#that sky/ silhouette gif holy

[cinebration]

Dogfight Preview (Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x Reader) [One-shot]

Premise: Maverick gives a lesson on dogfighting.

Warnings: none

Gif Source: unicornships

“You’re Maverick.”

Maverick glanced up from the perspiring beer bottle in his hands and squinted against the sunlight. You resolved suddenly into focus as you stepped into the light, relieving him of the blinding rays.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he answered, frowning. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so.”

Maverick leaned back in his seat and took stock of you, the furrow in his brow deepening. You wore a black shirt, your flight suit unzipped and tied around your waist. He couldn’t read your expression as you met his gaze.

“I need help in dogfighting,” you said, as though picking up that his appraisal was over. “You’re the best dogfighter here.”

Maverick couldn’t help the faint smile that touched his lips. “I just have experience.”

“Hence why I’m here asking.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I’m allowed to do one-on-ones.”

“I could get Admiral Simpson’s authorization.” You glanced over your shoulder at the crashing waves along the shoreline. “Although I doubt he’ll like being bothered with this.”

Anything with Maverick’s name attached was likely to stick in Cyclone’s craw, that much was certain. Maverick followed your gaze out over to the surf, attention arrested occasionally by the swoop and dive of seagulls.

“You’re not part of the team,” he stated carefully.

“Not right now, no. But getting trained by a legend would certainly help that.”

Nodding, Maverick pushed himself out of his chair. “Why the hell not? I haven’t been up in the air today yet.”

A sharp smile spread over your face, the kind Maverick had seen on some of the most eager pilots—himself included. He smiled back, crossing the sand with you wordlessly.

This will be fun, he thought.

~~

Forty minutes later, you both were up in the air. Maverick stayed low and behind you, glancing up through the cockpit to see your bird’s silhouette up against the bright blue sky.

“Are you a book learner or a hand’s on learner?” he asked.

Your voice came through the headset with a faint metallic background. “Sir?”

“Is it better if I talk you through it or if I show you?”

A few seconds of silence.

“Show me,” you answered.

Maverick swore he heard a challenge in your voice.

Alright, you asked for it.

Pulling hard on the throttle, Maverick climbed hundreds of feet through the air, bee-lining straight toward you.

He streaked past your wing, the sudden displacement of air nearly sending you rolling.

“Fight’s on,” he declared, swinging back around.

“Clearly,” he heard you mutter over the radio.

He chuckled.

Maverick moved to get behind you. You veered off, slipping just out of his targeting system.

“Not bad,” he said. “But I was going easy on you.”

“Oh, really?”

In answer, Maverick accelerated, the jet screaming as it followed his lead. He whipped around, his nose almost aligned with you. His targeting system fought hard to center on the box.

You pulled up hard, flying straight into the sun.

A smirk pulled at his lips. Not bad at all.

He caught you decelerating and dropping altitude in an attempt to slide under his belly and come out behind him. Mirroring you, he fell back behind you, the targeting system once again searching frantically for the box on your back.

You dropped out of the sky.

“Holy shit.” Maverick craned his head through the window of the cockpit, trying to catch you beneath him. “Haven’t seen that in a while.”

He pulled up sharply, looping back to force you ahead of him and to give him a chance to glimpse you in the sky. You were just underneath him, almost down to the hard deck. He gunned the throttle as you zipped forward, bringing his nose around.

You rolled.

The dogfight lasted for twenty minutes before Maverick finally got tone.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, smiling into his mask.

You slowed down in defeat, the radio silent on your end.

“How was that?”

“Informative,” you answered.

He frowned and watched you break off, heading back to base. A moment later, he followed.

~~

Maverick crossed the tarmac to you as you climbed out of the cockpit and tore off your helmet. It was jet black, angled away from him so he couldn’t see if you had earned a call sign yet.

“That was good,” he said. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“I never said I hadn’t done it before,” you answered carefully. “I just needed the practice.”

“Well, you’ve got a pretty strong foundation, I’ll give you that.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, I have a demonstration tomorrow morning. Me and another TOPGUN hotshot are gonna show the rookies how it’s done. You should come watch, maybe learn a few things.”

He held his breath.

You flashed a smile at him. “I’ll be there.”

“Great.”

Nodding, you waved goodbye and strode off in the direction of the hangers. Hondo crossed the tarmac in the opposite direction, heading to Maverick. He paused as you passed him, exchanged a few words and a laugh.

Maverick frowned.

“You know her?” he asked when Hondo could hear him.

“Sure, that’s Reaper.”

“Reaper?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d she earn that name?”

“You never see her coming until it’s too late.”

He thought back to the dogfight. “Doesn’t seem too accurate.”

“Were you guys planning for tomorrow?”

Maverick faced Hondo. “What?”

“For tomorrow’s demonstration.” Hondo’s eyebrows knitted together. “You know you’re fighting her tomorrow, right?”

Maverick’s gaze whipped across the tarmac to you as you disappeared into a hanger. “She was testing me,” he muttered. “She probably wasn’t even really flying.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” A grin of disbelief split his lips. “Just that tomorrow is gonna be fun.”

[prasi-khroma]

Another Sera Myu .gif Dump (Jan 2024)

Holy moly, I actually forgot I had tumblr almost half a year - and my Sera Myu dumpster fire I feel like a failure lmao

Speaking of dumpster fires, I was re-watching the classic Sailor Stars musical and paused on this funni lil frame in particular:

A short but tense moment between Usagi and Seiya, when both felt the power of the stars that's present in every sailor senshi.

"I'm looking forward to singing with you tomorrow." - Seiya

Such a good shot of them both, with their silhouettes under the fake night sky and city backdrop of the stage.

But wait, someone's in the background!

It's Setsuna! I really find it funny how she's just in the corner of the frame, shocked. I *really* love this rendition of the Outers sensing something off from the Three Lights. Typically, Haruka & Michiru would be the characters used for this scene as shown here in Le Mouvement Finale (2017) and Starlights Ryuusei Densetsu (2003).

(Sayaka-Michi looks absolutely gorgeous tho it would be a crime to not show her in frame lmao)

Mama-tsuna being concerned for her child 🥺😭

To tie it all off, have some sillies.

And that's it from me for now, have a nice day!

[chorusgirls]

an alley off a queens apartment complex, somewhere in the farthest reaches of the blue hour. ╱  @slimodd

the rain doesn’t fall, it plummets. crashes. collapses. fucking nosedives, throwing itself off the edge of the sky with all the despondency of a long time new yorker finding out his terminal illness has actually, in the end, received a cure. if there was anything holy left to find in the city, you could have called the sudden downpour biblical — but there isn’t, so you can’t. instead it’s just another unhappy thing throwing itself down onto the pavement and hoping for relief. to prove its point the sky glows blue, prevented from dropping to a full, blanketed dark by the echo of whatever the angels have gone inside to watch on tv, casting a miserable bruise of a colour through their windows and onto the world below. nobody’s watching new york tonight but remora, whose steps on the fire escape pace out the rhythm god might have had when he was young and arrogant: quick and smooth on the balls of her feet with too much hip, tugging on the leather gloves made a little tighter by the newly swelling knuckles underneath. the expansion is everywhere else in her body too, an involuntary and violently pleasurable growth. that’s how it feels to have another job done, the knife made unclean: too immense to be confined.

that’s how she sees him, full-up on adrenaline and tightening leather. there’s only a fragment of his body visible between dim light and the cover of an awning, but she knows who it is all the same: they’ve been playing connect the dots for some time now, a game built painstakingly with shell casings and a finger shoved into each others wounds for the pigment. she could find his silhouette in the dark. rem feels the irritation merge with something headier ⸺ he’s so fucking insistent on ruining her day.

