#these two are rottin my brain

[weirdo09]

OMG penny is def that girlfriend that loves to be spoiled (not just a material things, y’all 🙄) n miles’ the one to provide ta 🥰

[erwinsvow]

kook trio reader laying with rafe after a long day, scrolling on tik tok, and rafe pretending he’s not watching her phone silently next to her 🥹

omgg yess! this is the silliest cutest prompt ever. i loved it

after a long day of watching the boys play golf, shopping, and having one too many mimosas during lunch at the country club, your little friend group had departed for the day.

however, departed meant rafe was supposed to drive you home but instead had brought you back to tannyhill like he always did. you don't even question it, just following his lead and crawling inside to the comfortable couch in the living room. you get settled, trying to sit properly but finding it difficult.

your golf skirt was a little short, but it wasn't like rafe was gonna care. when you finally get comfy, you find yourself stretched out on the sofa while rafe is seated next to you, staring intently at this laptop. the two of you are barely touching, your head is lying near his side, your hair spilling onto his thigh, but not really touching.

you scroll mindlessly, stopping to watch videos that always come up, make up tutorials and outfit inspiration. then other ones you love, people stocking their fridges up and cleaning.

"what the hell are you watchin'?" rafe questions from his position.

"what d'you mean?"

"is this shit entertaining for you? she's washin' fruit."

"she's showing us her weekly restock, rafe. you don't get it."

"yeah, i don't. these videos are rottin' your brain."

"whenever we scroll on your phone it's always analyzing stocks. and alpha male quotes. i'll take my groceries, thanks-"

"shut up."

you laugh, continuing your scrolling until you reached the weird videos-hydraulic presses crushing objects and soap cutting and slime asmr. you watch some, before swiping away.

"hey. go back. i wanna see what color the last slime was."

"and my brain is rotted?"

[asuyaka]

guys... what if m'start a one piece fic cuz it's kinda rottin my brain...

even though m'have like. two fics published already (on wattpad n ao3) n'is super irresponsible of me so sumone should say no so m'imagination doesn't get the better of me... ૮ ๑ˊᯅˋ๑ ა

[redheadbigshoes]

saw these tags under someone’s post. rottin my brain

“bi lesbians aren’t changing a thing about lesbians period. you can still be A Lesbian and have that mean you’re not into men because a bi lesbian is a different identity”

the stupidity is insane. “It’s a different identity” then why does it need to incorporate lesbianism into it? you’re merging two contradictory labels together.

they basically differentiate it like “a lesbian is a sapphic who does not like men and a bi lesbian is a sapphic who DOES like men” and that’s fucking stupid

Yeah another anon said something similar to what you said, that they treat “bi lesbian” as if it was a whole separate identity than lesbian (which is stupid af).

Putting two completely different identities together doesn’t magically create a whole other identity. You’re just invalidating both identities by doing that.

All of this because they’re afraid to use the bisexual label… A sapphic who is attracted to men is bi, what do they have against that label?? And if they don’t want to use it there’s still other labels who don’t invalidate entire communities like pansexual, omnisexual, polysexual or even just say sapphic.

[peterparkerslefttesticle]

honestly ive been brain rottin over the thoughy of whiney needy peter whos a lil too shy to ask for what he wants and needs some coaxing do u see my vision

babes i see ur vision. i seeeee it.

——————

the moans coming from peters room fell nothing short of dirty, the raunchy scene slowly progressing over the last 30 minutes. as soon as you both had removed every article of clothing, the spider man had frozen, a question brewing behind honeyed eyes.

“pete you can tell me anything. if i’m doing anything to make you uncomfortable or-“

“no no no nothing like that, it’s just,” he draws a sharp inhale, “it’s embarrassing.” he finally meets your eyes, his own resembling that of a pleading puppy. he wanted more than anything for you to know his secret desire, but he also would rather do anything then tell you.

caressing his chin in your palm, he leans into it, cock still pulsing from between your legs. “come on baby. spit it out. all i wanna do is make you feel good and I can’t do that if i don’t know what you want.”

your voice may have been gentle, but he could hear the need lilted through your words. you didn’t want to, you needed to know what was going on in his head.

“I wanna call you mommy okay? I know it’s fucked up and gross and… and… i just-“

“baby that’s not so bad,” his senses perked up at the scent of your ever-growing wetness, “who said I don’t wanna be called mommy. say it.”

“we don’t have to I-“ you sink back down onto his length.

“i said, call me mommy.”

tears prick in his eyes, overwhelmed by all the sensations and excitement.

“please mommy,” he whispers, “i need you mommy.”

“good boy.” he lets out a feral whine as you speed up the gyrating, pornographic sounds coming from where the two of you connect.

