#squished bug story

[petziez]

Idk I wish I could intellectually square my respect for bugs with my deep kneejerk fear with the fact that like no I can't kill any that aren't like active pests

[castlefly]

[3rosx]

Boothill x Fem!Reader, angsty smut headcanons because his lightcone story was leaked and it's kinda sad so of course I had to make something out of it.

Boothill likes kissing you, he likes the feeling of your warm mouth on his. The way his mechanical heart would need to run more power whenever you ask him to lean down so you could place your soft lips wherever you'd like, and the tingly feeling his face gets after you do. Because his head is the only thing left of him that's human, the only part of him that can feel things while the rest of his body is just a big chunk of metal and wires that keeps him functioning.

Boothill likes giving head, likes the feeling of your thighs squishing his cheeks when you squirm. He loves it when they shake right against him when you're close to cummin' and goes even harder on you just too feel those plushy legs suffocate him.

Boothill hates that his body doesn't feel anything, yes he does feel arousal, but it's different from the way normal people with normal parts do. When he get's aroused, his system gets all bugged and runs on more steam than usual. His metal body gets all hot, like a laptop that's been running for days. It didn't bother him that much at first, he just had to take a few breaks when he gets too hot when he's eating you out. It was fine at first.

But times goes on and he starts to wonder if you're fine with how things are, even though you assure him time and time again that you are okay with it. As long as it's him. But even if you're okay with it, there's still a thought in his head that he's not giving you enough. You deserve more than he could give you. You might be fine with it now, but who know? After a few or so years you might think that this arrangement isn't enough for you and leave him for someone who can, someone whole and not broken like him.

[yandere-romanticaa]

Recently, the surge of AI has caught everyone's attention and I've been working on this little experiment.

Down below the cut are two fics and this is how I planned it - one was made up by using AI (more specifically, Chat Gpt) while the other one was written by yours truly. Below both fics will be a poll and I would like for you, my dear readers, to guess which one was AI. Personally, I don't think it'll be a difficult challenge but seeing your reactions and comments on this should prove to be an interesting endeavor.

This was posted on April 17th. And, in 7 days, I shall reveal which fic was written by me, and which one was done by AI.

Now then, let's get on with the show.

🥀 Story One.

In the dimly lit alleyways of Yokohama, Fyodor Dostoevsky stalks his obsession, (y/n), with unwavering determination. His fixation transcends reason, driving him to extreme lengths to possess (y/n)'s affection.

Fyodor's obsession with (y/n) began innocently enough, a mere curiosity sparked by their untapped potential and innocence. But as time passed, that curiosity twisted into an all-consuming desire, festering within Fyodor's mind like a venomous serpent.

Each night, Fyodor would follow (y/n) from a distance, his heart pounding with anticipation and longing. He would watch as (y/n) laughed with their friends, oblivious to the dark presence lurking in the shadows.

But Fyodor's love was not the gentle, nurturing kind. It was possessive, suffocating, and dangerously obsessive. He couldn't bear the thought of (y/n) belonging to anyone but him, couldn't stand the idea of anyone else basking in the warmth of (y/n)'s smile.

As his obsession deepened, Fyodor's mind became consumed with dark fantasies of possessing (y/n) completely. He would spend hours meticulously planning every detail of their future together, envisioning a life where they were inseparable.

But fantasies were not enough for Fyodor. He needed to make them a reality, no matter the cost. And so, he began to weave a web of deception and manipulation, carefully orchestrating events to bring (y/n) closer to him and drive away anyone who dared to stand in their way.

But as Fyodor's plans grew more elaborate, so too did the danger. (y/n)'s friends grew suspicious of Fyodor's intentions, sensing something sinister lurking beneath his charming facade. And as they delved deeper into Fyodor's past, they uncovered secrets that threatened to unravel his carefully constructed world.

But Fyodor was not about to let anyone come between him and his beloved. He would do whatever it took to protect their love, even if it meant resorting to violence.

🥀 Story Two.

Shimmering waves of starlight engulfed the man in white as he monitored his target from a safe distance, hollow purple eyes gleaming with excitement. He could feel his long fingers twitching with anticipation in his warm pockets, a stark contrast to the chilly wind on this fine spring evening.

He needed to be patient. Because patience was indeed, a virtue.

And Fyodor was a virtuous man. Perhaps not a good one, but he would gladly take the title of virtue.

Would you bestow upon him such a title? Would you do so, if you ever found out that he had taken such a keen interest in you? The rational part in his mind said no, of course not. Unlike him, you were blessed with normalcy. There was nothing extraordinary about you - no ability, no wealth, no status.

Nothing.

You could have been squished like a bug beneath his heel and the world would just keep on going as it always would. Sure, there would be some individuals who would miss you dearly but even they would move on at some point.

Such was the nature of humanity. How cruel, he thought to himself.

Fortunately for you, Fyodor was no ordinary man. Despite his predicament, he had grown fond of you. He was not sure why but after a while, he stopped asking such trifling questions as to why he troubled himself by giving you so much attention.

It was pointless to make sense of the senseless.

Right here, right now, all he wanted was to enjoy this quiet evening by his lonesome, as he tailed behind you like a creeping shadow. He would reveal himself to you properly when the time was right, when he felt you were strong enough to take him.

Fyodor just needed to wait a little bit longer, just long enough to see how he should proceed with you in case things went south.

In the meantime, he would gladly spend every waking moment simply watching you for his own personal pleasure.

🥀 TAGS: @yanroma, @oneoftheprettynerds, @misdollface, @sxy0ung, @rosemary108233, @c4xcocoa, @gettinshiggywithit, @ophticcus, @lakxcpsta, @ranposgirlboss, @robinaxolotl, @acornwinter, @enoojnij, @ishqani, @osachiyo, @bluepeanutharmony, @kaithegremlin, @fyodorscockslut, @wcayaw, @luna-mariko-akatsuki, @lovelyyz, @queenofspades403

APRIL 24TH - Story One is AI.

[bestjeanistmonster]

oz au- “see you soon my pretty”

Sonic pretty much finds him interesting and entertaining, like a bug too cool looking to immediately squish, (also he’s a little cute) so that’s why he doesn’t immediately kill him after kicking his ass in munchkinland

he sees shadow’s journey to get to the wizard as a fun game pretty much

ya know until Sonic gets bored and impatient with how the story is going and straight up has his flying monkeys kidnap him and kinda just wants to kill him to get his damn shoes back

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: this fic really only happened bc @youunravelme sent the pic of mat in the brown suit and said he looks like he could be carrying a diaper bag 😂 and then my mat and squeaks-loving heart ran with that! i’ve been telling their story in bits and pieces and out of order, but this story has more mention of squeaks’ mental state post-partum

word count: 4.2k

tw: mentions of post-partum anxiety, mentions of being on anti-anxiety medication, body image issues,

summary: being a bridesmaid in a wedding out east is the perfect reason for a little family and friends getaway, but you can’t completely let go of your anxieties

You should be having fun, getting ready with the girls and having your hair and makeup done, but your chest feels tight and you’re finding it hard to breathe.

Maybe air. You need air.

Rubbing at your sternum with one hand curled into a fist, you wander over to the French doors of the bridal suite, pushing them open and sticking your head out onto the balcony. The slight breeze off of Sag Harbor Bay is helping, the salty air cool and taking an edge off the mid-July heat.

A cool hand lands on your shoulder and you jump, turning slightly to see Kristy’s concerned face. “Are you okay?” She asks, a furrow between her eyebrows.

“I…yes? No?” You falter, fist still pressed against your chest. You recognize the anxiety symptoms, familiar as they are, but you’re not sure what triggered it. You’d been laughing just a few minutes ago, all the bridesmaids getting the final touches before heading out to line up for the ceremony.

“How about some water?” Kristy’s already uncapping a water bottle and handing it to you as she speaks, a mom multitasking.

You’re sipping at the water, your head spinning a little bit, when there’s a knock on the door to the suite. You can’t see who’s at the door, but you do hear Syd call your name, laughing, “we have an uninvited husband and baby here.”

“Oh!” You don’t have to see Mat and Talia for the knot in your chest to ease and for your breathing to get easier. They’re exactly who you needed and you don’t waste any time in hurrying as fast as your heeled feet will take you towards the door to the suite.

Mat’s hovering at the door, looking handsome and polished in his suit, a far cry from the disheveled, bed-headed mess you’d left behind at the Martins’ Hamptons home this morning. He’s got Talia in his arms, her back against his chest so she can see everything that’s going on. Syd’s squishing her little cheeks, making your fifteen-month-old giggle wildly and wriggle in Mat’s arms. The skirt of her summery floral dress is bunched up under Mat’s forearm, exposing chunky toddler legs.

“Hey!” Mat looks up and grins at you, the delighted expression on his face flickering when he sees whatever expression is on yours.

“Mama!” Talia shrieks and lunges for you, Mat’s arms tightening reflexively around the wiggly toddler.

Syd laughs and gives her a noisy kiss on the cheek. “Aunt Syd doesn’t hold a candle to Mom, I guess,” she shrugs and you offer her a faint smile.

“She’ll change her mind in like twenty minutes,” you joke, reaching out for her and stepping into Mat’s personal space. “Hi, Bug. Having a good morning with Daddy? I’ve missed you.” There’s a wobble to your voice and Mat doesn’t miss it.

“Hey,” he ducks his head closer to yours, his cheek brushing against the side of Talia’s head, “what’s going on? Are you okay?”

It’s the exact same question Kristy asked a few minutes ago, but when Mat asks it, you can’t help the tears that well up in your lash line or the hiccuping sob that escapes your lips even as you try to press them together.

Mat’s face immediately falls and he quickly kisses the side of Talia’s head, murmuring to her, “you’re gonna hang with Aunt Syd for a minute, okay, Bug?”

“No!” You nearly yelp, holding Talia’s fingers tighter. You don’t want her out of your sight. “No,” you repeat, quieter. “Just…just let me hang out with her for a minute.”

Talia chants her few words, mamas and dadas falling happily from her smiling mouth, her hands tucked in yours. You can feel the anxiety seep from your body, your shoulders lowering from your ears.

