longer, trying his best not to show the irritation he feels at the way this rando just called you ‘honey’. Reluctantly, he turns to face him, wondering what in the world he could say that wouldn’t make him sound jealous as fuck.

But before Bradley could speak, you slide casually into his side, leaning on him like it’s the most natural thing. “That’s just fine,” you say to the man. “No harm, no foul.”

Bradley looks down at your head as it nestles into his shoulder and then lifts his arm to let you move in closer. Trying to play it cool, he skims the tips of his fingers across your lower back, which is warm and feels like the perfect place to rest his hand.

Convertible guy promptly departs, and Bradley is left standing in an embrace with the one person on the entire planet for whom he should never catch feelings, at a derelict gas station on the outskirts of arid Yuma, Arizona, and the heat is really starting to get to him. Slowly, you start to peel yourself away and Bradley, sensing your withdrawal, drops his hand and recoils from you like you’ve burnt him.

Did it feel nice pretending you were his girl? Sure did. Is he going to erase it from his memory and never let himself so much as shake your hand again? Absolutely.

Read Part 2

Tag List

I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments probably tomorrow!

@joaquinwhorres

@katiemcrae

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@toomuchfluffs

@wintercap89

@lonelywitchv2

@callsign-jupiter

@rosiahills22

@olliepig

@coffeeaddictedmay

@boringusername3

@ratedtvpg

@mak-32

@annedub

@jules-1999

@black--lightning

@j-velvet

@xoxabs88xox

@cyanide-cryptid

@callsignvenus

@artemissunn

@gcldtom

@atarmychick007

@callsign-sunshine

@shanimallina87

@birdy-bat-writes

@wkndwlff

@chaosmxlcolm

@iminlovewithenchilidadas

@daniibzz

@avis15

@valhallavalkyrie9

@ijustwantedplums

@hal3ynicol3

@avengersfan25

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@lovingperfectionsblog

@bblpbb

@Elenavampire21

@SometimesAnAlice

@risingtripletaurus

@adaydreamaway08

@mattyskies

@desert-fern

@catsandbooksandstuff

@Topguncultleader

@avengers-fixation

[mbsneur]

Last Room

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: you hate Alexia but your best friend salma wants you to get along well with Alexia

Warnings: Smut 18+

WC: 2078

please read this text before going to the story please don't be so strict with me but rather write to me what I can do better or what you wished were different. also tell me if you find the story too long or too short.. Also write to me if you liked it. My requests are always open (and English is not my first language so don't be mad at me) and if you have any ideas for the future about who I should write please tell me… the topics I will choose by myself unless you have a request for one or two people I will Read everything.. in the next survey I will take a few ideas from the old survey and new ones…. now read and I hope you like it <33

You hate Alexia, her stupid sayings, her arrogant demeanor, the fact that she always wants to take control. You just hate everything when you're around her, she just makes you angry

You had training at Barca, it was a hard training session, you were sweaty and it was hot outside. You walked off the pitch and your best friend Salma came running and put her arm around your shoulder "How can you still have so much energy?" you says laughing and you go towards to the changing room. You all had to get your flight to Paris today. You all have an event with Nike. Salma, Alexia and you the thought of Alexia coming with makes you angry

You sit down at your place and take off your shoes. Alexia and Patri come in and your smile turns into a dull look. Alexia had her big eyes on you again and you were already expecting a stupid comment: "You were good today y/n Finally you do what you're told, you're getting better ," she says to you with a laugh and Patri pushes her to the side. You roll your eyes and want to get up and go to the shower. "A simple thank you would have been enough," she calls after you You wanted to go back and tell her that she should just leave you alone and that she was annoying you but Salma came to your side and pushed you towards the shower

You just want to forget what Alexia said and you take a shower. After a while Alexia came into the shower and you open your eyes briefly and see Alexia scanning your body with her eyes

“Que pasa Alexia, what do you want, keep your fucking eyes to yourself” you say annoyed She raised her arms innocently and smiled "Should I wash your back" she said ironically and she and a few others burst with laughter. You take your towel to go out

You get dressed for the Nike event in a simple white shirt and blue jeans with white shoes. "Hey, hurry up Alexia, we have a flight to catch" Salma calls loudly towards the shower. You are about to put your things in your locker to leave You all wait until Alexia is finally finished. When she's done you run out. You all say goodbye to the others and head towards to your shuttle. The ride was quiet. You listened to music and noticed Alexia's eyes on you every now and then You always wanted to say something but you held yourself back

When you arrived at the airport you all looked for your check-in You still have some time so you decide to get something from Starbucks

You also try to keep as much distance as possible from Alexia. You were at Starbucks and then your check-in started. You handed in your luggage and went to your gate. You had time and you passed the time with music until boarding started and you left on the plane and Salma really wanted to sit at the window so you only had a seat left next to Alexia. You didn't know if this was one of Salma's tricks to bring you closer together but you didn't think it was a good idea. So Alexia sat down the middle and you in the aisle

alexia is a matcho she sat there with her legs spread as if it were natural she unpacked her laptop "alexia can you just make more space and not make your legs so wide it's annoying" you say and look at her snidely ", you really complain about everything where are your manners" she says with a laugh and looks deep into your eyes. All these comments make you angry. You decide to let her just so you can have some peace and

quiet

So you put on your headphones and fall into the seat, dozing until you finally fall asleep When the plane landed you felt someone bumping into your shoulder. You startled slightly and your head moved up from Alexia's shoulder. "Alexia, sorry, I didn't mean to on your shoulder." You said sleepily and rubbed your eyes, obviously embarrassed "It's okay," she says with a slight smile. She's suddenly so sensible. Maybe it's just because she's tired, you think to yourself

You're happy when you finally get to the hotel and can sleep in your own bed

You pick up your suitcases and look for your shuttle in front of the airport. A nice man greets you all in a black car. He takes your all suitcases from you all and asks you all to sit down. It was already evening

When you arrive at the hotel, Salma goes to the reception to pick up your room cards. "How many are you? I still have three names on my display that haven't checked in yet," the lady at the reception says nicely. "Yes, that's us," Salma tells her against "good but unfortunately I have to tell you that we only have two rooms available because you are a little late so two of you would have to share a room"

"Okay, it won't be bad," Salma says, smiling "Well, I need a signature from you here that you have accepted the room cards" Salma signs and accepts the cards

"I'll take the single room, you can share one" says Salma and walks forward "Salma no, I'm so upset I'm happy with my own bed. You can't leave me alone in a room with Alexia."

Alexia looks at you shocked "wow okay, what's your problem, I didn't choose it either, what have I done to you y/n" Alexia snaps at you, you ignore her and devote yourself to Salma "Salma, we can't share the room, you know Alexia and I don't get along," you tell Salma seriously and a little angrily.

"You'll manage to be normal for one night. There's definitely a couch or something. Tomorrow we'll be out of here again," Salma says, holding her card up to the sensor

You look annoyed at Salma as she closes the door to her room. Alexia looks at you with a laugh. "I'm warning you, don't say anything, you can sleep on the couch," you tell her and go to your room You don't know how you're going to get through this with the woman you hate. You're visibly annoyed about the whole thing. "Can't we at least treat each other normally the night , it's so difficult," Alexia says quietly to you. You've found your room and are holding your card on sensor "no alexia it's not possible your presence just annoys me you can just shut up and go to sleep right now"

You look into the room and don't see a couch

"Okey Alexia, I sleep on the side of the window and you keep your distance from me, you understand"

Alexia looks at you "why do you hate me mh" she takes a step closer to you you stand in front of the bed and look at her disparagingly she comes dangerously close „ I hate you because you always try to tell me what to do and with your stupid things Sayings are annoying" Alexia comes closer and closer and you can literally feel her breath on your face

You get a little nervous and Alexia grabs your arm. You look down and try to pull away but her grip becomes tighter

"I think you just need someone to fuck the sass out of you"

She starts kissing your neck lightly and you take your bottom lip between your teeth "Alexia, you're not as good as you think," you tell her flippantly, "let's see what a big mouth you'll still have after I've fucked you mindlessly." She says and now lets her hands slide up and down your sides, lightly squeezing the side of your chest

"Alexia you are shit, you make me so angry and you think you can give me instructions and you can't even play football"

She grabs your neck and raises an eyebrow. She pushes you onto the bed with all her strength and your breath goes out of you slightly. She pulls your shirt over your head and nibbles on your exposed skin and making you ache "give me more, come tell me more" says she against your skin and her grip on your neck becomes loose "I hate you Alexia for everything you say you think you're funny but you're not you're a desperate slut " you spit

"who is desperate and getting fucked" she spits back turning you onto your stomach

She pulls your pants over your ass and helps her by kicking them off your feet. She pulls hard on your braid which makes you scream. She pulls you up from the bed so that your ass is in the air and she pushes your head into the mattress slaps your ass hard which makes you whimper and cry after 8 more strokes she comes closer to your ear and whispers "I'm going to fuck you until you forget your hate and beg for me not to let you go" you breathe hard and sigh in the mattress

She pushes harder and says "and I fuck you so much for the bad girl you are"

you close your eyes and feel a hand in your fold alexia pumps into your hole without warning you breathe hard "fuck alexia i-fuck" you say moaning slightly and try to support yourself but she pushes you down again "mierda you are so tight baby How long have you been waiting for me?" Alexia says in a rough voice and pumps harder into you. You don't answer but instead claw at the paint. Alexia pulls hard on your braid. "Puta answer me" she says harshly. "I don't notice anything about you Even bad in bed" you say and moan loudly Alexia pushes two more fingers into you which makes you scream loudly "Alexia no I can't take it it's too much please"

you feel your tears welling up in your eyes "you'll take it until you cum and tell me who's in charge" you start to squirm and take her fingers as she tells you your legs start to weaken and shake your moans get louder and you hear loud curses from Alexia she fucks you with four fingers and you start to like it you feel how she pushes you closer to the edge "Alexia I'm close don't stop it feels so good" you say Between moans and gasps, "You won't cum until you tell me who you have to listen to" Alexia says and pinching your back lightly

you moan and don't want to say anymore but you also want to cum you want to feel her "Alexia please let me cum I'm begging you I need you to cum"

Alexia scratches your back and gets faster with her fingers. You moan and fill the whole room. "Of course you need me, Bebita I know but you have to tell me who you have listen to“

you press yourself against her "Alexia i have to listen to you let me finally cum please" Alexia laughs and starts to give you kisses "say it again" she says with a playful laugh "Alexia i have to listen to you please let me cum I can't hold it anymore"

You scream and she whispers to you that you can cum. Your eyes roll back and you moan through your hard orgasm. Alexia slows down and gently removes her fingers

do you want a part two? <33

[mcflymemes]

SCI FI SETTINGS / LOCATIONS PROMPTS *  sci-fi location based prompts for starters, adjust as necessary

spaceship-specific

[ 01 ] the cockpit of a dilapidated spaceship

[ 02 ] the bridge of a massive starship, with windows around the room giving you an incredible view of the stars

[ 03 ] beside the burning remains of a crashed ship

[ 04 ] tucked away in the bunks of a tiny spaceship

[ 05 ] outside a spaceship in the middle of space, using gravity-boots to walk safely across the ship and perform repairs or check a bad sensor

[ 06 ] a bustling ship hangar with crewmembers running about, rushing to get into their ships as the battle draws near

[ 07 ] the weapons locker onboard the ship

[ 08 ] the locker rooms onboard the ship

[ 09 ] the echo-y shuttle bay of a spaceship

[ 10 ] in the ship's command center during an intense battle

[ 11 ] the narrow passageway leading to the ship's weapon system/turrets

[ 12 ] the mess hall, crowded with crewmembers

[ 13 ] your muse's private room onboard the ship

different types of planets

[ 14 ] a dense, foggy planet with oversized plants

[ 15 ] the abandoned base on a moon with low gravity

[ 16 ] a swampy, foggy planet with frightening creatures lurking beneath the water's surface

[ 17 ] an entirely water-covered planet with structures built above the stormy seas for safety

[ 18 ] a hilly, remote planet covered in grasslands

[ 19 ] a lava-covered, mountainous planet with bubbling volcanoes

[ 20 ] a planet trapped in a constant storm, always raining and thundering

[ 21 ] the site of an abandoned colony on a once-habitable planet, now taken over by nature and destroyed by time

[ 22 ] a planet where life only exists underground, where it is impossible to survive on the surface