“yes yes so good mommy. thank you thank you thank you.” peter continued his tangent of whining and moaning, a familiar coil building in his abdomen.

flipping you over, he started slamming his hips with vigour, the urge to great to hold any longer.

“just want to make you feel good. need to. feels so good mommy.” the words soon lost meaning as he persisted, his groin hitting your clit with every move.

“fuck peter. fuck. i’m so close baby. you gonna come with me?” every movement of his thrusts was sending you closer and closer to the edge.

all it took was a particularly carnal groan from peter to snap the coil, your orgasm crashing down. you could feel him filling you to the brim, cock pulsing within your walls.

still inside you, the large man collapsed, limbs caging you to the bed. when you finally regained the strength to move his head, you were met with peters glassy eyes and tear stained face.

“you okay sweetheart?” he nodded, rolling onto his back beside you with a grimace from the sensitivity. you gathered a damp cloth and returned to clean up the mess you two had made.

once decidedly more or less clean, you gently pulled peters face towards yours. “hey,” you push the damp strands of hair from out of his eyes, “are you okay? was it too much?”

“so good. too good.” he muttered with a tired chuckle. curling back into your arms, the boy fell asleep almost instantly.

[headfullofpresley]

𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟓𝟎𝐬!𝐄𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬 | 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

Warnings: teeth rottin' fluff, make out sesh. kinda long but 50s!el is my baby boy.

A/N: since my brain is chaotic with fic ideas most of the time and i'm too lazy to write all of them out, i decided to give headcanons a lil try ;). lately i haven't been quite in the mood for smut or anything naughty naughty, so enjoy this piece of softness. 💗

you can imagine elvis to be famous or not, up to you!

Lots of dates.

Mostly initiated by you because you come up with ideas where to go, but he loves it.

The both of you would spend too much money on new clothes and records. He loved shopping as much as you did.

Picking out outfits for each other and showcasing them, driving the sales person crazy because you'd hog the fitting rooms for hours.

MATCHING OUTFITS! (i will simply pass away)

It's usually the colors that you'd match together, but he liked buying the exact same thing as well - mostly shirts and jackets.

Doesn't like it, but would carry the shopping bags and your purse if you'd ask.

Listening to new music that recently came out at record stores. This is definitely a weekly activity.

Diner dates!!!

Sharing a milkshake with two straws, because you're cheesy like that.

He always lets you have the cherry on top of the whipped cream.

Flipping a coin to decide who will pick the next song on the jukebox.

Most of the time you'll stay until closing time, unless you two have plans to hang out with friends that evening.

DRIVE IN DATES.

You'll go see whatever movie is popular at the time, not caring what genre it is because the both of you don't care about the movie at all.

You two will watch the first half hour, until the snacks are gone and you're all over each other.

It stays with just kissing on most nights at the drive in, but sometimes he'll mention the blanket he has in his trunk and you'll allow him to get what he wants.

Because even though you're a little shy about doing stuff in public, you want him just as bad and can rarely resist him.

THE MEMPHIS FAIR, BABY!

You can spend hours and hours at the fair.

Riding the same rides over and over again, stuffing your face with food, spending way too much money on games to win prizes.

He refuses to leave the fairgrounds until he won you at least one big prize.

You were just as happy with the smaller stuffed animals, but he had his mind set on a huge panda bear and you knew there was nothing you could do to talk him out of it.

He won it, ofcourse he did, and carried it to the car for you.

He put the bear on a chair that stood near your wardrobe in your bedroom, making sure it faced the bed.

You couldn't help but feel a little awkward whenever the two of you were intimate and the bear was right there, staring back at you.

On nights when Elvis wouldn't be staying over, you'd turn the panda around so you would actually be able to get some rest without feeling creeped out.

Road tripssss!

In either his Pink Cadillac or Cadillac Eldorado. Your knowledge on cars is pretty much non existent, but you like the colors.

Warns you to tighten your headscarf when he speeds down the highway, but you never listen nor learn so you always lose it.

You bring snackies, but it's never enough and you both start craving fastfood as soon as a restaurant comes in sight.

The choice is always McDonald's, since you don't go there much and it became one of your little 'date locations' during these road trips.

He always insists on using the drive-through, but makes you get out of the car because you spilled ketchup on his seat once.

“As if you never spilled anything in this car,” you huffed with an eye roll, eating your burger from a safe distance from his car.

You knew he'd get the double meaning and he'd give you a smug grin, playfulness on his tongue as he spoke.

“And who’s fault is that, hmm?”

You'd flip him off, making him chase you around the parking lot before pushing you back in the car when your burger flew out of your hands and on the window of a parked vehicle.