Mat nods and he secures Talia against his chest with one arm so he can cup your cheek with the other hand. His thumb brushes softly against your cheekbone and you lean into his touch, barely concerned about the layer of makeup coating your skin. “You were okay this morning,” he says, a statement that sounds more like a question.

“Mhm,” you hum a reply, smiling widely at Talia and brushing her dark curls off her face. She scrunches up her face and squeals when you tickle her cheeks. “I…I was okay until a few minutes ago, honestly. I don’t know, Mat.” You lift one shoulder in a shrug, knowing that your anxiety is unpredictable lately, less constant than in the months following Talia’s birth, but no less severe when the attacks hit.

Talia reaches for the chain of your necklace, tangling her little fingers in the fine metal, and you finally take her from Mat’s arms, only slightly concerned about wrinkling the chiffon of your lavender bridesmaid dress. She curls up against your chest, her head fitting perfectly under your chin, and you have to swallow back another wave of emotion.

He leans slightly against the doorframe and studies your face. After a beat, he says, “do you think you’re tapering off the Lexapro too fast?”

It’s been three months since you started tapering off, guided by your doctor’s advice, and it’s been hard. Easier now that it’s summertime and Mat’s around every day.

You shrug, shake your head. “I don’t think so, no? I took it this morning anyway,” you sigh, pressing your cheek against the top of Talia’s head. She’s wiggling in your arms, fighting to get loose and run around. “I’ve never been away from her for this long.”

“It’s only been eight hours,” Mat raises an eyebrow. His hand is on your hip now, stroking gently, and you try not to think about the layers of Spanx under your dress, the way your hips have spread since Talia’s birth, the stubborn ten pounds that won’t go away. You’re back in your pre-pregnancy size, technically, but you just don’t feel right in your skin yet and the bridesmaid dress is only serving to emphasize just how off you feel. The extra padding at your hips and chest feels strange to you, even though Mat’s proven time and time again that he can’t keep his hands off of you, no matter your size.

“Yeah,” you agree. “But she’s always with me, all day.”

Mat sighs your name. There’s a little defensiveness in the slope of his shoulders now. “I have her though,” he says. “I can handle her alone.”

“I know,” the words spill out, “I know you do! You’re the best dad, Mat. I just…feel like…like? It’s not that I didn’t think you were okay, I missed her. It’s scary, not to have her with me.” The hiccuping sob is back, shaking your voice, and you have to hoist Talia higher up on your hip. She’s babbling to herself, wiggling around, and you know you should let her toddle around to get some of her energy out before the ceremony, but you can’t seem to let her go.

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying not to think of the days she was in the NICU, when Mat was gone. You thought you were over that hump, worked through the trauma with your therapist and with Mat, but for whatever reason, today is really hard.

“Hey,” Mat reaches up and brushes at your cheek, wiping a tear away, “I know. Squeaks, I know. But she’s here and she’s okay and you’re not a bad mom.”

“Maybe I wasn’t ready for this,” you huff, embarrassment starting to settle in your stomach. You’re being dramatic. You’d said yes to being a bridesmaid before you even knew you were pregnant with Talia and even after her birth, since Syd and Kristy were also bridesmaids, you’d figured you would be okay surrounded by your friends.

Mat leans in to kiss the corner of your mouth, mindful of your lipstick. “You’re fine. Just a bad brain moment,” he mumbles, using your therapist’s phrase for your anxiety. “T and I are going to be cool during the ceremony and then the three of us will party it up with everyone else, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, squeezing Talia one more time - getting an outraged squawk from her in return - before passing her back to Mat. They give you matching scrunch-faced smiles and you return a watery smile.

“Say bye to Mommy,” Mat jiggles Talia a bit and she giggles, waving and chanting a ‘bye bye, Mama’ in her sweet little voice.

“Bye bye, baby,” you wave back, your smile more natural now.

Mat leans in for one more quick kiss, Talia shrieking a giggle as she swoops forward in his arms. “You look beautiful,” he whispers against your cheek. “Lucky me, I get to go home with the hottest bridesmaid.”

Normally you’d roll your eyes at his flirting, but today you really needed the compliment. Your stomach warms and you smile gratefully at him.

He and Talia wave at you and she blows kisses, making you laugh as they head down the hallway and off to the outside patio where the ceremony will take place.

You’re feeling better after seeing them and when Syd and Kristy drag you back into the festivities and photographs, it’s fun again.

Mat’s sitting with Casey, Matt, and the kids towards the back of the crowd - daddy dare care while the moms are busy in the bridal party. You catch sight of Mat’s dark head immediately and your heartbeat kicks a little when you spot Talia’s matching dark hair over his shoulder. She’s standing on his thighs, her hands in his for balance, and when she sees you walking down the aisle, she shouts and waves at you, nearly losing her balance and tipping off of Mat’s lap. Casey’s hands shoot out and steady her before she can really go anywhere and you exhale in relief.

You wave at her behind your bouquet, an easy smile on your face.

The ceremony is a blur, your focus on Mat and Talia in the back. Towards the end, he has to slip out quickly with the diaper bag on his shoulder, but he’s back a few minutes later, shooting you a quick thumbs up.

By the time you get inside after photographs, cocktail hour is winding down. You, Syd, and Kristy find your little group immediately - Jack, Reese, and Winnie in a little dance circle in the corner even though there’s no real music playing. Alice, Cole, and Talia are looking rough, interrupted naps and a long day getting the best of the younger crowd.

“Hi!” You call out, setting your bouquet on the table the guys have commandeered, reaching out immediately for Talia. Mat offers her up easily and she clings to you like a little koala. “Missed you, baby,” you murmur, kissing the top of her head.

She’s got a handful of squished French fries, which you didn’t realize until her fingers loosen and a couple of them fall down the top of your dress.

“Ah,” you wince when the cold potato touches your skin. Mat snorts at the look on your face and stands up with a napkin to wipe off Talia’s hands.

“Am I allowed to stick my hands down your top to clean you up or is that public indecency?” He asks with a cheeky smile. There’s a smudge of red on his jaw - ketchup, most likely, and you smirk a little, amused that neither Matt nor Casey felt like telling him about it.

Before you can answer, all four of your friends chime in together, “public indecency,” earning an eye roll from Mat.

He ignores them and blocks your body with his so no one can see his hand disappear into your bra. He fishes out the fries and tweaks your nipple on the way out. You turn a gasp into a cough and glare at him. His answering smile is all faux-innocence.

“Now that you two are done being gross,” Matt rolls his eyes, even though he’s smiling, “are you ready to head in?”

The group is ushered into the main reception hall, floor to ceiling windows giving a gorgeous view of the water and the sun as it dips towards the horizon. The kids run off, pointed towards their table by Syd, and the adults head to the table right next to it, the toddler group accompanying. Talia slumps on your lap, looking like she’s fading a bit, until Mat pulls a piece of his roll off and hands it to her.

She beams at him and you make an attempt to get her to say ‘thank you’ that mostly ends up being gibberish unless she’s saying ‘Dada.’

“Feeling better?” Mat asks quietly, angled in your direction. You reach out to swipe your thumb over his jaw, cleaning off the ketchup, and he frowns down at your hand before huffing a laugh when he sees the condiment smudge.

You nod. “I’m good,” you reassure him with the truth. “I think I just really needed to see T this morning.”

His hand is warm on your knee and he nods, satisfied after he studies your face.

The bride and groom make their entrance, doing away with the entrances for the bridal party except for the maid of honor and the best man, and when it’s time for the couples to join them on the dance floor for the first dance, Mat takes Talia in his arms and after the distribution of kids to adults has happened, you’re dancing with Jack. He looks adorable in his little suit, seriously trying to spin you when he sees Casey twirl Reese.

“Jack, you’re the best dance partner I’ve ever had,” you laugh, helping him out by squatting and twirling under his arm.

He grins at you, showing off a smile of half baby teeth and half-grown in adult teeth. “Make sure you tell Uncle Mat,” he says. “Cause he said he could beat me in a dance contest, but I don’t think he can.”

“I’ll pass along the message,” you grin back. The music speeds up and you start swinging Jack’s arms in wide arcs, making him laugh. You push him out and pull him back in, wrapping him in a hug and tickling his sides. He breaks away and transitions into a few fairly impressive dance moves, including the Robot, which you’d love to know where he learned.

Mat dances over to you, Talia happy in his arms and wiggling along to the music. You take her and shimmy, making her laugh.

“Sick moves, Jacky,” Mat grins, ruffling his blond hair.

“Aunt Squeaks said they’re better than yours,” the seven-year-old shoots back, making an attempt to moonwalk away.

You burst out laughing and Mat turns a betrayed look on you. “Seriously?” He asks. “My moves are amazing!”

“Oh, look,” you smile, turning your head, “dinner’s being served!” It’s not, but it works to make Mat laugh and grab your hand to spin you and Talia in a circle.

Dinner is served a few minutes later and you and Mat trade off on who gets to hold Talia on their lap so the other can eat. Mat ends up with her for a good chunk of the meal, talking over her head and opening his mouth when she tries to reach up and shove a roasted potato past his teeth.

“Hey, cool it, girl,” you laugh, tugging at her hand when she misses his mouth and nearly shoves the potato up his nose. “Daddy doesn’t want to breathe in potato.”

Casey and Matt share a laugh before Matt chimes in, “his nostrils are big enough he’ll be able to breathe around the potato.”

Mat flips them off behind Talia’s back and you join in with their laughter, not even pretending to hide it when Mat turns a betrayed look on you. “My own wife,” he cries dramatically. “No loyalty even in my own home.”

You shrug and feed Talia a piece of your filet mignon. “I can’t fight the truth, baby,” you tease, leaning out of the way when Mat reaches for you to pinch your side.

The dance floor picks up again and you find yourself spinning with Mat’s arms around you, Talia taken by Syd to dance with her and Alice.

“She’s a little party animal,” you laugh, watching her wiggle while holding hands with Alice.

“Gets it from her mom and aunts,” Mat teases, hands low on your back, pulling you flush against his body. You can feel the gentle press of his cock against your hip, semi-hard behind his zipper. “She’s going to be a handful when she’s older, isn’t she?”

You nod. “Oh yeah, I think we’re going to have fun watching her grow up,” you murmur, emotion tightening your throat.

Casey and Matt swing Reese and Winnie in the air, Kristy shimmying with Jack. The little group is all laughter and smiles.