[ 23 ] a city planet, completely built up of buildings, nightlife, neon lights, and a seedy underbelly

assorted locations + scenarios

[ 24 ] a military base, now abandoned and controlled by a rogue ai

[ 25 ] trapped within a high security prison full of space pirates

[ 26 ] a holy temple, obscured in the mountains of a distant planet

[ 27 ] on the craggy side of a massive meteor

[ 28 ] a dangerous off-world facility rumored to house illegal experimentations

[ 29 ] a bustling, cramped cantina filled with music, drinking, and the occasional gunshot or two

[ 30 ] secretly aboard the enemy's ship, trying to remain hidden

[scififettuccine]

A Wild Fix: Part 2

Pairing: Frenchie x Reader

Summary: The day of the dreaded Supe Convention is finally here. After being paired with Frenchie for your part of the mission, you run into some unexpected conspiracies with some unexpected people.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Homelander, mentions of suicide, mentions of suffocation, Supes being Supes, not proofread (they never are)

Notes: Omg guys look at me being fancy and trendy and cool with the photo header >:)....(Please don't make fun of me I'm a writer not an editor, I tried my best okay?) Anyway here's part 2! Finally posting it after a lot of deliberation, but I hope it was worth the wait! Lots of description in this one, I'm proud of myself 💪 Here's Part 1.5 if you missed it. Big plans for part three, enjoy <3

The day of the Supe convention approached fairly quickly. You would be lying if you said that you hadn't been losing sleep over it. The whole situation was sort of a tightrope walk. If you went to the convention with The Boys, it was bound to end badly. Like you had mentioned to Butcher, it was a suicide mission. But if you told Butcher no, there was a possibility of losing the group as a whole. For better or for worse, they had been the only people in your corner since you joined The Seven…the only thing keeping you stable. As much as you hated that basement…it had become more of a home to you than the tower, even with Frenchie’s irritating presence. You had lost a lot of things in life. A lot of important things. You knew, even if you didn't want to admit it, that you were not stable enough to lose anything else. The outcome of the convention, at least in your mind, would be grim regardless of whether you worried or not. But you couldn't risk losing them, not when they were the only thing close to family that you’d had since…well since you could remember. Calling them family seemed stupid, as you’d only known them for about a month and a half. But truthfully? You didn't know what else to call them. No word seemed good enough.

Butcher had informed Annie of the plan, and the three of you had gotten together to discuss how dangerous the whole ordeal was. Butcher, of course, didn’t care. So, like clockwork, when the day arrived, everyone was informed of the base plan, and ready to go. You and Annie had shuttled into the casino turned convention center with the rest of The Seven, as was planned. The ride was tense and awkward, as it usually was when all of you were together. No one except for you and Annie were really friends, but of course Homelander tried to make it seem like you were. Unfortunately, you got the privilege of sitting across from him on the way there. He tried to create conversation, and you played into it, scared of what would happen if you didn’t. You two hadn’t gotten off to a great start, due to the fact that you had talked back, and he had choked the fear of his every movement into you. And ever since Butcher had info dumped about all the things he had done? You were even more careful around him. The conversation was bland small talk, not exactly focused on anything. You were honestly sort of drifting into space until he mentioned something that caught your attention.

“You’re young, right? You like music?” He asked, his sickeningly white smile on full display. You tried your best not to make a face, unsure of where he was going with it.

“I’m 27… and yeah. Yeah, I like music.” You responded, your fingers moving idly to crack your knuckles one by one. Homelander tilted his head ever so slightly before his gaze shot down to your hands. But as quickly as he had looked, he made eye contact with you once again.

“You know that guy, Mixer? He’s performing at the convention. Feisty little thing, I’ve met him on a few occasions. I remember the day he was signed on to the company.” Homelander paused, chuckling. “He was nothing, then. Fresh out of highschool. The kid could barely look me in the eyes…Now he’s dominating the music industry, with shitty pop but…Still dominating. Funny how those things work out, huh?” He asked. You nodded, glancing over at Annie for support. You didn’t have a clue how any of this was relevant, and you honestly didn’t know how to respond. Annie looked back at you and gave an encouraging smile. What a help she is, you thought.

“I met him at this convention a few years ago, right before he joined Residency.” You informed. Homelander audibly scoffed when you mentioned the team.

“Residency? They’re a PR nightmare in the making. It’s such a strange mix of people, too. I never understood where the inspiration came from.” He chuckled.

“Weren't they kinda supposed to mimic Payback to an extent?” You asked, genuinely curious. He waved a dismissive hand.

“Payback was a PR nightmare too. Come on! I mean, one death and the whole team dispands? Where's the strength in that? This is America! Keep fighting until you can't fight anymore. That’s what I always say.” His disgusting, distorted sense of patriotism always made you nauseous. The man was a blatant white supremacist, and saw the country like it was some holy land. The ideals itself weren't the most sickening part…it was the fact that he wholeheartedly believed them., to the point of influencing others to do the same.

“Yeah…Yeah.” You chuckled awkwardly, putting your hand over your heart, and shaking the other fist in the air. “Land of the free.” With that cringeworthy comment, the conversation sort of died off, ironically just in time for you all to head into the convention center. You and Annie had a few things to handle first, but you had already given The Boys their passes, so they could get an early start.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It was around lunch time when you and Annie met up with the rest of the group. You had decided to grab a bite to eat at one of the restaurants in the casino. Everything was open and being paid for by Vought, which was honestly one of the nicer parts of the convention.

“Oi. Listen up.” Butcher started, cutting through the small talk once he finally finished his food. “I say we split up into groups, yeh? Divide and conquer. There’s an even number of us, which makes it an easy split.” He scanned the group with his eyes. “MM and Annie, you take the arcade floor, all levels.” He pointed to Hughie. “Hughie and meself will take the shopping center…” His eyes fell on you, and he chuckled ever so slightly. You weren't even paying attention, too engrossed in the pasta you were eating. “Oi, marinara face.” He called, trying to get you attention. You instinctively looked up and wiped your face, figuring you were being messy.

“Sorry…” You grumbled.

“You and Frenchie take the theaters. Go sit in on as many presentations as possible, and bring back anything of interest.” You almost groaned when he paired you with Frenchie. There were four other people for fucks sake, and he knew for a fact that you two didn’t get along. You looked over at Frenchie, narrowing your eyes ever so slightly. He didn't look too happy about it, either, rolling his eyes as he pushed his plate away from him. He muttered to himself in French when he stood up. From what you had gathered over hearing it often, it wasn’t the most accurate.

“Right. That settles it. You know your tasks. Meet back here around…” Butcher looks down to his watch. “3:30-4:00 yeh?” Everyone exchanged one last ‘good luck’ before splitting up, leaving you with Frenchie. The two of you stood in awkward silence for a good minute, before you reluctantly broke it. 

“Of course he would task us with sitting through the boring stuff.” You joked weakly, hoping he’d laugh. He did, but it wasn’t genuine, strained too. Neither of you really had a reason to be nice to the other, in all honesty. All you ever did was insult each other. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jackets before speaking. 

“Oui. Let’s get it over with, then?” He asked, finally meeting your gaze. He was glaring daggers at you. That pissed you off. You were trying to be civil, at least long enough to get through the night. But when he looked at you like that? Like he wasn’t even trying? You glared daggers right back at him. The tension between the two was frustrating, partly because you couldn't figure out what type of tension it was.

“Lets.” You responded, your tone unreadable. The sooner this was over, the sooner you could get away from him.

Upon inspection of the schedule that had been sent to you on your phone, the first event happening in the theater on the first floor was a presentation of Vought’s assets, given by one of the higher ups from the company. Not much info would come from that, you figured, but you wouldn't know unless you sat through it. You turned your head in Frenchie’s direction as the two of you walked out of the restaurant and towards the theater.

“The first presentation starts in forty minutes. It's nothing exciting but it wouldn’t hurt to sit in and listen.” As you waited for Frenchie to respond, you realized your inside hand was a little too close to his. You pulled it away ever so slightly and moved to put your hand in your pocket. Frenchie nodded in response, not seeming too interested. You shouldn’t have let that tick you off…but you did.

“Listen dude. If you’re gonna be an asshole all day you can go do something else. I can handle this myself.” You said, your tone sharper than intended. Frenchie scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking over at you.

“I did not say anything!” Frenchie protested. “Did my nodding offend you that much?”

“It was the inflection.” You huffed, rolling your eyes in return.

“Mmm…Oui. The inflection.” He said mockingly. At that point? It was no use fighting with him, so instead of coming up with a witty retort, you looked around the casino. The line outside the door to the theater was already a bit long, and very colorful. Most Supes wore their uniform suits to the convention, so you could pick out almost everyone, at least those who were signed with Vought. Your eyes fell on a few old friends you had gone through the scouting process with, some people you had met at the last convention, and then an extremely familiar color scheme to a certain Supe’s suit that stuck out like a sore thumb. A bright white ensemble that stood out in a sea of colors…one that belonged to the Supe, Laugh Track, one of the Supes you had mentioned to Butcher.

Laugh Track was another member of Residency, one you were not particularly fond of. You had never personally met the guy, but something about him was just…unsettling. He was rather tall, not as tall as Playback, but almost a head above Mixer. Build wise, he was lanky, at least from what you could see. His Supe suit mainly consisted of a white jacket that resembled those worn in asylums on television, almost a straight jacket, but with control of his arms. There was no visible zipper, and the jacket’s collar went all the way up his neck. His mannerisms were always strange, which was sort of on brand for him. His powers were described as “weaponized hysteria.” It was just a fancy way of saying that his contagious laughter made people go absolutely insane, or at least laugh until they turned blue and suffocated. Laugh Track always stood very stiffly, and usually had a very blank expression on his face, his eyes wide and observant. You’d heard him speak in commercials before, and his voice didn't necessarily ease the feeling of dread you felt when you saw him. He had a strange accent, almost British, but not quite. It was very breathy and weirdly persuasive. He wasn’t unattractive by any means. He had neatly kept bleach blonde hair, bright blue eyes, pale skin…Something was just off.

Laugh Track was standing towards the end of the line, eerily still, his hands, which were covered in little bandages, twitching ever so slightly at his sides. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could only assume that they were darting around the room. You looked over at Frenchie, who was coincidentally already looking in your direction, his mouth slightly open, as if he was about to say something. You shook off the strange feeling that filled your chest and gestured to Laugh Track.

“Do you see the way his hands are twitching?” You asked, purposefully going out of your way to not look directly at Frenchie. Why the hell was he already looking at you? Was he staring or something? Frenchie looked over to the Supe, his eyes narrowing.

“Maybe he has a tremor. Rude to judge him for it, non?” You huffed and looked back to Frenchie, a less than amused expression on your face. You went to go say something else, but your ears perked up when you heard a familiar voice.

“Roman! There you are. I was looking all over for you.” The voice belonged to the man who was arguably the talk of the whole convention, Mixer. Frenchie followed your gaze and looked over at him too. Mixer originally had a Supe suit as well, but ever since he got popular and became more of a poster child than a Supe, he sort of just wore the stylish shit he wore on stage. On that particular day, the outfit consisted of a sleeveless black t-shirt with his logo on it, and ripped black cargo pants with a bunch of adornments hanging off of them. You had to admit, he knew how to dress. The shirt showed off his tattooed arms, and was tight enough that you could see the outline of his chest. After the slight shock of Mixer just appearing in front of you, you added his comment to your mental index. He called Laugh Track “Roman.” That must have been his legal name.

“I haven’t moved since the last time you saw me.” Laugh Track responded, his breathy voice mixed with the accent making you slightly nauseous. Mixer laughed and playfully nudged Laugh Track’s shoulder.

“I figured you would have gone to get a drink or something.” Mixer smirked and nudged his knee with a bottle of Dr Pepper. Laugh Track turned his head towards Mixer, which gave you a moment to catch a glimpse of his smile. It was…unsettling. Disturbing, even, he looked almost manic. But Mixer? He just tilted his head, and smiled sweetly back at him.

“I told you that I wasn’t thirsty.” The taller man let out a chuckle that honestly made you want to walk away. It was so unnerving, yet Mixer didn't seem affected at all. You and Frenchie made eye contact for a moment, before looking back to the two Supes. Frenchie looked just as uncomfortable as you.

“I know you did, but this thing is going to be long. And if we intend to get the info that he wants us to get, you can't be running on nothing.”

You played that sentence back in your head for a moment. The info that he wanted them to get? Who was “He”? And why were other people at this convention also digging for information? Especially people like Mixer. He had it made in the shade, what else would he need to know?

“You are being very loud about this. Hush.” Laugh Track said, taking the bottle of soda from Mixer’s hand. Mixer laughed softly and nodded.

