#there's just so much *gestures vaguely* stuff y'know

[supercantaloupe]

a big part of the reason why i like baroque & classical music so much i think is because of how Structured it is. like it sounds nice yes but it's also very Predictable. i can listen to the first half of a phrase and pretty easily predict where it's going harmonically speaking, and predict where an entire section or aria or whatever is going based on its opening motives. the universe is ordered and comprehensible and beautiful and i can stick my fingers in it and pull it apart at the seams to see exactly how it works

[morethanwords229]

20 more minutes of work to power through and then i am going head first beneath my duvet to have a small breakdown and will not be emerging for quite some time

[carlyraejepsans]

> "Sorry, the pink slippers are kinda distracting, what did you say again?"

You clutch your bag tighter.

"Stay back."

"woah, what's with the tone? anyway, don't worry. i'm a big fan of not moving."

He inspects the contents of his mug, then cocks his head at you.

"funny, i'm pretty sure this is the first chance we've had to talk in"—he gestures vaguely—"all this stuff."

He winks, "the name's—"

"Sans," you finish for him, "I know."

He pauses, holding your gaze, but his smile doesn't falter in the slightest. Another chill runs up your spine.

"huh," he says, "guess it slipped my mind."

You flinch as he starts to move, but he only reaches down to grab one of the fallen pages off of the floor. He skims it for a moment, turning it this and that way, before shrugging and letting it fall to the floor once again.

"actually, i was thinking of getting a snork of two in," he shoves his free hand in his shorts pocket, "but, uh. you still haven't answered my question, have you?"

Looking around the room, you consider your options. He seems amiable. At least, considering that you just broke into his bedroom. But you know better than to be lured into any sense of safety. You know what he's capable of. You've felt it, too, and you would prefer to avoid repeating the experience as much as possible.

But... you've only ever known him to fight under express request of the King. You doubt he'd kill you without his permission. Besides, it's unlikely you'll make it out of this room without consequences for your actions, whether you go willingly or not.

You don't have much to lose. You decide to risk it.

"I'm looking for information," you state, simply.

Again, he looks at the new whirlwind of papers covering the room.

"yep. i can see that. strange, i didn't take you as the bookish type."

Here goes nothing.

You step forward.

"No, I... I came to talk." You lick your lips, "with you."

"...talk?"

He raises a brow.

"just to get this straight. you risked your neck falling from a window, broke into my room in the middle of the night, raided a bookshelf. just to... what, talk?"

Well. If you put it like that.

You nod.

Sans stares. Then he snorts.

"sure."

He grabs the chair from the desk and tips it far enough so that whatever clothes were still hanging onto it for dear life are forced to lose their grip. Then he sits on it, hands in his pockets, and hooks one slippered foot over the other.

"let's chat."

-->

[radioisnotdead]

"Sooo, are we friends now?"

Vox blinked. The sudden question caught him off guard. Lucifer had just walked into the room and fell back onto the couch, comfortably leaning back beside him, so a question like that was entirely out of the blue.

"..Come again?" He grinned nervously.

"Well... y'know." Lucifer made a few vague gestures.

"I- No, I really don't."

Lucifer's eyebrows furrowed and he looked straight ahead of him. He crossed a leg and folded his arms while he looked for the words. Vox simply waited, placing his phone down.

After a little bit of silence, Lucifer spoke quietly.

"Would it be stupid to say that because we both hate Alastor it would automatically make us friends-?"

Vox snorted at his expense. "A little, yeah. But I get where you're coming from, I guess. The enemy of your enemy is your friend, as they say."

Lucifer's eyes lit up, and he smiled.

"Glad we're on the same page!"

Vox gave him a small nod and went back to his phone.

A few minutes of quiet, the only sounds being Lucifer's soft breathing and Vox tapping on his phone.

"..Hey, so-"

Vox looked up, slightly exasperated but amused.

"Alastor isn't the only reason we're friends, right?"

Vox tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean," The king continued, a little anxious. "It just seems a bit... Y'know, insincere, for our whole relationship to be centered around him of all people."

"Hmm.. I guess you're right."

They sat for a moment, thinking.

"We could take a page outta Charlie's book?" He suggested, clicking his phone off.

"Huh?"

"Remember when she tried to make Vaggie and Alastor get along?"

Lucifer perked up. "When they had to compliment each other?" He grinned. "That was so fucking funny. You want us to do that?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Alright! Me first. Mmmm..."

Vox waited, somewhat excited. It was probably unreasonable, but y'know. Free compliments. As he watched Lucifer think, he couldn't help smiling gently. The whole situation was pretty odd, but fun nonetheless.

"Well, you're funny sometimes. Your little antennae are cute, though I guess that doesn't really count. Hm.. your voice is nice to listen to. Kind of a shame you don't have a podcast or anything, I'd listen to it. Anyway, you seem like you'd give good hugs."

"Is that really a compliment?" Vox grinned, feeling his screen glowing just a little bit brighter.

"Totally! Hugs are the best." Lucifer folded his arms confidently. "Don't believe me, just try it."

"Mmm... Nah. Not one for stuff like that, all soft, y'know?"

Lucifer frowned. "Seriously? When was the last time you were hugged?"

Vox glanced at him, staying quiet. When was the last time-? Velvette wasn't very touchy either. Valentino definitely was, but he was less gentle and comforting than.. well, overtly sexual.

"...Unimportant."

"Is not."

Vox sighed, feigning annoyance.

"Fine." He sat up and opened his arms.

Lucifer blinked.

"..Hug me, dumbass."

"Oh! Okay!" He looked absolutely thrilled.

Pulling Vox up from the couch after jumping up himself, he tugged the TV head into a hug. Lucifer's arms wrapped tightly around Vox's waist as he looked up at him excitedly.

Admittedly, Lucifer was right. Vox.. really didn't mind this. His hands automatically came to rest between Lucifer's shoulder blades and he smiled, looking away.

"Okay, fine, you have a point, I suppose."

Lucifer pulled away, instead holding Vox's hands and lightly bouncing on his heels.

"Knew it!"

Vox shook his head, unable to contain his grin, and pulled them both back onto the couch, Lucifer sat beside him.

"'Kay, so I gotta compliment you now."

"Hey, don't say it like that! No one's forcing you, y'know."

"Yeah, yeah.." He trailed off, examining the King next to him. "Well. You give good hugs, I can tell you that much. Your eyes are pretty. And shit, I might regret this, but.. your cheeks are really cute. Um- and your hair looks really soft." Vox looked away, a shaky smile across his face. "We didn't agree on a set number of compliments, haha..."

Lucifer stared at him for a moment, his legs swinging lightly over the edge of the couch. "You can pet it if you want."

Vox immediately turned to him again. "Huh?"

"My hair. You said it looked soft, why not find out?"

"Uh.. okay." He laughed, somewhat nervous.

Vox reached a hand out and tentatively threaded his claws through Lucifer's blond hair. It was exactly how he thought it would feel, light and fluffy. Definitely a pleasant experience. Valentino's moth fluff was soft, but too thick to properly feel with his claws. Comparing a moth's neck to not really human hair wasn't the smartest, though.

Vox smiled as he spent a few more seconds gently stroking Lucifer's hair. It was hard to fully appreciate how unusual of a moment this was. After all, Lucifer was the literal King of Hell, Child of God, and for Vox to be able to just sit here with him, petting his hair?

His.. mild confusion must've shown on his screen, because as he retracted his hand, Lucifer looked as if he was trying incredibly hard not to burst out laughing.

"..What?"

"You've.. You've got a few.. um, question marks? On- on your screen?" He bit his lip, unsuccessfully attempting to restrain a grin.

Vox's eyes widened and he immediately looked away, feeling the screen flicker to a childishly flashy exclamation mark.

The king snickered for a good few seconds, fidgeting with the cane in his hands as he did so.

"Yeah." Vox said after a comfortable silence, turning back to Lucifer with a smile.

The latter gave him a confused look.

"You asked if we were friends, earlier. I guess we are."

Lucifer grinned back.

☆彡★彡

lmk if you guys want more stuff like this cuz it was so fun to write hehe

as for whether they're gonna stay platonic,, idk bro??

anyway they're cute and I love em <3

[degloved]

some

some scott tibbs content mayhaps??

a confession: i have never even so much as approached the scott tibbs side of the fandom, however, i am so determined to do all these that i really, really wanted to try. even if i'm flying by the seat of my pants here, a little bit. hope i didn't disappoint!!

also, my first crack at writing adam. a lil intimidating altogether, but yknow. expanding my horizons and all that.

‼️SAW REQS STILL OPEN‼️

Adam's apartment wasn't all that different from his own, Scott concluded as he took stock of his surroundings. Cramped, a little decrepit. To say lived in would be… very generous.

In not so many words: a shithole.

Maybe that was why he felt right at home. The thought brought a wry little smile to his face, brief. Chased away before it had the chance to stick.

"Shit, man, take a seat. You want something to drink? I've got some… well, I've got something," Adam chuckled, a little awkwardly.

Scott rounded the couch, picked an armchair to plop down into. Observed Adam's constipated little expression with great interest.

"Just water. Thanks."

"Right. On it."

Scott was a curious guy by nature, and in the interest of practicing kindness towards oneself—thus not suppressing that very nature—he let his eyes roam. They lingered on the brand-new set of throw-pillows carefully fluffed up and meticulously arranged along the saggy leather couch, the odd book haphazardly left on the coffee-table here and on the TV stand there (some thick ass tomes they were, too, and—alright, call him an asshole, but he never would've taken Adam, the dude that had fought tooth and nail through middle school English, for a connoisseur of… medical literature, by the looks of things.)

Was that a pair of reading glasses perched atop the suspiciously stocked bookshelf?

The clank of ice-cubes against glass was the harbinger of Adam's return; extremely tentative steps were taken toward the sitting area in an effort not to spill the sloshing liquid.

Notably, he set them down on… coasters? Scott had to do a double take, there.

But, yup, sure enough. Two matching coasters. Pastel.

"Huh."

Adam's head snapped up, eyes landing on him. Scott let the moment stretch, absentmindedly rubbing his faintly-bearded chin.

"Well, what?" Adam's voice betrayed impatience. (Still easy to rile up, then.)

"Y'know, I never was one to put much stock into that whole…" he waved a hand through the air, gesturing vaguely, "line of logic your friend Jigsaw's got going on."

Adam tensed.

"All that stuff and nonsense 'bout change and rebirth—or whatever the press like saying these days. Walk into a game some… lowlife piece of shit, walk out enlightened. Or whatever the fuck." Scott sat up, leaned forward, "But maybe he's got a point."

"Scott, I swear… I mean, cut that shit out, man. S'not cool. Really isn't." Adam looked this way and that, eyes inexplicably flickering towards a particular closet by the front door. His fingers twitched, tugged at the hem of his sleeve.