“hey baby,”

she calls his attention to him with all the openness of an invitation, shoulders back, chin jutting upward. looking for me?

“you keep inviting yourself to my party — 

                      — and i’m starting to get real fuckin’ tired of kicking you out.”

[heavensenthale]

I posted 17,381 times in 2022

That's 9,187 more posts than 2021!

942 posts created (5%)

16,439 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@/carfuckerlynch

@/rajalagang

@/silhouette-sky

@/emotionalsupportgoth

@/flitwickslittlebrotha

I tagged 12,171 of my posts in 2022

Only 30% of my posts had no tags

#911 fox - 1,686 posts

#buddie - 639 posts

#trc - 573 posts

#fanart - 518 posts

#911 spoilers - 500 posts

#figure skating - 356 posts

#yeah - 343 posts

#milisays - 335 posts

#me - 323 posts

#eddie diaz - 322 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#i wake up at an ungodly hour thanks to my non existent sleep schedule. i take my phone and i see a notification for splintered heart. i go i

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

See the full post

528 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

#4

SKIN OF MY TEETH • HOLY FVCK • 2022

618 notes - Posted June 11, 2022

#3

See the full post

743 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

#2

Eddie when Taylor: 5.11 // 5.18

[Image description: two gifs of Eddie Diaz in season 5

In the first gif, Eddie in episode 5x11 having Dinner with Taylor, he raises his eyebrows at Taylor’s comment about his food.

In the second gif, Eddie is fixing one of his walls, listening to Buck tell him how he and Taylor are avoiding each other, he raises his eyebrows at the mention of Taylor.]

992 notes - Posted May 17, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Matty Healy in the Live Lounge (2022) (x)

1,196 notes - Posted October 13, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[littlewritersinspace]

The One for Me

Pairing: Conrad Fisher x Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff at the end

I woke up from all sweaty and drool was all over my pillow. Gross. I wasn’t gonna go to sleep anytime soon it was 2:24 am. I looked out my window and saw someone standing on the porch. My first thought was holy shit a strangers on our porch! but looking at the silhouette closely it was Conrads. Huh weird why would he be up late? I walked out of the room grabbing a hoodie that was by my door and walked out. The sky was beautful it was clear and the stars were shining so bright they were like diamonds in the sky. I stood by for a bit a few feet away from Con admiring him in the slight glow of the stars. He was beautful painfully beautful actually. I didn’t even notice how long I stood there for until he spoke up “Didn’t your mom ever teach you staring was rude?” he said in an amused voice. I swear the boy has eyes on the back of the head.

“Actually no, she didn’t. What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep. What about you? Don’t you have a bedtime?”

“Ha ha very funny Fisher. I woke up and I won’t be getting sleep anytime soon” I said walking over to stand by him.

We stood in silence a bit. It was a bit awkward to be completely honest he’s been M.I.A for practically the whole summer either drinking half the time or being around Belly. I missed hanging out with everyone as a group. Before this summer the five of us would at least talk or play board games but now it felt like everyone was off doing something else. I missed hanging out with conrad more specifically out of everyone I felt the closest with him. I wasn’t sure if the feelings were reciprocated but at least we had talked in the past now it felt like there was never a chance to. I was snapped out of my thoughts when “We don’t talk much anymore do we? You’ve been spending a lot of time with Jere instead.” Con said.

Ok so we’ve established Conrad most definitely has eyes on the back of his head but is he a freaking mind reader too?!

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve asked you to hang out with us before but you declined.” Conrad looked a little hurt when I pointed out that we’ve been distant but it was the truth I’d asked him multiple times to go down on a muffin run or to go swimming but he’d always declined instead opting to go get drunk or high.

“I’ve had things on my mind.” I could feel he was shutting himself down

“Things like what? You know that if you ever wanted to talk I would be here for you. Always and forever? just like when we were kids.”

He looked annoyed when I mentioned that. “Always and forever? That’s bullshit. I see you’ve been hanging out with Jere the second you got here. You guys have been doing everything together!”

“Conrad are you serious I’ve literally asked you multiple times to hang out you’ve been the one to decline not me you.” I could feel myself losing my temper. I came out here so maybe I could try to get Conrad to talk about what had been going on but now it just felt like a mistake.

“Whatever why don’t you go back inside to Jeremiah. He might be getting anxious being away from you so long” Conrad said in a mocking voice.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean“ you said confused.

“It means exactly what it sounds like you should get back to your lover.” Lover? What the actual fuck?

“Jeremiah’s my best friend. He’s not my ‘lover’”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it.” His voice steady but it felt like he was jealous. Wait no way Conrad Fisher couldn’t be jealous. Conrad Fisher only had eyes for Isabel Conklin. Right?

“I don’t get it you’re literally with Belly if you’re not drunk or high. Why are you complaining about who I spend my time with?”

He paused for moment. He seemed to want to choose his words carefully. “With Belly…it’s not the same as it is with you and you’ve been with Jeremiah that it feels like we’re not the same anymore. That you might like Jeremiah.”

“Jeez and I thought you were the smart one of us. I like you, I’ve liked you since I first saw you when you accidentally ran into me and your muffin stained my favorite shirt, I’ve liked you since you looked up at me and continuously apologized and offered me the last muffin you had to make up for it. I’ve liked you since we danced to our favorite song, when we swam in the ocean at 2am, or when we got lost when you tried to teach me how to drive. But I knew I was utterly in love with you when you made me feel safe when I was 15 and I had my first panic attack. You had talked about sailing and how we would go down early in the morning to go see a sunrise together and then get our muffins. And the sunrise that we saw was the best one because that was when I had thought to myself that you were the only one for me. So no it is different with Jeremiah and I because he’s my best friend. But you, Conrad you’re my sun and you’re the only one for me.”

Conrad looked at me stunned. For once I caught him off guard but for what price? I was right he had eyes only for Belly. I mean who wouldn’t she was gorgeous and incredible in general. I felt my eyes getting watery and I felt my cheeks get hot with embarrassment. I could feel myself choking up. I turned away. I wouldn’t let myself cry in front of him. I would get shit from the boys for a whole month. As I walked away a warm hand grabbed my wrist. I couldn’t even process what was happening. All I could tell you was that I had tears running down my face but my lips were touching a pair of soft lips. Conrads lips. Then just as quick the lips touched mine they were gone. Conrad Fisher had just kissed me.

“Wha-“ I was cut off by his voice.

“I love you.” He was out of breathe from kissing me but he was smiling. He wiped my tears away and laughed while doing so.

“Still a crybaby huh?”

“You’re such a jackass you know that.” I smiled so did he. And then we kissed once more. Before he pulled away.

“You know you look beautiful in my hoodie.” He had a light dust of blush as he said it. So did my cheeks though. I looked down and I saw I had been wearing his rowing hoodie he had given me a few summers ago when I was cold.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for that hoodie” He said laughing

“Well finders keepers losers weepers” I said.

“But you didn’t fi-“

Just as he was responding protesting against what I said since it was his favorite hoodie. I kissed him. And he let me.

I don’t know what tomorrows gonna hold or the day after but the one thing I do know is that Conrad Fisher is the one for me.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Will You Miss Me?

Hob Gadling x OC, Hob Gadling x Dawn Goddess!Reader, established Dream x Dawn x Hob relationship, Hob centric, Self doubt, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Hob and Dawn spend a quiet morning together and Hob has to wonder, why him?

Based on Anon Request: I know you said Dream and Dawn, but can I send a Hob and Dawn req? After reading how you said they connect every now and then for a few days, them spending a lazy morning together is on my mind. (I would also req this for Dream but I don't think that man knows what 'lazy' means)

Warning: Suggestive themes

Word Count: 1.9K

Robert Gadling woke that morning unsure if he had dreamed.