During the summer, he'd beg and beg for you to get on the back of his motorcycle and while you were a little nervous about it, you agreed because you couldn't listen to him talk about it for another second.

You loved it more than expected and the roles soon flipped around - you being the one asking him to go on rides.

While the both of you loved to go out and hang with your mutual or own friends, you loved staying in just as much.

Because the both of you still lived at home, you'd often be cooped up in your bedrooms.

Despite being young and your relationship being fairly fresh, you two didn't go at it every chance you got but neither of you had a problem with this.

You liked being in each others' company, no matter what you were doing.

Sometimes he'd go through your entire vinyl collection that you had neatly placed on a shelf above your desk and he'd play record after record.

He didn't like all of them, but played them nonetheless because you liked them and he loved hearing you hum along.

Being in your presence calmed him down. He especially loved it when you'd lay with your head on his lap so he could play with your hair while you were reading.

When it was a book, he'd busy himself by trying to make little braids in your hair.

But when you'd be flipping through a random magazine, he wouldn't shut up.

“Read me the music columns, baby,”

Takes the magazine out of your hands because he wants to read them again with his own eyes.

Snatching the magazine back out of his hands, he lets you flip through it again but will tell you to slow down because he didn't finish reading the page you're on.

He'd point out the things he would love to see on you when you'd look at the clothes that were currently trending.

“This would look real cute on you,” he would say, pointing out a baby pink skirt with cherries embroidered onto it.

When his eye catches the polo shirts in all the colors of the rainbow, he gets excited.

“We could get a matching pair!”

“Elvis, I’m pretty sure these are for girls,”

He'd look down at you with a smug grin on his face, scoffing softly. “Honey, I don’t care. You know how good I look in pink,”

You knew he was probably dead serious about it, but laughed at him and circled the shirts with a pen to get back to them later. If he wanted one, he could get one.

When you'd linger a little too long on a page with Marlon Brando's face printed on it, he didn't do much to hide his jealousy.

“Stop droolin’ over this fucker and read me my horoscope already,”

You'd laugh and caress your fingers over Brando's face, sighing dreamily which would get your boyfriend even more riled up as he'd huff and pout, trying to get the magazine out of your hands.

You gave him what he wanted eventually, reading his horoscope to him.

He'd smile and nod when his week seemed to be looking up according to the stars, but when it wasn't as good as he hoped it would be, he would scoff and roll his eyes.

“Pssh, what a load of bull,”

He pretended not to believe in these things, but you knew he did.

Whenever your or his parents were away, you'd mostly be hanging out in the living area.

It was the only place in both your houses with a TV and it was nice to be able to watch your shows without any parents or siblings talking through the whole damn time.

Your attention span was short whenever you were in your boyfriend's presence, and so was his because casually watching TV on the couch always turned into make out sessions.

Elvis was the first boy you kissed, but he taught you well and you found yourself becoming obsessed with kissing him.

He tasted like Pepsi and you had grown accustomed to the lingering taste of the cigars he smoked throughout the day.

His favorite position was when you'd be next to him, your legs draped over his lap so he could run his hand along the side of your thigh, his other hand placed at the nape of your neck.

It was comfortable for you too and you loved playing with his hair (as much as the product in it would allow you to) and resting your hand on his chest or on the side of his neck.

His kisses were soft and gentle, allowing you to take the lead so you could set the pace. He wanted you to be comfortable and while he was a tad bit more experienced, he wanted you to show him what you liked.

He thought he might know everything about you and your body, but he realised you could still teach him a thing or two about yourself. Elvis hated studying, but when the subject was you, he was the best student of the class.

“You taste like strawberry today,” he'd point out, going in for a kiss in between every word to kiss the slight gloss off your lips.

“I bought a new lip balm today,”

Humming deeply against your lips, he'd dip his tongue across your lower lip, sucking on it gently.

“Do they sell more of those flavors?”

You giggled, listing off all the flavors. He decided that he wants to kiss every single one off those pretty lips of yours.

“Let’s try ‘em all, baby,”

He wouldn't give you much time to agree, his hand running up your thigh and squeezing softly as he'd dip his tongue deeper in your mouth.

Slightly tilting his head and moving his hand from your neck to wind around your shoulder, your lips fell into a comfortable and slow paced rhythm.

The two of you were in sync, perfectly aware of each others' next moves and it made you shut out the world around you.

Your favorite show that was playing on the TV had become nothing but background noise.

His large hand would engulf your smaller shoulder, squeezing you softly in the embrace because he wants to feel you closer against him.

Unfortunately for the both of you, you still had to fill your lungs with oxygen but when you'd pull away from each other, his hand that had been on your thigh would move to the side of your face, cupping your cheek.