"Hey, don't get all spooked on me now," Scott chuckled, "All I'm try'na say is, all my life I've seen you use a damn coaster exactly once—when my Ma asked you to, the first time you came over. Ended up such a hassle, she ain't ever ask you again." He cleared his throat, engaging a pause for dramatic effect, "And now you're setting them out on your own volition."

Adam snorted, though didn't appear very amused just yet. "You're losing me here, dude."

"My point is," Scott rolled his eyes, tossing a significant look Adam's way, "It's really not about the coasters. Your dump's full of shit that doesn't belong in a dump. Shit I know you didn't bring into the dump. Doesn't look like you've got a live-in, though."

"I don't," Adam stated, firm, though was quick to add: "Any kind. I don't, point-blank. Maybe I'm expanding my horizons here, reading up on interesting shit, you don't know me. You haven't seen me in… what, four years? Five?"

Scott had to roll his eyes, politeness be damned. He'd never heard a dumber sentence. Which was saying a lot, because… "I've known you since diapers, moron. Four, five years doesn't take away from having spent the first eighteen of our lives joined at the hip. Don't lie to me like I'm your damn dad. Jesus."

"Whatever, man," Adam sighed, took a careful sip. Scott regaled him with another completely warranted eye-roll.

Though he did cut him some clack thenceforth, easing away from that (apparently) sore subject—and all others of that nature, which Adam certainly wasn't short of—in favor of engaging in some pleasant mutual reminiscence and casual small talk. Slightly-mind numbing, past a certain point, though Scott supposed he mightn't be too hard on him. Not much time has passed since… well. That unfortunate event that might've changed the trajectory of his life. Wagered Adam would speak on the matter when ready.

They frittered away a couple of hours in this manner.

Honestly—Scott would swear up and down—he really did think he'd be able to let the sleeping dogs lie. Truly.

...but maybe the sight of an old hickey, unfortunately revealed by Adam's ill-timed tug at his sweater's collar, stirred something a little mean in him.

Before the other could get halfway through a 'bye, then', Scott made the executive decision to press him up against the doorway, hands dipping down the back pockets of those ratty jeans, noses bumping. He didn't kiss him. He might yet, if the circumstances call for it. As it was, he was still close enough to feel Adam's breath, warm against his upper lip.

"Scott… hey, listen," Adam gently shoved against his chest, successfully putting a mite more space between them, "We can't- it's not—"

"No? That's a first, coming from you."

Adam flushed, a pretty crimson stretching from his neck up. "I just… okay, I don't- well, it's just—"

Scott backed off, a smirk playing about his lips. Gotcha. "Give your boyfriend my best."

Having left Adam sufficiently speechless, he bounced.

[chiimeramanticore]

Part of the Band - Chapter 19 - The Beast

Chapter summary: Dook and Beach Bear visit the family. Dook tries a new food. Beach Bear confronts his past. A/N:

this chapter's title has a double meaning- it's a metaphor for beach bear's family, and also a metaphor for how fucking hard it was to get this chapter out (and also a metaphor for how LONG IT IS??? 5K WORDS???????) i haven't updated in a while, so i missed the actual anniversary, but potb has officially been ongoing for a year! what a ride it's been lol. i've definitely changed and improved as a writer since i started, and i'm very happy to not only have a work that you can really see me grow through, but also to have one that has had such a nice response to it! i wouldn't have written nearly as much of this fic as i have if i didn't have people reading and commenting on it. if you've enjoyed any part of this fic (and god I hope you do if you've made it to chapter 19) thank you, from the bottom of my heart! this has been my favorite thing to make for the RAE fandom (but don't tell the video essay fans that lmao) OK ACTUAL TRIGGER WARNING TIME FOR THE CHAPTER this whole chapter is about beach bear's transphobic ass family! i mentioned it in the last chapter but they are going to consistently deadname and misgender him, and also just generally be kinda shitty parents and people. part of the reason this chapter is so long is bc i wanted to condense it all into one big thing so you could just skip the one chapter! this chapter isn't the end of this arc, but probably the end of all the uncomfortable shit lol. we also touch on dook's drinking issues a little in this one, so if any of this makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip! you won't miss anything vital this time, i promise uhhhh i think thats everything? thanks! enjoy the chapter!

Chapter word count: 5,051 <- Chapter 18 - Chapter 20 -> Read it on AO3!

"Hey, Beach Bear," Dook says, staring out the car window.

"What's up?" Beach Bear replies.

"You said the other day you, like, uh... You took medicine, to become a dude, right?" Dook asks.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Beach Bear says. "I still take it. You've never noticed?"

Dook shakes his head. "What happens if you stop?"

"You go back," Beach Bear says. "In some regards, at least."

"Hmm." Dook slouches in his seat a bit. "So you gotta take it forever?"

"Long as I wanna stay looking like a dude, yeah," Beach Bear chuckles. "I dunno if too much would change if I stopped now, though. There's a lotta permanent stuff, too. I got a whole surgery and everything."

"Surgery?"

"Yeah, to–" he gestures vaguely at his chest, not taking his eyes off the road. "Y'know, get rid of the extra weight."

"I don't get it," Dook says.

"Agh, nevermind."

Dook stares at Beach Bear's chest. "...Hey, do you have to get your name changed, like in a court n' all?" He asks.

"Dook, I'm tryin' to drive."

Dook stares harder at his chest. He doesn't see the issue. It just looks like a guy's chest.

Oh, wait.

"What'd they do with your extra stuff after you got them removed?" He asks.

"Dook, I–" Beach Bear starts, then pauses. "I don't know, actually."

They sit quietly for a minute, both pondering the possible outcomes. Dook doesn't dedicate too much energy toward it, eventually spacing out once again on the long road ahead of them. They've been driving through the same monotonous scenery for hours now. Tall grassland... trees... a house every mile or so... It's farmland, but god if it isn't boring. There's not even any radio signal out here.

"...Beach Bear?" He pipes up.

"Yeah?"

"What're your parents like?"

"Uh..." Beach Bear trails off, thinking. "I dunno how to put it. They're... they're real pleasant, y'know? Outwardly, at least. They put on a real good face."

"How are they with you?" Dook asks.

"They're... I dunno. They're not bad. They're fine parents. They're just... They've got opinions, y'know? Very strong ones. And no amount of talking to them could ever convince them to rethink any of those opinions. They think they know everything." A hint of spite seeps into his voice at the last sentence.

"Mmh. I think I know the feelin'," Dook says. "They think they know everythin' about you, better than yourself, right?"

"Yeah," Beach Bear says. "It's– It's frustrating." He's holding his tongue, for some reason. "It's rough."

"Sounds rough." Dook says.

"And they live in this big McMansion, too," Beach Bear continues. "They act like they've got it made. They act like they're right about everything. They act like they know better than you, and don't you dare try to have a different opinion, 'cause–" He catches himself. "...'Cause... Whatever."

If Beach Bear's already getting worked up at the thought of his parents, he can't imagine what it's going to be like when they're actually there. "You gonna be okay?" Dook asks.

"Yeah," Beach Bear says, sighing. "I'll be fine. It's just a weekend."

After some seemingly endless length of time driving past the fields and farms, they finally arrive at Beach Bear's parents' house. He wasn't lying when he said they lived in a McMansion. The house is vast, with a white brick front and pale red roofing. The shapes of the roofing could be considered abstract art in itself– square, pyramid, conical, square, triangle... It almost looks like the house is trying to grow smaller houses out of it. Dook stares in awe as they get out of the car, Beach Bear's parents awaiting them on the porch.

"Beatrice!" His mother calls, rushing to embrace him. She's slender, with sandy, almost brown fur. Dook almost wouldn't guess she was a polar bear. She's done her face up almost excessively with makeup, and she hikes up her pink dress a bit to reach Beach Bear. She's still a bit shorter than him, though, and stands on her tiptoes to kiss him.

Beach Bear chuckles. "Hi, Mom," he says, hugging her back. "How've you been?" Dook watches her fuss over him, and Beach Bear taking it completely fine. It's like everything he said about not liking them before never happened.

"You're still driving this wreck, kid?" His father says, also moving from his position on the porch to greet them.

"It's the only car I've got, Dad," Beach Bear says. "We're still fixing it from the wreck."

"That's what I mean," he says. "Why keep it? Better to get something new by this point, anyway."

"Ah, that's... I guess it just didn't occur to me," Beach Bear says. Dook knows that's a lie. Why not explain his reasoning?

"And you," his mother says, turning to Dook. "You must be Dook, then?"

"Y- Yeah," Dook says. He holds out a hand. "Dook Larue. Nice to meet ya." Beach Bear's father grips it first, way too tightly.

"Good to meet you too," he says. "Name's Beau."

His mother shakes Dook's hand next. "And I'm Betty," she adds. "We're very happy to have you here, Dook."

Beau is a towering man– taller than both Betty and Beach Bear, and much taller than Dook. Here he was thinking Beach Bear was tall... Beau has gray fur, a strong face, and an equally strong build. Even for someone starting to get up there in age, he's shockingly strong-looking. Dook feels like less of a man, stood next to him. He pats Dook's back– or at least, Dook assumes that's what he meant to do. It's really more of a slap, and it makes Dook near jump out of his skin.

"Well, no point in keeping us all out here," he says. "Let's get you two unpacked."

The group takes their bags from the car and heads inside. The house somehow seems even bigger on the inside– tile flooring, two staircases on either side of the living room, and a fireplace below the TV, propped up onto the wall. Dook continues to feel smaller.

From the top of the left staircase, a ferret pops her head around the corner, waving down toward them.

"Mr. Baxter! The bedroom is finished being cleaned!" She calls.

"Thank you, Margaret," Beau calls back up to her. "Could you take their bags?" Margaret is already on her way down the stairs before he even asks. She moves quickly and smoothly, like she's refined housekeeping down to a formula. She takes their bags, acknowledging the two of them with a nod, before leaving just as quickly as she came.

"You have a maid?" Dook says.

Betty laughs. "Please, don't be ridiculous! Margaret is a housekeeper, not a maid. A maid would live here."

Dook doesn't see much difference between the two. He glances toward Beach Bear for guidance, who doesn't look back.

"Dinner is still cooking," Beau says. "In the meantime, why don't we sit and chat?" He moves toward the couch. Beach Bear and Dook follow, and Betty wanders off upstairs. Beach Bear sits next to his father, and Dook chooses to sit in the chair across from the couch.

"So, Dook," Beau starts. "Tell me about yourself."

"Well, uh–" He wasn't really expecting this. "I, ah. I'm Dook, I'm a drummer, I'm from New Orleans–"

"Lousiana?" Beau asks.

"Y- yeah."

"It's a beautiful state," he says. "Do you speak any French?"

"Ah– No," Dook says. "I know some Spanish, though."

"What led to that?" Beau asks.

"Well, I had to choose which language I wanted to take in school, and I couldn't pronounce the French letters," Dook says candidly. Beau laughs.