“Right, right. My bad.” Before Laugh Track could respond, the doors to the theater opened, and the line started to move. “Remember, seats closest to the under-stage door on the left side of the theater. He said they should be reserved.” Mixer reminded as the two started walking, their shoulders practically glued together.

“Yes. Under-stage door on the left side of the theater, stage right in perspective of the presenter, reserved seats.” Laugh Track responded. You and Frenchie exchanged a look as the Supe’s in front of you had their lanyard passes scanned, and walked into the theater. As your own passes were scanned, Frenchie leaned over to you.

“Let's follow them and try to sit as close as we can get, oui?” He suggested. You nodded. That actually wasn’t a half bad idea.

“Good idea.” You responded. You could have sworn that you saw Frenchie smirk. The two of you kept a safe distance away from Laugh Track and Mixer as you made your way into the theater, but made sure you didn't lose sight of them. The flow of the crowd pushed you and Frenchie closer together, but in the heat of the task, you didn't really notice.

Maybe this presentation wouldn't be so useless after all.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sorta kinda leaving you on a cliff hanger there if ya squint. I really like where this is headed and I'm very excited to start writing part 3. Lemme know what you think! Full disclosure I laughed harder than I should have at the “Land of the free” comment so I hope it made you chuckle. Adieu!

teeny tiny taglist: @llynx7 @stinkysam @xcryptk33p3rx

[cosmicalls]

if you like dead poets society, you may like these!

just for fun: a little list of movies, shows, and books i like that i feel have something in common with dps. hopefully you'll find something you'd like, too!

not in any particular order. just the order that i thought of them in really

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

A Separate Peace

by John Knowles - published 1959

a coming-of-age novel set at an all-boys new england boarding school. follows two boys, Gene and Finny, and their experiences during the summer and winter sessions of 1942. talks a bit about WWII and what role the boys may have to play in that, but it stays pretty focused on the school and the emotions involved during this time in one's life. all the growth and transformation and oddly homoerotic, perhaps very codependent, friendship of a bildungsroman that we love to look for.

one of my personal favorite books, even considering that it was assigned reading. i truly believe many of you would like it and i know for a fact some of you can vouch for me

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The Perks of Being a Wallflower

by Stephen Chbosky - published 1999 movie adaptation: dir. Stephen Chbosky - released 2012

follows Charlie and his general struggles of high school and with being, well, a wallflower. from goodreads: "Caught between trying to live his life and trying to run from it puts him on a strange course through uncharted territory. The world of first dates and mixed tapes, family dramas and new friends. The world of sex, drugs, and The Rocky Horror Picture Show, when all one requires is that the perfect song on that perfect drive to feel infinite."

very emotional. that's all! i preferred the movie, but i liked the format of the book being completely in letters that Charlie was writing. they're both good! (if you watch the movie, the english teacher's name is Mr. Anderson. so do with that information what you will...!)

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Matilda

by Roald Dahl - published 1988 movie adaptation: dir. Danny DeVito - released 1996 musical adaptation: dir. Matthew Warchus - released 2022

a young girl with an aptitude for reading discovers she has telekinetic abilities at the same time she begins attending school. unfortunately, the principal is an extremely harsh woman, and none of the students seem to enjoy it there. Matilda uses her courage and newfound powers to change her environment for the better, both at school and in her abrasive home.

such a good movie, a childhood favorite. the musical has a great soundtrack too!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Good Will Hunting

dir. Gus Van Sant - released 1997

a janitor is recognized as a mathematical genius by an MIT professor, and he goes on an emotional journey to embrace his intellect. starring Robin Williams, our dearly beloved inspiration, as the therapist Will goes to see for much of the film.

i only saw it once and my description is lacking but ooh it hurt...... just trust me on this one

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A Series of Unfortunate Events

by Lemony Snicket - published 1999-2006 tv series adaptation: aired 2017-2019

JUST HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE okay. it's about a trio of siblings, orphaned, who are shuttled from one parental unit to another while being followed by a man after their immense wealth. they quickly discover they are in the midst of an intellectual conflict in a secret organization. they must rely on only each other, seeing as all the adults around them are wildly incompetent and/or unhelpful. and it is filled to the brim with literary references!!

both versions have really fun and witty narration, and the tv adaptation is extremely faithful. i don't know how else to describe it without going overboard so i'll settle for not descriptive enough! just trust me. yes it is a kids' series and yes it is one of my favorites ever. it's the vibes of it all

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If We Were Villains

by M.L. Rio - published 2017

about a group of Shakespeare theater students at a very pretentious arts school who find themselves in a very high-tension dynamic following a disaster that occurs after their halloween performance of Macbeth. lots and lots of Shakespeare, lots of dramatics, and the book itself is divided into five acts.

i finished this in about two nights and it was extremely creatively inspiring. it was a bit predictable, but that's not a bad thing. it still had me clutching my pearls and dropping my jaw

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"The Artist of the Beautiful"

by Nathaniel Hawthorne - published 1844

a romantic era short story about a man who feels utterly trapped by his occupation. he would rather concern himself with the delicate beauty of nature, and he attempts to realize this in his passion project - much to the disdain of the people around him.

a bit of a sneak sorry. i just think it's just in line with neil's whole thing you know. it's a lot of long and flowery sentences but it works really well i promise

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The Breakfast Club

dir. John Hughes - released 1985

the letterboxd synopsis really says it all: "They only met once, but it changed their lives forever. | Five high school students from different walks of life endure a Saturday detention under a power-hungry principal. The disparate group includes rebel John, princess Claire, outcast Allison, brainy Brian and Andrew, the jock. Each has a chance to tell his or her story, making the others see them a little differently – and when the day ends, they question whether school will ever be the same."

i don't have much to add and to be honest! kind of a stretch for this list! but i have faith

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obviously there are other shows and movies with the dead poets society leads, but i wanted to sort of branch out a bit for the bulk of this list. i will still list the ones i had in mind though

House M.D. (2004-2012) - tv series about genius diagnostician Dr. Gregory House and his team at a hospital in new jersey. Robert Sean Leonard stars as House's best friend and head of oncology Dr. James Wilson. very comedic but also very heartwrenching.

Tape (2001) - three friends meet at a motel room and dredge up and argue over unpleasant events of the past. starring Ethan Hawke and Robert Sean Leonard.

Before Sunrise (1995) - from letterboxd: "A young man and woman meet on a train in Europe, and wind up spending one evening together in Vienna. Unfortunately, both know that this will probably be their only night together." Ethan Hawke plays one half of the lead duo.

and yeah there's a LOT more but those are the ones i've seen and sincerely recommend. not to say others aren't good but this is a (very) curated list you see.

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phew that's not as many as i thought i had in my back pocket but it's still pretty good. plus, there's some things i havent read/watched yet that perhaps would have made it but alas! such is life

absolutely add to the list if you'd like!! let's all share our favorite stories

[corriegardenia]

There exists, in the bowels of ao3, a series called 'into the jaskierverse', where jaskier from the witcher ends up universe hopping, with Geralt and Ciri (father daughter duo; G has some strong tension with J) following about five universes behind, trying to figure out what the local au is and what Jaskier did to it. This causes Character Development for all three.

With this premise in mind, i propose a universe jumping Rex and Ahsoka, with Cody+Obi+Ani (or your choice of funniest guys) following behind.

Rex thinks this is just another Taungsday, but wishes Soka would stick closer to him when they teleport. Ahsoka freaks out the first few universes (maybe the Force feels different?), but she's Anakins padawan, she gets her feet under her and starts feeding on chaos in no time.

And (anakin?obiwan?cody?plo?fivesnecho?) are following along, screaming.

You know what? I think any and all scenarios that put Rex in a crossover or an AU where he ends up in a different universe should have him be 100% on board with whatever shenanigans he’s faced with. He winds up in, say the BBC Merlin or Once Upon A Time universe? Or the MCU teaming up with a young Peter Parker and/or Miles Morales? He’s utterly unfazed. Nothing throws him. Ahsoka is with him like “Rex, we’re totally out of our element here, be careful” and Rex is just like. “Ahsoka. We agreed to help this kid, which means I’m responsible for protecting a young, stubborn, hotshot with magical powers I don’t understand. No offense, vod’ika, but this is just another Tuesday for me.”

Just… Rex as a non-magical, non-superpowered, non-force sensitive character in every setting, who absolutely does not know the first thing about any of this stuff, but from the sheer repetition of dealing with Jedi nonsense (mainly Ahsoka’s nonsense) over so many years, has just developed a nonchalant, unblinking acceptance of the craziest stuff. Like, in superhero or fantasy settings you usually have the side-kick/best friend character a little confused like: “what’s going on? [explanation filled with complicated jargon] In ENGLISH, please!” But instead of that, Rex (who is NOBODY’S sidekick) is just there like; “The kid got bitten by a spider, now he’s magic, the Quarren-looking creature is the enemy, we need to secure the area and neutralize him with a serum injection before we can safely recover the hostage. Keep up, Shiny.”

Just…just picture Rex in a crossover situation where you have this young protagonist superhero/sorcerer/insert-genre-here who’s very green but also talented on their first serious mission scared out of their mind trying to save someone, trying to scramble for the quickest explanation they come up with to get Rex to trust them that “I know where they are I just can’t explain how I know, you just have to trust me” and Rex is like “Yeah, yeah, sure you can sense it. Lead the way, kid. Follow your instincts but don’t get into trouble without backup, okay. I’m right behind you.” The kid just stares at him wide-eyed for a second like “wait – you, you belive me?” and Rex is just like “This ain’t my first rodeo, kid. Now get moving, time is of the essence here.”

[jeffyfitoftheyear]

🌟Jeff Satur outfit of the year 2023🌟

Okay sats, it's here. We've suffered all year, now it's time to see which cunty little Jeff fit reigns supreme for 2023!

Instructions for how it will work is below. Nominations are now open! And will close on the 20th of Dec, 1pm AEDT. Here's a link to a time zone converter.

Submission rules:

Images must be from 2023, and must be submitted with a nominated category. Images submitted with no category will be admired dutifully, but then discarded. 

Submit an image to this blog with a nominated category. You are allowed to submit as many as you like!

The categories are:

Promo Event: this can be a music award, brand event, sponsorship appearance or affiliated sponsorship photo post.

For a music award event if Jeff performed: the outfit on the red carpet would go under promo event, the outfit on stage would go under concert

Music Video Any outfit from Jeff’s music videos and collaborated music videos. This also includes promo like the Space Shuttle number 8 video, as it has the similar levels of planning/art direction.

Concert: Any outfit Jeff wears on stage.

Magazine: Any outfit from a magazine shoot.

*If you have a photo with a fit that doesn’t seem to fit any of the above nominated categories but you really want it in, nominate it with Misc, and we will try to shoehorn it into one we think it fits, if we can. This isn’t gonna be an exact science 💖

Bonus Round: Thirst trap (please submit these with ‘thirst’ as the category.)

These are not outfits, these are Jeff thirst traps. Like this :)

*thirst trap is important for our morale pls submit your worst

The spirit of this is silliness. Please campaign for your favorite Jeff fits. Wax lyrical upon how and where gender was stolen. Tell your friend about the cunty little boots and hot little corsets. 

Advisory: Don’t be negative on other outfits, don’t comment in ways that insult or put down other outfits, people or Jeff. This is just for fun! So please, have fun and be considerate. 

How it will work:

Images will be submitted for different categories, then moved on into voting rounds.

NOMINATIONS:

Open to Submissions! Send all images to this blog's inbox, with your nominated category.  Send as many as you like!

ROUND ONE:

Winnowing down submissions

(This will be the trickiest bit and will need the most participation. So please, look upon the Jeffy images and cast your valued votes upon your most favoured fits….)

Submissions will be gathered under four categories, and posted under a cut (this will be four separate posts, one for each category). Each image will be numbered. Each person gets three votes per category, and can choose their top three images by commenting. 

For example, you can comment under a post: I choose 21, 9, and 8!

Each image you choose gets one vote. If you are biased you can do this:

I choose 11, 11, and 11

PLEASE be cutthroat. It will both be funny, and help us winnow down the images.

The top images will be chosen by the highest number of votes cast.

The top five in each category will then progress to the next round.

ROUND TWO - 24 hour poll

Category finals

Four separate posted polls for each category. (Promo Event, Music video, Magazine and Concert)

Vote for your favorite in each category. The four winners of each category will move on to the finals.

ROUND THREE, SEMI FINALS - 24 hour poll

The four winners from the Category finals will go into a face off. Who gets bracketed up against each other will be chosen by past polls results. The two highest scorers/percentage winners will go up against each other (for example if Magazine got 61, and Promo got 72, they will be up against each other, whilst the lower scorers get put up against each other)

The two winners proceed to the FINALS

ROUND FOUR, FINALS!!! - 24 hour poll

FINAL ROUND

This is it. The moment. The two cuntiest Jeff fits of 2023 will be pitted against each other….