He remembered the early haze, moments just before the sun peaked over the horizon when the sky faded from inky black to a teasing blue. 

He saw her at the window. At least, he thought he did. The shape of her formed in his mind, but no details came.

The beat of raven’s wings came and went and for a time all was still.

He had never considered himself a religious man. He believed in God and heaven and hell, but as a passive inevitability as one might trust a fallen stone to return to earth.

Watching her as the sun rose, he understood why men prayed. 

Slowly and then all at once the world breathed out a gentle sigh. The smell of damp grass and cool fresh air filled his lungs. The sun came higher bringing her silhouette into sharper focus. Rays of light stretched out like wings shimmered with white, pink, and gold. They expended pass the confines of the room until they completely engulfed him in their warm embrace.

She turned to face him. He still couldn’t describe her face; all he could remember was the gentle flame of her eyes. He should have been afraid, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t. He never would be. 

It was then she kissed him. Her touch came as a relief, as if he had finally found a familiar hand to cling to in a dark tunnel.

He followed her lead, worshiping the burn of her lips as she climbed on top of him.

I missed you, he whispered or perhaps simply thought.

I know. I’m here.

Clothes were pulled from his body and soon her naked flesh pressed against his own, soft and perfect.

They made love for what felt like hours. It was slow and desperate, holy and wild. Her name became his prayer and his body the offering. She took all he could give her and in exchange came grateful cries and the need to live if only to feel her again.

At some point he had fallen asleep or maybe he had just woken up. 

The sun was now shining bright through his open window. It was about ten given its position and a glance at the clock confirmed it.  A part of him felt guilty. Weekend or not, he couldn’t spend the whole day in bed.

He rolled over, running a hand down his face only to suddenly become aware of his own nakedness. He hadn’t gone to bed without clothes. At least, he couldn’t remember if he had.

A shuffle came from just beyond his door followed by the soft clatter of plates.

He blinked, a hopeful smile daring to touch his lips.

In a blur he grabbed the nearest clothes he could find, still pulling a t-shirt over his head as he stumbled down the hallway.

He stopped at the edge of the living room. A real smile spread across his face.

Dawn had come and, more importantly, she had decided to stay.

She stood in the kitchen, dressed only in one of his shirts, busying herself at the stove.  On the table sat two plates and two cups waiting to be filled.  The bright light of morning illuminated the space complimenting portrait of domestic bliss.

He couldn’t bring himself to move as he watched her. Somehow this felt more like a dream than his dream had. Or maybe not his dream.  It was hard to tell these days.

Knowing his stranger to be the Lord of Dreams certainly didn’t help. The world and its possibilities had gotten a lot bigger than he could have imagined. Perhaps it was all true.

She turned then, flashing him a dazzling smile. “Morning. Tea’s ready if you need it.”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking himself out of his own head. “Thanks.”

He poured himself a cup, taking the time to reorient himself. 

This was all still so new. He felt he needed to say something and yet, the ease in which she moved made it unnecessary. She belonged in his kitchen as easily as she belonged in his clothes and in his bed and, well, everything really.

He wondered if that made him special. He hoped it was, but he could never be sure with her.  Something told him Dawn was a being who belonged everywhere.

He took a sip of his tea and had to keep himself from moaning.  Christ alive, how was any of this real?

“Good?” she asked.

“Perfect.” No use denying the obvious.

She beamed at the praise.  “I can’t do much in the kitchen, but I can do breakfast, and that includes a good cup of tea. Of course, it helps the food has gotten better.”

He had to agree with her on that. Technology and innovation were all well as and good, but, from his own perspective, the one thing that had consistently improved with time was food.

She nodded towards the table. “Go ahead and sit down, it’s all but done.”

He settled into his seat and sure enough a moment later both plates were filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, buttered toast and all the things that felt sacrilege to have at any other time of day.

A peaceful silence settled as they ate. Just outside the walls, the life of London buzzed and moved, slipping through the cracks in a continuous hum. All the sounds and smells of home.

His eyes couldn’t help but drift over to the woman at his side. It has been some time since he had something like this. Living forever made relationship difficult, at least long-term ones. He had almost forgotten what if felt like to wake up to somebody else making breakfast.

Dawn met his gaze, the curve of her lips turning gently upward. The fire no longer burned in her eyes, but even in their more human state he felt its warmth in his very chest. That more than anything brought the world into focus.

He, Robert Gadling, was sitting at his kitchen table across from a literal goddess like it was just another Sunday.

The realization must have shown on his face as tilted her head quizzically.

“Hob? Is something wrong,” she asked.

The words came out before he could stop them. “What are you doing here?”

She paused. Her body becoming eerily still as the warmth cooled from her face. “Do you not want me here?”

“No! I mean, yes.  Yes! I want you here. God, I want you here, I just…” He ran a hand through his hair as if that would somehow straighten out his thoughts too.

She didn’t say anything. She simply set down her cup and waited.

He was tempted to laugh. The last time he had misspoken in front of someone who wasn’t human, he didn’t see him for another hundred and thirty-three years. Of course, Dream would be quickest to point out that he and Dawn were nothing alike, in more ways than one. 

“I guess, just have to wonder, why me?” he said.  “Why are you here with me?”

In truth, it had been something permeated his mind since he’d seen her again.

The first time was out of desperation to find Dream. The second was only for a moment to confirm that Dream had been found. And after? After was a complete mystery to him.

She came and went as she pleased. Sometimes they’d only have the day and sometimes a whole week would pass, neither of them leaving the bedroom all the while. And then she’d be gone.

He remembered asking Dream about it once. He told him it was simply her nature. She wandered, she explored, and experienced life anew each day. Staying in one place wasn’t an option.

He had to wonder if maybe that was the difference between gods and humans.  He had been living for over six hundred and yet, in all that time, he had never lived outside England. 

He had thought about it. It wasn’t like he just stayed in one place. He’d been to France plenty of times, sometimes even when there wasn’t a war on. Honestly most of Europe he’d at least stepped a foot into. He’d been to the Americas and the coast of Africa. He’d even made it all the way to India for a time. But none of it felt fully real to him. They were a place to visit, not to live. Sooner or later, he’d just start missing home.

Was that what he was? Just a place? What did a god call home?

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Dawn move closer to him before slipping her hand in his.

Her touch was so soft. He wanted to take back the question for fear of losing it. Why did he say anything at all?

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” she asked.

He shook his head, letting his attention fall on their intertwined fingers.

“Can’t see why you’d be so interested in all,” he said, keeping his voice light. “I mean, I know, can’t die and all that, but I’m no god. I’ve never been a king or a prince or anyone important really. I’ve had good years and bad years and I seem to keep finding new ways to make mistakes. But, from what I’ve seen none of that is unique to me. So, the only conclusion I can think of is you’re here because you want to be. And that just doesn’t seem right.”

She considered him a moment, her thumb rubbing absently over his.

“You didn’t have this same doubt with Dream. Why with me?”

“Can’t imagine you being lonely.”

She grew quietly still. 

Hob glanced up and was met with a gaze so different than before.

The shape of her face still held the vibrance of youth, but her eyes became so much older.  He knew there were moments his own age would show. It could be unsettling for some, and they’d try to laugh it off, calling him an old soul. Now he understood his couple of hundred years were a blink compared her thousands.

 “It’s easier than you’d think,” she said, gently. She then raised his hands to her lips, kissing them with aching tenderness.  

Hob bowed his head, a wash of shame sliding over him. He really couldn’t say the right thing, could he? It was a damn miracle she hadn’t walked out the door.