"Dad considers himself something of a polyglot," Beach Bear explains. "He gets real excited about it."

"Quite excited," Beau says. Dook isn't sure if he's emphasizing the point, or correcting Beach Bear on his grammar. "Still, Dook, me alegro de conocer a otro hablante de español. ¿No es así?"

"Uhh." Dook doesn't speak this much Spanish. "S- Sí. Muy bien," he says.

"Oh, Beatrice!" Betty calls, quickly going down the stairs toward them. In her arms, three books. "I was in your bedroom, just double-checking Margaret's work– not that I don't think she did a good job, of course, I just like to make sure, since you can never be too careful with these things, y'know– it's so important in situations like these when you've got someone important over and–"

"Damn it, Betty, spit it out," Beau says.

"You'll never guess what I found!" Betty finishes, dropping down the books onto the coffee table between the four of them. They're photo albums.

"Oh, god," Beach Bear says. "Mom, no."

"Why not?" Betty says. "If you and Dook are going steady, he's part of the family now. And if he's going to be part of the family, he should see our family memories. Besides, you've been missing long enough that it's started to feel like these pictures are all I had of you! You might need a refresher yourself, y'know."

"Alright, alright." Beach Bear picks up a book and opens it to a random page. "These are, like, exclusively baby pictures of me," he complains.

"What's wrong with that?" She replies, snatching the book from him. "Anyway–" She sits down next to Dook, flipping back to the first page. "–Here's our Baby Bear when we first brought her home from the hospital–"

"Mom," Beach Bear says.

"Would you quit your complaining?" Betty says.

"I don't think Dook wants to see my baby pictures," he says.

"Dook, do you have any issue with looking at our family memories?" Betty asks Dook.

Dook looks between the two of them, unsure who he should appeal to. Beach Bear would hate it if this continued, but probably wouldn't be too angry at Dook himself. Betty might be angry if they didn't continue, and he doesn't know her well enough to determine how bad it'd be. And... well, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious to see the pictures, too. He shakes his head no.

"See?" Betty says. Beach Bear sighs, but doesn't protest further. He stands from the couch.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he says.

"That's not very becoming language!" Betty calls after him.

"I'm going to powder my nose!" Beach Bear calls back, already halfway to the bathroom.

Betty sighs. "Children," she says to Dook. She flips the page. "Oh, this is her first day of preschool!"

·–—–·

Dook sits at the dinner table, staring down at the array of utensils laid out in front of him. They'd already been served soup, and Dook had to watch which spoon everyone else picked up first. It's silent in the room other than the sound of their own eating, making the whole room feel uncomfortable. At least he's managing. He glances at Beach Bear, sitting across the table from him. His expression is unreadable. Dook hopes he's holding up okay.

"Mr. Baxter," Margaret says, poking her head through the door to the dining room. "Dinner is ready."

"It's early, Margaret, isn't it?" Beau glances at the clock on the wall. "We're still on the first course."

"Yes, sir, but... the meal has been finished for a while now," Margaret protests meekly.

"We're still on the first course," he says again, gesturing to the soup bowl in front of him.

"O- of course, sir, but the meal will get cold if–"

"Margaret–"

"Beau," Betty says, her tone much gentler than his has become. She puts a hand gingerly on his arm. "Margaret, thank you. Please bring in the meal now."

Margaret nods, and disappears behind the door again.

"...Tense dinner," Beach Bear offers.

Both Betty and Beau sigh, but don't answer past that.

It's a moment more of silence before Margaret reappears, pushing a cart of food. Dook immediately recognizes the scent of seafood, but can't place the smell exactly. Margaret places plates in front of everyone at the table. It's an incredibly dark meat, with mushroom and rice on the side.

"Is this...?"

"Seal," Betty says. "It's a delicacy among polar bears... and Beatrice's favorite." She smiles at Beach Bear.

"Yeah," Beach Bear adds. "I haven't had it in ages."

"Dook, you've never had it?" Beau asks. Dook shakes his head, and Beau laughs. "You're in for a treat, then."

Margaret approaches Dook again, with a bottle of wine in hand. She gestures for his glass so she can pour the drink. Dook hesitates. He hasn't had any alcohol since... since his 'incident,' causing this whole mess. He's not sure if having anything to drink tonight is exactly a smart idea.

"I, uh, I really shouldn't," he says quietly to her.

"Don't be ridiculous," Beau says. "You're a guest, have something to drink."

Dook glances toward Beach Bear.

"You wouldn't want to deny their hospitality... honey," he says somewhat awkwardly. Dook had almost forgotten they're meant to be a couple.

"R– right," he says. "I guess I can have a glass, then." He passes his glass to Margaret, who fills it with the dark red liquid. Dook can't deny the little surge of excitement he gets when he sees it pour out of the bottle. What a pretty color.

"So, Dook," Betty says, "tell me about you."

"Well, I–"

"He speaks Spanish," Beau says. "Did you know that?"

"No," Betty says, enthused. "What a cultured young man. How did you meet Beatrice?"

Dook freezes at the question. He knows how they met, but he also knows they'd hate the answer. He hadn't prepared any better of a story.

"We met at a social thing," Beach Bear cuts in. "Remember that youth group thing I mentioned to you on the phone?" Betty nods. "Dook's a counselor for a group a bracket below mine. We had a counselors-only get-together situation, and we met there." He takes a bite of his food. "Very family-friendly."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Beau says. Then, "Dook, I wasn't aware you worked with children."

Dook wasn't aware, either. "I'm... very humble," he says. He stares down at his plate. He didn't even realize seal was a thing anyone ate. It's dark red, almost black. His nose is telling him otherwise, but... he takes a bite. It's unlike anything he's ever had before– and he's unsure if that's a good thing or not. Far too fishy for his taste, he knows. But he know he needs to keep up appearances, so he can't stop eating entirely. Instead, he takes a sip of his wine. It's good– sweet, and not too dry. Dook starts taking bigger sips.

"Mmh," Beau grumbles. "Did you see that story on the news this morning? I swear, they need to bring back actual reporting. This whole thing with–"

"Beau, honey," Betty says. "Not at dinner."

Beau grumbles again, trying to find another topic to discuss. "...Tax season's coming up."

No one knows how to respond– the table falls quiet. Dook finds his glass empty already. He puts it down on the table, picking more at his meal. It only takes a few more nibbles at the meat for Margaret to return with the bottle, offering him more. Who is he to deny their hospitality?

"This is really good," he says to no one in particular as he drinks more.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're enjoying the meal," Betty says. Dook blinks, looking down at his barely-touched plate.

"Right," he says.

The dinner continues in bouts of silence for a while longer– spurts of uncomfortable conversation sandwiched by quiet portions of just eating and drinking. Dook makes his way through about half the plate and a third glass of wine. By then, he's not quite paying attention to the conversations happening around him, more listening idly as he feels that familiar pleasant fuzz come over him.

"So, ah. Mom, Dad, how have things been?" Beach Bear says, if only to break another stretch of silence. "Since I was last here, and all."

"...We redid the game room," Betty says.

Dook's ears perk up. "Game room?"

"Oh, yeah," Beach Bear says. "You'd like it, Dook. We should play a game after this."

"Okay," Dook says, smiling for possibly the first time since they got here. He glances toward Margaret– who moves to open a second bottle.

"And you?" Beau asks, not looking up from his plate. "What have you gotten up to since you stopped talking to us?"

"...Well, uh... Dook and I have been, uh, putting together a band," Beach Bear says.

"Don't tell me you're still doing that music crap," Beau says.

"Beau," Betty says.

"No," he says, "No, this is just ridiculous. If she were a musician, a real one playing real music, I'd understand. But this– this 'rock and roll' thing? There's no class!"

"Dad, I–"

"Is this what you left us for?" He says.

"That's not why!" Dook snaps.

"Dook!" Beach Bear says sharply. "Don't... Don't get involved."

"I... Okay," he says. Beach Bear's right– he's being impulsive. Dook looks to his glass, just in time to see Margaret fill it up again. A wash of shame comes over him. He keeps drinking.

"I don't know what I expected from you," Beau continues. "What did I want? Change? After all this time of you missing?"

"Beau, I think you've had too much wine, honey," Betty tries.

He ignores her. "What did I expect, maturity? Class? Respectability? From you?"

Beach Bear clenches his jaw, but doesn't say anything.

"What other little 'phases' of yours are you not over?" Beau interrogates, standing from his chair and leaning over the table toward Beach Bear. "I swear to God, if I find out you've still been smoking pot, I'll–"

"You'll what?" Beach Bear says. "Disown me?"

Beau opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. Everyone at the table knows Beach Bear is already basically estranged. He sits down.

"...Your voice sounds different," he mutters.

Beach Bear stabs his fork into a mushroom. "I'm still working at the music store, Mom."

Betty laughs, sharp and nervous. "That's– that's great, honey," she says. She stands with her plate. Margaret hurries to take it from her, and only then does Betty seem to remember she's here.

"Excuse me," she says, before hurriedly leaving the room.

·–—–·

"Beach Bear," Dook says.

"I know, it's not what you expected," Beach Bear says.

"Beach Bear."

"Look, I'll teach you how to play, alright? Don't worry about it."

"Beach Bear."

"What?"

"I'm, uh..." Dook shifts awkwardly, the plush carpeting of the game room under his feet making him feel somewhat unsteady. "I'm sorry. About dinner."

"Why?" Beach Bear asks. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"You–" He's still buzzed, which isn't helping him find the right words. "You got mad at me."

Beach Bear sighs. "I'm not mad at you, man. I'm– I'm sorry I snapped at you then. I got stressed, 'cause I thought you were gonna say something about..." His eyes flash to the doorway for a second. "...y'know."

"...I almost did," Dook says.

"But you didn't," Beach Bear tells him. "That's what matters." He stands from the bench they're sitting on. "How are you doing?"

"How am I...?" Dook doesn't understand the question.

"Well, for starters, you were kinda getting through dinner on wine," Beach Bear says. "And I know dinner was... I know my family's..." He makes a sour face, not finishing the sentence.

"I know," Dook says.

"They're... usually better than that. Especially with guests."

"It's been a long time since they saw you," Dook says. "It's– it makes sense if they're, y'know. What's the word?"

"Harboring some emotions?" Beach Bear responds, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Yeah," Dook says, "it's all pent up n' all."

"I guess." Beach Bear doesn't seem happy with the answer, but it's not like there's a better answer out there.

"At least we leave tomorrow," Dook offers.

"Yeah," Beach Bear says. He moves over to Dook's left, toward the billiards table. "You still want me to teach you how to play?"

Dook stands. "Yeah. Show me."

Beach Bear hands Dook a cue before putting all the balls into place. Dook holds it somewhat awkwardly, unsure of the right positioning before settling on holding it horizontally with both hands. Beach Bear finishes setting up the game, resting the stick vertically at his side, and Dook quickly corrects. Beach Bear snickers.