“I’m so glad we were able to do this,” you say after a few seconds. “The mini-vacation, the wedding. I know I freaked out this morning, but it’s nice to be around everyone.”

“Good,” Mat presses a soft kiss to your temple, swaying with you. “I was a little worried, not gonna lie.”

A little knot of guilt tangles in your stomach and you frown into his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whisper into the fabric of his shirt. “I know this past year has been…” you trail off, too many adjectives applicable to describe the past year.

Mat laughs faintly, “I know. You don’t have to apologize, I’m just glad we’re pretty much back to normal.”

Over Mat’s shoulder, you watch Jack spin Talia in a circle to make her laugh. She laughs so hard she nearly falls over and your heart skips a beat when it seems like she might hit the ground. Matt catches her back and holds her until she regains her balance, still giggling.

“My mom mentioned coming down for a visit,” Mat continues. “Maybe we can take her up on that, let her babysit and go away for the night, just the two of us?”

There’s something in Mat’s tone, a little cajoling, a little frustrated, a lot hopeful.

You haven’t been away with just Mat since before Talia was born, haven’t even spent more than a handful of hours away from her before this morning, but still, you find yourself nodding. “That sounds nice,” you reply, meaning it.

Mat’s fingers squeeze your hips and you pull back to see his smile, grinning back at him.

It’s not the old normal, but the new normal is pretty nice too.

The night winds down and you leave the reception early, Mat’s jacket draped over your shoulders and Talia passed out in Mat’s arms. You help lead the older kids out to the cars, making sure Reese doesn’t trip over her feet. Everyone gets buckled into their appropriate car seats for the drive back to the Martins’ and you find your eyes closing while Mat drives.

His hand is warm in yours and the radio is playing quietly.

“You look beautiful,” Mat says into the silence.

You crack a small smile and open one eye to look at him. “You said that earlier,” you remind him.

“I wanted to say it again,” he turns to you at the red light and flashes a grin, making your stomach flip with butterflies.

“Well,” you squeeze his hand, “I like hearing it.”

Talia wakes up when you try taking her out of the car, whining and crying for you. Her little hands reach out and you take her from Mat, cuddling her close and stroking her dark curls, hoping she’ll fall back asleep. She’s overtired though and doesn’t settle until all three of you are in bed, her cheek pillowed on your chest and her hands fisted in your shirt.

“Shh,” you hum, quietly starting to tell her a story. She whines and wiggles and Mat drapes his hand over her back too, a warm, heavy weight that’s worked to soothe her since she was born. He tickles her back lightly and scoots closer to you, head propped up on his hand. Talia’s cocooned in between your bodies, her knees tucked up to her chest, and she slowly falls back asleep, her face going slack. Her grip on her stuffed cat loosens, even though the plush toy is wedged under her chin for comfort.

“Sometimes,” you whisper to Mat, looking at him over Talia’s body, “I can’t get over how perfect she is.”

He yawns and nods, dragging the light comforter higher up over you and Talia. “We’re pretty damn lucky,” he agrees. He closes his eyes and curls his body in a c-shape around you and Talia, breathing evening out before long.

You’re tired, but you stay up for a little bit longer, watching your husband and daughter sleep. Your fingers trace the curve of Talia’s nose lightly and she wrinkles it, snuggling closer to you in her sleep. Mat snores softly, his breaths ruffling the back of Talia’s hair.

It makes you emotional, to have your entire heart curled up next to you like this.

With a faint smile on your face, you close your eyes and drift off.

Mat lets you sleep in the next morning and you wake up around eight, with a still hot mug of coffee on the night table and a few rocks and shells next to the mug - Mat must’ve taken Talia out to the beach early. You take your time getting ready, pulling on jean shorts and a tank top over your bathing suit before padding downstairs. Being back in your regular clothes makes you feel more normal than the shapewear and bridesmaid dress from last night. You can ignore the extra few pounds and new shape to your body when you’re just in shorts.

There are pastries on the counter, crumbs and dirty plates indicating that you’re not the first person to wander down for breakfast. You pull off a piece of an almond croissant and pop it into your mouth as you head outside. As soon as you open the back door, you’re treated to the childish laughter and splashing noises from the pool.

“Morning!” Syd calls, waving from a lounge chair. “Come join us.”

Kristy beams at you from the next chair and then almost immediately frowns when Jack cannonballs into the pool, sending a huge splash of water into the air. “Jack! I thought I said no splashing!” She calls as soon as his head pops back above the water.

“But Tal and Cole laugh when I do it,” he argues, pointing at the two youngest, who, sure enough, are cracking up in Mat and Casey’s arms. Mat winks at you and you smile, waving as you take a seat at the edge of the third lounge chair.

“Talia and Cole also laughed when Dad dropped the egg carton, but we’re not going to keep doing that,” Kristy shakes her head.

Jack pouts, but to his credit, stops doing cannonballs and instead commandeers a dragon shaped pool float with Winnie and Reese hanging off the wings, shrieking.

It’s loud and chaotic and it’s perfect.

Mat swims over to the edge, Talia holding onto his hands while she kicks. “Good sleep?” He asks, splashing a little water onto your feet.

“Mhm,” you hum, “thanks for letting me sleep in.”

“Anytime,” he leans back, dragging Talia through the water. “T and I took a nice walk on the beach, chatted about all the birds we saw, picked up lots of treasures for Mommy.”

“Bird!” Talia pipes up, loudly and happily, looking around.

Mat grins at you, inclining his head as if to say ‘see?’

You smile back, giggling a bit, and then Mat kicks off the wall, swimming around and making boat noises while he navigates Talia through the water and around the obstacles of Matt, Casey, and the other kids.

“I love summer dad camp,” Syd sighs, stretching out in her chair. “It’s a nice little break.”

It’s definitely nice to have this summer experience as opposed to last summer’s insanity. You can finally enjoy watching Mat with Talia in the warm weather.

He tosses her a little into the air, catching her before she hits the water, and despite the way your heart lurches, you smile at the sound of her shrieked laughter mixing with Mat’s.

They swim past Matt and Alice reaches for Talia for a high-five, one of Talia’s favorite tricks. She looks startled when her hand keeps going and splashes down into the water, sending droplets flying onto her and Mat’s faces. Your husband laughs and wipes the water from Talia’s face before blowing raspberries against her cheeks.

It’s the cutest fucking thing you’ve ever seen.

You surprise yourself, thinking about a second baby held in Mat’s arms. Neither of you have really talked about it that seriously and you’ve been sort of holding your breath, waiting for your brain and body to feel normal enough to do it all over again. But now, maybe it’s time to really start thinking and talking about a second baby. You do a little quick math in your head, if you get pregnant right away, easy like it was with Talia when you weren’t even trying, Talia would be just around two when a second baby would be born. That’s a nice age difference, even three years like Mat and Liana would be good too.

You chew at your lower lip, watching Mat and Talia. Smiling when she smushes his cheeks in her hands and bonks her forehead against his.

Yeah, a second mini-Mat wouldn’t be so bad.

[ohimsummer]

SATORU, your muse ｡˚✐~

— Satoru eases open the door of the house. You’re not home, so he doesn’t feel the need to make his usual grand entrance. Shoes are left at the door, jacket on the rack, and Satoru makes way to the bedroom. Once inside, something on your nightstand immediately catches his eye.

It’s your sketchbook; a now worn, leather notepad that he’d bought you months ago after the old one was filled. You rarely, if ever, let him see your artwork, so Gojo would usually resort to peeking over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of what you were working on. He always teased you for keeping your art a secret, but now that he has a chance to look at your projects uninterrupted, he hesitates. For a second.

Satoru flips open to the first page. It’s just random doodles of flowers and animals, ones he recognizes from the garden in the park you two frequent. The next page warrants the same mundane results: bugs and trees and the tops of skyscrapers and whatever random things that would grab your interest while you two enjoyed the heat of the sun.

The next page catches Gojo by surprise. It’s a bird, but not just any bird, he realizes. It’s a songbird, one he’d half-heartedly pointed out to you one day because he recalled reading about it online. You weren’t even listening to him, or so he’d thought. It’s kind of endearing actually that you’d take the time to draw it. And it’s not just the bird, either. It’s the macaroons he’d mentioned wanting to get one evening, a bouquet consisting of a flower Gojo’d randomly plucked and presented to you, a familiar pair of sunglasses resting in grass, dabbed over top with faded blue watercolor paint. Numerous doodles of such small memories.

Satoru continues flipping to look at your little illustrated photo album. Some of these drawings are of stuff he barely remembers talking about, like a cracked open piggy bank obviously referencing a story he told you in passing. Gojo doesn’t even remember why he brought it up, but you’ve immortalized it here in your sketchpad with pencils and ink.

The drawings only grow more detailed as he gets deeper into the book, and a proud smile stretches across Satoru’s face at your talent. Rapid sketches of buildings and passerby evolve into self portraits of yourself, and he thinks you look so captivating in all of them. Gojo takes note of the silly doodles of even himself in the margins of the paper. Him in his sunglasses, him wearing the flower crown you’d poorly put together, him surrounded by ice cream and candy and the plethora of sweets he so enjoys. His favorites are the inane drawings of you two together, tiny and inhabiting multiple corners of every page. Each one is a delightful surprise to spot.

Satoru turns the next page, and he’s sincerely taken aback. Drawings of eyes, and they all look alike. They’re so detailed, adorned with pretty lashes and shaded so beautifully. He doesn’t have to wonder long on whose eyes these are, the next page bursting with the color blue tells Gojo all he needs to know. He’s glad you’re not here to see his reddening face and the way his breath hitched. This page, the next few actually, are all dedicated to his eyes. They’re inked perfectly, some are at different angles, and you’ve managed to portray emotion into all of them. Satoru wonders if he could draw a picture of you and showcase the absolute adoration in your eyes the way you’ve done with his.

And it doesn’t stop there. Page after page, it’s all Satoru. Him sleeping with a mushed cheek against your chest, him drinking a soda, him looking out the window, him playing the game with Geto, when did you even draw these?

“Satoru?”

He quickly slams the book shut at your call, carefully placing it back on your nightstand and ushering himself from the room. There you are at the door, shaking the rain from your umbrella and leaving it on the mat near the entrance.