The final poll will run for 24 hours, and after that the winner will be declared!!

_

Okay I tried to make this simple and as straightforward as I could. Happy to answer any questions etc, below!

Also beautiful boobtube Jeff gif by the immeasurable @guzhu-furen 🙏💖

[airgiodslv]

Jeff Satur Cinematic Universe - A WIP Primer

aka, Jeffcest. This is a work-in-progress, compiling info for the JeFFFFFFFFest 2024 exchange. Please feel free to add and amend!

Overview: Jeff Satur's music videos tell stories with interesting characters. Over time, some of those characters have reappeared and begun interacting with each other. Here are a few of the most common you’ll run into!

Sunshine - gifset by perths

Sunshine made his first appearance in the Dum Dum MV. He has blue hair and “Sunshine Moonshine Love Die” tattooed on his neck and chest. Sunshine later appeared in the Space Shuttle No. 8 Asia Tour Promo Trailer in a pale blond wig alongside another Jeff.

When Jeff was called on to do a sexy version of Dum Dum on Chuang Asia, he said he was too shy and that he would have “another [him]” perform it instead; he performed as Sunshine. During Space Shuttle No. 8 in Bangkok concerts, he had a body double in Sunshine’s wig onstage with him, and sang ‘Stranger’ to him. Sunshine also appeared in projections during the concerts, along with the quote:

Sunshine noun.  a god who honestly feels emotions, never lies to themselves, and will stay forever in your soul.

Jeff confirmed that Sunshine and Moonshine are different characters with similar appearances. In Dum Dum, one of them has a metal attachment over his arm when they appear onscreen together. There’s a third Jeff, sometimes referred to as ‘Businessman Jeff’, who is killed and then gasps back to life at the end of the video.

Ghost & Husband - gifset by guzhufuren

Also called Clone, Ghost appears as the titular character in the Ghost MV, who is revealed to be a clone of another Jeff (commonly ‘Husband’ or ‘Military Jeff’). Clone/Ghost has implants down his spine. He was captured by the military (specifically, Military Jeff) and freed by Military Jeff's Wife at the end of the video.

In the Yellow Leaf MV, it’s revealed that Clone/Ghost doesn’t age. He still has the same appearance many decades later, after Husband has died. Husband/Military Jeff is implied to have spent time during the Ghost MV in outer space (there’s a rocket launch at the beginning of the video). There's a love triangle between Husband, Clone, and their Wife (she accepts a different wedding/engagement ring from each of them).

Rain God - gifset by laurenkmyers

Jeff held a fanart contest for Halloween 2023, and the winning entry depicted him as a rain god. He posted a photo/video shoot on his Instagram dressed to match the fanart. There was a joke on the Black Tie set that Jeff was a rain god, because the rain for the courtyard scene began when it was time to film and ended once they finished shooting it.

Black Tie - gifset by guzhufuren

Jeff in Black Tie is sometimes referred to as ‘Black’ or 'Red' depending on what he's wearing. He has a bow tie tattooed across his throat. He appears in black-and-white when alone, and in color when shown with other people–which includes his own reflections in mirrors. He may also be able to control other people's movements when they're shown 'mirroring' him.

Lucid - gifset by guzhufuren

Lucid is the titular character in the Lucid MV. He might be one of the fae folk, or a lost boy from Neverland. He appears injured and wild in someone’s bedroom…or possibly their dream. He has long hair and anachronistic clothes, with a cut across the bridge of his nose. At the end of the video he’s seen at the base of a tree (possibly dead), almost completely covered in flowers.

Steal the Show - gifset by whitecerberus

Jeff appeared along with Shaun in the Steal the Show MV. They have a passionate rivalry and/or flirtation. There’s a lot of imagery in this video, including Jeff hanging off a giant birdcage which Shaun is separately seen trapped inside. This character has been referred to as ‘Thief’ and ‘Passion.’ Shaun’s character is referred to as ‘Reason.’

00008 - gifset by guzhufuren

In an effort to give his fans heart palpitations, Jeff released the Dum Dum Unchained Live MV. He appears chained on his knees in a basement or warehouse, wearing a lace blindfold, with finger-shaped bruises around his neck. There are additional bruises all over him, and a tattoo that reads ‘00008’ below his left collarbone. The number is now believed to refer to Jeff’s first album, Space Shuttle No. 8.

SS8 - gifset by guzhufuren

The Space Shuttle No. 8 Asia Tour came with its own promo trailer, in which a dark-haired Jeff and a pale-haired Sunshine (from Dum Dum) face off on a train in outer space, which has “departed the Saturn hemisphere” and is “now en route into the unknown.” On the train are references to many of Jeff’s previous songs and videos, including Highway (a flower), Loop (a clock), Lucid (a flower crown), Black Tie (a photo on the front page of a newspaper with the headline “Jeff Satur: Escape…From Earth!”), Complicated (a bloody hammer), Fade (a record player), and Comedy (playing in the background).

Other Jeffs

During the Space Shuttle No. 8 in Bangkok concerts, Jeff wore a black feather cape that spread into wings for his cover of ‘Feeling Good.’ (You can see a glimpse of Bird Jeff, as well as his body double Sunshine, in this Est Cola video.)

The Fade MV shows him being reincarnated through several different time periods, always connected to the same person, up to the present day. (In the present, his name is Jeff, and hers is Trinity.)

The Scar MV with bodyslam shows him levitating into the scene, and at the end he crosses into a portal. There’s a lot of imagery in this video as well.

For his Siam Halloween Concert 2023, Jeff dressed up as a vampire, in a corset with blue contact lenses and fangs.

During The Kingdoms concert, he was referred to as the ‘King of Darkness’, mentioned being in hell, and was shown in promotional materials and projections with a (small) eagle.

Additional Jeffs include (but are not limited to) the astronaut in a space bar in the Far MV with Silvy, the caged fallen angel in Law of Attraction from Call Me By Fire, the imprisoned/enthralled therapy patient in Animal World from Call Me By Fire, and the bystander caught up in gang-related violence in the Complicated MV.

[triptuckers]

lost and found - ezra bridger

Request: nope Pairing:  ezra bridger x jedi!reader Summary:  along with the remainder of the ghost crew and ahsoka, you're trying to find ezra Warnings:  HEAVY SPOILERS FOR AHSOKA S1!!! im warning u dont read this if u havent seen all of it yet Word count:  1.1K A/N: I survived the war (im posting fics again) but at what cost (brainrot has taken over)

your music is blaring through the speakers of your ship as you're working. though your ship isn't in need of any repairs, you're always finding new modifications and additions to upgrade it. at this rate, it's unrecognisable as the ship you once got from a sketchy dealer on an outer rim planet.

working on your ship is also a way to distract yourself. when you're focused on working with your hands, your mind doesn't wander off.

it doesn't wander off to hera and jacen aboard the ghost. it doesn't wander off to sabine and ahsoka on her T-6 shuttle. but mostly, it doesn't wander off to ezra. you try not to think about the fact hera is on an unauthorised mission, that you haven't heard from sabine and ahsoka in a while which is unlike them, and that you feel like you're not even a little bit closer to finding ezra.

even though you haven't seen him for years, you refuse to believe he's gone. you tell yourself you would simply know if he didn't make it. before you lost him, the two of you shared a strong bond in the force. you figured if something had happened to him, you would have felt it.

but after all of these years, it's hard to hold on to hope. you really want to. but at some point logic has to take over.

though recently, hope has sparked in you yet again. with the map ahsoka found, the chances of finding ezra have increased. you are optimistic again.

but the search hasn't been without danger. even now, you're worried.

which is why you're working on your ship. otherwise you'd just pace around or stare off into the distance with your mind running around in circles getting lost in the "what ifs".

a faint beeping sounds pulls you out of your thoughts. you get up from your position underneath one of the main consoles and get your comm.

'general syndulla for commander y/l/n.' comes hera's voice.

'go for commander y/l/n.' you say.

'hey y/n, where are you right now?'

'just working on my ship in the main hangar back on base.'

'new modifications again?'

'yeah, yeah, I know. "a good ship doesn't need modifications." well, I like them. the ghost could use some upgrades as well, you know.'

'no thank you, my ship is perfectly fine.'

you chuckle as you wipe your hands on your pants.

'have you heard from sabine and ahsoka yet?' you say. 'and when are you coming home from this unauthorised mission?'

'sabine and ahsoka are alright, we're actually on our way now. and we have some news regarding ezra.' says hera.

'you have news on ezra?' you say, unable to hide the relief in your voice. 'do you know how to find him? or where he is? is he okay?'

'we'll talk about it in person. we should be arriving soon.' says hera.

'I'll wait for you.'

'see you soon.'

hera disconnects her comm, leaving you alone with the music again. your mind is racing. they have news on ezra. you knew it, he's still out there somewhere. you're sure of it.

you quickly put the panel of the main console back and tidy up your tools. just as you pause your music and exit your ship, you see the ghost and ahsoka's T-6 shuttle getting closer to the hangar.

you anxiously await them, watching as they carefully land. the shuttle door opens and sabine and ahsoka come out of it.

sabine smiles as you half walk, half run up to them and pull them both into a hug.

'I'm so glad you guys are safe.' you say. 'it scared the shit out of me when I couldn't contact you.'

'we're alright.' says ahsoka, patting you on the back.

you pull back to look at them. they both look tired, but other than that they seem fine. sabine has a twinkle in her eyes and smile on her face.

'what is it?' you say. 'do you know something about ezra?'

'yeah.' says sabine. 'but hera should tell you.'

she points to the ghost, where hera has just exited the ship. jacen follows her, but is looking over his shoulder and talking to someone. at first, you assume it's merely chopper.

but as they walk further down, you see it's not chopper at all. it's a young man. he's wearing colourful robes and has a beard and curly hair.

it doesn't matter he's older than he is in your memories. it doesn't matter he still has the same eyes and the same scar on his cheek. it doesn't matter something in the force tugs on you so strongly, as if it has found its home.

none of it matters, because you would know him anywhere, in any universe, no matter who you are.

ezra. your ezra. talking with jacen as if nothing had ever happened. he's here, he's alive.

a sob escapes your mouth as you take off.

'ezra!' you yell.

you don't even bother to hide the tears as they stream down your cheeks. after all this time, he's finally here.

for a brief second you see his smile before you crash into him. you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in his neck, holding him impossibly close. you're never going to let him go.

words fail you as you just cry into his shoulder.

you feel ezra's arms around your back and get lost in the feeling. it's all so painfully familiar, as if no time had passed at all. yet you know everything has happened since the last time you saw him.

you slightly pull away to look at him.

ezra is smiling at you just like he did all those years ago. though he's older, he's still the same. still the same kid you met on the streets of lothal.

you reach out and brush a finger over the scar on his cheek.

'you're here.' you say breathlessly.

'I am.' he says.

you'd heard his voice in your dreams and memories and the recording sabine still has. but this is different. it means everything and more to you.

'you're as beautiful as the day I lost you.' you whisper.

'I dreamed of this day.' says ezra. 'thought about all the things I would say to you. it all seemed so simple. but now? I have no idea. nothing seems like the right thing to say.'

'but it is simple.' you say. 'I love you.'

ezra smiles even brighter. 'I love you too.' he says. 'I always knew I would see you again. we have a lot of catching up to do.'

you smile as ezra leans in and kisses your forehead. you'd finally found each other again.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Max/Marit

[pearl-blue-musings]

Am I Enough?

I straight up cried writing this and had to backspace almost every time I wrote I instead of you. I went to a wedding this weekend and well, this is kinda how I feel

Pairing: Shinso Hitoshi x fem!reader

Warnings: time skip, angst, comfort, absoutely self indulgent

Word count: 1.2K

You should be happy in this moment. You should be loudly rejoicing with all of your friends and loved ones. It is, after all, a wondrous occasion. Two people have decided to make a commitment to each other and take the ultimate vow. The decorations are exquisite, the color scheme matching the bride and groom’s taste to a T. The dresses and tuxedos are sharp and refined in a way that can only be described as elegant and beautiful. You were dressed up too, flaunting a floor length dress that accentuated all of your best assets. You sat there staring at the soon to be married couple, tearing up and choking on words as they recite their vows. The love shown between the two of them and for them could be felt in the chapel.The bride nervously fumbles through her words as the moment is clearly overwhelming in the best possible way. The officiant announces the newlyweds and the spectators erupt in cheers and applause, yourself included. You watch as they bride, groom, wedding party, and parents of the newlyweds walk down the aisle for their procession. It was a lovely affair, with even lovelier people and music.