"I'll start," he says. "The goal of the game is to get all of your balls into the holes on the sides of the table. You can only hit the white ball, which has to knock the other balls into the holes. If you get the white ball in the hole, you lose a turn and I get to put it wherever I want. If you get the black 8 ball in the hole before you've done everything else, you automatically lose."

"Which balls are mine?" Dook asks.

"There's the solid color ones and the striped ones– whoever gets one in first gets to claim that type." Beach Bear lines up his cue, hits the white ball, and the group of colored balls scatter. A red striped one lands in a corner pocket. "Looks like I'm stripes. If you get a ball in, you get to go again."

"Sounds like you're makin' up the rules as you go," Dook says. Beach Bear laughs. He lines up again, and hits a green striped ball– which bounces off the edge of a pocket and doesn't go in.

"Your turn, big shot," he says.

Dook assesses the table. There's a solid yellow ball near a pocket, but he's not sure how to actually get it in there. He approaches the white ball, trying to mimic the pose he saw Beach Bear in. After a moment, he hits the ball– or, at least, tries to. His cue is unsteady, and it cants upwards, barely skimming the top of the ball. It rolls forward about an inch.

"You can retry if you want," Beach Bear tells him. Dook moves the ball back to where it started, trying again. This time, he's a bit more powerful, and while he still hits the side of the ball, it moves. It bounces off the wall of the table and lands gracefully in a pocket.

"Damn," he mutters. Beach Bear chuckles, retrieving it from the bottom of the table.

"Looks like I get to go twice again," he teases, placing it back on the table near one of his balls. But his confidence gets the better of him, and he manages to both miss the ball he was going for and land the white one in a pocket again. "Alright, well. Never said I was good at this game."

Dook laughs, taking the ball from him. He isn't sure where to place it, so he just puts it down near one of his balls. "How do you–?" He tries to line up the cue again, still not comfortable with the position.

"Here," Beach Bear says, "lemme show you."

Beach Bear moves behind Dook, wrapping his arms around him to help him into position. His size makes this no issue– he easily reaches Dook's hands and helps him adjust his grip on the cue. He's not fully behind him, slightly off to his left, but Dook can't ignore how it feels to have Beach Bear's whole body lean into him like this. He's so big, and warm, and soft... his fur, while covered by his clothes, still makes him feel almost plush to the touch. Dook would give anything to have this feeling last forever.

"Relax," Beach Bear says. "You're too tense with it."

"Ah– right," Dook says, trying to loosen up. It's hard when they're in this position. Beach Bear slides Dook's left hand forward on the cue, lifting it slightly upward to aim straight at the ball. His right hand clasps over Dook's right hand, pulling the cue back...

Dook's ball rolls smoothly into the pocket.

"We did it," Dook murmurs.

"Yeah!" Beach Bear says, finally pulling away. "Nice job, Dook."

"You did the whole thing for me," Dook says.

"I wasn't the one holding the cue." Beach Bear smirks. Dook flushes, and he finds himself thankful for the alcohol. At least it can serve as a cover for getting this flustered.

"You got real close," he says. "If I didn't know no better, I'd say the fake dating thing wasn't an act." He laughs, trying to make it clear he's joking. Is he joking?

Beach Bear doesn't respond to him directly, just gives him a knowing look. "It's your turn again."

Dook swallows, still unconfident in his own skills. "I, uh. I need help still," he says.

Beach Bear smiles. "Can't get enough of me, huh?" He jokes. "Alright, line up for me. I'll correct you."

Dook finds another ball to aim for and lowers himself toward the table again. It is starting to make more sense for him now, it's just a matter of practice. But he'll never refuse Beach Bear leaning over him and guiding his hands again. Jeez. He's not sure if it's his embarrassment or the wine that's making him feel this warm.

"You're already looking better," Beach Bear says from behind– he's not leaning on Dook this time, but he is leaning very close– he's talking quietly right into his ear. His left hand meets Dook's, guiding his aim. They pull back the cue...

"Oh–!" A voice says from the doorway. Dook hits the ball from reflex, and the 8 ball goes tumbling into the pocket. Game over. Betty stands there, quickly averting her eyes. "Goodness. I didn't expect I'd need to knock."

Beach Bear suddenly straightens at the sight of his mother, and Dook follows. "No need to knock," Beach Bear says. "I'm just helping Dook with his aim. He's never played billiards before."

Betty sighs, though the flush on her face is still there. "Of course. I just wanted to let you two know the room is ready, whenever you're ready for bed."

"The room?" Dook asks.

"Yes, your bedroom. Is there an issue?"

The two look at each other. Are they going to be sharing a bedroom? Did both of them forget to factor this in? Beach Bear shakes his head. "No issue here," he says. "Can you– uh– we should go there, now."

"R- right," Dook says.

"Yes," Betty concurs.

The two hastily put their cues back where they got them and follow Betty to the bedroom. Dook spares a quick glance at Beach Bear, and while he can't tell for sure, it looks like he's blushing, too.

They head upstairs and down a hallway– this place really is a mansion. After a few minutes, they finally reach the room. Betty opens the door for them, and the three file inside.

“M– Mom,” Beach Bear says, a dawning look of horror on his face.

The room is very clearly that of a little girl’s. The walls are covered in a pale blue, flowery wallpaper. The bed, while large enough for two adults, is covered in plushes and decorative pillows- a pink striped blanket covers the mattress. The walls are adorned with flower-themed decorations, crayon drawings, and a few band posters.

“You redid the game room, but… not my bedroom?” He asks. “In like, seven years?”

“Why would we?” Betty replies. “We wanted to preserve what was here. We love you, Baby Bear.”

Beach Bear all but winces at hearing that. What exactly are they preserving by keeping this the way it is? This isn’t Beach Bear at all. Whoever used to live in this room… they’re clearly gone, if they ever lived here at all. Dook looks at the way Betty beams at the sight of the room. She’s so wrapped up in protecting her daughter, she hasn’t realized in all this time that she doesn’t have one.

Betty pats Beach Bear on the shoulder. “Goodnight, honey,” she tells him, before leaving the room.

Beach Bear swallows, then sighs. “I’m, uh–”

“It’s okay,” Dook says, smiling shyly at him. “I don’t mind how the room looks.”

“I’m sorry about her, too.”

“Hey.” Dook nudges him in the arm, stopping himself just short of taking his hand. “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong. So you don’t gotta apologize for nothin’.”

Beach Bear smiles faintly. “Yeah,” he says. “We… still have to share a bed, though.”

“We don’t have to,” Dook suggests. “I could…” He eyes a plush looking chair in the corner. “I could sleep there.”

“Nah, I’m not gonna make you do that,” Beach Bear says. “We’ll just rough it.” He chuckles to himself, and approaches the bed. “It’s like camping. You gotta put up with tough shit sometimes, but it’s part of the fun.”

Dook follows him to the bed. “You doin’ okay? With everything that’s happened?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Beach Bear says, but Dook recognizes a twinge of that tired tone in his voice.

“...’Least we leave tomorrow,” Dook says.

Beach Bear smiles, the most genuine smile he’s seen from him all day. “Yeah,” he says. “Hope you don’t mind being my boyfriend until then.”

Dook snickers, climbing onto the bed. “Not if you don’t mind being mine.”

“Take your clothes off, you dweeb,” Beach Bear teases, hitting Dook with a pillow.

“Fine.” Dook pulls his shirt off. Margaret’s left their bags neatly opened by the window. Dook goes over to it and pulls out their pajamas. “I’ve never seen you wear pajamas,” he tells Beach Bear.

“Because I don’t wear pajamas,” he says. “I sleep in my underwear. But my parents would–”

“--hate that,” Dook finishes.

“Exactly. Gimme.” Dook tosses them over before changing into his own.

“Well,” Dook says, rejoining Beach Bear in bed. “One more day?”

“Half a day,” Beach Bear says. “We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.” Dook gets comfortable under the covers as Beach Bear reaches for the light. Teasing each other about dating is fun and all, but the idea of actually sleeping in the same bed as Beach Bear makes Dook’s heart beat at a mile a minute. He’s a little afraid Beach Bear might actually be able to hear it. But there’s no time to question it– they’re already in bed together.

“Goodnight, ‘babe,’” Beach Bear says as he turns off the light.

Dook’s heart flutters. “Goodnight, honey.”

[karmas-chameleon]

So uh

...I wrote the thing 😅

I prepared for bed in our bathroom, brushing my teeth and my hair and flossing and finally giving my face a good wash, looking at it in the mirror after patting it dry with a towel.

The pimple that had appeared on my cheek so suddenly a week or two ago was finally beginning to fade, or at least to come back down to be level with the rest of my skin. There was still an angry red spot remaining there, and I knew it'd take several weeks more for that to go away, if it ever did. Until then, it blended in almost indistinguishably with the patchwork of other reddish-brown marks on my face. 

I knew those would never fade. They'd each been marring my skin since they chose to appear out of nowhere, just like that pimple, in my teenage years or beyond. Over the years I'd collected a faceful of pockmarks and discolorations, and the cause of them showed no sign of stopping. 

Even before I'd started dating Manfred, people regularly mistook me for a teenager - possibly for a generally youthful look or style, or my squeaky voice that I cringed at whenever I heard it played back to me - but I'd wondered on occasion if it was just the acne. It certainly didn't help. And it added another thing for me to feel self-conscious about, especially as I grew older. As a teenager, I hoped I'd be rid of this problem once I was old enough, and that when I turned eighteen, I'd magically age out of it. I didn't, and I'd be reminded of that at least once or twice a month.

What person in their mid twenties still gets acne like a teenager?

“Admiring yourself?”

I was brought out of my intense staring contest with the mirror by my boyfriend's voice, and I turned to him with a frown. “Um, not exactly.”

“What's the matter?” Manfred drew closer to me with a concerned expression.

“It's just-” I looked back to the mirror and poked at my latest potential scar, “I've got another pimple.”

“That’s been there for at least a week, I believe. You only noticed it now?”

I pouted at him. “No. I'm just mad that it won't go away already.”

“I'm sure it won't last that much longer. And even with it, you still look lovely as ever, my dear.” Manfred traced a finger gently along my cheek and smiled. I muttered a thanks, but it was half-hearted at best, and he knew it. “Now what's wrong? Surely you're not this upset over a little blemish?”

“Not just the one,” I mumbled. “I wouldn't be sad about one spot, not if it didn't stay on my face forever and have dozens just like it. It's the scars I don't like.”

Manfred looked puzzled. “Scars?”

“Yeah. Y'know, the, uh,” I gestured vaguely at both cheeks, “this stuff. The weird blotches and dents and things.”

“I…wasn't aware that those were scars.”

I stared blankly at him. “What…what did you think they were?”

“Some type of freckles, I suppose.”

“Freckles?” I raised an eyebrow. “This isn't what any kind of freckles look like.”