“There you are, love.,” you beam at his approaching figure, and Gojo squishes you in a warm embrace. “How was your day?”

Satoru kisses the crown of your head, and grins against your skin. He can’t wait to tell you all about today, maybe give you some more brilliant ideas to memorialize in your sketchbook.

[fanaroff]

Faust and Narinder’s relationship in 5 minutes!

Faust is short. Narinder’s height does not include the ears but it does include the digitigrade stance.

Narinder’s age is unknown, but he’s been around for over 1000 years. Faust is only around 170 by the time the end of the game (in either of my AUs) comes about. By the time the two actually get together, they’ll be around 215.

Faust doesn’t get to wear Narinder’s clothes often because by the time they’re comfortable enough to steal his clothes, it tends to result in… *ahem*.

Pet name wise, Faust would only really call Narinder “Nari,” or in a very intimate instance (this does not mean in spicy moments) “My Lord/My God”. Narinder is the one who uses pet names the most. My love dear, darling, my sweet, my lamb, little one, etc.

Faust is an extrovert by trade. Though due to some trauma and repeated rejection, they’re more introverted than they used to be. Narinder is not used to people and only has a handful of others he will tolerate enough to interact with.

Faust definitely relies on action to show their care, be it feeding someone, patting, hugging, taking care of, etc. They will say it out loud, but you’re more likely to get a hug and a smile than an “I love you.” A hand kiss, peck on the cheek. To them, saying that is for important moments. Narinder does show in action, but he’s more likely to say something that shows he cares. He’d give quiet praise and gentle “love you’s”.

No spoilers for who confesses for the story, but in a normal circumstance this follows who’s more likely to confess.

Narinder wouldn’t scream at a bug, he will be a bit lazy and get Faust to squish it. Faust does not mind.

Narinder is a passenger princess. Faust shows their love by cooking.

When together, they’re often seen cuddling, holding handles, exchanging gentle kisses, playful frolicking, etc. Narinder will stare followers down if they watch their interactions for too long.

Narinder hovers over Faust a lot of the time and will, at the very least, have his tail wrapped around some part of them.

Faust? Virgin in general. They never had a relationship and was focused more on survival. Narinder would have had trysts as a Bishop of the Old Faith.

[pinechild]

I was watching Hazbin Hotel and I saw Alastor's design and I thought I've never seen a yandere story about a deer monster... So could you do that, please?

I’ve never watched Hazbin Hotel, but I do like what you’re thinking, anon. I’m rusty when it comes to writing full blown fics so go easy on me chat 🫡

Antlered, Stalking

◇ Gn! Reader

◇ Summary: You get lost in the woods after a heavy downpour washes away all of your markers to get back to your car, leaving you open for a yandere deer beast to ensnare you in his grasp. He thinks he’ll keep you - his newest mate.

◇ Warnings: horror themes, yandere themes, stalking (obvi), non consensual licking + touching, mentions of dead animals, entrapment, slightly suggestive, bugs (?)

Torrential rainfall would be perfect for you, especially in this time of year, under different circumstances. But now—as your hair sticks to your face, cold and damp, your heart clamored in your ears; It was anything but.

Fear injects itself into your gut—its frigid and decaying fingers piercing right through your stomach and making its presence known to your bloodstream as it spreads its digits. The makeshift chalk markers you made on multiple trees instantly washed away once the storm rolled in, leaving stupid little you, lost.

It’s almost as if you were frozen in time, not hearing the rain harshly slapping against the leaves, or the sound of your own breath leaving your lungs—not even the sound of wet underbrush being squished somewhere off in the distance. Anxiety has your mind clouded in a thick miasma, riddling itself with possible solutions to try to get you back to where you came from and into the safety of your beat up car, survival fully switching on in your brain and making your thoughts race.

In retrospect, you knew this wasn’t a good idea from the start, but human as you are, your own arrogance was your hubris—believing that since it’s never happened to you before, it’ll most likely not happen to you now. As if the stars were smiling upon you and bestowing upon you fortune for seemingly being on good behavior as of late.

Oh how you wish you could slap the fuck out of your past self right now and got proper markers.

Cell service was pretty much moot as an option—you knew that, even the most beginner of hikers (those with half a brain, anyway) knew this fact. The forest in this area was just so thick that it would be mere impossible for any radio waves to pass through. So, the next best thing is—

Your body in an instant—and almost unconsciously— fiddle inside your pockets, methodically searching for something like a well oiled machine before you hunch over, letting the rain drum against your back and bead off of your jacket in attempt to not let a single drop soak the inside your bag. The only sounds you can soak in are the rustling of cloth, zippers closing shut, and the rain that continues to beat on your back until your fingertips finally bump into the item you’re looking for: your compass.

You cant help but a little flicker of hope spark inside you as you pull it out.

With a slight tremble of your fingers, you lift up the compass, breath bating as the needles slightly jerk from its magnetic pull. The slight anticipation gnawing at your chest.

However what you don’t expect is for the needles to instantly spin precariously at a rapid pace, as if it was a dog chasing its own tail, going round and round and round. In your eyes (in the most irrational of case), It’s almost like it’s taunting your situation, and fears gnarled fingernails scrape against your gut, tugging it down as you spend more than one second thinking about it.

What the fuck? Is this thing broken? How?? Didn’t this work before?

Hot, acidic bile stings at the back of your throat, your mind screaming at you to move amongst the sea of questions ruminating.

Biologically, the human brain tends to react in a sequence of events when danger is present in its environment: Fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. And your brain, in this case, instantly makes your legs move—uprooting your feet from the muddy earth. Flight it is.

You know partly how you came to this spot in to where you were now, so in a snap decision you decide to retrace your steps to the best of your abilities—better than staying in one place with a broken fucking compass. And god forbid it gets dark, you don’t think you could follow the stars with all this cloud coverage in the first place (not like you could anyways but it that was neither here nor there)—

Along with the nonstop pour, mud squelches and plops under your shoes, the cold starting to nip at your fingertips. The only thing right now your mind can focus on is just getting out of here—your eyes scanning for any wildlife as you move through the dense forest floor, trying your best to avoid rocks or uneven earth. But, the more you try to retrace your steps….the more you feel an uneasiness prickle at the nape of your neck; hairs and goosepimples uncomfortably standing on end.

…

Are you being followed?

No, that’s not possible. You were the only person here from the last two hours—matter of fact, you didn’t even see any wildlife skittering about during that time either, and that strikes you as odd. Rain or not, there was bound to be a couple chipmunks scampering in the undergrowth.

A dreadful feeling swirls inside you at that thought, blooming inside you along with your throat getting uncomfortably dry—something’s wrong here.

It’s then you hear a cry in the distance, echoing even through the thickest of bramble—an eerie, grating sound, one that mimics decrepit metal doors opening on rusted hinges. It’s a familiar sound, but foreign at the same time. What is it? Why does it itch at your brain so much?

Until it hits you: It’s an elk.

That chilling sound like it belongs in a horror movie, scraping at your ears like nails on a chalkboard every time you heard it. You recognize it now.

It’s odd though, you don’t remember any elk living in this forest before, but, maybe you were just lucky to have never heard its cry during mating season. Who knows. But, right now you can’t think about that right now—you need to move. An elks bugle shouldn’t shake you up this much as it did. You have to go. Now.

You continue your trek, trudging your legs along as your lungs shake with each exhale. That unnerving feeling of being watched sticks in the back of your mind, making you pick up the pace. You try to ignore the elk’s bugling getting louder and louder with each step. Even still, the sound unsettles you. Maybe, in the best case scenario, it was just your paranoia getting to you, playing tricks on you to think you’re in more danger than you already are—at least that’s what your anxiety riddled brain likes to think.

But the more you thoughts stew on it, the weirder it gets: You know you remember there’s no elk in this forest—you remember the first time you hiked here and the guide saying something about watching out for bears and the occasional wolf—but never about elk. Not that they were dangerous to humans anyways but still—they were never mentioned among the list of what you would see on the trails, that you remember.

And not hearing multiple elk during mating season is strange in itself, how come was there only one? Not to mention you’ve never even seen any on your hikes—ever. And to see there’s no other wildlife besides the elk? The compass spinning in all directions? The sickening feeling of being watched, possibly stalked?

It’s weird. It’s weird and it’s not just your imagination.

Something is deeply, deeply wrong here.

Bone scrapes against wood, and on instinct, you run into a full sprint.

Ignoring how the mud splotches onto your clothes, your throat clamps shut as adrenaline surges your veins heart thundering in your ears obstreperously, rattling your eardrums and breaking your skin into a cold sweat.

In the most logical minds, one would know that it was just the elk rubbing its antlers on a tree as its mating habits, that it’s nothing to worry about—but you knew it wasn’t the truth. The sound of anything other than the rain and your bones creaking under your skin wasn’t natural. It didn’t belong here.

And what’s even worse is the thrashing of underbrush quickly catching up behind you. Your vision almost becomes dizzy with how much adrenaline is pumped into your bloodstream and panic settling in to the marrow of your bones. The haunting, metallic bugle of the elk dwarfs your heartbeat, looming over you. The acid of the bile pools in your mouth, stinging at your tongue and almost making you wretch. You gotta hide! Need to—

Your chest harshly lands on the waterlogged ground, effectively knocking the wind out of you as mud cakes your face and chest. Unnaturally large hands wrap around your waist and that creaky, hollowed bugle rings right beside your ear. Choking on your breath, you dare to crane your neck to look over your shoulder, body trembling as you cough and wheeze your way to breathe again. The sight alone makes eyes go wide at the first glimpse on what towers above you.

What you see, is no ordinary elk, but a monster. One with antlers strong and pointed, reaching towards the heavens and branching out to the point where the two antlers almost touch—like tangled and twisted tree roots. Its head an elk skull, underneath the empty sockets lie human eyes, peering at you. You even dare say, undressing you.

Its upper body is like that of a human, save for the talon like nails that anchor your body down to the ground. As your eyes move down, however, you see the dirt caked fleshy skin transition into fur—one traditionally like an elk followed by hind legs and cloven hooves, chipped and worn with age. Natures twisted amalgamation of animal and human; a bastard of the unnatural.

It bugles again, softly this time, crooning. Almost as if asking if you like what you see.