Nuzzles the tip of his nose against yours as he takes stammered breaths, his eyes taking in every detail of your face.

He'd caress his thumb across your lower lip, the corner of his mouth rising in a grin as he looked at your slightly swollen lips and the smudged tint of your lip balm.

“My pretty baby has pretty lips,”

Those words made you blush every damn time and he knew it all too well.

He liked seeing your cheeks heating up, flushing a shade of pink because of him.

“Could kiss ‘em all day, every day,”

Small, open mouthed kisses on your parted lips as his thumb caressed your cheek bone.

Whenever you wanted to kiss him properly again, he'd laugh softly and teasingly pull away because he wasn't done looking at you.

Always complimenting you on how pretty you look with your lips swollen like that, how he loved kissing you and how much he loves you.

Saying it back made you even more shy, but he wouldn't kiss you again until you told him. He knew you loved him, but he loved hearing you say it.

“I love you, Elvis. Please kiss me,” you'd pout and whine a little, knowing that usually got you what you wanted.

Ofcourse it did this time too, because he was weak for you.

“Okay, fine, fine. Because baby asks so nicely,” would give you a theatrical and playful sigh, rolling his eyes before he'd lean in again and capture your lips in a kiss again.

You'd happily let him take charge after a little while, moving along to his pace as he'd deepen the kiss.

You two didn't always kiss with the intention of sex, but you knew whenever he'd moan into your mouth and his hand started creeping underneath your skirt or dress that it was his sign that he wanted more.

You were more than happy to give it to him. Sometimes you'd make it to your room in time and sometimes your parents came home before you even had the chance to take things a step further.

Jumping away from each other and pretending to watch TV, you were pretty sure you could never fool your or his parents but they never commented on it because they too had been young once.

Takes about half an hour to kiss you goodbye at the door when he'd be over at your house, or in the car when he'd take you home.

When you wouldn't be spending the night together after spending the entire day side by side, you'd talk for hours on the phone.

Sometimes it would be deep conversations about the future and sometimes it would be about absolutely nothing, but you enjoyed every second of it.

Neither of you would hang up until one of you would fall asleep or one of your parents came in to tell you to hang up, not understanding what in the world you could be talking about after being around each other most hours of the day.

But you and Elvis were inseperable and you believed it would stay like that forever.

[crysalita]

Left Behind

Bo Sinclair x Reader

Word Count: 2439

Warnings: Suicide mentioned when Bo is telling the story about Trudy.

I had to admit that I never actually wanted to be here, on a road trip that is, but somehow I had managed to find myself getting an invite from Carly, who claimed there needed to be more girls. I reluctantly agreed to tag along, and so far I was regretting that poorly made decision.

I was a third wheel as I lagged behind Carly and Wade. I felt as if all I had done so far since we arrived in this town was either roll my eyes or sigh at their constant flirting. If I had of known that this is what my day was going to consist of then I would have said no in a heartbeat.

The small town we had arrived in gave me strange vibes, whether it was because the town was oddly empty even though we could hear chatter, or whether it was because of the two men that we had come across.

Bo, the man that works at the gas station, spent most of the time eyeing me down after the run in at the church, I didn’t know how to feel about it.

“So, Y/n. What did you think about Bo? He seems to have taken quite an interest in you.” Carly teased, nudging my shoulder.

We were in the gas station looking for whatever part that Wade needed.

“Don’t be stupid, he was just being friendly.” I scowled.

“Coming from a guys perspective, he definitely finds you hot.” Wade spoke up.

I sent him a glare. “Just look for that part.”

“He’s got everything, but a 15 inch. I’ll just have to use a 16 inch.” Wade grabbed a hold of the strap that he needed, but we were startled when we heard another voice.

“Are you planning on stealing that?” When I turned around, I was met with Bo leaning against the door frame, still in his suit and tie. I had to admit that the suit did look good on him.

“No, we just didn’t know how much longer you were gonna be, and you know, we didn’t wanna interrupt again.” Wade rushed out. “But I left you some money on the counter, but you don’t even really have the right size. You don’t have any 15 inches.”

“I do at the house.” Bo replied, not looking in the slightest bit like he was convinced by Wade’s constant stuttering, I couldn’t blame him though, Wade made us look more suspicious than we actually were.

“Look, I hope you’re not getting the wrong idea that we’re in here.” Carly attempted to ease the tension.

“Yeah, we already feel bad enough after interrupting the first time, we just didn’t want to do it again.” I smiled politely. In return, Bo sent me one of his own smiles and gestured for us to come out of the shed.

“No worries. That was in the past. We can move on from that.” Bo replied as he held the door open for us.