He crossed his arms defensively. “Well, I'm not a dermatologist, am I?”

“You don't have to be. Freckles look normal, this looks like…” I glanced back at the mirror and rubbed a hand against my cheek, feeling skin that was rough and marked and somehow already starting to get oily again, only minutes after I'd washed it. “It looks like something left behind by a disease. Something gross.”

Manfred cupped his hand around my own and turned my face toward him. His voice had softened. “My dear, you shouldn't say such things.”

“But it's true, isn't it? You're just being nice.” I pulled my hand away from his and let it fall to my side. My gaze dropped as well, and my voice that I'd managed to keep somewhat steady began to falter. “I know everyone else can see it.”

“I think you're wrong about that. Not everyone looks at you so critically, not even the vast majority, I'd say. Has anyone ever told you such an inconsiderate, awful thing to make you believe otherwise?”

“...No,” I mumbled, sniffling as my lips began to tremble and move against my will.

“Is it what's left unsaid? Have I failed to tell you just how beautiful you look to me? Because you are beautiful, my dear. Every part of you. Especially your face, with your sweet little smile and your bright eyes that can look into mine and think me flawless. I only wish you could see yourself as I do.”

Manfred took me by the shoulders and moved us both to face the mirror, gently tilting my head up to look at our reflections. I saw a face now red and puffy with tears, and my boyfriend's kind smile right next to it.

“I see a very lucky man, and a lovely woman who doesn't give herself enough credit.” He cut between me and the mirror and supported my chin with a hand, looking into my eyes. 

If I couldn't bring myself to believe his words, or trust my own vision, I could at least understand the look of love on his face. And as he leaned in and kissed me on both scarred cheeks, I couldn't feel anything less than beautiful.

[devondespresso]

WIP WhhhMonday Nightish

Once upon a time Devon was tagged in a wip wednesday by @eriquin and meant to do it but missed both wednesday and the weekend before remembering again. totally unrelated, Devon is working on getting their official adhd diagnosis.

i also noticed that the past snippets shared in wip-whatever posts have been purposefully the least interesting parts because i was worried about spoilers, which is dumb because that's created the unintended consequence of my tag is full of everything i don't like as much and a very different impression of what my fic is (as seen by most of these snippets being my rewritten scenes despite the actual fic being mostly new in-between scenes)

TLDR: WIP Whatever-day-it-is: But Actually For Fun This Time

The Rules

Post the file names of up to 5 of your WIPs for people to send you asks

Post a snippet of one of those WIPs

When people send you an ask with the name of one of your WIPs, write 3 lines of that WIP.

(Optional) Post the lines you wrote.

You can send multiple requests especially since this is going on through the weekend!

The WIPs

we're doing bulleted chapter titles to share from since that was my favorite and genuinely most productive format I've used. Feel free to ask for as many as you want, I plan on working on this basically all week

Karen Wheeler POV Bonus Chapter (Prologue kinda? side story in the same universe?? Bonus chapter set after season 1 and way before ch 1)

Steve, are you okay? Are you okay, Steve? (ch 9)

What's this? The consequences of my actions? (Is that a motherfucking Lovejoy reference?) (ch 10)

Kidnapping? no. surprise adoption. (lol get taken care of BITCH) (ch 11)

NEXT CHAPTER BC IDK HOW TO TRANSITION (ch 12) (a very tentative title for the next chapter to be written)

The Snippet

here is my favorite and most recent scene I've written, which takes place before they junkyard where Steve and Dustin are at the grocery store to get that ungodly amount of raw meat they have to toss around (also i've split chapters up a bit in the name of structure so the third chapter is now called "Mommy Issues Central". Lemme know any goofy vine reference ideas you guys have or if it should stay like that) (fear not, Get Yo Fucking Dog Bitch lives on still as chapter 4)

___

They turned down the next aisle, lining the edges of the cart with some other pasta-related shit that he could still probably use. They heard someone coming over from the next aisle and before he could turn the cart around Mrs Wheeler pulled up.

"Oh, Steve ...and Dustin. What're you boys up to?"

He took a short breath to work their story into something without Mike, but Dustin beat him to it.

"He's teaching me stuff." 

He was imitating the tone Steve used but still way too vague. Mrs Wheeler held up a smile, her brows slightly lifted.

"Y'know, like cooking-" Steve said, throwing in a little gesture to the cart.

"And cars, changing oil and things. Y'know just.. dad stuff."

Dustin's part convinced her, Mrs Wheeler's expression softening into a real smile.

"Well I won't keep you long," 

She nodded off to the side to talk to Steve one-on-one.

Great.

“Are you and Nancy okay?”

“Wh- we’re- Why? Did she say something?”

“No, no, she’s just been… closed off, lately. And I drove her to school the other day, she didn’t say why.”

“Sh- yeah, that- that’s on me. Sorry.”

“Did you break up?”

“No no, definitely not. We’re kinda… we’re working on it. I’m going to try and make it better, after y’know..” he gestured to Dustin behind him.

“Right.” she smiled again, “Let Nancy know she can talk to me about any of this? Please? I tell her but- I don't know, maybe it’d be different coming from you.”

He held up a smile for her.

“Yeah, sure. Mind if we..” he jutted a thumb towards the end of the aisle.

“Yes, go ahead.”

He gave her a short wave and turned back to Dustin, who studied random shit in the aisle like Steve would believe his sudden fascination with olive oil outweighed childish curiosity.

“Steve-”

He turned back around, seeing Mrs Wheeler coming back up to him and whispering again.

“I know I’m not your mother, but you can talk to me, too. Both of you, okay?”

He kept the smile in place and nodded again, and she finally went back to her cart.

Dustin “Definitely-Not-Eavesdropping” Henderson followed him out of the aisle, thankfully waiting until they were out of earshot to ask.

“What's going on with you and Nancy?”

“Thought we had ‘much bigger problems than my love life’?”

He pulled up to the deli, stopping to pretend to look at the options.

“We’re not dropping everything for it but we can still talk.” he groaned.

“I’ll tell you later, kay? Not exactly the best place to talk.''

___

Tags

@stobinesque @spoookysix @marvel-ous-m @alexcharmsyou @museumgiftshoperaser @blushweddinggowns @sharpbutsoft @fag4dykestobin @findafight (no pressure ofc and feel free to switch it to actually wednesday fhuhjdklashj) (also just let me know if you don't wanna be tagged in these)

[thatboxylady]

nothing like a mini fic where jetstorm from a thrust reformatted au meets the canon universe thrust :)

"Neither of us is the real deal, you know," Jetstorm finally said. Better to address the proverbial elephant in the room now before they hurt themselves worse, or frag forbid an actual elephant came through-- damn Maximals. He was too tired to add any real sass to his inflection for the sake of a bit, because the only bit he was having to deal with right now was the piece of broken reality in front of him. He felt like he was going crazy. "Not as far as the other is concerned. Sorry. All we are to each other is a... copy. Copies."

"What makes you say that?"

Even hearing his voice felt wrong. At least the feeling seemed to be mutual? For as mutual as you could get when the world was upside down with nothing to adhere to, because none of this should have been happening. Thrust was still standing relatively stiff and squared off, which was a telltale sign he was anxious. Primus, it was like he never left. Like...

Both Vehicons continued to linger by the edge of the pit. Neon green bioluminescence splashed over their frames. it smelled like rotting organic matter and rust down here. The stank of underground musk was mud drenched in battery acid. Vague sulfur lingered on his olfactory sensors like the disorientation that came from a waking nightmare. "Storm?"

"We're not from the same..." Jetstorm hated how he was struggling with this. Talking to a reflection of a dead man who somehow wasn't dead in the way he had become used to was a little unnerving, honestly. "Urgh. Roller wonder, you know what I'm trying to say. If you're anything like my version of Thrust, you would understand..."

"I know. I ain't playin' dumb, I promise. I'm just wanting to figure out if you're thinkin' the same way my Jetstorm would." Thrust shrugged, and frag, even the way he held himself was identical. "That make sense?"

"Was there even any difference between our universes besides... this?" Jetstorm gestured to the pit and regretted taking a closer look. On the rock jutting from the center of the pool were marks. Some with fushia paint transfer from where his Thrust had tried to bash his own head in; with blue where his own counterpart had tried the same. Whatever was necessary to stop the pain each must have gone through. The blending of their realities had superimposed those separate instances on top of each other, leaving them plain to see in all its technicolor suffering. They were looking at their own doppelgangers' graves as much as someone they cared about.

"You mean the other one dying," Thrust mumbled. "I haven't noticed, if that makes you feel any better. You're identical."

"It doesn't. I'm still thinking that this feels wrong," Jetstorm murmured. "You're not my Thrust. I'm not willing to replace him. What would he--?"

"I'd think he'd want you to be happy," Thrust suddenly said. He didn't look at him, keeping his stare straight at that same rock. The green refracting off his armor made him look as sick as sad. "I'd want you to be happy, y'know? Ain't a lot of that in abundance around here. We always what we get and don't question the good stuff when it comes, because gettin' too comfortable means that losing it will hurt."

That was more than fair.

"I say we take it for what it is. No one's getting replaced," Thrust continued. Now he did turn to look at him. "We're just picking where the other left off so we get taken care of. I think that's why this is happening. We could take it for what it is-- no one is replacing anyone."

Jetstorm scoffed. "You wouldn't be even a little upset?"

"Would you?"

Theeere it was. The hail mary gone bloody in the face of losing everything you cared about, versus gaining it back through a looking glass. What was even real at this point? Was it worth trying to figure out when your entire world was ripped out from underneath you, only to get dropped back on your plate as if his partner, friend, mate hadn't been murdered? "No."

"We ain't ever gettin' a second chance as good as this one."

Jetstorm hummed. "Guess not, roller boy."

"That settles it, then-- right? You wanna go? I could use a drink. Maybe a reintroduction, too. I'll try not to ram you off a freeway this time."

Jetstorm managed to laugh at that. It was only a little, but it was a start. Running away with a second chance felt like "We could try to get this right this time. Better be careful! I still bite, biker boy."

The bastard laughed right back, and damn. After going so long without hearing that smokey codec, having it resonating against his processor bordered something beautiful. "That ain't ever scared me."

All they ever had between them was blues despite the stardom; bruised in all the glamour laid before them. This broken life they were born into was the only one they had, with the few parts shared between them that made it worth surviving. Through all of the sorrow, though? Jetstorm was ready to feel like flying high again-- this reflection of Thrust seemed more than ready to do the same. Even with all they had lost, the truth of the matter was neither one of them had ever let the other go. "Nothing wrong with that," Jetstorm answered.

[rbelle310]

A burger holder seems like a gag gift, but the weird plastic doohicky is the gift Kiyoomi buys Atsumu for his birthday because for as long as he's known Atsumu, the setter has never been able to eat a burger without it falling apart.