A hand came to his cheek. He felt unworthy of it but was in no position to resist as she guided him back to her.

“I’m here because I want to be,” she stated. “And because for all you’ve missed me, I’ve missed you in equal measure.”

He placed his hand over hers, keeping her touch against his cheek. He wanted to believe her. It would be so simple. What reason could she have to lie?

He turned his head, allowing the brush of a kiss to grace her palm.

“Then why leave at all?”

Her lips turned into an unknowable smile. “In order for the sun to rise, one must miss it. Can’t have you forgetting how.”  

He thought on that. Was that the real difference? A god couldn’t just be loved, there needed to be an ache, a fear that they may someday they’ll abandon you?

He closed his eyes. If someone asked him yesterday if he’d ever see her again, he wouldn’t have an answer. But being with her now, feeling her, breathing her, he knew it in his bones; he’d see her again. She would always come back. Perhaps that’s what faith was.

“I’ll always miss you,” he promised, and one he intended to keep for as long as he found the will to breath.

She didn’t say anything back. She only kissed him, long and deep as if to imprint his lips into her skin. It was answer enough.

God or not, who wouldn’t miss home.

[kythed]

what love tastes like

terushima yuuji x reader

synopsis: in which you learn that falling in love tastes like monster

--

“Taste,” he says. He holds the cold rim of a freshly opened can to your lips, and first it’s metallic, salty, but then it’s sweet. 

You take a sip. 

“So you’re telling me you’ve never tried Monster before?” he asks, taking a drink himself. The two of you are sitting on a park bench across the street from a gas station. He licks his lips-- the silver ball embedded in his tongue winks at you, a shallow token of youthful rebellion that somehow seems more significant on him. 

“Never. I’m more of a Dr. Pepper girl.” You reach for the can again, letting the saccharine liquid sloshing inside coat your tongue. It’s really too much for me, you think. But of course, you won’t tell him that. 

“Not anymore,” he says, and he slips a firm hand around the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and daring you to look away with a wicked grin-- it’s attractive, to say the least. “Now you’re my girl.” 

You’ve barely parted your lips to respond before his mouth is on yours, tongue halfway down your throat, and you’re whimpering into the kiss as he snakes a hand down your back and presses your body to his. The whole ordeal tastes like Monster and feels far more energizing than the packaging promises. 

Within your first day of meeting him, Terushima Yuuji has already claimed you as his own. 

And you’re okay with it.

--

He’s about as healthy for you as the Monster is-- which is to say, not at all. 

In your next couple months of dating him, this becomes apparent. He takes you to the edge of the woods at twilight and lights your first cigarette, laughing as you take a draw and end up coughing. Plucking it from your fingers, he holds the cig high as smoke curls into the hazy sky and eventually melds with the faintly orange cumuli. “Guess it’ll take a little practice before you can smoke with the big dogs, huh?”

You flush and snatch it back, determined to prove your aptitude for defiance. By the end of the night, you can blow smoke rings-- he applauds, and for some odd reason your heart swells at his lazy grin. 

(The next kiss tastes like tobacco and novelty.)

He shows you each of his tattoos, some of which peek out from underneath his clothes, some of which aren’t exactly visible to the onlooker’s eye. There’s a tendril of ivy climbing down his forearm, a flock of wild cranes taking flight from his left shoulder. A dark silhouette is on his chest, kneeling low to who knows what. You trace the image of an unlit candle on the back of his neck, asking what it means-- for a millisecond, his mouth tightens into an expressionless line, but then he laughs. “Why, you want one too? Let’s go to the parlor then.” 

When you decline, he takes a permanent marker from his bedside table and prints a small label on your inner wrist. ‘Mine’ it says, accompanied by an oddly appropriate smiley face. “Then this will have to do.”

(This kiss tastes like ink and enigma.) 

He brings you to a decrepit manor on the outskirts of town-- legend has it a young, newly wealthy couple purchased it twenty years ago, unaware its foundations rested on a centuries old cemetery. The spiteful spirits drove them to the brink of madness. The sort of madness that could only be alleviated by the resounding finality of death. 

“They were found hanging from their bedsheets in the west wing,” Yuuji whispers to you, his breath tickling your ear. An unwanted tremor runs from your head to your high-tops. You don’t believe in ghosts, so it must be because you’re cold. (At least, that’s what you tell yourself.) “I want that kind of love.” 

You turn, surprised to see his expression remains entirely serious. “The kind where you die for one another?”

“The kind where you die with one another,” he corrects, wistfully gazing into the dingy bay windows protruding from the manor’s anterior. 

You remain silent. 

“Life is just an accumulation of bad decisions, and love is just an accumulation of bad decisions you make with another person,” he muses, still peering at the grandeur of the lonely estate. He turns to you, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Wanna make a bad decision with me?” 

The next hour is spent in the modest company of Yuuji, a couple of baseball bats, and the empty halls of a long dead house. There’s no one to witness the two of you shattering each dusty antique vase save for the portraits on the wall. Soon, their frames, too, receive a violent visit from a vindictive bat, usually accompanied by Yuuji’s unadulterated glee and a resounding whoop. 

You’re not a fan of destruction. Especially not the destruction of rare, precious items reminiscent of a life bygone. Yet, it’s exhilarating to indulge in it, to swing your bat with a meaningless vengeance and watch as whatever priceless heirloom that evoked your baseless wrath fractures into pieces. You demolish a set of fine china found in the dining room cabinet and Yuuji gathers you into his arms, kissing you fiercely (it tastes like some sort of perverse, seductive joy, rosewater mixed with ashes). He chuckles into your mouth when you push your tongue into his, retribution for your first kiss many weeks ago. It’s deliciously gratifying. 

If Yuuji is right, and love is just a mosaic of bad decisions and desire-- maybe you’re okay with that. Maybe this is all I really need, you think, watching Yuuji from the corner of your eye on the drive home. Yellow street lights cast irregular shadows on his angular features, lending him an otherworldly sort of beauty. 

“What is it?” he asks, without taking his eyes off the road. One of his hands inches up your inner thigh, giving it a quick squeeze before retreating to the responsibility of the steering wheel. 

You hesitate, just for a second. An unseen force constricts around your throat; you banish it with a hard swallow. “I love you.” 

One second passes. Then two. 

He says nothing the rest of the ride home, and you sit in mortified silence, watching traffic blur by with glassy eyes. You must’ve misread this whole thing. You’re just a fling Yuuji plans on discarding whenever he grows tired… your mouth goes dry with regret. 

When you pull up in front of your house, he walks you to your front door. You can hardly stand to look him in the eye. 

“Well, thanks for today,” you say, examining your shoelaces with false interest. “I had a lot of--”

“I love you, too.” 

Startled, you look up. “I- what?” 

“I said,” he says, stepping close, putting a hand beneath your chin to tilt it upwards. Your body is eclipsed by his larger one, and you’re overwhelmed with the sudden urge to hide from his penetrating gaze. “I love you, too.” 

A beat of silence.

“Oh,” you breathe, and, suddenly, his lips are on yours, kissing you fervently— but this time, it’s chaste, it’s… loving (and it tastes like honeyed laughter). Only for a second though.

Then his hands are on your waist, fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises; he’s aflame with a hotblooded passion-- your body is his Holy Grail and your mouth is its rim. He leads you into the hallway, fumbling to close the door behind him. You gasp when he pushes you up against the wall and harshly sucks at the sensitive skin beneath your jaw, your nails digging into his back through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. 