“You keep fan belts at your house?” Wade asked.

“I get things delivered there when I’m not here. Look, if you want to hold onto the 16, that’s fine by me.” Bo was looking more agitated by the minute.

“No, it’s okay.”

Bo led us outside of the gas station and we began our journey to the house that Bo lived at. My legs were already tired enough as it was from all the walking we had done, and I honestly wasn’t trying to do anymore.

“So, is it too late to sign Carly up for that beauty pageant?” Wade asked with a smirk on his face.

“Now unfortunately it is, well at least for you-” Bo turned and nodded in my direction. “-Because you have won, hands down.” I blushed slightly at his comment but shook it off quickly as I looked away.

“Thank you.” I mumbled. My gaze landed on Carly who was giving me a smug smile to which I rolled my eyes at.

“That house of Wax is pretty cool.” Wade changed the subject. This caught Bo’s attention.

“You went inside?”

“Yeah, it was unlocked.”

“I did try to tell them they shouldn’t, but they both happen to be very stubborn.” I didn’t dare step foot into the House of Wax. Knowing myself I would probably end up ruining the art in there, and I would never forgive myself if I destroyed someone’s art that they, more than likely, spent hours trying to create. I did manage to get quick look inside when Carly and Wade entered, and it truly was amazing.

“Everything seems to be unlocked ‘round here, don’t it? Thank you for having respect.” I was rewarded with another one of his smiles that really did compliment his face, although he did use quite an odd choice of words as it made him seem all the creepier.

I shared a look between the other two, who were also very creeped out.

“I did get a look inside though, when they opened the door that is, and the wax sculptures are amazing.” I complimented. I was a bit bummed out that I couldn’t see the artwork up close to see their full detail, but my conscious got to the best of me and now I was glad that I didn’t go in.

“Yeah, people used to come and see it from miles away. Trudy was the main artist.” I could imagine the amount of people that I wanted to see it, but for some reason there wasn’t any.

“What about Vincent?” Carly questioned. “I saw his name on a lot of the work.”

“One of Trudy’s boys.”

“That family must be very talented. Are any of them still around? I would love to meet them, and maybe they could help me out with some of my own art.” I commented.

“Oh- no. It’s a horrible story. Trudy’s husband, Doctor Sinclair, he was a doctor. He got his licence revoked for doing surgery’s on the side, you know, stuff that most doctors wouldn’t do. So, he moved him and Trudy out here to Ambrose, made a fresh start in medical practise and Trudy found her calm with the whole wax sculpture thing.” Bo explained as we walked past the House of Wax. “It was her dream to do something incredible here. Then she had a couple of kids-”

“What’s so horrible about that?”

“Trudy got a cyst in her brain, she just started rottin’ away.” My eyes widened as Bo continued the story. It was really starting to take a dark turn. “Couldn’t work no more, she went crazy, and it got so bad, that Doctor Sinclair had to strap her up to the bed. The whole town could hear her screaming from the house. And Doctor Sinclair was so depressed that he couldn’t save her he-” Bo creates a gun with his fingers and pretends to shoot himself in the head. “Blew his head right off.”

“That’s horrible.” I mumbled.

By now we were approaching the last house on the road, meaning this was where Bo was staying. The sky was getting darker and darker by the minute, making the situation all the more terrifying.

“Hey, uh, why don’t you three hop in, and I’ll go get that fanbelt for ya’” Bo opened the door to his car and gestured for us to hop in.

“No, we actually have some friends picking us up where the roads washed out.” Carly interrupted.

“I’ll give ya’ a lift there. It’s the least I could do then for making ya’ll wait.” Carly and I both turned to Wade who was nodding his head.

“Could I use the toilet?” I asked Bo as Carly hopped into the car.

“Yeah, of course. You said you need to use the can too, didn’t ya?” Bo faced Wade. He then proceeded to ask Carly the same question before he led us into his house.

The house was nothing less than what I expected, not that I expected much. To no surprise, it was quite messy, but I couldn’t hold that against Bo, as he most likely wasn’t expecting guests.

“So, where ya’ headed too anyway?”

“Uh, where just headed to a football game.” Wade answered.

“Bathrooms just down the hall. Let me get out of this jacket and tie, and I’ll get the fanbelt. I have another bathroom upstairs for ya’ to use.” I followed Bo up the stairs as Wade walked down the hall. I began feeling nervous as now I was left alone. “You interested in football?” Bo cocked his head to the side as he looked at me. I found myself staring a little longer than I should have, which Bo took notice of too, as his lips twitched up into a sly smirk.

“No, not really. Just here for Carly.” Bo nodded his head along with what I was saying before he popped another question, a very unexpected question.