The drinks flowed as openly and easily as the reception. The entrance of the wedding party, bride and groom were all done super well. The toasts and speeches were laced with emotion and well wishes of love and success. You smile and laugh when appropriate, clapping along and enjoying the festivities. Your stomach is full of nourishment and contentment as you dance with the night away, almost as if you’re dancing on thin air. There was nary a negative thought in your mind that you could notice (although your brain was running a mile a minute with thoughts but you were too infrosswd with the wonderful feelings to truly notice). You made new friends, caught up with old, it was a ball. You returned to the hotel in the shuttle you arrived in, singing alive gleefully to the music as plans for the night began to unfold.

Many gathered in the lobby of the hotel and the party moved to an executive suite. One of the groomsmen, close friend Shinso Hitoshi, finds you out on the balcony. Your glass has remnants of a hastily made cocktail as you swirl it in your hand. The sliding door shuts behind you, the sound of laughter and music dying down as Shinso rests his forearms on the edge of the balcony with you. “You’ve been oddly quiet,” he comments before taking a swig. “Mind telling me what’s going on? Aren’t you having fun?”

You nod quickly to try and keep any emotions at bay. Why are the thoughts that were kept under wraps now wanting to slip through the seams? You cough out a bit, “of course I’m having fun! Didn’t you see Sero making me a drink?” You take a sip and pucker your face. “A little heavy on the tequila but, s-still good.”

Shinso sighs with a chuckle, “you know that’s not what I mean. Your mind,” he touches your forehead lightly, “is full of thoughts. What’s happening?”

Your breath catches in your throat as your jaw goes slack. Damn him, how is he so good at reading you? Like a dam ready to burst, your eyes gloss over as fresh warm tears cascade down your cheeks. They fall freely as all those thoughts you wanted buried float to the surface. Your lip trembles as you struggle to breathe. Shinso’s face softens as he puts his own drink down and rests his hand on your shoulder. “Hey,” he kindly coos out, “what happened?”

“It’s, it’s not fair.”

Your voice comes out vulnerable and weak, a tremor in it as you speak. You’re starting to regret the open bar at the reception. “Why, just…why?”

Your shoulders start to shake as your emotions overwhelm you. Shinso braces you and holds your shoulders. “Why what? If it’s the drink I’ll tell Sero to cut back-“

“Why aren’t I having this happen to me too? I-I mean, what am I doing wrong? I’ve been nice, I put myself out there,” I shake out of his embrace. “But I’m never worth it! I try to date and I want to be in a relationship but all they want is either just sex or to waste my time! Is it me?” I look toward him exasperated and downtrodden, clenching my fist angrily. “Am I not enough? Am I not worthy of,” I gesture to behind him and around him, “this? I do so much work and improvement on myself mentally a-and in my career and…” you bawl harder as it all comes crashing down on you. “Am I too big? Is my body not ideal? Am I too damaged? Just what is it, Shinso?! Why am I unlovable? Why am I undatable?”

Your voice had gotten louder and louder as your truth came to the forefront. You hadn’t meant to lose control but you were like a rushing river. The dress that hangs on your body feel heavy like rags as you judge your appearance in your mind. You had worked so hard to look your best and not it seems as if it’s not enough.

You hug yourself as you sit in one of the empty chairs on the balcony. Shinso kneels in front of you, gently placing a hand on your knee to keep you steady. “Hey, kitten,” he whispers softly, “look at me.”

You take a deep breath and do as he says. His eyes hold your gaze steadfast and unwavering. Shinso smiles softly as he takes one of your hands. “You’re one of my best friends, you know that? So I’m gonna be honest with you.” He clears his throat before speaking.

“You are amazing. And you deserve better than the way you’ve been treated. I never thought you would even look my way. When Deku told me you’d been invited to the wedding, I was ecstatic. I know we danced only briefly,” he squeezes your hand, “but I have wanted to hold you like that for years.” Your eyes widen at his confession and you relax in the seat.

“I,” you start, “I don’t understand…”

His smile grows and softens as the group inside cheers over something happening inside. “I know we’ve been drinking, but I promise the feelings I have for you are real.

“You are worthy and enough for love, for a relationship, for all of it. You deserve it. And if you let me,” he raises himself up to lean in closer to you, “I’d like to be that person for you.” Shinso bridges the gap between the two of you and presses his lips against yours. He kisses you so softly and gently like you’re a treasure to be taken care of. You breathe heavily when he pulls away as heat rushes to your cheeks. “You are so beautiful, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

A couple more tears fall from your eyes as you smile goofily at him. An incomprehensible laugh leaves your throat as you stare into his eyes. You had thought for so long that you would be alone and were coming to terms with it. But right now, Shinso had just proved you wrong and you were happy for it.

[emotionallyattachednerd]

Hot Delight | IDW Rodimus x m!robot reader | NSFW 18+

Word count: 1400+

Warnings: Smut ( oral, spike in valve and size difference ) and paying for service. NSFW 18+.

Notes: I don't write m x m often but I really should. Thanks for sending in your request this was a nice change, and I hope it's to your liking. 🥰

☕ Coffee

You were his favourite, and you silently admitted that he was your favourite too. Being a pleasure bot you weren't allowed to fall for any of your paying customers, but Rodimus made it so damn difficult to not fall for that preposterous cute face and behaviour of his.

Also, you were a mech, and a shuttle, your size doubled more than an average bot, but many still craved your service. Tonight though it was Rodimus' time yet again and you're pretty damn excited.

Perhaps you might've gone a little overboard when you are preparing your room and making sure you've got engex set aside, fresh silks covering your berth, lights dimmed and soft erotic music playing. You just wanted the evening to be nice for him.

"All this just for me?" Rodimus can't help but tease as he looks around the beautifully set up room with satisfied smile. "You shouldn't have."

"You've paying for the best, I wanted to give you the best." You respond elegantly with profession, knowing you weren't allowed to express much more than that without giving him any hints of your true feelings.

"The best indeed." Rodimus sits on the berth as he stares at you, a heavy lascivious stare and lazily keeping his legs spread to tease you.

"Same service as before, Rodimus?" You keep yourself composed as best you can while stepping closer. Despite your size difference, he doesn't at all seem bothered by it, but rather turned on.

"Always." You watch as he drowns the rest of his engex, sets the empty cube aside and retracts his panel, revealing his always soaked valve and throbbing spike emerging from its housing.

He's always ready for you.

Coming closer, you kneel down in front of the berth and spread his legs more as he lays back, optics gazing down curiously at you, before you drag your thick glossa across his valve and against his sensitive node.

He moans, a greedy sound that lingers as you do the same motion a numerous times, before moving onto his spike and taking him into your mouth, fully swallowing his throbbing length and moving a digit to invade his valve, curling it softly against his inner channel.

"Fragging pit, that feels good." Rodimus speaks through a low groan, spreading his legs as much as possible for you to devour him, wrapping his arms behind his helm as he enjoys the pleasure blooming through him.

While fingering his valve you continue to bob your helm slowly over his spike, running your glossa against the ridges and letting out a hum that vibrates through his spike, earning you a sharp intake and a jerked thrust from his waist against your mouth.

Feeling him throb more intensely against you glossa you slowly move away, a wet pop sounding followed by his childish whimpers.

"I was getting close..." He complains, though he knows why you stopped, and you're doing everything he wants.

"I know, but we're not finished quite yet." You whisper as you pump three digits within the valve now, stretching him wide for you knowing it's needed for him to take your spike.

"I sure hope not. Want this to last for as long as possible." He wiggles his hips as you continue to pump your servos, clenching around them as you smile at him fondly.

Usually it's the other way around, but Rodimus likes to be the one who is fragged, and you have no problems with that. You've got a rather large spike, but he always takes you so damn well.

Once feeling enough fluids was soaking your digits you're remove them and suck each of them clean right in his view, a pink hue formed against Rodimus' cheek plating as he watches you eagerly.

On the last digit you offer it to him, which he accepts just as eagerly, sucking and moaning in delight as you let out heated vents at the sight of him tasting his fluids.

"Please, I need your thick spike in me." Rodimus begs after slipping your digit out of his mouth. "My valve throbs for you."

Hearing this makes you moan lowly yourself, but you cut it out quickly, and put on your profession again. "Anything you want, Rodimus. I'm all yours."

Retracting your own panel you watch your own enormous spike merge out, throbbing like man as small drops of trans fluid trickle down along the long base. You pump yourself slowly a few times, rubbing your digit across the top and moistening your length, before you lay across Rodimus and position yourself against his twitch valve, teasing him by rubbing yourself against his wet lips.

Gently, you push in, watching as your tip enters past his valve and you slowly inch forward, focusing on the growing lump that forms the more you fill him. You're very large, and Rodimus always takes you so well. His increasing moans is always music to your audios, feeling his valve flutter and clench around you intensely while you grip your servos against his waist.

"Frag...so big!" Rodimus praises through a deep groan as he spreads his thighs wider for you. "Oh I love the feel of you inside me!"

You through heated vents. "Taking me so well, Rodimus, such a good bot you are. You love my thick spike stretching you, don't you? Want me buried deep in your always, fragging you senseless. You're so greedy for me, ain't you?" Talking, it's all talking, and what Rodimus likes.

To be praised, spoken to, dirty talk, he enjoys it while you're fragging him senseless. You enjoy it too, as it brings a lot of excitement and pleasure you two have, nothing was ever dull or boring.

"Yes, yes!" He moans through a greedy hunger. You watch as he moves his servo down to rub at the bulging bump formed and lets out an aroused giggle. "Oh yeah...feel so stuffed, fragging love it."

Your waist slowly rocks into him over again, watching your spike invade his valve repeatedly. Leaning over you continue your thrusts, watching his beautiful face, pleasure that lingers and grows with each thrust over again.

"Go ahead, frag me harder, I can take it." He says between heated vents, frame rocking against the berth under your strong movements.

"Your wish is my command."

Holding a firmer grip around his waist, you set a firm pace, bumping inside through his channel and against his chamber, so far deep, burying yourself over again, while watching him stroke his spike and toss his helm back against the berth, moans increasing rapidly.

"Yes! Yes!" He cries louder, clenching around you more, and you feel yourself approaching closer, about to have an overload.

"Rodimus, I'm about to fill you deeply. Do I have your permission?" You always ask, but you already know the answer.

"Do it, fragging fill me! I crave your fluids! Need it all!" Oh frag!" Rodimus curses out and that's all you need.

It happens. Your mistake, and you don't even realise this right away as your fragging Rodimus senseless, optics closed as the berth creaks with noises as your movements grow intense, right before your throbbing spike erupts with fluids, filling Rodimus deeply through his chamber and channel, bump increasing in size as his own spike leaves long streaks of fluids, and you lean down quickly, kissing him.

You never kiss your clients, that's the worst possible thing to do, it's unprofessional. Moving away from the kiss you stare at him through your flooded overload, and you've just realised your mistake. You kissed him.

"Is kissing part of the service now?" Rodimus asks through a teasing tone, clenching around your spike that's buried deep in him still.

"I apologise, that's not meant to happen." You vent softly. "It won't happen again." However, you suddenly feel his lips on your own again, kissing you back and deepening it by coiling his glossa with your own.

You should stop this before things get out of hand but you're unable to bring yourself to do this, because the kiss is perfect, better than you imagined. Becoming lost in the moment you feel his servos running against your shoulders and up behind your helm, keeping your close against his mouth as you feel his leg come up to wrap against your waist, spike shifting within making both you and him moan lowly. The kiss is broken and you both stare at one another through a lustful gaze, his servo coming up to caress your cheek plating.

"Can we include kissing from now on?" He sounds like a begging sparkling, whimpering for more. He's too cute.

The right answer should've been no, and keep everything professional, but that's not what came out. "We can."

Rule number one, don't fall in love with your customers. You've well beyond broken this rule, but you don't care anymore. It's all for pleasure and credits, but with Rodimus it'll always be something more.

[docholligay]

Bozeman Half Marathon 2024

The race starts at 8. The shuttle drops us off at 6:55. 

There was a little bit of fucking around too close to start time, so we ended up in the back of the pack. As I break over the start line, it’s immediately clear to me that I am behind people who are shooting for a 2:30 or more time, which is so beautiful and hope they had the best time but all of my encouragements to newer or slower runners immediately die away in a wave of “get the fuck out of my way.” I have never bobbed and weaved as I did here, and I get afraid that I’ll lose my pacer, because I am trying so hard to just get get out of the fracas. 