“I love you,” he mumbles, painting your neck with a line of ardent kisses, trailing from right below your ear to right above your collarbone. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

--

There’s something a little too tender in the way he caresses your face the next morning to wake you after he’s slipped his clothes back on, in the way he smiles softly at your bleary eyed confusion, in the way he holds you in his embrace a fraction of a second longer than you hold him in yours before saying goodbye. 

Terushima Yuuji may play the part of a reckless delinquent, but he’s not your average troublemaker. There’s something inscrutable behind his gaze, even as he sprays obscene graffiti on stop signs and shoplifts alcohol from the neighborhood drugstore, a walking cliche of hoodlum culture. 

There’s something a little too careful about the boy who claims to be careless. 

Yuuji is still fun, of course. He takes immense pride in being fun. He invites you to one of his friends’ gigs, some sort of grunge-esque affair with a heavily pulsating bass line and a preponderance of cheap liquor in red plastic cups. The drummer winks at you during one of the songs-- later Yuuji slugs him in the jaw, taking a few hits in the process, and makes a show of kissing you sloppily while the poor drummer nurses his rapidly forming bruise with a pack of frozen peas. (The kiss, of course, tastes like blood and pride.) 

He teaches you how to use a switchblade-- “Just in case,” he says, wrapping his hand around yours in an effort to show you the proper grip. In exactly what situation you’d be forced to use a switchblade remains unclear, but when you ask he just laughs and shrugs, spinning the knife in between his slender fingers. “You never know.”

(He tells you a story of a fist fight years ago and lifts his shirt to point out a pale, faded scar-- the other guy brought a knife concealed in his sleeve. You then agree it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.)

The two of you trespass on the regular, scaling fences and picking locks to dip your feet in private pools, to run barefoot on the soft grass of a golf course late at night, to explore taped off tunnels and underpasses. 

All of it is fun, all of it depicts your relationship as something accidental, something reckless, the convergence of two beings as coincidental as the convergence of the two cells that provoked the Big Bang. 

But your intimate moments, the faintest imprints in between the lines, tell a different story. One onlookers don’t see. 

They don’t see how Yuuji places a hand on the small of your back to guide you over a crosswalk, or how he pours a coffee and carefully blows on it before bringing it to you. They don’t see how he laughs when you laugh and smiles when you smile. 

They don’t hear what he whispers to you under the sheets-- sweet nothings that would make Cupid himself blush-- as he touches you slowly, purposefully, following your curves deliberately as a sculptor molding clay. 

They don’t feel his kisses, delicately placed on your lips, your neck, your stomach and thighs. They don’t feel his eyelashes fluttering on your cheek as he allows himself to rest with you in his most vulnerable state. 

It’s during these moments that deep secrets are so shyly exchanged in the sleepy haze of late nights and early mornings. He bares his soul to you in all its imperfection (you suspect you are the only one to have ever seen it in this state). He shatters himself bit by bit like the vases you splintered so long ago, offering you the fragments so you can gradually piece together the entire portrait. 

“You know how I told you my dad taught me how to fight?” he asks one of these times. Your head is in his lap as he strokes your hair ever-so-lightly. You nod, looking up into those sweet brown eyes-- they look sad today. “That’s only half true. He didn’t teach me, but I had to learn because of him.” 

You take his hand and brush your lips over his knuckles, humming softly, and he takes this small act of comfort and stores it away like he always does. 

I’m sorry. 

“I’m scared of trying to be someone different than I am now, but I want to be. I wish I could be.”

You can. 

“I’m sorry for getting you into so much trouble these days.”

Don’t be.

“I think we should run away, just you and me. We could make it, you know.”

I know. 

Of course, all good things come to an end. You know that. 

You just aren’t anticipating something so good to end so soon-- as suddenly as Terushima Yuuji becomes yours, he disappears. 

One morning, he’s sleeping in the bed next to you, and the next he’s gone without a trace. Literally. He leaves behind no extra t-shirts, no stray sock or phone charger, no note. You pad down the hall, ducking your head into each room.

“Yuuji?” you call. “Is this some sort of joke?”

It’s not. 

You call his phone and reach his voicemail. Hey, this is Terushima. Not available right now, probably busy doing somethin’ stupid or taking a piss. Leave a message if you want. 

The sound of his voice grows more and more painful to hear over the next six months. At first, you call every day, then every week, then every month. At month six, you’ve stopped calling at all. If he wanted to answer, he would. You don’t even know why you’ve kept it up so long when he obviously left for a reason. 

So, you pick up the pieces of your broken heart and cobble them together again. It’s not a graceful recovery, but it’s a recovery, and that’s what matters. The gaping hole he left is gradually filled by your family, your friends-- you don’t go on a single date, but that’s okay. (You’re just not ready. You tell yourself that you will be, someday.)  

Soon, you’re whole again. As you discover, there are ways to find yourself other than falling dangerously in love with a dangerous boy. 

You run into him one day, eight or so months after his disappearance. You’re filling your car at a gas station, and at the park across the street, he’s sitting next to a girl you don’t recognize. She laughs at all his jokes and sips a can of Monster he offers her. As if he can feel your stare, Yuuji glances over and catches your eye. He jogs across the street, dodging traffic, and you two exchange tentative pleasantries before the conversation comes to an uneasy rest on the taboo-- why he left.

It wasn’t because of you, it turns out. At least, not really. You were just the catalyst.

“I was the problem,” Yuuji says, laughing, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “You remember how I once told you I thought love was making your bad decisions with someone by your side?”

You nod, and the wound has scabbed over enough for you to remember it lightly, with a slight curve of the lips.

“You showed me that wasn’t true.” He tugs on the collar of his t-shirt absentmindedly, not quite meeting your gaze. “I started wanting to make good decisions instead. And that just wasn’t me. Love isn’t for me.”

“It could’ve been,” you say simply. He stares at you, momentarily unable to form a response. Then he laughs it off, a sound you used to adore that now sounds harsh and grating. 

“Maybe someday,” he says, but his expression tells you otherwise. It tells you how scared he is of ever being that person.

The thing about love is that it gives you something to lose. It gives you a reason to make good decisions. It gives you something to fear for. 

As he turns to leave, Yuuji freezes in his tracks. He throws a look over his shoulder. “Just for the record-- it hurt. Leaving. I did love you.” 

You smile. It’s a genuine smile, but it’s sad, too. “I know.” 

And the thing about fear is that some people can’t bear it well enough to let themselves love someone. 

You watch his retreating back for a brief moment before climbing into your car. It’s not until you’re halfway home that you realize you’re crying. Tears roll down your cheeks into your lap, staining your jeans. 

You hope he comes to love that new girl, the one he’s sharing a Monster with. You hope she loves him back with all her heart. You hope she spends hours and hours picking through his pieces and reassembling him from the bottom up. You hope she comes to find that his kisses taste like tobacco and novelty, like ink and enigma, like rosewater and ashes and joy. You hope that, to her, those kisses never taste like regret. 

You hope that this time, he’s scared. But not so scared he can’t let himself stay.

[paperficwriter]

We Will Meet Again (Day 1 of Batarou Week 2022)

YEAH LET’S GO

Where have you gone My love, my friend Somewhere without the rain I feel afraid now, I feel alone Will we meet again

For as much as Badd knew they shouldn’t, he couldn’t push Garou away. Everytime Garou sank into him, filling him entirely to the point of too much, he thought, stop, stop, stop, you should not be doing this. And then Garou would kiss him and he’d wonder if he was thinking the same thing. Those gold eyes and sharp teeth said that he probably didn’t. Garou was an animal, on the battlefield and here, in front of the fire, the trees standing guard around them, and Badd showed his throat to him.