“I take it ya’ single than?”

“What makes you think that?” I stammered.

“Well, considering those two are tied to the hip, that would most likely mean that if ya’ were seeing someone, then they’d be 'ere too.” Bo explained as he shrugged off his jacket. “And if it were me, I wouldn’t let ya’ out of my sight. Especially in a town I’ve never been in.” Bo opened a door that revealed to be the second bathroom he owned. I walked in and closed the door and instantly let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding.

This man was making me feel all kinds of things, and I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

I did my business and exited the bathroom to see Bo waiting outside, this time he was dressed in casual clothing, and no longer rocked a suit and tie. I had to admit that this man could certainly pull off both looks.

“Did you need help getting anything? I don’t mind helping.” I offered.

“That would be nice, thank you.” I followed behind Bo, who led us into the garage that was covered in tools and what I could only assume was car parts.

“Is it always this quiet in town?” I watched as Bo gathered some things and placed them in crate he had. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, so I waited where he had placed down the crate.

“Depends on the day, I guess. Sometimes it can be noisy, believe or not, and some days it’s dead silent. Today just so happens to be one of those days.” Bo mumbled.

All of a sudden the lights were cut off and everything went pitch black. I immediately put my arms out to reach for something to grab a hold of. “Bo?” I held my hand out in the direction of where Bo was last stood. “Bo? Where are you?” I felt his hand come in contact with my own.

“I’m right here, sweets.” I was thankful the lights were off so Bo couldn’t see the blush spread out across my burning face. “I don’t know what happened.” The sound of metal hitting the ground echoed throughout the garage, and then I heard the sound of the horn from outside.

“They must be waiting for us.” I muttered to no one in particular. The lights then turned on and I found myself extremely close to Bo as his chest was almost plastered to my back. “Sorry about that. That was childish.” I apologised I pulled myself away from Bo.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Ya’ get a little scared of the dark, nothing to be ashamed of.” Bo picked up the crate of tools. “I’m going to take this stuff out to the truck. Would you mind finding the wrench for me? It should be in one of the drawers over there.” Bo nodded his head in the direction of where the cupboard filled with drawers were before he exited the garage.

Everything felt scarier now that I was alone and everything around me was silent. I could hear my own breathing with how silent it was, and I hated it.

I searched through the different drawers before I found the wrench that I was looking for.

I began hearing shouting from outside and I quickly made my way outside, only to find the truck driving away and Bo standing outside, the tools scattered across the ground. “Bo, what happened?” I slowly approached Bo who was seething with anger, that was until he turned around to me. His face relaxed as he locked eyes with my own.

“Your little friends just decided to drive off with my truck. I guess they forgot that there was a third one with them.” My mood dulled at his words. How could they just leave me like that? “Hey, don’t let them get ya’ down. You don’t need 'em. Especially after the way they’ve acted today.” That didn’t change the fact that someone that I considered to be my best friend, had just left me behind to run off with her boyfriend, did I ever really mean anything to her. “Listen, I have another truck at the station, if ya’ like, we could walk down tomorrow morning and I could drive ya’ where you need to go.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.” Bo walked back inside, forgetting about the tools that were lying all around.

“You can sleep on the couch for tonight. I’ll get ya’ some blankets to keep ya’ warm. Did ya’ want something to eat?” Bo yelled out as he walked up the stairs.

“I’m good.” I called back. I sat down on the couch and stared off into nothing, this day was going horrible. I sighed as I placed my head into my hands and tiredly rubbed my eyes.

“Hey, ya’ know. I’d love to see ya’ some more. I wasn’t lying when I said ya’ were pretty. Definitely caught my eye.” Bo placed down the blankets on the end of the couch as he sat down beside me.

I found myself blushing for what felt like the millionth time today. “Really? I’d like to see you more too.” I whispered, looking everywhere but the man beside me.

Bo placed his finger on my chin and guided me to look in his direction. “Look at me when ya’ speak. I want to see ya’.”

Before I knew it, we had spent what felt like hours talking on that couch before I eventually got tired and fell asleep, and that was definitely the only good part about my day, getting to talk to Bo.

[basicjetsetter]

In the Still of the Night

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!Female Reader

▹ Words: 796

▹ General Warnings: Tooth rottin’ softness and an exhausted Spidey, mentions of blood

▹ A/N: My first blurb! I hope you guys like it. Happy Reading!

♬ Song Inspo: Put That On Everything - Brandy

Stars dot the darkened sky and the city nightlife of Queens drones on, alive and well as you wash your dirty plate, flip the lights off, and head into your one-bedroom apartment’s compact bathroom. 