Mile 3. I call out, “What are we sitting at?” “9:05” comes the answer. I’ve been fucking around too much, and make a breakaway in between two runners in front of me. I’ve got to hit harder than this. 

My pacer grabs his stomach and steps off to the side. 

You’re a beautiful person, but this ain’t ‘nam, and I’m leaving your ass. I will buy you a drink later, salutations and good luck. 

I actually start running faster at this point--i hadn’t realized how much I was holding back because I sensed he was struggling and I didn’t want to leave him in the dust. I need something to pace me. My stryd isn’t connecting, i don’t even have a timer watch, and I didn’t set my music to time me like I usually do, until the tornado siren. There are two girls in matching outfits, including pink banana shorts. They’re the ones. They look fast. 

If it were not for them, I don’t know that I would have been able to get it back, because they got me into a rhythm of running about a 8:30 mile for two miles, which gave me a huge cushion. Mile 4 and 5 were entirely on their pink-festooned backs. They stopped for water mid Mile 6, and i kept going. 

Mile 7: What the fuck have I done wrong in my life, and why is it being visited upon me, the sweetest and most innocent of human beings, right now? There is a long, slow, plodding hill. 

There is a moment, in every race I have ever run, called, “What the fuck is my problem?” It is very important to get over the ‘What the fuck is my problem?” hump, because it is my own personal Jesus being tempted by Satan in the desert, with the idea of walking and giving up. Why would I, a sane woman with a loving family, think about running 13 miles and change full send? Did I think that would be fun? What about my life up to that point made me think it would be fun?

We have to attack this little demon inside us. We can always doubt the wisdom of our decisions later, but for now, the only way out is through, and my only reward for slowing down is that I have to be on the course longer. 

I round the corner, no longer on the hill, and then from behind me, the sound of a truck, and a voice I ahven’t heard in a while: 

“C’mon Doc, let’s fuckin go! It ain’t that far!” I look to my left, and it’s my buddy Jake! I haven’t seen him in a couple years, and he must have figured out it was me by sheer chance of “I bet that little red headed dyke in the unicorn shorts is Doc. She loves to run” and he is correct! He bangs twice on the side of his BLM truck, laughs, revs his engine at me, and drives on down the course. 

This carries me for a solid two miles. If your family has been in Montana for as long as both of ours have, it’s hard to hide from each other. Do i want to come across as a little bitch to Jake? Do i want to tell him it was just too fucking hard? Fuck no. 

The Tracer voice inside me, “What’s the worst that could ‘appen? Push it!” “We die?” “Not a problem we’d ave to deal with!” 

I push. I go. I fly through the cross country kids handing out water. I’m trying to pace myself beside runners just a little ahead of me, runners that look fast and also infuriatingly casual in their matching banana shorts and pink tank tops. They hold me on for the next few miles, but as they start into their negative splits (Unfortunately, they not only look fast, they are fast) they begin to leave me behind. 

I have heard the half marathon called “10 decent miles and then the worst 5k of your life” and for me, at the very least, that seems to hold true. I am getting exhausted by the time I hit mile ten, and my form is falling apart. I like like one of those inflatable noodle men, running down the street, limbs flopping. My body is swinging wildly, which is costing me energy, but I can’t stop myself. I’m getting tired mentally and physically. 

In  the middle of mile 11, I hit a pothole. I’m not watching what I’m doing, my foot goes directly onto the lip of the pothole and I go careening forward. I know it’s a cliche to say things happen in slow motion, but I swear it must have taken me ten seconds to fall. I had time to think about how I absolutely did not want to hurt my knee, so I, with a reasonable amount of stupidity, put my arm out straight, which keen-eyed viwers will note is a great way to break your wrist. I didn’t, so, unearned victory for me, but I slammed down hard into the asphalt, and threw myself onto my hip. 

A struggled for a minute, and then, as I held up my hand to stand, someone grabs it, without breaking his stride at all, and yanks me to my feet. 

“We’re fucking doing this!” he yells to me. 

And then he continues on. I could have given up, and my pride and my time are badly hurt, but having that moment gives it all back to me. I might not be able to run this in time, but I can run it to the end, and not give up. Giving up isn’t what I do. 

Unfortunately, to be the people we tell ourselves we are, we have to make the choices that make us those people. If I am a runner, who doesn’t give up. I need to both run, and not give up. Annoying. 

So I keep on. By the time we reach the city proper, I am in mile 12 of 13, and I am well and truly suffering. It hurts so bad, and I want to stop, but I can’t stop, because I am so close, and how much would I hate myself to run all this way and give up now? I can’t walk. I have to keep going. 

The tornado siren goes off in my ear. I have ten minutes to cross the finish line before losing my goal. I haven’t hit the final mile yet. This is bad. But the only way to get there faster, is to run faster. I have no idea what I drew on in that moment. But I find something deep inside me, and I yank it out and throw it on the road. 

I go down the final pull, praying, waiting for the final turn, where I can see the finish line. That always gives me something more, sets off a firework inside me. 

There’s a gal with a sign by the side of the road that says, “ ***ing finish so we can drink!” and, again, it is only through the encouragement of strangers that I have made it through this race at all. I point at her sign and smile, and she yells to me, “You know what I’m talking about! Fuck yeah! Go! Go!” 

This last mile is one of the hardest of my life. I just keep having to chant, ‘Right, left, repeat. Right, left, repeat.” 

The final turn! I can see the finish line, I only have to run three more stoplights before I make it. I can do it. I kick on the afterburner. I am so close. I’m almost there. 

My heart falls when I see the timer. 1:57:40. I’ve already failed. There’s no way I can cross the finish line in 15 seconds. Or can’t I? Fuck it, whatever, I will maybe not make it, but I will run as hard as I can. My hip is screaming, my form is the worst it has ever been, and I don’t care about absolutely fucking any of that, because if I cross even one second under, I will have made PR. 

I go. 

I cross the finish line, wobbling, half limping, about to throw up. I’ve made my time goal by about 3 seconds. Great. That’s enough. The guy giving out the medals is nice enough to come over and put it on my neck, because I look like I’m suffering as much as I am. The text comes through. 

I COMPLETELY FORGOT IT TOOK ME NEARLY A MINUTE TO CROSS THE START LINE. I have made my time by a full goddamn MINUTE. My joy is total. I would jump up and down screaming but I do not have even the slightest amount of energy for any of that. I have a can of champagne in my drop bag, and I am going to go get that, and crush it. 

Someday, I’ll stop setting PR, but today is not that day.

Video evidence of my extremely bad finish: You can tell how much I'm favoring my hip, which is making me swing my body WILDLY.

[feralwritings]

dissonance

part two

word count: 5.2k

After the hour and fifteen is up, they take their bows and adoration and trudge off stage, and within the next half hour, they’re joining Daisy Chain and various managers and publicists and Steve’s team in the VIP section. “Enjoy the show?” Eddie asks Reader, plopping down in a chair next to her. She looks up from her phone at him, shrugging, “Yeah, it was cool. Christ, you’re sweaty.” She doesn’t really mean to say it, but doesn’t quite feel like taking it back, and Eddie simply nods, slumping back in his chair as he waits for Steve to come on stage.

part one | masterpost

tag list: @cam-peggio

There are several things about this tour that are daunting.

First, the fact that it's exclusively an arena tour.

Steve Harrington isn’t a small act. His music, the folksy sorta rock that he’s a master at, is a genre that is growing ever popular. His songs are raw, his midwest twang disappearing in the low rasp of his baritone. He’s popular, at the height of his career, with an exceedingly bright future ahead. Being on the same bill as him is a very, very good thing.

It’s still a little scary, though.

Daisy Chain isn’t a young band - they’ve been together since they were teenagers, over a decade ago, but were only actually signed a few years ago. They’d released two independent EPs, two signed albums and were currently in the process of writing a third. Arena shows hadn’t been on the books yet, and Reader had grown comfortable on smaller festival stages and mid-sized venues. The looming prospect of the audience growing, even if they weren’t necessarily there for them is daunting. That, and the fact that UDR had consistently reminded them since they signed on for the tour that this was their very last chance.

All of these thoughts roll around in her mind as she does her last minute packing, running through her house to make sure that she has absolutely everything before the shuttle gets here.

Their first show is at the Forum, which in and of itself was insane. She’d been to this venue tons of times as a concertgoer, either in the nosebleeds or in the pit, had even been to a Corroded Coffin show here before the podcast had aired. She hates to admit it but their showmanship was pretty impressive. Still, it was a hundred dollars that she regrets spending.

It wasn’t as though she’d been a fan, she’d known of them, several of their songs sat comfy in her Spotify for a few years, even before being signed to the same label. 

They’d never officially met, either, and the first time that either of them were on the others lips was during that podcast. 

She physically shakes that thought from her head. She’s moved on, mostly, hoping that something like that would never happen again.

She doesn’t feel unsafe, necessarily. She knows that her girls have her back, and she knows that each of them would probably kill for her, if the circumstances were right.

Steve, for his part, has an impeccable reputation, is famous for donating ludicrous amounts of money to various causes, has been spotted at various marches, not overtly political but keeping acceptance and the fight for equality at the forefront of his activism. It wasn’t performative either, consistent in his humility about it all, shaking off praise when interviewers and journalists showered him in it. Reader just had a feeling about him, a solid sort of trust that she knew wasn’t going to be broken. 

She’s got the last of her picks packed into their little bag when the doorbell rings, and she jogs to open it. 

And there Eddie is, muscle tee and skinny jeans in the LA sun, sunglasses perched on his nose, hair tied up to keep it off his neck. 

“Hi,” he says, sliding his sunglasses on top of his head, smiling, “You ready to go?” 

Reader gathers herself quickly, nodding, “Yeah, everything’s packed.”

“Good,” Eddie nods, “You need any help getting it out of here?”

She does, but doesn’t want to ask for it, doesn’t even want to accept it, but her stubbornness gives way under the prospect of lugging her Pelican case down the stairs by herself. She can do it, but she would rather have some energy left for the show tonight.

She steps to the side, allowing him to saunter into her home. He takes it all in, eyes wandering over the various decorations. His eyes land first on her record wall, and he grins, approaching it. 

“You got some good stuff here,” he says, thumbing the sleeve of the Metallica vinyl affectionately. 

“Thanks,” she grunts, already heaving a stuffed backpack over her shoulder, securing it before bending to pick up her amp. 

Eddie turns, before rushing over to grab her amp from her, before slinging a duffel over his shoulder. 

Together, they load her gear into the back of the shuttle, along with everyone else’s. It takes a couple trips, and she trudges back up the walkway to lock her door. 

She looks in on her home, feeling a little pang of sadness, not knowing who she’ll be when she returns. 

She closes the door and locks it, jogging down the walkway to climb into the shuttle. The rest of her band is there, packed onto one side of the aisle, the Corroded Coffin boys on the other. 

“Hi!” Chrissy says, reaching across Robin and Nancy to squeeze Reader’s hand, “Are you excited?”

Despite everything, she is excited. Playing at the Forum had always been a dream, a goal of hers and tonight, that dream is going to be realized. 

She nods, smiling warmly at Chrissy, “Yeah, I am. It’s gonna be awesome.” 

They dissolve into conversation, recounting various shows that they had seen at the Forum, about how someone had been dropped on Chrissy’s head while crowd surfing and she had to be in a neck brace for a week and a half.

They drive for a little while longer, finally arriving at the Forum with more than enough time to spare. Soundcheck isn’t for another couple hours, and the show isn’t until this evening. A lot of hurry up and wait occurs when you’re a musician, and it's those quiet moments that Reader likes a lot - hanging with the bands and reveling in the mutual anxiety and thrill of having been given a chance to do what they love.

The whole time, though, on the shuttle and when they arrive, disembarking from the vehicle, Reader can feel Eddie’s eyes on her. It’s not oppressive, more annoying, and when a bunch of burly men come to unload their gear for them, Reader watches in vague interest, and Eddie watches her.

They haven’t met Steve in person yet, only talked to him briefly on the phone, so when a loud voice echoes throughout the parking garage, followed by several cries of greeting, Reader turns to see Robin, Nancy and Chrissy embracing Steve one by one.

He’s dressed casually, in a white t-shirt and jeans and a pair of Timberlands, a baseball cap sitting backwards on his head. His hair is unstyled, freshly washed, curling around his ears. When Reader and Eddie approach the little group, Steve folds her into a hug that smells like expensive cologne and a hint of lemon. She covertly inhales, making a mental note to ask him what cologne he wears, and steps back to look up into his face.

”Hi,” Steve greets, “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

”Likewise,” Reader grins.