Like this, with Garou crowding out the moonlight and painted only by the yellow contrast of the flames, he couldn’t really see the marks drawn over his skin, smudged now. And Badd wasn’t wearing his armor, tossed away, the indentations from the tight material smoothed away. They were just men. Hungry and lonely and cold, seeking out something that only the other could give.

The matching twin marks were still healing, blood oozing under the bandages on each of their shoulders as they ignored them. Badd gave Garou his with a sword. Garou gave Badd his with a dagger. There were probably other marks too—bites, bruises, scratches. In fact, Badd was adding a few when Garou sank in the last time, filling him with heat, making him cry out as he added his own between their bodies.

They both heard something snap, and Garou’s head lifted quickly. Badd could swear he saw his ears move like a wolf’s might, still twitching as he mumbled in Garou’s ear that it was probably just the firewood settling.

Garou didn’t seem convinced, but he still kissed him again, hard, pressing his head back onto his cape, the only thing separating his skin from the dirt. Badd could only think of a few times he had heard Garou speak, but for some reason that didn’t bother him. Words came with his mouth, soft and tasting one moment, nipping and tearing the next. Whole sentences could be written with his fingertips. 

And in his eyes Badd liked to believe there were volumes, but that might have been romantic, wishful thinking.

Can you recall what we once knew Somewhere without the pain I feel afraid now, but not alone We will meet again

When Badd came back to camp, the others were waiting, swords drawn. Their faces said everything, between hurt and disbelief and anger. He couldn’t find it in him to be surprised or resentful. 

It happened quickly.

He was on his back for the second time that night but this time the heat was a different one, pooling under him, and when his eyes rolled back towards the spot, he thought he saw a small flock of birds take flight, scattering from the trees in disorganized, momentary panic, mixing into the sky and stealing the stars with their silhouettes. 

Selfish though it was, he was glad he wouldn’t be left alone to suffer without him. He liked to believe that too, that he would have missed him.

I can't hear your voice But you know I feel your soul

Badd jerked up when he heard the gunshot, eyes opening huge as he kicked his cell phone off the coffee table and the remote control off the side of the couch. The television was on a history show that was talking about war throughout the ages, and there were more shots as black and white footage showed soldiers firing out of foxholes. 

And then, a laugh. 

Garou sat beside him, one long arm lazily straightened out over the back of the couch behind his head as he dissolved into giggles. “Holy shit, I thought you pissed yourself for a second.”

Badd’s heart was still trying to slow down from being so suddenly startled. “Oh, fuck you, you know I hate this shit.”

“Ugh, fine, even though it’s my turn to pick what to watch, I’ll let you change it to something else.” Garou waved dismissively at the remote on the floor, and Badd scooped it up. 

But instead of changing the channel, he turned the television off. He didn’t want to be entertained. He didn’t want to think about other things. No, he climbed into Garou’s lap, straddling his legs, resting his ass on his thighs and looking at him, the little smirk lingering on his lips. Gold eyes. Sharp teeth. Like always.

Badd held his jaw as he kissed Garou with his whole body, pressed into him, soft meeting hard, legs squeezing tight, until Garou cupped the back of his neck and wrapped a long arm around his waist. Badd forgot everything else, closing his eyes and letting himself feel it, feel him, feel this moment that in the dark could have been anytime, anywhere.

You should not be doing this. You are the hero. He’s the monster. What if it ends the same way?

Badd didn’t care. No matter what happened, what anyone might do to them, they could never keep them from finding each other again. A heart, a soul, those were constants, resistant to sword or flame or sinking ships, and, of course, time.

Where have you gone My love my friend Somewhere without any pain I'm not afraid now, I'm not alone We will meet again

[jxckv]

𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒 .  𝟺  : 𝟺 𝟺 𝚊 𝚖  .  𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 for @rxdley​ .

                 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘   𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍   𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓   peeks   above   the   horizon   ,   threatening   to   bloom   any   minute   now.   Soon   ,   Jack   and   Ridley   will   be   forced   to   face   the   oncoming   day   ,   to   view   the   town   of   Holy   Cross   in   the   light   of   day.   From   where   they   sit   in   the   center   of   a   large   field   ,   Jack   can   see   the   STEEPLE   of   one   of   the   Holy   Wisdom   churches   ;   it's   just   visible   ,   a   black   silhouette   against   the   dawn   sky.   He   lowers   himself   to   the   ground   ,   head   nestled   among   weeds   and   prickly   blades   of   grass   ,   and   stares   up   at   the   purpling   sky   —   a   few   stars   still   cling   to   the   remaining   darkness   ,   winking   down   at   him   like   a   good   luck   wish.   "   I   think   I'll   move   to   New   York   ,   or   back   to   Boston.   I   miss   it   there.   "   A   sigh   punctuates   the   sentiment   ,   her   question   still   hanging   in   the   air   between   them   :   '   what   are   you   gonna   do   when   we   leave   here   ?   '   

                   He   pictures   it   —   him   ,   Ridley   ,   Lillian   leaving   Holy   Cross   with   the   footage   they   need   to   expose   the   cult   ,   moving   on   with   their   lives   ,   free   from   Pastor   North   and   his   cult   of   PSYCHOS.   His   parents   will   thank   him   for   saving   her   ,   will   finally   see   that   he's   capable   of   doing   things   right.   "   What   about   you   ?   "   He   drinks   deeply   from   the   cheap   bottle   of   wine   ,   passes   it   across   the   space   between   them   and   thinks   ,   not   for   the   first   time   ,   that   he's   so   grateful   she's   here.   Cicadas   screech   in   unison   ,   somewhere   across   town   ,   a   dog   barks.   So   mundane   ,   this   small   town.   Half-asleep   on   the   surface   with   unknown   depths   lurking   underneath   —   depths   in   which   he   and   Ridley   find   themself   neck   -   deep.   Too   many   more   steps   into   the   darkness   and   they'll   find   themselves   underwater.   

[sunnydxleslayers]

You lying so low in the weeds I bet you gonna ambush me You'd have me down, down, down, down on my knees Now wouldn't you, barracuda? Oh

The murky indigo sky haunted her through the desolate holes that had been blown through the ceiling. Her hands grasping at the tattered leather cuff attached to the hand laced around her throat. Buffy’s gaze darted away from the snarly arrogance of the blood sucking poser that latched onto her. Silver lit streaks glimmered across the ruins of the stained glass mural that once depicted Mother Mary cradling her son just before he’d be strung up to die. The suffocating symbolism of his strife and the strangling drain the slayer lifestyles had on her. 

“The..girls must not..c-call you daddy. Y-you’ve got a s..soft grip,” she hissed. Willing whatever bead of air she had left, Buffy lifted her foot and kicked at whatever fleshy bit dangled between his legs before dropped back like dead weight. The groan rattled from his frame as they’d dropped down to the dusty hardwood. Her head nicked the solid pew with a spreading warmth replacing the cool sweat that dotted her brow. 

Dawn just refused to break, didn’t it? 

Kipping back up to her feet, Buffy wicked the crimson ooze off her face. “I’ve got a french test tomorrow, why don’t we Bonsoir already?” Jean Luc didn’t seem impressed with her word play. His open palm swatting her cheek as his gluttony blossomed. Always with the cheap shots. Her battered fist crashed into the solid chest of the larger creature. A flurry of fast jabs were traded before she’d wedged her boot into his solar plexus with such sloppy fury. Buffy’s stance shook with an unforgiving quake; thankfully, the oaf relied more on his fangs than his feet, allowing the kick to stagger him back into the newly minted spike formed from the belly of a rotting four by four beam. 