And you want to fucking throw up at the implication.

The urge to scream and thrash away from its grip dies before it even begins like a snuffed out flame. An invisible force freezing your vocal cords, holding them captive as the creature leans closer, hinging its maw open to reveal a sleek, black tongue—licking you. Your muscles writhe beneath your skin.

“Mine.” Its voice is a rumble of thunder, rippling throughout your fragile bones as it—he—speaks. It’s a voice worn and booming; one that hasn’t been used in ages—at least that’s what you assume. Plumes of his breath appear in a smoke like cloud against the biting chill of the rain, tongue retracting back once its had his fill of licking all the salt and sweat from your cheeks.

Lifting your frozen body with a relative ease, he tucks you to his side, cradling your body in his hand as if he was holding a parcel.

In this moment, you can’t think. Everything’s happening so fast that your mind can’t even keep up, mentally grasping at straws at the how’s, when’s and why’s of it all. It’s like your mind is on a chairoplane—holding you just by the head as it spins at a nauseatingly rapid pace while you ragdoll through the air.

When the wind and rain whips at your face as he starts to move, do you notice how he weaves through the forest at a breakneck, inhuman speed. It dawns on you there was no chance of getting out of here to begin with.

The world, or rather, the reality you thought you knew, utterly shatters. Monsters are real—and you’re being kept by one, dangling in its grasp as it figures out what to do with you next.

Tears never seem to come from your glassy eyes, but you could feel them chewing at your optic nerve—a burning, sizzling tingle, something akin to a sparkler you used to play with as a kid on muggy summer nights.

Thinking about it, you’ll never be able to play with them again—or drive your car, or even complain to your friends about work. You never even got to tell your mom you love her after your fight.

You’ll never be able to do that again, you'll never able to do anything again, not while you’re in this beasts grasp. And the realization of that, makes the cavity in your chest clatter in a silent, violent scream. If your lips could move, you’re sure your throat would be rubbed raw by now, vocal chords utterly fried.

Too lost in your own despair, you don’t notice that the creature stopped running until you hear a light chuff above you. Raising your head at the noise, you see the mouth of a cave—a warm, amber flame casting ambient light along the jagged edges of the rocks. A deceptive illusion of comfort beckoning you in.

When getting closer, you see a string of dead rabbits formed into an almost perfect circle near the foot of the entrance, just mere feet away from the kindling fire. A gift? An offering of some sort? Well, you don’t care either way, it’s not like you’re going to take it.

The monster sets you down, whispering a soft hum in some sort of satisfaction, probably because of its successful attempt at catching you. His eyes, dark and lifeless, resembling the bottomless void, follows the way the flames mold to the planes and soft curves your face, drinking in every pore and detail of you.

You try not to focus on him or the stench of the rabbit corpses assaulting your nose, all you can do now to keep your sanity is to just stare into fire.

You hear shuffling, fur chafing on stone as he gets closer, jaw chittering as his tongue slides along your neck. It's oddly warm without the rain nulling your sense of touch, but it does nothing to help from the familiar taste of bile from swelling in your throat.

“Mate. Mine.” His large hands resting onto your stomach, fingers creeping under the layers of clothing to get a mere touch of your naked flesh. Feeling him touch you like this feels like bugs are wriggling underneath your skin, wiggling and writhing in disgust. You want to pluck them out, get rid of this nastiness tainting your body and scrub at your skin until you're red and bleeding.

A gargled sense of a moan creaks out of this throat.

“Love. Breed.”

Your stomach drops to your ass, knowing your fate was already sealed with just those two words.

On its own, your body shakes as he purrs, bone snout nuzzling into your hair. The nauseating reality of you never being found again or even being able to see the outside world weighs on your tongue like stones. It makes you sick—want to scream, curl up into a ball and wither away, letting the cave centipedes eat at you down to the bone.

And it’s all because of those fucking markers.

[norman-fucking-reedus]

More childish Daryl because we all love his big little shit self and his little shit attitude

and more of Rick being a victim as well as a little piece of shit

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

There weren’t many things life that you were afraid of anymore besides dying. or your loved ones dying. Oh and every form of insect left on the planet.

“Daryl Dixon take that thing back outside and the fuck out of my house!” You yell in horror when your husband comes sprinting into the house with a large and exotic bug cupped in his hands, holding it out to you excitedly. “Look at it though!”

“Very, very nice my love… Uhh,” Your eyes dart nervously around. “Here! Put it in here for safe keeping” You grab a jar and push it towards Daryl, staying as far away from him as he would let you, which wasn’t very far. “He’s gon die in there” Daryl mumbled, shifting on his feet.

You sigh. “He won’t outside. Y’know, where he lives?”

“But I ain’t ever seen this bug ‘fore” Daryl pouted slightly.

“Daryl. Please.” You give a soft but stern look.

The man frowned, dropping his gaze down to his new friend as he walked him back out the door. “Fine.”

You sighed in relief watching the archers wings disappear behind the creaky slam of your front door, out onto the Alexandria streets to terrorize the community. But you didn’t know that part.

Over at Carol’s house, she lounges comfortably on her porch swing, a real good and captivating book in one hand, a cooling, untouched cup of coffee in the other. She’s so invested in the story that she doesn’t even feel Daryl’s presence behind her, totally not coaxing his new friend off his palm and onto her shoulder, watching as the strange bug crawled down her arm slowly.

At first she didn’t feel it, finally taking her first sip out the mug after hovering it for so long. When she moves to place the cup down, glints of iridescent purples and blues catches her eye, and she glances at her sleeve.

“Jesus! What the fuck!? What the fuck!?” She hollers, tossing her book and shooting to her feet, flailing to get the bug off of her. When she pauses to glance around, in search of the little pest so that she could squish the fucker, she finds it crawling on another, much larger pest. “When I get my hands on you, you are so dead” Carol fires daggers at Daryl, who holds the insect with a victorious smile. “Don’ threaten him”

“I’m threatening you. Also ‘him’?” Carol rolled her eyes, and moved further when Daryl took a few steps towards the porch. “I found him by the wall but Y/n ain’t let me keep it”

“I applaud her for dealing with you, now shoo. You’ve completely ruined my reading time” The woman sighs and sits back down on the swing, picking her book off the floor. “Where’s Rick?” Daryl quipped, turning and scanning the area. Carol watched him quietly, a smile tugging her lips. It felt like only yesterday that the hunter was nothing but a locked box, never opening up or showing any form of emotion. Now, he was practically bouncing off the walls, more of a rowdy kid than anything else. It made Carol a little sad, knowing that Daryl never got to chance to be the rambunctious kid he was born to be.

She watched as he walked away, bug in hand and wings on his back. There was a first time for everything, she supposes.

Of course, this saying is true, because this is the first time Daryl is really putting his ass on the line. He bit back the evil smile creeping on his face as his eyes landed on his victim, who shamelessly flirting with his wife, totally oblivious to everyone else around him. Rick was rambling and yapping to Michonne, not taking his eyes off hers for a second as he spoke.

She smiled and nodded, listening and digesting whatever he was saying, occasionally adding commentary of her own. It was a casual conversation, and Michonne had started to move to kiss Rick, him doing the same and shutting his eyes in anticipation-

“Fuck! Fuck! The fuck?!” He yelled, jerking away from his wife and reaching a hand to his back, patting aimlessly around for the strange crawling sensation on him. “What’s on me?!” Rick spun around, and Michonne screamed. “Oh hell no! Nope! Nope!” The woman backed away, and as she did she spotted Daryl, as did Rick.

“Dixon!” Rick’s voice rang out through the community, followed by heavy running feet mere seconds later.

Daryl cackled as he ran from Rick, taunting him and mocking the mans angry shouts and insults. Also threats.

“You are so fucking dead Daryl!” Rick yelled from behind him, trying to increase his speed to get closer behind Daryl, who had no reason being as fucking fast as he was. “Please don’ shoot meh officer!” Daryl fake cooed, laughing but it was cut short by Rick ultimately deciding to take a leap of faith, crashing right into the hunterman, who almost instantly tightened all his limbs around Rick.

The men grunted and squabbled in the middle of the street, yelling and screaming at each other. “Stop it you dicksucker tha’ hurts!” Daryl wailed and kicked at Rick, who was twisting his leg. “Dicksucker? Must be missin’ the countryside huh Dixon?” Rick grumbled, releasing the kicking limb and latching onto Daryl’s arm, punching it when holding it down didn’t work. “Ain’t nothin miss ‘bout it, except ya wasn’t there” The man grunted, bringing his other arm up and grabbing onto a fist full of Rick’s curly hair, pulling on the strands. The man let out a pained yell, reflexively reaching his hand up to pry Daryl’s hand off, but that just let his other arm free.

When Daryl had slung his arm around Rick’s neck, bicep already tightly wrapped and flexed around it, the familiar creaking of a door caught his attention, turning his head to take in the house that they were fighting in front of. Your house.

Rick gasped for air when Daryl dropped him, coughing and about to take a swing at him when he also turned his head, both males now being stared down by you. Daryl more than ever.

“When I told you to take the bug outside, I meant back to where you got it, not on a tour around the fucking community.” You spat, arms folded over your chest. Daryl hung his head embarassedly, heat rising to his cheeks at the scolding. “Sorry mama”

“And you,” You looked at Rick, “You need to stop further provoking him because look how it ends each time” Rick furrowed his brows, “But he came to me first!” Pointing at the archer next to him. “Rick I don’t give a damn if chicken or egg came to you first” You rolled your eyes. “But-“ “No. This? This is very much over. You? You are very much in trouble.” You cut Rick off, descending the short steps and tugging Daryl off the ground by his vest, pushing him to go up the porch and into the house. “You? I’ll be letting Michonne know to keep you attached to her hip. Let’s go, Grimes”

Once you promptly delivered Michonne her loose dog, you made your way back to your house to deal with your own, sighing when the door shut behind you. Your eyes flickered over to Daryl, who was nervously sat on the couch.

“M’really sorry” He mumbled when you moved to stand over him, hands on your hips. “I didn’t wanna put him back”

“Daryl, you can’t just go around harassing people with bugs.” You shake your head at him, biting down on the inside of your cheek when Daryl shamefully looked away, face turning a shade of red. “But it was funny”

You sigh, “For you. Daryl, baby, some people are really afraid of bugs. I’m some people. Those things freak me the fuck out” reaching your hand down to lift his head up, brushing hair out his face. There were hints of guilt written on it, and you smiled softly.