”Eddie!” Steve exclaims, having just spotted him, “Hey, man!”

They hug, in that macho weird way that men do, and together, the little group heads into the venue.

Even from the back end, it’s magnificent. They walk past the artist wall, names of every artist who’s ever performed there emblazoned in white, and Reader runs a finger across some of her favorites.

When they get to the auditorium itself, that’s when it really starts to set in. Rows after rows after rows of red seats line the wall, the section just in front of the stage has been cleared out, the barricades already set up. Lighting technicians are running various configurations, so the whole place is alight with different colors, making it all feel almost dreamlike.

In the quiet, with the soft conversations of the group around her, Reader takes it in. It’s not a perfect circumstance, by any means, there’s the possibility of losing their label hanging over her head, and the fact that she’s about to spend six long months in tandem with the band, and by extension, the man that almost ruined everything, and thus far, hasn’t made any move to make it better is pressing in on her brain. 

At the end of the day, it was a stupid, throwaway comment, but the hypervigilance born from being a female in the music industry is barbed, and so she has a hard time letting certain things go. Yeah, some shit comes with the territory, but most of the time it’s never expected that you see or talk to them ever again, but here she is, forced to tour with him, pressure coming in from all sides.

But here, now, it feels a little bit better. The stage glistens as she looks at it, almost warm, and inviting, and she can picture their band up there, doing what they do best, and the knot in her chest eases a little.

Even so, Eddie hasn’t done anything openly malicious yet, and part of her doubts he will.

The other part, though…

***

Sound check goes well, and soon, early birds are lining up outside, and the tension rises. They’re really doing this, they’re really performing here, at the Forum, and within the next few hours, Daisy Chain is going to have eighteen thousand pairs of eyes on them. Give or take.

Their green room has gone quiet as they get ready to perform, almost silently applying makeup and fixing their hair and outfits. It gets like this, sometimes, before a particularly important event. She knows her bandmates well. Nancy is analyzing all the ways it can go wrong and coming up with plans to counteract it. Robin is checking her pulse every few minutes, Chrissy is rolling her chair side to side as she curls her hair, leg jiggling as she bounces it.

Reader’s well… she’s doing her normal routine, convincing herself that she actually deserves to be here, that she can actually sing and play guitar well enough, that this isn’t a colossal waste of time and money, and that it’s actually okay that she didn’t finish college.

When the five minute call comes through the intercom, they all look at one another.

They do their pre-show handshake, linking pinkies as they head down the hall towards the stage.

”Break a leg!” Someone shouts behind them, but by the time she turns to look, they’re already backstage, and she’s having her guitar slung around her neck by Danny, their guitar tech.

”Thanks.” She chokes out, adjusting the strap so it’s a little looser, and she looks into his face as he smiles up at her, gleeful in his support.

”Good luck, you guys are gonna do awesome!” And with that, he’s darting away to help Nancy, and Reader is left to take her position in front of the microphone, staring at the white, billowing sheet that covers the stage from the view of the audience.

She glances down, spying the set list that is taped in front of her mic, ten songs in all. A shorter setlist than Corroded Coffins, a much shorter setlist than Steve’s. They’re opening for the opener, who’s opening for the headliner, and the bottom of the food chain feels a bit cold.

Robin’s stick’s clack together in the air four times, and on the fourth hit the sheet drops, the lights go up, and they start playing.

Muscle memory takes over entirely, which Reader is grateful for. She hits her notes, doesn’t miss chords on her guitar and engages with the crowd. By the end of their third song, she’s out of breath and thirsty, so she skips over to her water bottle and takes a long swig, before turning to the crowd.

”Holy shit,” she says, rather earnestly into the microphone, and the crowd cheers and laughs at her stunned expression, “I mean, holy shit. This is crazy. Hi!”

There’s a dull roar of greeting from the crowd, and she laughs before introducing their next song.

The rest of the setlist goes by easily, and it’s some of the most fun that she’s had on stage in a while, and she remembers, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes that this is what she was meant to do. There really isn’t anything else out there for her to be doing, nothing that would ever come close to feeling like this.

Once their set is done, and they’re taking their bows before heading off stage, she catches a glimpse of Eddie, watching from the wings. He’s got his arms crossed, a calculating, somewhat sour expression on his face as he takes her, the band, and the crowd in. The cheers are loud, so loud that she can hear them past the barrier of her in-ears, so Eddie’s disdain, whatever the cause may be, doesn’t stick much. Not that it should, his opinion, his approval, is not something that she’s intent on getting.

She gives him a glowing smile as she passes, feeling cheeky and bubbly from the reception that they got, and after changing into some comfier clothes, the girls go into the VIP section to watch Corroded Coffin, and eventually Steve.

The VIP section is off to the left of the stage, not so much a tent and more of a room with walls of curtain on three sides. There’s a little tinge in Reader’s chest about this, feeling a bit boxed in, but the view from behind the section isn’t impeded, so she can’t really feel too bad. There’s snacks and water bottles, comfy enough chairs that she can curl up on.

The space in between the end of Daisy Chain’s set and the beginning of Corroded Coffin’s is filled with a rather genre heavy pre-show playlist, droves of people moving out into the main venue to use the bathroom, peruse the concessions and merch tables. As Corroded Coffin’s set dwindles closer, people begin to file back in, and soon, the boys are walking out to raucous applause.

They’re flamboyant in their acceptance of the praise, taking exaggerated bows and playing right along with the crowd. As Reader watches, Eddie bends to grasp some of the hands of the girls at the barricade, and the resulting screams of joy, horniness, shock or a combination of all three reverberate through the venue as they kick up into playing their first song.

Heavy metal rattles through the walls of the venue, amelodic and loud. It’s not that she doesn’t like metal, she loves it, but there’s a petty little grudge still lodged in her chest, which makes it easy to find things wrong with their music in particular.

Eddie spends a lot of time peacocking, leaving Gareth to pick up the slack in terms of the guitar playing. The rhythm section of the songs stays neglected throughout their whole set, and the resulting music sounds a bit thin, lacking. That’s not to say he’s not talented - when he’s actually singing and playing, the music takes on a whole new feeling, thicker, more robust, deeper, and during a few songs Reader finds herself bobbing along to the beat.

Eddie’s eyes catch hers a few times. He veers to the left side of the stage a bit more than the right, and there’s a distant, nagging sort of feeling that his exuberance on stage is targeted. By the fourth time he tries to catch her eye, she’s on her phone, unaware of the effect it takes on him, and near the end of their set, he neglects the left side of the stage entirely.

After the hour and fifteen is up, they take their bows and adoration and trudge off stage, and within the next half hour, they’re joining Daisy Chain and various managers and publicists and Steve’s team in the VIP section.

“Enjoy the show?” Eddie asks Reader, plopping down in a chair next to her.

She looks up from her phone at him, shrugging, “Yeah, it was cool. Christ, you’re sweaty.”

She doesn’t really mean to say it, but doesn’t quite feel like taking it back, and Eddie simply nods, slumping back in his chair as he waits for Steve to come on stage.

She’s tired, hungry, and is seriously considering going back to her green room. It’s not like she needs to be here, but she wants to be, to support Steve and finally see a show of his in person, as tickets got snatched up within hours of going on sale. There’s nothing contractually rooting her to the spot, keeping her ass in this chair, but she stays all the same. The building excitement from the crowd is almost palpable, coming out in waves as Steve’s time slot looms ever closer, and within the last five minutes before his set, people are chanting his name, stomping their feet, and Reader can’t help the grin that’s stretching across her face as she stands from her chair and approaches their little barricade, leaning against it.

Nancy, Robin and Chrissy are soon to follow, and by the time the lights go out and Steve’s intro starts, their cheers are lost in that of the crowd, newfound energy coursing through her as Steve steps on stage, his acoustic slung lovingly around his neck as he sings out the first few notes of one of his most popular songs.

Reader knows it, because of course she does, and she finds herself singing along to nearly every lyric that Steve has, completely enamored. She knew he was talented, but witnessing it in person is something else entirely. There’s a grit that accompanies his voice that wakes something deep in her chest, and during one of the ballads she actually finds herself with a lump in her throat and unshed tears in her eyes.

She’s so taken by him, by the performance itself and by his sheer charisma that she doesn’t notice that there is something a tiny bit off.

About halfway through his set, he’s talking to the crowd when his drummer starts to play the first few beats of a song, but Steve is still talking. When the rest of his band joins in, guitar, bass, he looks at them, momentarily confused before he recovers. Thankfully, the song has a long enough intro that it’s not noticeable that he was off beat for the first few lyrics, and the crowd doesn’t seem to notice, and if they do they don’t care.

By the end of it, the flub is forgotten and Steve is strumming out the final chords to the final song with a flourish, and the lights dance all around the crowd as the finale courses through the venue, loud and exciting and enthusiastic and a little sad, the way all finales are.

The show is done, the crowd files out, and the performers file backstage, tired but satisfied as they start to pack up.

“Steve!” Reader exclaims, running over to give him a hug, “That was amazing, god, that ballad?”

Steve flushes, “You guys were incredible, too. That was crazy when Chrissy did the splits.”

“Thank you!” Chrissy giggles, looking up from winding a cord around her arm, “You really were incredible, Steve, this tour is going to be so fun.”

And maybe it was. Just maybe.

***

Los Angeles disappeared in the rearview as they headed to San Diego.

The tour buses, courtesy of Steve, were nothing short of opulent. Only a few years old, their granite countertops still gleamed, the full kitchen still sparkled, the cushy leather seats were still whole and plush, the shower large enough to accommodate two people (which Nancy and Robin had shared meaningful looks about) and generally, space and comfort that they weren’t used to.

Their first bus had narrowly survived the 80s. Old, threadbare carpet crunched slightly whenever they walked on it, one of the bunks was on the verge of collapse and therefore couldn’t be occupied by anyone, and the kitchen area had been painted this nauseating shade of yellow that gave everyone a headache if they stayed in there too long. All of this accompanied with the smell of stale cigarettes and cat litter had leant itself to a bizarre, begrudging fondness on the girl's part. They had named her Eunice, and a few years ago, she’d gone to the big long road in the sky due to an engine failure, and after finding out the engine she had been fitted with had been rendered completely obsolete by the passage of time, the girls were forced to let her go.

This was quite the upgrade, and as Reader sat at the kitchen table, watching the glittering ocean pass her by, she felt quite content.

Their two shows in LA had gone off without a hitch. A week in LA after a couple shows like that, they’d been stopped a couple times on the street, signed a couple phone cases and took a few pictures that had cropped up on social media to a generally positive, exciting response.

Daisy Chain’s instagram had been steadily gaining followers since Steve posted a candid of the girls on stage, and Reader hadn’t heard much talk from their label, so something had to be going right, for once.

After San Diego, they would head to Arizona, bump around in the west for a little bit before heading north, meander down the midwest before skating along the southern states, dipping their toes into Florida beaches before heading northeast, ultimately ending on the east coast, in New York.

Twenty-six cities. Fifty-two shows, if weather and various circumstances permit. More cities than Reader’s ever been in, having stuck close to the west for the majority of her career.

She’s been to New York, only once, and is eager to visit it again, even if it is for work. She’s excited to see all the different people from all different walks of life, congregating together on this tour. She hopes that their growth, if there is to be any, gets UDR off of their backs for good.

And she hopes, above all else, that they prove they're worth it.

***

San Diego

Gareth hasn’t moved in like, ten minutes.

A little concerned, Eddie sets his guitar in it’s case and walks over to him.

“Hey, man,” he bumps his shoulder, “You okay?”

Gareth doesn’t appear to hear him, his gaze fixed and his jaw slack as he stares at -

Chrissy, sat cross legged on the stage as she changes the strings on her guitar, Daisy Chain rehearsal bustling around her.

“Gareth,” Edde snaps his fingers in front of Gareth’s face, rousing him from his stupor.

“What?” He snaps, a blush sitting high on his cheeks as he realizes what he’d been doing, and even more humiliating, that he’d been caught.

“Don’t go fallin’ in love.” Eddie warns, trying and failing to keep his eyes off of Reader.

“Who said anything about love?” Gareth asks, following Eddie backstage, busying himself with a tangle of cables as he avoids Eddie’s eye.

“I guess no one did,” Eddie reasons softly, “But, still. Not a good idea.”

“So I can’t even talk to her?” Gareth bristles.

“Dude,” Eddie placates, “You can, just don’t get into something that could, I don’t know, fuck things up royally if it goes wrong, yeah? You don’t want to break her heart, or have her break yours and then have to travel across the country with her. Like, contractually.”