A ragged breath radiated from her chest, her lips quivering, as she watched the opaque chunks of alabaster skin flaking away into nothingness. Was that how I looked when I died..The thought swirled around with a sickening pace. Buffy tore the hem of her already frayed shirt to press it into her forehead as she’d counted back from one hundred. If she’d focused on the constant pace of each descending number, the prickling anxiety would die much like her french tutor. Buffy opened her eyes to the softness of a new rising sun christening her agape lips as she scowled. All of that struggle just for the sun to rise instead of vaporizing that sucker. 

Buffy dropped back onto the dingy pew with a windy sigh. The chiming buzz of her beeper rattled against her waist but she’d ignored it. For now, she just needed a minute. 

So this ain't the end, I saw you again, today I had to turn my heart away Smiled like the sun, kisses for everyone And tales, it never fails

A familiar gait tapped against the floor. Giles knew better than to look for her; he knew she’d been on edge lately. Xander and Willow were hopefully sleeping peacefully before homeroom as she wasted away in this church. There was only one culprit who would mock her despite the decaying scent of death lingering. “I’m not in the mood today, Spike. I’m going to fail an important test, broke the heel of favorite pair of jimmy choos, and I don’t want to hear your generic british drawl or whatever. So leave before I poke your back with something phallic in shape but not in the fun way.”  Her word bounded off the decrepit archway of the abandoned church. The irony of such holy ground being yet another den of festering evil in the center of town. Sunnydale just couldn’t help but break the flaking mold of hypocrisy. Buffy forced herself up to behold the silhouette of that vexed her dreams.

“...angel.”    

@slayersincorporated​

[dottiryos-art-mess]

Part 1: ‘ I’m Davenport! ‘ 

(long) ID by @kuuttituutti :

ID:"A multiple panel comic about Merle and Davenport. Merle is light-skinned dwarf with white hair and large beard. He has glasses and a red coat. Davenport is a brown skinned gnome with red hair and mustache. He and Merle are playing cards around a table. There is a large window where a galaxy can be seen. For first three panels there are not text 

Panel 4: Davenport : “Holy shit”

Panel 5: Davenport: “I think it's my birthday” 

Panel 6: Merle: “Ha!What are you, like, 130, 140?”  Davenport :”Yeah, I don’t know, do we count those years? I- I certainly didn’t age during that- Jesus, Merle! We’re going to get older now!” 

Panel 7: Davenport: “Do you- do you think we’ll be able to have normal lives after this? “ Merle: ”Normal lives… suck!” Davenport: “Haha”

Panel 8: Merle:”Like, this game, we play this game, we just sit here. It’s just a way to kill time! C’mon, Skipper, you don’t want to just kill time all the time!”

Panel 9: Davenport:” I know, I just- How do you wanna live, Merle? Like, I don’t have a- this mission has been my life for a century. I don’t know what I want to do.” 

Panel 10: Merle: “You wanna know what I’d like to do? I’d like to move to the beach. You know why? Because with the ocean, the scenery is always changin’. And I want the scenery to always be changin’, man. I don’t wanna be lookin’ at the same thing all the time… I wanna see a million, billion shells… I wanna watch rain come sweepin’ in…

Panel 11: a gif of the men’s faces. There is static at the edges of the panel and Davenport is blinking quickly. Merle: “That’s, that’s the life, right there! Change it up, man! Keep it interesting!” Davenport: “wait” For the last panels static is taking over them. 

Panel 12: Merle: “What? Are you okay Dav?” Davenport: “You are...Merle. Wait wait What’s happening??” 

Next two panels are close ups of the window as Merle looks out of it while looking  saying “What...the sky?” 

Next panel is a blue and orange and filled with sketches of the other birds and silhouette of John.

Next panel is of Davenport gripping Merle’s shoulder. Merle: “Wait...Who are you?”

Last panel is a gif of Davenport screaming his name as he disappears to static

[drakesattersfield]

smoke filled the milk white canvas of the sky, brushing along pockets of a purple haze, kissing the orange underlay of a sunset. miami, florida rarely got dark until well into the late evening. as drake sattersfield trudged out his phone that sat on its fourth placement of the night — this time, being the mantle of kappa sigma’s collection of member pictures — he forcefully plucked at the screen. illuminating 10:34 pm. shoving the device into the back pocket of his jeans, the sun scorched brunette fiddled with the tail of the lit up joint purses between his lips. the fraternity was an assembling of brotherhood. a sense of belonging. and in a phase of life where he wasn’t quite sure how to go on, college was the perfect distraction of what happened that last summer. one night was all it took to sober him up to the consequences of not only his actions, but what transpired after. oklahoma was a distant memory, a forgotten wasteland of not even physical sentiments that he planned on returning in any walk down memory lane. the ensuing pulse of the track music that scattered along the strategically placed speakers, the half-drunk drink dangling in one hand, and a random girl curled around his grip. it was an oasis of epic proportions. ever since he was initiated into kappa sigma, each night was a different story to tell. alcohol was slung from one corner of the keg room to the upstairs freshman hall. the nineteen year old was the furthest away from any recollection of the dead body being tossed into the nearby lake three-hundred and some odd days ago. somehow, he couldn’t remember the foggiest sense of any details that could be deciphered by the less inebriated minds than his own. sloppy lips doted on the neckline of the girl wrapped around his grip, soon leading the couple to peck, then full on making out. his breath hitched into the back of his throat as if he were struggling to breathe; yet he liked it. the lack of oxygen in that moment lead to a momentary high that not even he could replicate with the rolled up weed pinched between his thumb and forefinger. finally breaking the connection, a soddy chortle escaped his rose-pink lips. bright and freshly glossy. quietly, he paved a beeline up the stairs, almost nearing the railing before giving the floor level one more glance back. suddenly, it was as if he were sobered up by what his icy blue hues could gather. the silhouette. the curve of her. the same infecting smile. the mocha-hued orbs. holy shit. more than fifteen hundred miles away, and yet: it couldn’t be. “well?” the perky redhead mused, her perfectly manicured acrylic nail dusting along his cupid’s bow. immediately, he froze. and for a moment it seemed as though he couldn’t bring himself to look away. and for that brief moment, it had come and gone. it was better for him to forget. that couldn’t be her. that couldn’t be lena. of all people in a kappa sigma party in miami, florida? impossible.

[born-to-be-his-baby88]

Oh my god @dancingalone21 well you just about got me feelin’ better. Dean can be “H2-Ahhhh” and Sammy can be “Captain Thunder”…I don’t even know…blame the cold lmao it’s clouding up my senses.

Ladies and Gentlemen, WARNING, TEASING, LANGUAGE, SEXUAL IMPLICATIONS below the cut.

Dynamic Duo

The music is loud and painful against my eardrums as I am hauled towards the stage. The show, according to some very enthusiastic Beverly Hills housewives, was about to start and the dynamic duo was about to take center stage.

I wasn’t a fan of these venues but when you’re being shoved out of your apartment by your best friend, there wasn’t really much you could do.

“This is gonna be great!” she yelled, grinning back at me as she made her way through the crowd. “I’ve got seats reserved you bitches, let me through.”

We had just taken a seat when the lights went out, only to have the colorful lights on stage come to live, along with Ginuwine’s “Pony” bursting through the speakers.

I dramatically rolled my eyes at the song, completely aware of its usage on that film ‘Magic Mike’. It would take a friggin miracle to get someone to dance as well as Channing Tatum (the only reason I went to watch the movie in the first place).

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” boomed the disembodied voice, making me glance up at the ceiling. “Get your bills ready, hang tight, but most important, get all nice and wet for-”

“H2-Ahhhh and Captain Thunder!” roared the desperate women in the crowd, including my friend.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, snorting into my hand at the moans erupting right after.