It's absolutely baffling to Kiyoomi: Atsumu is a man who displays so much dexterity and finesse with his (very beautiful) hands. His brother owns a damned onigiri store. How different could they be to eat neatly?

"It's so different Omi!" protests Atsumu with his mouth still half-full of burger (Kiyoomi very very briefly reconsiders his love).

He's halfway through his All-In Megastack and the paper lining on the tray is already littered with bits of lettuce, a half-bitten slice of tomato, and the tragic tail end of a piece of bacon.

Atsumu swallows and takes another big bite, dislodging a bit of onion that now dangles precariously from the tenuous grip of smashed beef patty and toasted potato bun.

Kiyoomi nibbles on a fry with pepper mayo while waiting for him to elaborate.

"An onig-" Atsumu starts, pauses to swallow again and take a sip of soda before continuing, "Samu's onigiri is perfectly shaped, an' y'know the rice is lightly kneaded to hold together with the fillin'. A burger's just..."

He gestures vaguely and the unfortunate onion (now nicknamed Mufasa) plunges to its untimely demise.

"A burger's just stacked. Mebbe it's got some cheese an' stuff to hold it together, but it ain't properly compacted."

"Sounds like what you really need is a sandwich press." huffs Kiyoomi amusedly, "But I've seen your paninis fall apart at lunch too. Why don't you just use the holder I got you?"

"Awww Omi~~ I can't carry it with me everywhere! It's not like I plan for burgers!"

"I suppose not." Kiyoomi relents.

Today was one such example after all. They were supposed to have conveyor belt sushi but the queue was too long for their voracious athlete appetites.

He finishes his fries and Atsumu wolfs down the rest of his now All-Out Megadebris meal.

"Gochisousama~" Atsumu intones, lilting Kansai-ben making the customary words all the more adorable to Kiyoomi's ears.

The love of his life is a walking mass of contradictions. He handles the ball with such grace, but grips his burgers with a hamfist.

He sometimes says the silliest things even in front of the press, but he's conscientious enough to say the customary words of appreciation to the line cook who will never hear it.

He'll put aside time every night to moisturise and manicure his hands to keep them in perfect condition, but here he is carelessly brushing sesame seeds and sauce off his fingers with a crumpled and over-used serviette.

Atsumu is baffling, yet endearing, he fills Kiyoomi with no small amount of consternation, but also causes his heart to swell with vast amounts of affection.

"Here, your fingers are going to be sticky." Kiyoomi chides softly, pulling a pack of wet wipes from his pocket.

He takes those messy hands in his own clean ones and carefully wipes each finger down, even rubbing under the nails. And once Atsumu's hands are sauce-free and pristinely smooth, Kiyoomi presses a kiss against a knuckle.

Thanks to the wipes, his boyfriend's skin smells like sweet muskmelon and aloe instead of fast food, so Kiyoomi is content to let his lips linger a little longer, maybe brush more than once against other parts of Atsumu's hands as he murmurs, "There, all clean."

"T-thanks Omi." Atsumu squeaks, face as red as the half-eaten tomato on the tray.

He's so hot and yet so damn adorable at the same time. Kiyoomi tightens his grip ever so slightly and gives a teasing smile that promises more than wet wipes and kisses when they get home.

Atsumu only grows redder at the provocation, squirming in his seat. Cute.

So, maybe Kiyoomi was just a teensy bit annoyed at his gift going to waste. But if he were really honest with himself, maybe the messy burgers weren't really such a bad thing if he could still make Atsumu blush like that with just wet wipes and a smile.

[space-ninja-fashion-show]

Okay!! Big ramble copied straight from notepad here we go

Spoilers for TNW and random things before it + Entrati rank 5

I am slowly (bc i am v v sleepy for no reason) rotating in my brain about Giving North A Frame

Bc like

They suck at void magic by default and it takes a lot of learning for them to be able to reliably do the most basic stuff like void mode/void sling during an actual mission, and they highly prefer sticking to the sirocco/rumblejack/nataruk instead of trying to use an amp

So ofc they don't excel at transference either

It's actually so much worse than the other void magic powers too bc transference is Collaborative and you can't just be bad at it In Private and possibly practice until you're No Longer That Bad At It. Also it is a wholeass Ordeal

And their first attempts at transference were Not a fun experience

With Umbra, even Kohlrabi doesn't use transference all that much, the two of them prefer to work side by side rather than as one, so while he allowed North to try so that they could learn, it's overall v clear that Umbra Would Prefer Not To. He also immediately got hit with all of North's doubts/anxiety/etc about not being innately good at void magic bc North doesn't know how to put a filter over the connection when using transference (doesn't even know that's a thing you can and should do at first) so it was overall v unpleasant for Umbra while also putting his Dad Instincts on high alert, and North was just having a bad time in general, so y'know. No One Liked That

With Alden it went worse

And by worse i mean the moment North transferred into Alden they were violently thrown right back out

It was not on purpose and Alden did and still does feel so fuckin bad about it. It was all instinct, like blinking when someone waves near your face even if you Know they aren't going to poke you in the eye. A consciousness other than Kohlrabi's connecting to Alden just felt so viscerally wrong to him and it got That reaction. While he allows North to try again and the two of them Can work together via transference if needed, the whole thing is forever marked by that first failure and is overall generally stilted. Alden and North get along swimmingly otherwise, just. not when transference is involved bc it puts a damper on their teamwork when they both know that between Alden and Kohlrabi it's always seamless

With Lanius they never even try for a million different reasons, which is actually part of the reason North gets along most comfortably with Lanius out of the three frames that are around when they arrive. There is no awkwardness from knowing how wrong it goes if they try to share a body, and they just. vibe. Not a single day in Duviri did North guess they'd someday be spending afternoons entranced by the most infested warframe in the world telling them about convergent evolution, but they're not complaining

But the issue remains: North doesn't have a warframe

And that's fine to them, honestly, they prefer it that way, and for a while i was gonna leave it as that too. But both for ease of working with canon quests and bc some stuff grabbed ahold of my brain and refuses to let go, I think instead it goes something like this:

North gets hurt

This is not unusual seeing as they continue to fight the way they did during TNW, with just their squishy human body and stubbornness and their new void powers they're slowly growing into actually using in tense situations. There's always various levels of disapproval from the ppl around them when they get hurt, but so what? All part of the job. It's not like they Died. They can just get patched up, don't bother waiting to heal up all the way, and get back out there. It's fine

(Gestures vaguely at what we understand of Duviri so far. It is, in fact, Not Fine)

Anyway

North gets hurt

And this time it's…notably worse than usual. No clue what happens exactly, but they're a fair distance away from Kohlrabi and Alden wreaking havoc in some other corner of whatever base they're running a mission in, and it's something North knows a frame would just shake themself off and move on about, but North isn't a frame, and they don't use void mode or transference on instinct to protect from harm, and they don't have a frame that might yank them back into transference at the last moment like Alden had learned to do for Kohlrabi, all they have is flesh and bad ideas and pain

For a moment there's the urge to not radio to Kohlrabi, the thought that "if you got hurt, they could too, and that's not a price that's worth it to pay"

In the end they do call in and they get rescued and they make it, but the worry from around them grows, bc it was Too Close this time. For a while they're just Not Allowed to go on higher intensity missions and they know that if Kohlrabi doesn't drop it soon and doesn't stop siccing Ordis on them, they'll need to start sneaking out to Get Shit Done alone this time

There is stuff to do while they recover ofc. They spend time helping out on Cetus, Hako (bc by this point they're friends) takes them on a few void runs, but most importantly to this story: they wander around on the Cambion Drift with Lanius and Keiko sometimes. Keiko doesn't much care about digging around for bio samples and a million different fucked up Entrati basements all that much, but Lanius never stopped being an infested scientist even after getting warframe-ified, so sometimes they go down to deimos and help out and Lanius gets to be really excited about things. And bc the void grants immunity from the infestation, they start bringing North along while they recover, to give them something to do, and also bc Lanius likes them (Keiko also likes them but she isn't the kinda person to admit it and also she finds it hilarious that North is oddly intimidated by her rude 14-year-old ass)

At some point they end up cracking open yet another isolation vault. They end up with a whole lot of the usual - bio samples, data for maps that need to be updated, some resources to bring home. Lanius and North use scintillant as target practice

They also find

A cryopod

Weirdly old-school even in orokin terms, gilded and decked out with the same gold-coin-plated look as a lot of other Entrati related things, and damaged. The infestation doesn't exactly rust things but it does chip away even at what's inorganic, and this cryopod is running on borrowed time

They open it up, and inside

They find a warframe

Gilded and only as tall as maybe North themself, and completely inanimate. Logically North knows that that's what warframes are meant to be, but between all three frames they know being autonomous and the knowledge that Lanius had come out of their own cryopod swinging when found anew, it feels uncanny

It's also generally uncanny to just. find a warframe somewhere

Keiko's general opinion is "we'll go tell Gomaitru or Vilcor about it and they'll probably send those grineer boys down here to haul it up if they want it bc Lan and I sure as hell aren't carrying that thing all the way up and you straight up Can't"

Which is entirely untrue bc Keiko may be a rude lil shit but she's also a kid and feeling about as unnerved by the random frame as North and Lanius are, and it feels wrong to just walk away and let someone else deal with this. But long, long before she could actually break about it and decide to drive the strange frame topside via transference, North speaks, not taking their eyes off the frame:

"I could try to, you know. walk them up. Just this small distance, so we don't have to carry them."

And, well

They do

Bc they know how to use transference even if they hardly ever do, and it works shockingly easily this time despite how fast their heart is beating, and

It sucks

It fuckin sucks

If seeing an inanimate frame was uncanny, this is downright horrifying, to jump into a body without anyone there to greet you. Even getting thrown right back out of Alden was better than this bc at least there was Someone There

This?