You already showered and donned your favorite over-sized T-shirt for bedtime. Wrapping your hair up is last on your list, but you’re setting aside the task for the last possible moment, dismally hoping you’d be up when your boyfriend comes home. But it’s well past midnight and you have work in the morning.

Peter always tells you it’s unnecessary to wait up for him, but you know he secretly likes when you do. You care about his well-being too much to just fall asleep on him when he finally gets home. There’s always something to patch up. Always something to soothe. Always a time to show him how much you missed him.

Yawning, you fasten and secure your satin scarf, then pad into your quiet bedroom and climb into your fluffy bed. You lay your head on your pillows and face the only window in the room, hoping to catch the sight of a silhouette swinging onto the fire escape.

Most of your nights begin this way. You, alone, laying on your side of the bed and fighting your drooping lids, waiting up for Peter. Sleep usually wins out.

The moment your brain is seconds away from traipsing into dreamland is the moment your bedroom window carefully slides open, and a male-figure clad in a tight red and blue suit stealthy crawls in and lands on his feet without making so much as a rustle. He quickly shuts the window, trying not to wake you but you’re up anyway, rubbing the bleariness out of your eyes to clearly see his fatigued face.

“Busy tonight,” he says as a way of apology, discarding his mask. A purple bruise blossoms on his cheek, and a stream of blood trickles from a cut near his eye.

His body gratefully slumps into you as you wordlessly rise and wrap your arms around him. You simply stand there, gingerly cradling him to your chest and thanking the heavens that he made it home in one piece before letting him undress.

The toll of the night’s criminal activity beats down Peter’s usual banter. He doesn’t utter another word, only groans as he steps out of his suit. Two more bruises, larger and angrier-looking than the first, mark his abdomen and chest. Wounds aren’t anything new, not anything you haven’t seen dozens of times, but you can’t help your slight gasp.

“Must’ve been a hell of a fight.”

He grins, then winces. “You should see the other guys.”

You shake your head, grinning back, then grab his hand and lead him into the bathroom, where you sit him down and pull out the freshly stocked first-aid kit.

Warm brown eyes bore into you as you turn on the faucet and dampen a cloth to gently wipe away the blood, cleaning wounds you know will be a faded memory by sun-up. Peter keeps you close, encircling his arms around your waist. A content hum rumbles low in his throat when you place a band-aid on the cut and press your lips to it for good measure.

“You know, I might heal up faster if you plant another one on me.”

“Oh, is that so?” you ask, amused.

Mischief twinkles in his sleepy eyes. “Probably. Won’t know ‘til we test out the theory.”

Humoring him, you lean down to smooch his bandage one more time, but Peter inclines his head back at just the right moment and captures your lips in an illicitly soft kiss. He takes his sweet time kissing you. Innocent pecks shift to needy lips latching to yours with a passion so deep you’d swear your kisses were the antidote to his pain.

You’re slow to break away from his lips, and even then you can’t help leaving a tender kiss on his injured cheek as you teasingly ask, “That work?”

“Can’t tell. My eyes were closed. Can I get a do-over?”

“How ‘bout this,” you reply, beckoning him up to his full height with a stifled yawn, “you get your do-over after I get at least six hours of sleep.”

Peter yawns too, long and loud, wincing again from the painful splotch on his cheek. “Deal.”

He silently follows you back into the bedroom, collapsing into bed and immediately pulling your back flush against his chest, burying his head in the crook of your neck. You snuggle up against him with a little hum of your own, happy to finally feel his body’s warmth and know he is officially safe for the night.

“Love you, Spidey.”

He mumbles back, “Love you, too, babe.”

All of your nights end this way.

[ye-olde-rd]

Damn, my brain rottin or something man, I’m shipping two paper Mario toads

[thornbolts]

Honesty - Remy

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE

Name: “Remington Anne Thornbolt. My ma and pops wanted a name that could fit either a boy or girl. They both settled on Remington, and my middle name would be Anne or Anthony. I like my name! It’s real fun ta say.”

Eye Color: “Yellow. I’m told they got a real piercin’ look.”

Hair Style/Color: “Falls ta my shoulders like weeds. Can look green or red dependin’ on how the light hits it. So we’ll just say both. I try ta brush it whenever I can, but I’m real careful ta not do it too hard else I can brush part of my scalp right off.”

Height: “Five feet and six inches. Climbs up ta around five feet and nine inches with my hat on. Pops is six feet and four inches. Ma is around five feet and five inches. Guess pops gave me some ‘a his height. Barely.”