“Hey, nobody’s mad at you, okay? You just have to be a little more aware of the small things” You kissed his forehead, once, twice, thrice, still smiling down at his flushed face. “Mama loves you” You whisper, and it cracks a small smile on Daryl’s lips, heart doing somersaults. “Love ya too” You kiss his head one more time, giving him a final on his lips before standing straight again. “Now that that’s over, I’m making something I think you’ll like” Your voice fades into the kitchen, Daryl following you. “Let m’guess; steak” He joked, but blinked when he peered over your shoulder. “I remember a very skilled hunter once telling me that ‘deer asses are tha’ best’”

“They are, ‘nd tha’s ‘bout to be tha’ best fuckin’ steak of m’life” Daryl bumped his hip against yours, playful smile tugging his lips. “Alright now. Don’t get rowdy in my kitchen” You eye him from the side, bumping his hip back as you lit the stove, using makeshift oil to butter the pan. Daryl slid a hand around your waist, kissing your shoulder before dropping his head there, mumbling a tiny “Sorry mama” next to your ear. You can’t help the smile the spreads on your lips, placing just one more kiss to the top of Daryl’s head.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

I think that ‘baby’ and ‘mama’ are like really cute for outside of the bedroom, it’s intimate while not being too explicit if that makes sense

me fighting my urge to explain how Daryls mommy kink spews much deeper than you guys think

each time i typed mama i kept imagining a furby saying it

anways your honor my babyboy is innocent

[date-a-jew-suggestions]

Hello all. If you haven’t read about this, do yourself a favor. It’s a feel good story

TL;DR, trans rights activists dumped thousands of live crickets into a transphobic conference. It was awesome. (And they were crickets, not roaches, TERFs are just bad at identifying bugs ig)

I’ve seen some bad faith actors claim that this was an act of animal cruelty. As an insect keeper and reptile owner, I vehemently disagree. (My mantids beetles millipedes and bearded dragon say hi)

Those bags of crickets were almost definitely purchased from a pet store, meaning they are FEEDER CRICKETS. Bred for the explicit and sole purpose of feeding to reptiles and occasionally other insects (mantids and beardy say hi again)

This means that actually, by releasing them into a TERF conference, more of those crickets are going to live full little cricket lives than they would have if they’d been purchased by someone intending to feed them to a pet. Even tho many were squished, many of them also escaped into the Westminster streets!

And, hot take, this actually may be a better use for crickets than as feeders. Dubia roaches are better feeders in every conceivable way (easier to manage, can’t jump out of tanks, more nutritious)

And at least some of the talks got cancelled so. It works! We should keep at it 💖

[divine-misfortune]

What about Phantom and Mountian kissing as encouragement 👀

They say pacing is a good way to clear your head, at least Phantom was pretty sure he heard someone say it once. That someone was starting to feel like a real big fucking liar though. He had been pacing the length of the dressing room for an hour, maybe two, and his head was still horribly loud. Bees swarming in his skull, stinging his brain, he was this close to giving himself a little zap of quintessence to enter into a short coma to escape it.

Sound check had been nothing short of nightmarish on his end. Too many notes played sharp and riffs fumbled to be excused. Papa had even shot him a look - not exactly what you'd call a dirty look but one that still knotted up his stomach. Rain had even fixed him with something akin to a scowl, or maybe the sun was in his eyes.

Phantom just couldn't get off that stage fast enough, and the dread of being forced back onto it in a matter of hours nearly made him sick.

In an effort to maintain his grip on sanity, he'd started pacing and pacing got him nowhere. Phantom wanted to curl in on himself instead. The old leather couch in the corner was the perfect place in his opinion. The well loved cushion was easy to sink into, some sort of embrace to mend his frayed nerves. It almost barely helped.

Knees drawn up to his chest, arms folded, face hidden in them, he felt small. Fragile. Dead weight.

"Bug?"

Phantom's fingers dug into his biceps and he sniffled, blinking away tears he did not care to admit to. The best response he could manage was a weak hum, tuneless and a little unsteadier than he'd like.

"You're not dressed yet," Mountain was frowning. His voice always got a little softer when he frowned. "Whats going on?"

He shrugged. Lying, he knew exactly what the issue was and so did Mountain.

The couch dipped beside him and a large hand settled on his back. Slow circular motions between his shoulder blades that had Phantom unraveling. It shouldn't have been so easy but Mountain made everything seem so simple.

"Rough day, huh sprout?"

"Yeah..." he croaked sadly and lifted his head enough to rest his chin on his arms. "Do I have to do this?"

"Well, technically no but we're gonna sound like shit without you."

"Probably have a better chance without me tripping around up there."

Mountain shifted in his peripheral before slipping an arm around him, pulling the little ghoul against his chest without a fight. Phantom wanted to be there anyhow. Closest thing to safety he had in that little room. He wrapped both arms around his middle and clutched at Mountain's vest. Hiding against him tamed the swarm in his head, quieted the worst of the turmoil.

"You need to be more patient with yourself."

"Easier said than done."

"I know, I know. Despite what the gray hairs might lead you to believe I was new to this too once." Phantom snorted and let out a shuddered breath that wracked his delicate frame. "Could tell you a thousand stories about my bad days on tour, and you're gonna collect quite a few of your own but they'll get easier to shrug off."

Phantom held tighter and Mountain embraced him the same. Squished him like it might just squeeze the doubt out of the little quint. It didn't, of course, but it did get a laugh out of him. Weak but genuine.

"Lemme see that pretty face, I wanna make it better."

There was a moment of hesitation to unlatch from the earth ghoul but he did inevitably, rewarded by those familiar warm eyes. Mountain's mouth quirked upwards at the edges and he cupped his face in both hands. All he wanted to do was melt into them, trusting him to keep him upright.

Mountain leaned in and caught his lips before they could quiver with the threat of another little cry again. One little peck, followed by another, and another. Cautiously paced with every kiss, deepening slowly until Phantom was boneless between his hands. This always seemed to go to his head, could damn near restart his brain just by kissing him - and that was the point.

And Mountain gave him one more before breaking away before all he had was a puddle of a ghoul left. Squishing his flushed cheeks, he gave an exaggerated mwah just as he sat back to admire his work. Phantom's eyes were half lidded, fluttering delicately as he registered the absence of Mountain’s mouth against his.

"Give yourself a little grace, you've more than earned it. Some days are just gonna be bad...But I promise to always try to kiss the blues away."

"...Think I'm still feeling a little blue, can you try again?" Phantom asked quietly, tugging at his vest hopefully.

"Only after you get dressed. I'll ward off aaaaaall those sad feelings till we're called to places once you do. Deal?"

"Deal."

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Take my hand (we'll make it, I swear)

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 3

Prompt: Mutual pining

Rated: G

CW: Steve getting vecna'd; Some violent imagery

Tags: Idiots in love; Fluff and angst

Notes: Based on this beautiful piece of art by @house-of-the-moving-image and that one "Steve gets vecna'd" brainworm I've had forever.

It's always different in the stories, Eddie thinks. When the heroes in the stories realize they're in love, it always comes as this big revelation. The sunlight will glisten off the fair lady's hair, or her eyes will sparkle like the stars in the sky and the hero will suddenly realize that he is in love.

It wasn't like that for him. No dramatic moment, no sudden epiphany. It just sort of … snuck up on him over the past year, and when he noticed, it was too late. He had fallen, completely and irredeemably.

Then again, he is no hero. And Steve is most certainly not a fair lady.

He is still beautiful, of course, lying here in the soft, green grass, hair tousled by the breeze, golden highlights brought out by the setting sun. Eddie's jacket draped over him to fight off the chill.

He's asleep, finally, after what seems like ages, pulled under by the exhaustion of the last few days and that fucking Bon Jovi song blaring from his headphones on an endless repeat loop.

Eddie huffs, twists the daisy he has plucked between his fingers. If he strains his ears, he can just make out the words.

Take my hand, we'll make it, I swear…

Steve's fingers twitch in the grass and Eddie's gaze flies to his face, half expecting to find his eyes wide open and sightless, half expecting him to start floating again and fuck, what will he do, he can't do shit, please, God, he can't-

But Steve’s eyes are closed, his face relaxed. Eddie sighs in relief. Then, following a sudden impulse, he reaches out and tucks the daisy into Steve's hair.

He's no hero and he can't do anything to protect him, but he can make sure he rests while he has the chance, can make sure he has music and beauty and sunlight surrounding him. It's what he deserves.

He deserves so much more.

The harsh snap of the tape ending almost makes him jump out of his skin. Steve flinches awake with an adorable little snort, hand flying up to pull the headphones off. His eyes dart around wildly for a second or two before they land on Eddie and he sags back to the ground.

"Hey," he smiles, voice still sleep-slurred and hoarse. "Sorry, did I doze off?"

The flower is still in his hair.

Eddie snorts, pillows his arms on his knees so that he can hide behind them.

"Are you kiddin' me, dude? You can sleep all you want."

Steve hums vaguely and props himself up on one elbow, busies himself with opening the walkman and turning the tape.

"Feels wrong though," he mutters. "Y’know… just chilling here while the kids-"

"Stevie," Eddie says. Maybe it comes out a bit too harsh, because those pretty eyes blink up at him, confused and a little hurt. He groans.

"The kids are old enough," he then continues, more softly. "They have Wheeler and Buckley with them. Not to mention Supergirl. You don't have to-"

"-babysit them anymore, I know." Steve flops back into the grass, worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "I still feel useless, though."

They stay silent for a while. The wind is getting chillier, now that the sun is dipping behind the trees, and Eddie is starting to shiver in his flannel.

"Thank you, though," Steve mumbles. "For staying around, I appreciate it."

He sounds so small and lost and scared. Eddie plucks another flower so he won't have to look at his face. Hopes that Supergirl will tear Vecna's shrivelled black heart out through his ass and squish it under her shoe like a bug.

"Anything for you, Stevie," he says. Means it.

Steve blinks at him and quickly turns his head, but Eddie imagines he sees the ghost of a smile twitching at his lips.