This is empty

North manages to walk the frame up and all the way back to the Necralisk, feeling five inches beside their own body the whole time. It feels like standing alone in a room meant for a crowd. They bring the frame to Vilcor and when North transfers back out of them, they're hit with the smallest spike of anxiety that isn't all theirs, but they don't realise that until much, much later. Once they're gone, unlike how it happens in the game, the frame just…collapses

(Being back in their own body hardly makes them feel better. It's the knowledge getting driven home, that most frames don't walk around, that they don't get to be people anymore. That Umbra and Alden and Lanius having identity and personhood and autonomy instead of being empty shells is something rare and special)

Vilcor is pleasantly surprised at seeing the frame

He tells them it was never actually used by Tenno, never had its somatic link accessed before North transferred into it, never got bonded to anyone. It was a project that succeeded enough to not be considered a failure but which was never a resounding success enough to be worth to put into use. Something about coming too late into the collection of groundbreaking frames and not part of the growing ranks of primes, and not garnering interest from the right officials

So off to an isolation vault it went for a later date, and that later date didn't come until centuries later

Its name was Lavos, Vilcor tells them, entirely unlike introducing a person. Something about a mastery of elements and revolutionising the energy consumption of frames and heralding a new level of power and destruction one shotgun blast at a time. It mostly just sounds like he's reminiscing about a business pitch

They end up bringing the lavos back to the Orbiter in the Camp just bc it doesn't Feel Right to do anything else. All three of them are shaken in the aftermath. Lanius and Keiko stay the night instead of taking off in the Bandit to go back to doing their own thing. North eventually ends up pouring their heart out to Kohlrabi about the whole situation and in return Kohlrabi tells them about what it had felt like to pilot Alden before he started becoming more of a person again

I'm not sure how exactly things go after this and it's getting late and i've run out of steam but: lavos ends up as North's frame partly as homage to the fact that i played TNW with my lavos, and North gets to build a relationship via transference instead of it just being a v anxiety-inducing skill to them, and they end up with more of a friendship of being on the same level instead of the parent-child relationships the other frames in the group have going on with their tenno. Idk anything about lavos in detail yet besides that he has Big Anxiety. I need a name and a canon look for him and everything

[marooncookie]

y'know what. you're all viewing this everyone deserves to see wholesome dave and bambi moments don't tag as a ship if you ship them romantically pleas ..... tagging as ship if it's interpreted as qppr is fine tho image text below the cut

dave gets sick, bambi is worried about his health the entire time lol. and dave's just chilling (or trying to with the constant sniffling and coughing) and bambi comes in with a bowl of soup. "here. i made you this." he says as he hands it to dave. dave is... skeptical. bambi's not exactly a bad cook per say, what he makes is edible (to him at least, because the amount of corn he puts in everything could probably kill a man), but dave tries it and realizes. oh. "this is actually really good?" dave exclaims. "you sound surprised." bambi says. "well, no offense, but i think most people would probably collapse and die if they ate as much corn as you do." dave replies, eating another spoonful of soup. bambi shuffles. "well, i figured it might be good to like, look up stuff that helps with being sick, and um. y'know." he gestures vaguely, seeming a little bashful. dave gives him a playful look. "aw, you do care about me!" bambi blinks, not quite getting the whole teasing part of that statement. "well of course i do, you dumb idiot." the insult tacked onto the end of that statement somehow managed to sound affectionate. dave ponders his soup, and a smile creeps on his face. a genuine one, for once. "really though, thank you, bambi." he says, happiness evident in his voice. bambi tugs at his hat a little, though he's smiling too. "eh, it was no big deal..." he mutters. even after dave finishes the soup (which seriously was really good, what the hell) he's still touched by the gesture. he never doubts his friendship with bambi, even with his aggressive outbursts, but it's times like this that really make dave 100% sure that he made a good choice by being bambi's friend. IM SO NOT NORMAL. OOGHOHGHGH THEYRE SO (incomprehensible noises)

[spacegaynsfw]

hey! i’m exploring myself in regards to the aspec spectrum and i was hoping i could hear about your place on it and your experience because i’m really struggling rn

Hey!! I will do my absolute best, I'm not going to lie I haven't done too much soul searching on my end (partly because I don't feel the need to find an exact label for my experience; I'm just fine with making a vague gesture and going "idk, somewhere on the aspec spectrum lmao") but I can tell you a bit about what I've experienced that's led me to that conclusion!!

So, one big thing I realized that made me go "oh shit maybe I'm ace" is that I realized that people actually will look at people, people they don't know, and just based on their appearance as a human being... will want to fuck them? Or maybe even feel aroused by this??? I always thought maybe it was a bit of an exaggeration, like, based on how they thought they were hot? Like I can look at a person and go "yeah they're hot" but by that I mean "yes, they have a combination of physical attributes that is seen widely as attractive." It's not that I necessarily find them attractive, it's that I know other people do. Granted, there's an occasional exception here and there, but they're few and far between.

Another thing is with sexual fantasies. Rarely, if ever, do I actually put myself at the center of these. Even with reading and writing self-insert fic, it is almost never ME that I'm imagining as "you." Y'know? I'm usually fantasizing about scenarios, yes, but they're like, detached stories with no particular person involved. Certainly not myself. I will occasionally find myself fantasizing about specific body parts, but that's pretty rare, too. Definitely specific actions, though, even if not part of an overall scenario.

One of the things that made me hesitate from adopting the label was the fact that I'm like, a horny motherfucker and that's not very asexual of me (even though I KNOW that's not how that works.) You can be horny and not experience sexual attraction. You can not experience sexual attraction and be super kinky! Being sexually attracted to someone or not doesn't mean you can't have a fun time together. Certainly hasn't stopped me.

The other thing (and if you want more information on types of desire and just like, a good book on sexuality, particularly in women, please read Come As You Are by Emily Nagoski, it's SO good) is that my desire is 99.9% responsive. I pretty much never am just sitting there and apropos of nothing get horny. It's always something external that triggers it, whether it's a porn post I come across, a message I receive, or I actively seek out material that makes me wanna do sexy stuff. Granted, sometimes people's desire is responsive and they're no asexual, and that's totally normal! But for me I definitely think the two go hand in hand.

As for the aromantic side of things, that I'm still ruminating on. I've been tapped out of the dating game since early 2021 and I don't have any intention on changing that anytime soon, plus my relationship with my domme and her subs is enough for me right now, even though it isn't romantic in nature. Other than a couple of people, all the romantic relationships in my life have felt somewhat forced, although I don't know if that's because they actually were, or because I was a closeted lesbian and they really were forced. Granted, I also haven't had an honest to god crush in... years. Maybe ever? I genuinely don't know. So yeah, that I still need to sort out.

Anyway, I hope this was helpful, and if you have any specific questions or anything you wanna talk about please let me know!!! I'm happy to chat about it whenever!!

[eddiebun]

About this piss kink writing idea...*slides $20 across the table slowly*

okay, let’s get into it a lil.. this is a bit rough but !!

18+, smut, bf!eddie x afab shy!reader, piss kink/control, peeing (always practice safe sex and kink play), public, dacryphilia, humiliation(?), teasing, dash of corruption kink, don’t read if any of this is something you’re uncomfortable with ♡ everything is 100% consensual and boundaries would’ve been talked about for both parties

you and eddie had discussed this thing, a new little thrill to dabble in and much to his surprise, this one was all your suggestion.

"maybe.. like— y'know how you sometimes control when i can cum and stuff," you spoke nervously, eyes restlessly peering around the room, "maybe you can do that for when i need to go." you were being vague but you just hoped your inquisitive-eyed boyfriend would get the gist of your words filled with salacious desire to explore new boundaries but reluctant mind beating you down, hearing a little voice telling you it was silly.

eddie knew you were always timid, not so much around him anymore but nonetheless you had always been on the quiet side so he didn't poke fun at you when you had enough courage to come to him about something that clearly had you hesitant to share.

"like when you gotta piss or something?" he asked— genuinely, seeing your hands come up to cover your face in embarrassment whilst you nodded shamefully.

you felt your hands peel away from your face, seeing your boyfriend leaned in close with a smug little smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "that's cute, i like it." he admitted, hushed voice.

you hadn’t relieved yourself since your initial morning routine of getting ready for school and all, and now you were about two little strawberry milk boxes in, blissfully clueless as to your boyfriends secret little ideas running laps in his head.

so here you were, propped on his lap at the cafeteria table, lunch in full swing and an abundance of voices and commotion happening around you, just like any other day but, it wasn’t just any other day.

“i gotta pee.” you huffed out after sipping the last drops from the second carton of strawberry milk your boyfriend had ever so kindly bought you, setting it on the table as you went to push yourself up off of your boyfriends lap, yelping when his grip only got firmer.

“i’ll be back in a second.” you promised him, finding it sweet that he was being clingy, shifting around in his lap so you could turn and give him a tender little peck on his cheek before you once again, attempted to get yourself on your feet, no success.

you turned to him once again, eyebrows furrowed and your lips puffed out in irritation, watching him nod his head— gesturing for you to lean in, “you can hold it or soil your entire outfit and mine in front of everyone right now.”

oh. you gulped, fingernails digging into the flesh of his tatted arm, heat rising up in your entire body, sending waves of excitement to your core and you were only getting more restless, it was uncomfortable, when you needed to go you needed to.

“h-here?” you whispered out in horror, blinking around the cafeteria before eddie pushed your chin, getting your attention back on him.

“no one else is watching, i promise sweetpea.” he cooed soothingly and you relaxed a little which didn’t last long, being reminded of your need to relieve your bladder.

“hold it till the end of lunch then we’ll skip gym class, your favourite.” he said sarcastically, you both hated gym class, mostly due to your classmates, “we’ll go home instead.” his arms squeezed around your waist and you winced at the pressure on your bladder.

“okay.” you bit on the inside of your lip, soft breathing escaping your lips as you tried to concentrate on anything else other than the urge to rush to the bathroom, you could hold it, you could do it. lunch would be over in no time.. but eddie’s constant pressing at your bottom abdomen was not helping one bit.

you tried your best in suppressing the feeling, which was oddly teetering on the edge of pleasure. the way his hand felt at your tummy was a pretty delicious sensation and he had you practically imprisoned on his lap in front of everyone who luckily didn’t know any wiser to the sinful words and actions shared.

he could feel the way you were pressing your clothed pussy against the denim covered zipper of his pants, no doubt to ease off your need of relief— your skirt pooled up around his lap and the way you were rubbing deliciously against him had him foggy-minded, but he played it cool, leaned back against his chair and popping some snacks into his mouth as he got into some topic about dnd with his friends around the table.

you almost gasped aloud in excitement once you saw people gathering their stuff to get to next class, lunch being over and feeling eddie tap on your leg, gesturing for you to stand up.

you tense you’re whole body, adjusting your skirt after standing on your two feet, rocking back and forth between your toes and heels to distract the feeling to just let it go, start trickling down your leg.

god, it felt like time was moving a million times slower, not even hearing eddie’s friends say goodbye, complete concentration on eddie who was grabbing the both of your bags, “please..” you whimpered out, “hurry.” you puffed out your cheeks.

you were tearing at his heart, looked so damn cute on the verge of tears and bouncing on your feet incessantly, “i am hurrying baby, be good, wait.” he told you as he swung your bag over his shoulder and grabbed a hold of your hand, walking out the building and into the car lot where he was parked.

“o-oh my gosh, i don’t think i can hold it.” you gasped out in a panic, squeezing your legs together, hand between your thighs and grip on eddie’s hand deathly tight, “i’m being good, i-i promise, i just really need to go.” you begged, seeing your boyfriends soft expression before he spoke up.

“we gotta get home first angel, not too long, you can hold it.” his tone was so nonchalant, it had you flustered, you were so worked up over a demand he made whilst he was so relaxed and in complete control.