Gareth sighs, “She’s just so…”

“I know,” Eddie admits, “Just save it for after, okay?”

“After,” Gareth holds up quotations, “is in six months, in case you’ve forgotten.”

He hasn’t forgotten, that’s the fucking problem. He likes Steve, maybe even loves him a bit as a friend, but the fact that Reader is just so obviously into him makes Eddie stomach churn in a way that he doesn’t really understand. He shouldn’t care about what she wants, who she does or doesn’t like, but he goes a little stupid when he’s around her, and he can’t quite figure out why. 

He knows that there is still open animosity between them. Knows that the podcast echoes in the distance for both of them. He doesn’t understand, entirely, what was so bad about it. When he falls into this line of thinking it devolves into two separate threads. One, being that the comment was entirely wrong and that it never should have been said, and two, that it wasn’t actually him, Eddie, that said it.

He doesn’t know if he should point this out or not. The blowjob comment was made by the host, not Eddie, even though Eddie had supplied Daisy Chain’s name, serving them up on a silver platter for criticism and mockery.

It wasn’t the first time they’d been mocked, and it wasn’t the last. Eddie had refrained from any public comment, but privately…

She was just stuck up. There’s no two ways about it. There’s a persistent fervor in which she talks about her music, her art, in a way that gets so fucking tiresome. He doesn’t really need to listen to their music to know how self righteous it probably is. Over-explanations of the songs and their meaning are common in their interviews, leaving no room for interpretation, which to Eddie, is kinda the point.

Sure, he has songs that have a very clear and concise meaning. They are about one thing, one moment, one experience and it’s not quite possible to extrapolate details that simply aren’t there. Again, he doesn’t need to listen, really listen to their music to know what kind of music it is.

He’d watched them for a couple minutes from the side of the stage, recognizing their talent, their harmony as a band but also recognizing that they’re taking themselves entirely too seriously. It’s too polished, too planned out. If they’re going to make it, they need to loosen up.

Tired of giving it so much thought, he pushes Daisy Chain, and Reader from his mind with a sigh, and bends to pick up his guitar.

***

When they leave the smoldering Arizona desert behind and roll into Phoenix, Reader’s phone rings.

“Hello?” She says into it, having not looked at the Caller ID before pressing it to her ear. This proves to be a mistake.

“Hi,” Stacy’s voice crackles on the other end of the line, and Reader goes stock still, dread rising in her stomach, “Have you been on social media at all?”

Reader shrugs, “Not really? I mean, I’ve posted photos from the last few shows but haven’t been paying too much attention. Service has been spotty anyway.”

Stacy sighs, “Well, on X, or twitter or whatever they’re calling it, I can’t keep up, there seems to be some intrigue about you and Corroded Coffin. Specifically,” Reader hears some shuffling on the other end, “There’s people wondering why you guys haven’t collaborated on a song yet.”

Reader scoffs, taking a fortifying sip of water before leaning against the counter, rolling her eyes, “Well, lets see. We don’t really know each other that well, have little to nothing in common, they’ve made it clear that we’re just a little chick band who pulls sexual favors to get ahead, and oh, I almost forgot, our record label is on the verge of dropping us, so who the fuck is going to pay for the recording sessions?”

Stacy sighs dramatically, “Don’t be dramatic. Your genres are very similar, you being a punk band and them being heavy metal, and no, I don’t want to get into the nuances of those subgenres, I don’t care, but people seem to like that you guys are touring with Steve.”

“I would certainly hope so,” Reader snaps, “Seeing as how you’ve guilt tripped us about the money that UDR and the agency has spent on this tour. What did you say? That it was high time for a return on UDR’s investment?”

“It is high time for a return on our investment, which is why I’m calling you. The social media coordinators had an idea.”

“Oh, wonderful. I simply can’t wait to hear this.”

“You’re in Phoenix right now, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And the Phoenix shows aren’t for a couple more days?”

“Right.”

“So that should be more than enough time for you to learn a Corroded Coffin song and be able to sing it, on stage, with them?”

“What? Why?”

“If we plant the idea that there could be a future collaboration between Daisy Chain and Corroded Coffin on the horizon, it could benefit both bands very well.”

“So why can’t Eddie come on stage during our set and sing one of our songs?”

“Because,” Stacy scoffs, “Not a lot of people know your songs. As I said when you were first approached about this tour, riding Corroded Coffin’s coattails is going to be very beneficial for you. I’ve already chatted with Eddie,” a blissful, needy sort of sigh follows this statement, “and he and the boys are on board. They have a song in mind, one of their older ones, I don’t know which one.”

Reader can levy a few guesses, none of which make this any easier.

“So, are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you. When you get to the hotel, rendezvous with Corroded Coffin and set up a rehearsal time.”

“Fine,” Reader sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Is this going to be like, a regular thing? Me on stage during one of their songs?”

“Depends on how well this one goes. Think of it as a trial run. If it goes well, yeah, most likely, and if it doesn’t…well, six months is a long time. You’ll figure it out.”

“I guess I will. Talk later, Stacy.”

“Wait! I almost forgot,” Stacy exclaims, “An amendment has already been made to your contracts. The lawyers are flying out tonight and should be there by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Really? You made an amendment for one song?”

“It’s a bit more than that. Like I said, we’ll see how this goes and go from there. Okay, bye.”

The phone goes dead, and Reader is left standing there, alone in the kitchen, watching as the Phoenix skyline engulfs the bus in shadow.

Robin comes padding out to the kitchen from her bunk, still not used to the constant motion of the bus. She slips a little, catching herself on the sink before straightening up. 

She catches the expressions on Reader’s face, “You good?”

Reader shrugs, “Got off the phone with Stacy. Apparently, there’s been talk on Twitter about us collaborating with Corroded Coffin.”

Robin snorts, “Like that would ever happen.”

“Well,” Reader sucks her teeth, quelling under the look that Robin gives her, “It kinda…it is happening.”

Reader explains the terms of the situation, and as she watches, Robin’s expression grows more and more dark.

“There’s something weird about this tour,” Robin admits, “It’s not anything I can really name, more of a feeling, but I just…It feels weird. Different.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Reader shrugs, pouring Robin a cup of coffee, which she promptly splatters on her pajama pants. It’s such a regular occurrence that she doesn’t even really acknowledge it, simply patting a dish towel over the stain with one hand and drinking with the other, “But it’s just one song. And maybe it’ll go terribly wrong and I won’t ever have to get on stage or interact with them again.”

“Here’s hopin’,” Robin says, clinking her coffee mug against Reader’s before she meanders back to her bunk.

[usafphantom2]

1986: Lord, the music was terrible, you don’t even want to know what was playing. Moving on, the Soviets showed continued ineptitude at Chernobyl, and we do the same when the shuttle Challenger disintegrates 73 seconds after launch.

Meanwhile in SAC: A B-52G Stratofortress aircraft approaches the tail of a KC-135 Stratotanker aircraft for in-flight refueling during an operational readiness inspection (ORI) by the Strategic Air Command Inspector General Team

ORIs suck *ss… everybody spends three months before hand running around like chickens without heads. Then they show up and it gets worse, but it’s part of what made SAC so effective. It worked and it kept things on track. A necessary evil, if you will.

Louisiana, TSgt Jose Hernandez, December 1, 1986

@tcamp202 via X

[tesalicious2]

Maintence/Engineering Clones Headcanons

maintence and engineering go hand in hand, since they can do both and clones are exclusive to one or the other

types of maintenance clones: shuttle (includes fighters and smaller carriers that are on a Venator), starship, armor, artillery

It’s pretty easy to tell what they do but it’s one of the most complex and difficult jobs in the GAR

Shuttle crews work exclusively on shuttles, all day every day

Maintenance includes reloading the weapons, taking apart and cleaning the laser canons/guns, checking the wires for fraying, cleaning the windows, engine repair, etc

Though, deep maintenance such as engine and gun cleaning only happens during transport to other battles as those take a lot of time

Shuttle crews can take apart and put together any ship blindfolded

During quick maintenance, windows are cleaned, systems are given a quick diagnostic check, and guns are checked for debris before they are let loose

These crews can go from 3 (for single fighters like Y wings) to 15 (larger carriers)

Starship maintenance crews are the largest and the most diverse in their jobs

They work in shifts for cleaning as that never truly stops, but otherwise assigned to one area of the ship

Starship category is broken down into subsections: engines, reactors, systems, cannons, general

The engines crew are mostly active on repair trips or leaves. Their job is to make sure the engines work in top shape

This includes checking fuel usage and stuff like that

However it also includes cleaning the engines, hanging from lines at the top and hanging hundreds of feet above the ground

The engines are lined with a coating keeping the metal from melting, this needs to be reapplied every so often so they painstakingly coat the engines from top to bottom

They also have to check the pilot flame that starts the engines by climbing in and cleaning by hand

The engine crews are the most insane and chill, they hang in the air for eight or more hours listening to music or chatting while applying coatings and checking for rust

The reactor crew works just with the reactors that power the engines

While this seems that it should be apart of the engine, it’s best to be kept separate as the job is just as extensive but much more complicated

Reactor crews lift off the metal covering the tech and check every line and wire for fraying or shorting out

The systems crew deals with life support, navigation, and weapons systems

Their job is similar to the reactor crews, checking wires, electrical outputs, things like that

Though unlike reactor crews and engine crews, they don’t stop working while in space

At the end of every 24 hour rotation they go through the navigation systems to fully update the storage chips

If something shorts out or glitches, they are the ones to call, similar to an IT department (just incredibly skilled and specialized)

Cannons crew, while sounding like a simple job, is just as complex as the others

They don’t just deal with the cannons, any weapon attached to the starship is their responsibility

They work at the same time as the engine crews, while the ship is docked and under repair

They take off the barrels, clean and oil them, reattach, and put them back online. Do this more than 100x and you’ve got a canon crew

They also work on the cannons that are in the hangers. Those barrels cannot be detached so they use long cleaning pipes that extend and clear the grooves inside the barrel

To make sure the weapon is clear, they fire a blank under the watch of the artillery crew

The final crew for starships are the general crew

This crew is made up of the engine and cannon crews while in space

They take care of any damage the ship takes while in battle

They check on the water and sewage pipes that run throughout the ship, they keep the halls clean and make sure the overall structure of the ship is able to handle cannons firing, shuttles and fighters mount and going, and people running through the ship without collapsing on itself

The final two maintenance crews are different as they aren’t limited to the starship crew or shuttles but are a mix of both

Armor crews keep the clones armor in top shape and clean, they repair armor and get replacements as needed

They work on HUD and any built in systems of the clone trooper armor

However, they also work on ship armament. If a shuttles armor is severly weakened, they have to fix it (or make it useable until they get to a proper repair dock)

Artillery is similar but more extensive

If it’s fired or needed ammunition, they take care of it

From blaster packs to torpedos, they maintain it and have it in stock

They mostly deal with larger weapons such as the cannons (both on board and those that are to be taken into battle) and the shots for the AT-TE.

Though, many specialize in certain weaponry such as bombs, attached artillery (cannons on AT-TE, shuttles, fighters, and starships), loner (rocket launchers, grenades, blaster packs, and mini guns)

Though these groups are diverse and often work together to fully arm and prepare any one thing.

An AT-TE doesn’t just require torpedos and the like, it’s crew need blasters, they’ll transport rockets to troops

All maintenance are pretty chill dudes and will happily tell you about their job if asked

They don’t take kindly to taunting or degrading and will make your life hell

They wear an outfit features a heavy duty helmet full of padding for comfort, built in ear muffs and comms, and an extra visor that can be flipped down used during welding. They wear a heavy undersuit (that most cut the lower arms off of) that extends to just under the chin for full coverage. Over it is a usually stained plain shirt with an added pouch for hydration packs and snacks, and heavy padded full arm coveralls that have built in leg/kneepads/elbow pads. Their belt is a toolbelt with lots of pouches for anything they need. On their arm, a band signifies rank. Finally thick heavy gloves that go over the overalls for a tight seal.

They can also add on the safety gear needed for grappling down in engines.

Most wear the upper portion of the coveralls tied around their waist because that shit is wayyy to hot.

While off duty, they just wear the shirt and some of their lighter work coveralls with the arms rolled up

They tend to get made fun of a lot because they do keep the ship clean like a janitor most times they are seen

But, if you need a secret hiding hole, a camera blind spot, a quick fix for your stuff, or a place to crash, they’re the ones to go to

Many who work with younger Jedi teach them how to repair their clothing and tech, though they’ve never gotten a look inside the lightsaber (no matter how they’ve tried)

Sometimes they are assigned to mind younglings during off hours or really harsh battle