"Eddie?"

"Hm?"

"I …" Steve watches the blades of grass glide through his fingers. "There's, um … something I've been meaning to tell you, but … I think I'm scared of what you'll say."

Eddie chuckles. "Oh, I already know."

Steve's hand freezes. "You do?"

"Absolutely, man," Eddie nods. "You're not being exactly subtle. There's no way the snack mix comes with that few pretzels, of course you're stuffing them in your face in the kitchen. I mean, be hone- ow!"

Steve has just punched his arm.

"It's not about the pretzels, you asshole," he grins, but then his face goes serious again. "It's… shit, I didn't want to tell you like this, I-"

"Then don't."

Steve's brow crinkles. "But-"

Eddie talks right over him. "You wait until this is over and you tell me when you think the time is right. I'll be there and I'll be waiting. Just like you. We're both gonna be there, okay?"

Steve huffs an exasperated laugh and scrubs a hand down his face, pinches the bridge of his nose. Then he yawns.

"Promise?" His eyes are very bright.

Eddie nods, smiles so wide that his mouth hurts with it.

"Of course. Now go back to sleep, dumbass."

Steve doesn’t protest as he pushes the headphones back over his ears and presses play, just settles back under Eddie's jacket and lets his eyes slip shut. Eddie listens to the opening chords of the song for what must be the thousandth time and wonders if he should take Steve's hand and promise that they'll make it.

Instead, he tucks the second flower into Steve’s hair and prays that it'll be okay.

All of my holiday drabbles

Part 2

[slamsuckingslut]

r6 spetsnaz head canons (SLIGHT NSFW)

my 4 favorite beefy Russian men... Just little head canons i have about how they look (for tachanka and kapkan mainly, but glaz and fuze included anyway)

CREDIT TO ALL ARTISTS WHOS ART I HAVE USED IN THIS !!

TACHANKA / ALEXSANDR SENAVIEV

He most likely has graying hair, being in his 50s I believe?? Late 40s to early 50s, this man is graying, he's been through a divorce and has like 3 kids i think. His hair is a dark brown/black with gray streaks and roots, his eyebrows having already grayed with bits of black in them still. Very salt and peppered. He definitely isn't all muscle anymore in his older age, having a bit of pudge around his stomach, hips, chest and arms. Pretty much a super fucking muscular dad bod but better cause its our lord. He might have a few stretch marks hidden in the scars from battle on his body, but isn't ashamed if you point them out. I don't see him as the type to have a beard, maybe a mustache if you think about it too hard, but I'd guess clean cut just very stubbly. but LAWD he is most definitely hairy as hell everywhere else if we ignore the animation for his elite skin and how oiled up he looks... hnnggg.... BUT he most def has very hairy legs, some chest hair but not much, gotta show off the tats, and a happy trial. He is most def packing a monster and keeps his pubes slightly trimmed, just enough to be bearable, he's getting older, he cant be bothered to be as smooth shaven as when he was young.

10/10 would chew on him like a teething toy.

KAPKAN / MAXIM BUSADA

love of my life, apple of my eye, can do no wrong, babygirl... Okay so, he's in his late 30s, not so much graying yet but def getting there. He's got dark roots and light brown ends, most likely no beard just very long stubble. 5 o'clock shadow king. He's still quite fit, not as much squish as tachanka but most def still a bit squishable. he might have slight stretch marks around his arms or thighs. HE ALSO IS SO HAIRY. Literal Russian bear, okay?? This man is a hunter, he def stays hairy because quote, "A true hunter can be an animal himself." or some mystical quote about being a true hunter like that. But he's got hairy arms and legs, chest hair and a thick happy trail leading down to barely even trimmed pubes and again an absolute monster schlong. he seems like the type to go all natural with his shaving habits, only trimming it a bit if you ask. He most definitely has lots of scars around his body, and isn't afraid to tell you about them whenever you ask.

11/10, would put him in a jar and shake it around like he was a little bug.

GLAZ / TIMUR GLAZKOV

He's 30, and DAYUM does he look good.. his hair is black, you can tell that be looking at the obvious beard thing he's got. He doesn't seem like he'd be very hairy, being i think the youngest of the 4, he stays pretty clean shaven besides the beard. Not much body hair besides legs, arms, and a thin happy trail leading down to a medium monster and very well trimmed pubes. they aren't completely shaven, but are very short. He seems like he is mostly made of lean muscle, so he isn't the squishiest but is still very soft. I don't think he's really started to get stretch marks yet, but definitely has loads of scars, considers his body a canvas and the scars the art on it that tell the story, and of those stories he will only share a few with you if you ask cause most of them he doesn't really remember how he got either. Considering he's an artist, I like to think that he'll just have mystery stains on him. Like dude, why are your fingers lime green today?? He doesn't know either, he was just simply painting.

10/10, would tape a picture of him to my pillow and hump it. (only jk guys i swear...)

FUZE / SHUHRAT KESSIKBAYEV

My favorite partially mute, weirdly closed off, awkward and most likely autistic bbg. Based off the skin where you can see his face, he is clean shaven but is another 5 o'clock shadow KING. I think he'd either have very light brown hair, or black hair, no in between. He's in his early 30s but is most def getting squishy like tachanka already. he is a big boy guys. He doesn't have the dad bod type squish like tachanka does, maybe more like a bit of a tummy and THICCCKKKKK thighs and bulky arms. He has a few stretch marks, hates them, and also hates most of the scars he has. To him, they are only a reminder that his job involves a lot of pain, some of it permanant.. *cough cough* accidentally cluster charging that hostage *cough cough*.. but he wouldn't mind telling you about a few if you were close enough with him and asked nicely (bribed him while he was drunk). Considering his face is pretty clean shaven, he probably doesn't have much body hair but definitely enough. Hairy legs, arms, a little bit of chest hair and a somewhat thick hair but thin shaped happy trail leading down to a medium but THICK LIKE THE REST OF HIM monster and an absolute mess of pubes. He seems like a lonely man, he's got no real reason to shave em, so why should he?

12/10, is autistic like me, we would go nonverbal together and do some wicked shit like have a staring contest.

[sirfrogsworth]

I was watching these hilarious videos from Smac McCreanor where she does interpretive dance alongside hydraulic press videos.

They are wonderful. You can find many more on the platform of your choice.

Her videos became so popular that she ended up buying her own hydraulic press and so now she just has this industrial equipment in the corner of her apartment.

And I just love all of the weird ways the internet has allowed people to make a living.

But then a little bug of curiosity entered my brain. I started wondering, what is the most powerful hydraulic press in the world?

There are a couple that range from 60,000 to 80,000 tons of pressing power. These giant presses are put in large pits and are 10 stories tall. This is only the top section above the pit.

If you could invert this press, it could lift an aircraft carrier.

These building-sized presses are mostly used to squish large aviation parts. And they can forge giant parts with millimeter precision. Which is pretty neat.

Initially, I was happy that I learned about a cool thing.

But then I grew sad.

Because all anyone will ever use these giant presses for is making industrial parts. No one is ever going to place an avocado or a bunch of Gummi Bears underneath to see what happens.

And that is another tragedy of capitalism.

[dannystheone]

more lee deadpool!!!!! i love how u write him and wolverine sm<3

aww thank you so much! It took me a second to think about what I wanted to write lol but here it is!

this is just a little somethin somethin nothing special lel

and sorry this took so long to come out I haven't been feeling motivated to write and I've been taking dress to impress on roblox very seriously LMAO

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FROM THE MOVIE/ Cursing, shenanigans, fourth wall breaks, nastiness, mentions of alcohol, mentions of BDSM

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE!!

A Who Dun' It Mystery! (Lee Deadpool/Ler Wolverine)

Logan wakes up to find all his beer gone from the refrigerator without knowing who took it! Can Logan withstand all of Wade's antics to get a straight answer?

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

"RAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"

Birds flew out of their nesting places and whole houses shook on their foundations from the roar uttered on this peaceful morning. Squirrels, bugs, birds, pretty much the whole cast of Bambi ran for the hills to escape the terrifying beast.

Aside from one simple sleeping man and his adorable companion. That simple sleeping man was none other than Wade Wilson, otherwise known as the Merc with the Mouth, Marvel Jesus, People's Sexiest Man Alive in 2010- although in my opinion he was snubbed for 2008- and his adorable companion was Dogpool, of course.

Now, sleeping soundly, dreaming of Vanessa, Thor, and a certain web-slinger- Deadpool snored contently while the angry footsteps of the terrifying creature stalked to his bedroom. The angry creature better watch where he steps because Wade turned his room into a snow globe last night! And no, not the kind from the gift shop, although I'm sure if you ask politely, the gift shop worker would be more than happy to help you make this kind of snowglobe with a crisp 20 dollar bill-

The door was thrown open with a slam; the terrifying creature was revealed to be The Wolverine! Now is this story the one where the boy gets the monster at the end? Maybe an intermission of some kind-

"Shut the fuck up." Logan stalked toward Wade on his bed, careful not to step in a certain spot of something on the ground, and grabbed the papers Wade was reading aloud. Logan flipped the papers around to see the cover page, 'A Who 'Dun It Mystery!' Written by dannystheone''. Logan growled and threw the papers to the side of the room. Wade put his hands up innocently and looked at Logan.

"Someone's delightful this morning. Did you finally catch the bad kitty you chase in your dreams boy, huh? Or did you find my stash of catnip? Do you have more dog energy or cat energy? Let's ask the audience." Wade turned towards the camera, but Logan grabbed Wade's jaw and forced him to look him in the eye.

"Who the fuck, in this godforsaken household, drank the last of my beer?" Logan asked with a deathly calm. Wade lifted an eyebrow at the suggestive hold Logan had him in and spoke with his cheeks squished in his grip.

"If I answer the question, that'll take up one of your three wishes granted by the great and powerful Genie-Pool! And no, we're not using Robin Williams's rights for this one, but we can use Disney's. Would you like to use the wish to answer that question? Remember, one of my rules is I can't make anyone fall in love with you, even me, pretty boy~" Deadpool blew him a smooch as Wolverine snarled and pointed a finger in his face.