“c’mon.” he encouraged, opening the passenger side door for you and patting the seat, once you were in the car you went to close the door— in a rush and all, but eddie was still standing at your side and you looked at him in confusion, his head tilted against the inner window and hand gestured outwards, “give me your panties, doll.”

you frowned, nails squeezing in to your thigh but you couldn’t ignore the way he was staring you down with those pretty brown eyes, you’d give him anything he damn wanted with those secret weapons.

so you sniffled a little, feeling like you would’ve burst any second now if you didn’t rush to the toilet, but alas, you tugged off your little black panties under your skirt and hooked them on his fingertips, watching him grin smugly.

“what a good baby, thank you.” he beamed, tone almost mocking as he pressed a firm kiss to the top of your head before he stuffed the fabric into his pant pocket, shutting the passenger door and getting himself into the drivers seat.

“eddie i’m serious, i-i’m gonna pee if you don’t hurry up!” you gripped onto the seat underneath you, feet tapping against the floor of the car.

you only heard him laugh, car starting up as he drove of out of the parking lot and towards his trailer, he‘s so cruel, you thought, though that lingering feeling of pleasure kept whirling around your tummy, especially when you felt his fingers sliding in between your upper thighs.

“poor thing.” he mimicked your little pout, palm squeezing onto the flesh of your thigh before pushing it open and you jolted when you felt the pad of his fingers toying with your clit, letting out a weep.

your head leaned back against the headrest and your toes curled, feeling the fluid threatening to start flowing but you were insistent, you didn’t wanna mess yourself in his car, “doing so good pup, holding it so well for me.” you faintly heard eddie’s voice, too in your head in an attempt to distract yourself from the reality that you were nearly going to leak a puddle right onto eddie’s car seat.

you blinked your eyes open when you felt a particular harsh turn, you were nearly back at eddie’s place, hands already gripping the car handle.

“gotta find my keys..” eddie hid his smirk behind his hair after he took his car keys out the ignition and pretended to search for the trailer keys but his head whipped around when you swung the passenger door open and stumbled out of the car, not making it far, instead practically crumbling to the ground with your legs either side of you as you just felt your bladder let go, warm liquid trickling down between your thighs and you let out a humiliated sob.

you didn’t even hear eddie’s footsteps approaching you, too side tracked by your soaked skirt and the filthy feeling coursing through your entire body, “shh, shh.” you heard soothing hushes as you felt yourself being swept off your feet, into eddie’s arms and you clung onto him for dear life.

“it’s okay my sweet baby, i got you.” he hummed, comfortingly rubbing your back as the familiar sight of the inside of the munson trailer came in to view, body jumping in surprise when you heard water pumping behind you.

eddie set you on your feet, gentle kisses trailing from your shoulder and upwards to your jaw as he wiped away the fat tears that bubbled in your eyes and spilled onto your cheeks, “you’re okay.” he kissed over your face, forehead first followed by your cheeks and ending at your lips.

he peeled off your soiled clothes and quickly tugged off his own as he got you into the shower, squeezing in behind you, arms snug around your waist and you squeezed back onto him, breathing settling as you calmed down.

“feel okay baby? wasn’t too much?” he cupped your face, eyes on you and you nestled your cheek further into his palm.

“w-was embarrassing but that makes it kinda fun.” you admitted quietly, the same previous heat rising in your body again and you watched eddie’s shoulders bounce with laughter.

“mmh, it was so cute you have no idea.” he groaned exaggeratedly and being honest, it stroked your ego, there was nothing more that you wanted than seeing your boyfriend happy, you’d give him anything he wanted, it made you even happier.

“really? you liked it too?” you giggled, squeezing his hand at your cheek and watching him nod, eyebrows furrowing.

“it was filthy, of course i liked it.” he grinned, tugging you flush against him, “you can’t tell?” he raised an eyebrow and you blinked a couple times, feeling his hard cock poking against your tummy and it had you almost going limp.

“o-oh..” you bit down at your bottom lip, hands dragging down his abdomen as you admired his pretty chest, and all the ink on display, “i can help you with that.” you blinked up at him through your lashes.

you didn’t even let him answer, hand already dipping down and fingers clasping around the base of him— hearing the way his breath caught in his throat was music to your ears.

“god, how did i corrupt you so bad.” he threw his head back, chuckling, “mmh, you’d do anything i wanted, wouldn’t you?”

you nodded, watching his eyes settle back down on you, hissing between his teeth when you dragged your hand up.

“whatever you want.” you promised him with the biggest, proudest smile on your face,

anything.

[barry-j-blupjeans]

ooooooo prompt time :DDD

so, for your recent prompt list; magnus and merle with 5?

5. Oh so you spend your money on plushies? Like, often? You spend your money on plushies and can lay them all out on your bed and flop into them and get so snuggly and cozy? I’m. not jealous at all I’m so mature haha I don’t have a single plush friend to snuggle at night, like you do, 

--

Maybe the worst thing about moving up to the moon was that Magnus had to move all his shit up with him. It's not like he had a lot- most of the most important things he owned could fit in a travel pack and Magnus wasn't about to carry his woodworking tools on him at all times. Though, seeing how weird this whole mission turned out, maybe he should. Did the Bureau have wood-based enemies? He'd have to ask.

No, but the "moving all his stuff" thing was awful. Partly because of the emotional burden of it all. Whatever had been left of his- of their home in Raven's Roost had been sent to live in a new house with some people who had lived a few doors down from where Julia grew up. He didn't live with them now, per se, but he did kind of store all his stuff there and, y'know, hung around between adventures. But Magnus definetely wasn't ready to go digging through all of that.

Mostly, it was just tedious. You could only fit so much in a giant orb that fell from the sky and not being able to tell your friends where it came from or why it was there or where the hell you were going next was hard. In the end, Magnus managed to fit a few suitcases full of clothes and miscellaneous objects into the sphere, along with a large box of stuffed animals.

He wasn't the first to arrive back in the room. Robbie was out (more like passed out, dead to the world on the front steps of the Fantasy Costco), but Taako was chilling on the top bunk he had claimed for himself. He peeked out at Magnus when he barged his way into the room and eventually left because Magnus was "ruining his Saturday afternoon vibe session."

Magnus was squeezing all his clothing into the two drawers he had been allotted. Robbie's drawer was on the bottom and was oozing something that smelled minty. Magnus had bartered with Merle to get two drawers after Taako had staked his claim on the entire closet. Merle was left with a single drawer on top, which he couldn't reach without a stool, but he'd only agree to give Magnus two drawers if he took the one next to Robbie's.

Merle himself came back in only a few minutes after Magnus had sorted through all his stuff and laid fast-first down on his top bunk.

"You dead up there?" Merle asked, heaving a large box up onto his bed. He was stationed under Robbie, because he was slow at nose-goes (and they refused to explain to him what nose-goes was until after).

"Pretty much," Magnus said.

"Can I have all your stuff?"

"Ehhh," Magnus said. "Fifteen percent."

"I'll take it," Merle said, popping his box open. Magnus turned, stuffing his face back into his pillow. The bed creaked a little as Merle moved his stuff around and he heard the stool move. There were a few minutes of silence before there was a louder creak and Merle sighed. Then,

"What'cha got up there with you?"

"Your mom."

"Ughhh," Merle said. "Awful."

"I know," Magnus said, a little smugly. And then, he turned on his side and looked down at Merle, who was laying across his own bed. His clothes were about half put away. "I've got some blankets."

"What about the little guys?" Merle said, gesturing a vague hand towards him.

"The stuffed animals?" Magnus asked. He picked up the nearest one- a large greyhound he had named Terry. "This is Terry."

"Isn't that stuff, I dunno, kinda for kids?" Merle asked.

"No!" Magnus said. "It's for everyone! Are you telling me you wouldn't sleep with an army of your closest friends and companions if you could?"

Merle frowned, obviously thinking it over. Magnus sat up and the bed wobbled slightly under him. He picked up another stuffed animal- Rodrick, a corgi with a chef's hat. He held it out for Merle to see. Merle's frown deepened. Magnus knew that look.

"You're jealous," Magnus said, delighted.

"No, I'm not!" Merle said. "I just-"

"That's your jealous look!" Magnus said. "Don't deny it!"

"How d'you know what my jealous look is?" Merle questioned. "Huh? We've known each other for like, two weeks at max. You don't know anything about me."

Magnus backed down slightly, holding Rodrick and Terry to his chest. He flopped onto his back. Merle sniffed. They fell into silence again.

"I am a little jealous," Merle said after a few minutes. Magnus looked down again to see Merle twiddling his thumbs. "I dunno, it's just like- my dad didn't exactly want me to have- well, to have much of anything I liked, ha! So- so yeah, I'm a little jealous. They look nice. You've got a- a real good collection there, Mags."

Woah. Magnus wasn't expecting emotional honesty. He pushed himself up on his elbows and fumbled around the bed to find the stuffed dalmatian puppy with a flower in its mouth. Without a word, he tossed it over to Merle. It landed with a little more creaking of Merle and Robbie's bunks.

"Oh," Merle said. "I- thanks, pal."

"Don't mention it," Magnus said, laying back down. "Seriously. Tell no one. I have an image to maintain."

"Can't let the people know the terrifying robot killer likes puppies," Merle said, shuddering in horror. Magnus rolled his eyes, with a little more fondness than before.

[moondustlings]

a natural worrier, lindy felt like she was only capable of taking short, shallow breaths until she heard ava reassure her that whatever this was would stay between them. "oh good," she replied, putting her hand over her chest in a grateful gesture. now if only ava could conveniently forget she said anything in the first place, she'd be a happy camper. unfortunately for her, it seemed like amnesia wasn't on the table. "really? you want to know?" her face breaks out into a nervous half-smile as she brings her hand up to rub the back of her neck. "y'know, just ... stuff." she was trying to be vague on purpose but judging by the blonde's expression, she wasn't going to be able to back out this easily. sighing, she gives in and decides to be honest. "you and i were on a date, i think. or we had gone out. and in the dream, we had too much to drink. one thing led to another and we had gone back to my house ... and in my bed." she gave an expression to say you know what happened after that before she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "so, yeah. it was ... an interesting dream, to say the least."

The truth was Ava had a thing for Belinda for some time now. She maybe her co-worker but that didn't make her any less attractive. She was beautiful and whenever she knew Linda wasn't noticing she would check her out. And even though Ava hadn't admitted to her yet she definitely had a few spicy dreams about her. Ava was glad when she finally stopped because it was starting to get a little awkward for her to be chasing after her in the office. They had gotten some strange looks by others. Thankfully they were at a private area now with no prying eyes. Ava noted the blush on her cheeks and that made her even more beautiful than she already was. Ava bit her lower lip and slowly approached her until there was barely any space left between them. Her heart was thudering in her chest as she stepped closer towards her. "Relax. Take a few deep breaths. I promise I won't tell you to HR. But we definitely can't forget about this. Because now I am curious as to what exactly we were doing in the dream of yours ?" She asked with a wicked grin on her face.