The music turned up and my eyes automatically zeroed in on the stage. My eyes narrowed as a tall silhouette appeared, head down, some sort of hat on his head. Then, the spotlight turned on and drowned him in the light. I swear I have never gasped so loud in my entire life.

No. Just…no.

I looked sideways at my friend, my mouth suddenly dry and unable to form any words. She smirked at me. “I told you,” she mouthed before forcing me to look at the stage again.

The man stepped out into the center stage, wearing nothing but a white dress pants and a sea captain hat, his rippling muscles and hard abs glistening with oil from the light shining above him. His face was covered slightly by the hat, but that didn’t last long, he looked up toward the crowd and I friggin lost it. Even from where I was sitting, I could see the brown-green in his eyes, that tanned body teasing me in the most delicious way, those gigantic and capable hands of his clenching and unclenching.

Fucking hell.

He smirked out at the crowd, his perfect lips red and so damn kissable. I was a goner. Fuck my life.

He slowly turned back to the stage and that’s when I noticed another silhouette in the back center. This one was slightly shorter than the first, but still as tall. His bow legs went unmistaken by me but I honestly didn’t give a shit. If this was the ‘dynamic duo’ and if the guy with the hazel eyes looked like that, Lord knew how amazing the other guy must look like.

The spotlight shone on the second guy and I nearly had a heart attack. Most people would have identified him as a Ken Doll. With his tanned complexion and dusty brown hair. But fuck me, man. The green of his eyes, even from the distance that I was at, made me lose my breath. Completely.

This guy wore faded jeans and a red and black plaid shirt, unbuttoned, and revealing nothing but hardened delicacy. He was downright delicious with all of that body oil. I looked over at my friend and glared. “I hate you,” I mouthed back at her.

She laughed and motioned toward the stage.

Behind the two very attractive men, in bright blue neon signs, read the words: H2-Ahhhh and Captain Thunder.

I knew Captain Thunder was Hazel Eyes…but H2-Ahhhh? Who in the fracking hell came up with these names?

The song started, vibrating through my bones and something else I didn’t think needed attention until now. Hazel Eyes flickered over to me, a tiny smirk on his perfect face as he rolled his hips seductively, his hands sliding down his oiled up body toward the black belt in his white pants. Keeping in time with the music, he undid the belt and slid it out of the loops, swinging it round and round above his head.

I stifled a laugh, fixing my attention on Green Eyes instead. And holy mother of God…I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have come.

His eyes were solely trained on me. His bottom lip was held prisoner between his teeth as he, too, rolled his hips, his hands running up and down his slick body. He played with the button on his jeans, unbuttoning it and unzipping the zipper but never fully pulling his jeans down…or off. It was frustrating me and I found myself balling my hands into fists to keep from climbing onto the stage and doing it myself.

If your horny, Let’s do it Ride it, My Pony My saddle’s waiting Come and jump on it

Then, out of nowhere, both Hazel eyes and Green Eyes jumped off the stage and headed…in my direction.

My heart felt like it was going to pop out of my chest and hit Hazel eyes as he stood in front of me, legs spread apart slightly. He looked down at me and winked at me.

“You ready, babygirl?”

I blinked. “Ready for what?” I mumbled, my body trembling with unexpected anticipation. What the fuck?

A pair of hands reached around me from behind, lifting me up and spinning me around to face them. Cheers and screams erupted from all around me as Green Eyes stared right back at me, his hands maneuvering me around to wrap my legs around his waist.

He grinned at me. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I got you.”

Fuck. Their voices. My body trembled at their husky sounds and I think Green Eyes noticed because he tightened his grip on me and with one look at his partner, they made their way back onto the stage with me.

Sitting here flossing Peeping your steelo Just once if I have the chance The things I will do to you You and your body Every single portion Send chills up and down your spine Juices flowing down your thigh

Green Eyes set me down on a solo white chair that was placed in the dead center, flooded in the spotlight. I squinted my eyes, trying to see out into the audience (I could swear there was absolutely nobody there anymore), but was blocked by a heavily packed white pants.

I gulped.

Hazel Eyes bent down and arched his body into me, causing me to lean back into the chair, legs wide open while he settled in between my legs. He worked his way up before spinning out of the way and letting Green Eyes take center stage.

With a smirk and a tiny wink, he dipped down, his face coming inches away from my throbbing center and out of instinct, I jerked, my legs closing. He stopped them though, his huge hands gripping my thighs, his eyes never leaving mine as he teased his lips on the seam of my jeans, darting his tongue out right where I would love for his tongue to be without the damn clothes on my body.

“Fuck,” I managed to choke out.

Green Eyes gripped my waist then, and pulled me up and out of the chair, turning me over and making me bend down, hands flat on the seat of the chair.

He spread my legs apart slightly, his hands lingering on the small of my back and thighs before he moved to the side and let Hazel Eyes take over once again.

All I saw was a pair of the longest legs I ever saw before hands took hold of my waist and started pulling me back into him in time with the music, out my ass slapping against his hips with every beat.

What the fuck was this?

Hazel Eyes pulled me up and turned me around to face him. He grinned. “Having fun yet?”

I blinked. “Uh…”

He didn’t give me a chance to speak before he turned me around and had me facing Green Eyes again. I swear I was getting dizzy. Whether it was from all the hauling around or the mere essence of these guys, I’d never know, but whatever it was, it was intoxicating. And I fucking loved it.

“You want more, don’t you?” he asked, that same sky smirk on his face.

I nodded stupidly.

The music came to a screeching halt the moment his arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me into him, my chest pressing into his oiled up torso. His smirk faded and he stared at me, his eyes dark and hooded.

I felt another body press against me from behind and something huge and thick dig into my ass. I didn’t even have to guess to know who was behind me. Captain Thunder.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” murmured Green Eyes, his lips inching toward mine.

“Holy crap…” I squeaked.

“Open your eyes, Y/N..” murmured Hazel Eyes from behind.

I frowned. Open my eyes?

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” whispered Green Eyes in front of me. I shook my head.

“What? I am-”

“Open your eyes, dammit!”

I snapped my eyes open, sitting up instantly and bumping my head hard against something.

“Ow! Son of a bitch!” they hissed.

I blinked, adjusting my eyes to the orange tint of the lamp in the motel room. Wait. Motel room. I gasped and looked around.

Sam and Dean stared back at me, each with an amused expression on their faces. I clutched at my chest to keep my heart at bay.

“What the hell?” I breathed. “Was I…was I…dreaming?”

Sam scoffed, a smile on his lips. “Uh, yeah, you were.” He looked over at his brother, his smile widening. “Pretty heavy stuff you were dreaming, huh?”

I blushed and looked at Dean, only to blush even more as stage names started to make their way toward the front of my brain.

Dean smirked. “So, who was Captain Thunder?”

I moaned and hid my face with a pillow. This was a disaster. If we hadn’t taken a damn case that involved going into a Ladies’ Club and having Sam and Dean pose as strippers, none of this embarrassment would have ensued.

Dean chuckled. “I bet I was H2-Ahhhh.”

“Alright, that’s it,” I said, sitting up and facing them. “From now on, we are not taking on cases that involve us being half naked just to save complete strangers.“

Sam laughed. “You seemed rather flustered while you were sleeping, Y/N/N.” He looked up at me then. “Care to elaborate.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Well,” said Dean as he got up and turned on the radio by the bedside table. And coincidently, Ginuwine’s “Pony” was playing loud and clear, mocking me. “We’ve got ways of making you talk.”

I swallowed hard.

Sam stood and walked over to stand next to his brother, facing me.

“You ready, sweetheart?” asked Dean, his smirk darkening.

“Jesus Christ…”

I screamed and sat up, my eyes shrouded in darkness.

A dream. It was all a fucking dream.

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