"A real. Fucking. Answer. You fucking moron. Who the hell drank my shit? Or I'll get the answer out of you." Logan threatened. Wade giggled like a girl, fanning his cheeks at the suggestive implications. Well, what Wade interpreted as suggestive anyway.

"Oh, you naughty little honey badger! Now I'm starting to think of what you'll do if I don't tell you~ Do we have a Tek Knight-type setup somewhere in the house? I should really invest in something like that-" Wolverine's temper got the better of him as he unsheathed his claws and thrust them forward. Deadpool jumped as he sacrificed a unicorn plushy to take the brunt of Wolverine's claws. The unicorn's fluff puffed out everywhere as Logan's claws stabbed the plushy.

"Nah ah ah! No claws in the house mister! We can't make all the furniture in the house red to cover up the bloodstains that come from claw-related incidents- although that would certainly be on brand. Could you imagine a couch designed by the guys who made the Deadpool X-Box controller? I might need to patent this million-dollar idea." Wolverine stared at him incredulously as he sheathed his claws. Deadpool looked to the broken unicorn plushy with a sigh and tossed it to the side.

"Jesus Christ, you're a yammering idiot. Your ADHD has ADHD, for God's sake. Will ya just tell me who drank my fucking beer already? I'll only hurt them a little bit..." Wolverine was clearly exasperated, but Deadpool had energy for days when it came to messing with his Wolvie-bear.

"Mmmm, I dunnooo... what do I get if I help you? A gratuitous turn-down service, perhaps? Almost as gratuitous as that lovely callback~ I hope you all at home reading this enjoyed that-" Deadpool said lovingly.

"Alright, that's it," Logan said aloud. Wade was cut off as Logan threw his legs over Wade and straddled him damn near on his ribcage with his arms pinned to his sides, effectively trapping him.

"Woah woah woah big boy! Establish the safe word first before you engage! We went through the BDSM guidelines together! You disregarding everything the BDSM subreddit taught us makes you no better than P-Diddy!" Deadpool looks to the camera. "Too soon, you think? I think it's in good taste."

Wolverine rolled his eyes as he begrudgingly started wriggling his fingers in Deadpool's ribs. Deadpool was currently wearing a white t-shirt with cartoon cats all over it and classic white boxers with red hearts all over them. His usual attire that gave him a little protection from Wolvie's tickle attacks was at the dry cleaners after the last job he had.

Logan realized very early in his 'relationship' with Wade that sometimes Wade needed to be tickled to be cooperative. He had no idea why, he had never met someone like Wade before so he assumed the weirdness and the absurdity of it came with the territory.

Additionally, with the no blood rule in the house and an elderly woman as their other roommate, this was the closest thing to 'violence' that Wolverine could use to take his aggression out on Deadpool. Wolverine had to admit, it felt good sometimes to take it all out on him like this. Logan's fingers scribbled and scratched in Wade's ribs, Wade immediately breaking out into peals of laughter.

"L-Lohohogahahan!! Wahahait wahahait wait!" Deadpool was caught by surprise, and thank GOD he was wearing his mask because he was blushing redder than the material his mask was made of. It always caught Deadpool by surprise when Wolverine randomly tickled him like this, only because it was so out of left field for his character. Almost as if this isn't a regular thing that would occur in the MCU and only occurs in the minds of degenerates on the internet.

"I WIHIHISH thahat wehehere the cahahase!! If ihihihit wehehere, I wohohouldn't behehe gehehetting tihihihickled rihihight nohohow!!" Deadpool yelled at no one in particular. Wolverine sneered as his fingers dotted Deadpool's ribs with an accuracy only experience could give. He wasn't feeling playful this time around, he just wanted an answer to where his beer had gone and he feared this was the only way he could get it.

"You wouldn't be getting ti-... be getting this treatment if you would just tell me who drank my damn beer. You always make it hard on yourself." Logan sighed and continued to tickle the merc. Deadpool swished from side to side on his bed as well as he could with a whole hunk of Hugh Jackman and adamantium skeleton on him.

"Awhahahaha!~ Yohohou stihihihill cahahan't sahahay thehe wohohord?! Yohohou're sohohoho cuhuhuhute!~" Wade teased, causing Logan to bristle and dig his fingers in further as retaliation. Even when Wade was in the throes of being tickled, he still managed to fluster his Ler. It was a superpower at that point.

"I got a different word I can say. Who the hell drank my goddamn beer?" Wolverine snarled, Deadpool still twitching and shuffling from side to side as the tickles came from either side of him.

"Nohohohot a wohohord! Thahahat's ahaha sehehentence! Haharvard DOESN'T wahahant yohohour lohohocation!" Deadpool laughed more genuinely now from his own joke than the tickles he was receiving. Logan growled from not having his question answered again and forced his fingers into the small spaces of Wade's armpits and vibrated his fingers into them. Wade shrieked and started belly laughing now.

"How about you tell me the location of my beer, huh? Think you can do that, Bub? Did Al drink it? Did you? Answer me!" Wolverine shouted over Deadpool's loud laughing. Deadpool tried squeezing the spaces that held Wolverine's fingers, but it just made the fingers tighter and closer to the skin, so either way it sucked.

"I dohohon't drihihink beheheer! I ohohonly drihihink thehehe fihihinest Aviahation Gihin!-" Wolverine's hands were lifted from Deadpool as Deadpool turned to the camera with a bottle of Aviation Gin appearing in his hands. -"Which you can now purchase from any local liquor store near you, including the Limited Deadpool Edition. Thank you for choosing Aviation Gin. Sincerely, Ryan Reynolds." Wade put the bottle back from its mysterious spot where it was before and assumed the exact same position he was in before with Wolverine's hands back in his armpit spaces.

"Then who the hell drank it? This can aaaall be over as soon as you tell me who did it!" Wolverine asked again. You would think he was beginning to lose his patience, but Logan was actually calming down from his previous place of anger now that he had an outlet to take it out. Wade was the unfortunate (or fortunate, whatever floats your boat) recipient of that, however.

"I cahahahan't! I wahahahas swohohorn tohoho sehehecrecy! I swehehehear!!" Deadpool sounded genuine this time, but Wolverine wasn't having it. Logan took it a step further and took his fingers to slide them up Wade's signature mask and started fluffing his fingers over his neck and the bottoms of his ears. He knew this was a secret spot that wasn't touched very often and found it by mistake, so it should be doubly effective here.

"Yeah? Well, I've done plenty of interrogating in my day, breaking down my victims and having them submit. S'aaall a matter of time now..." Logan attempted to sound intimidating but to Wade, this was just silly.

"PFFT! Hahahahaha! Ohohokahahay, whahahatever yohohou sahahay, Fihifty Shahades Of Grehey! Ohoho I'll suhuhubmihit ahahalright! Ihihif thahahat's whahahat yohohou wahahant!~" Deadpool couldn't help but laugh at his own hilarity, which just pissed Wolverine off.

Logan took his fingers from Wade's neck and took them down to his collarbones, to which Wade exploded. Wade was weird in the sense that his ticklish spots were never consistent. One spot would barely get him to laugh in one tickle session, and the next session that same spot would break him. Only ever adding to just how bizarre he was.

"You'll submit it you don't want to die first. Looks like you already got one foot in the grave from how hard you're laughing. Who swore you to secrecy huh?" Logan started gently pinching Wade's collarbones, which drove Wade up the wall. His legs started kicking and his head started whipping back and forth (with Willow Smith just out of frame).

"NOHOHO nohoho no! Okahahay okahahay stahahahap!! Ihihihit wahahas DohohohogPool! Wehehe rahahahan ohohohout of wahahater sohohoho I gahahahave hihihihihim the beheheheer!!" Deadpool spilled his secret, causing Wolverine to stop.

"You did what? You gave my beer to the sock puppet?" Wolverine got off of Deadpool, standing up and off to the side to let the merc breathe. Wade held a hand up to his chest while he caught his breath and turned to Logan.

"FIRST OF ALL- the gorgeous munchkin's name is DogPool, or- alternatively, the Messiah, if you'd like."

"Never calling him that-" Logan interjected.

"-Second of all, I only did it to be the best caregiver I could possibly be, without going to the store or getting any sort of grocery delivery service. Have you seen what a DoorDasher will do to your food if you don't tip? It's enough to make a 4-Channer fall to his knees, and that's saying something." Deadpool hauled himself up into a sitting position at the edge of his bed while Wolverine stood with his hands on his hips.

"You're ridiculous, you know that? Why couldn't you give it water from out of the tap?" Wolverine asked, sounding genuine. Deadpool gave him an incredulous look even through the mask.

"What kind of Fantasy/Disney/Fairytale-Land do you live in where we're rich enough to have drinkable tap water or rich enough to own a Brita? You think any of the money from the movie actually made it into our pockets? Ryan, Hugh, and Shawn pooled all the money the movie made together to fundraise Ryan to get back on his feet after the absolute disaster that was 'IF'. Regular tap water isn't good enough for my ray of sunshine, so I chose the next best option." Deadpool picked up DogPool sleeping right next to his bed and offered him to Wolverine to hold.

"Don't you want the best for the little chicken noodle?" Deadpool asked sweetly. Wolverine quirked an eyebrow at the dog with the tongue sticking out of his mouth. Dammit, it was so ugly and pathetic looking it was somewhat... cute. He didn't know how the dog managed to do it, but whatever his tactics were, they were working. Wolverine rolled his eyes and gave the dog's head a pat. Deadpool squealed at the display.

"Yaaay! My kitty and my puppy making up. Oh, we're all happy, aren't we? And yes Wolvie, your next six-pack is on me when I do eventually go to the store. Those 1000 bottles of baby oil aren't going to buy themselves. Two jokes in one fic folks. How we feeling about that? Go ahead and tell Danny in the comments or reblogs below." Deadpool said, putting DogPool back on his oversized bed.

"You're going to the store immediately if you know what's good for you." Wolverine threatened. Deadpool stood up from his bed and looked at Wolverine sympathetically.

"Oh, honey bear... when have I ever known what's good for me?" Deadpool asked in a loving tone.

Wolverine answered with a deadpan expression and merely unsheathed his claws quickly with a loud SNIKT.

Jumping with a loud yelp, Deadpool hurriedly ran out of his bedroom, hopping over the puddle of mysterious liquid on the floor before leaving the house for the grocery store.