Clothing Style: “Beaten leathers. Sandy ponchos. Cloaks. My hat never leaves my side. I love this damn thing. Only thing I still got left of my ma. Pretty little flower-stitched gunbelt. Skinnin’ knife. Diplomacy, he’s my pistol. And ol’ Bessy, she’s my rifle.”

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Your Fears: “Bein’ buried alive. Bein’ trapped. Goin’ overboard at sea. The deep ocean.”

Your Guilty Pleasure:  “Shitty romance novels. They’re a fun read from ta time. Lets me forget about bein’ dead fer awhile.” 

Your Biggest Pet Peeve: “Scarlet Crusade. I fill every single one ‘a them with holes. They’re like fuckin’ roaches. Buildin’ off of that, I suppose, is folk that judge who I am based on the way I look. Just because I’m dead don’t mean that I’m wantin’ ta shove blight down yer gullet. And if ya think that every Forsaken wants yer guts, don’t be surprised when we find comfort in relyin’ on ourselves than any ‘a you livin’ folk.”

Your Ambition for the Future: “I s’pose it’s ta keep all of my people safe. Been wantin’ ta be an author myself--Maybe compile a book ‘a all the folktales I gathered over all my years.”

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

Your First Thoughts Waking Up: “I don’t sleep. I rest, but I don’t sleep. I s’pose it’s... ‘Is there anyone else up right now?’”

What You Think About the Most: “Keepin’ my people safe. Keepin’ my people fed. Keepin’ my people happy. “

What You Think About Before Bed: “This is gonna be a long eight hours. Where’s my sketchbook...”

Your Best Quality Is: “S’pose it’s my heart. I got dangerously close ta fallin’ inta the pit of war against the livin’. I know what both sides are like, livin’ and dead. I’ve lived through both ‘a them. Can empathize real well with folk. Feel what they’re feelin’, ya know?”

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: “I’m datin’ two folks, but I’m always gonna prefer single dates. Lets me focus on one person and give ‘em my all durin’ it.”

To be Loved or Respected: “Both in equal amounts. Love’ll make people have yer back. Trust ya. Open up ta ya. But love can’t do anythin’ when somethin’ needs doin’. If ya only love, then folk’ll walk over ya. Ya need respect too, a reminder that folk can’t walk all over ya and get away with it.”

Beauty or Brains: “Brains. Beauty ain’t last ferever. You age. You get wounded. You get scarred. What counts is what’s past all them pretty looks.”

Dogs or Cats: “Dogs! They don’t call ‘em man’s best friend fer nothin’! Ya find a loyal pupper, and they’ll have yer back till the end ‘a their days.”

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: “Try not ta unless it’s ta protect folk. I mostly leave all my cards out on the table.”

Believe in Yourself: “Ya believe in yerself, and ya can move mountains. My pa told me that. And while I call bullshit that I can’t push a mountain over with my bare hands, I understand what he means now.”

Believe in Love: “I do. I don’t know if I necessarily believe in love at first sight, but I do believe that love’s a very powerful force ‘a nature.”

Want Someone: “I’m a lucky undead gal datin’ a blood elf and troll, but I would be lyin’ if I said that I hadn’t had any what-if thoughts concernin’ a few other folk.”

LAYER SIX: EVER?

Been on Stage: “Couple ‘a times. Performed with ol’ Harper singin’ duets and told some stories out in front of a crowd. Been rearin’ ta perform at the Brightmoon Faire one ‘a these days as a guest trickshot act.

Done Drugs: “I have. Can see why other people like ‘em. They’re just not fer me. Prefer my head ta be without any distraction.”

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: “Never. One ‘a the things I will never budge on is bein’ true ta myself.”

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES

Favorite Color: “Red. Always thought it was so pretty seein’ my ma’s lipsticks.”

Favorite Animal:  “Anythin’ undead. They know what I’m goin’ through and can sympathize.”

Favorite Food: “Shit on a shingle. Or, if ya wanna be fancy about it: Chipped beef on toast.”

Favorite Game: “Tag. I was always a fast runner. Barely ever got caught. That panickin’ feelin’ of bein’ chased was somethin’ else growin’ up. Also, kept me in shape!”

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

Day Your Next Birthday Will Be:  “October 20th.”

How Old Will You Be: “About fifty-three time-wise. But I died when I was thirty-three, and I still look like I’m thirty-three.”

Age You Lost Your Virginity: “I still have it. Don’t imagine I’m goin’ ta lose it unless I somehow change bodies or if they really do end up findin’ a cure fer undeath.”

Does Age Matter: “Ya got frickin’ elves thousands of years old that lives many ‘a human’s lifetimes and yer askin’ me if age matters? It don’t.”

LAYER NINE: IN A BOY OR GIRL

Best Personality: “Compassion. Empathy. Ya always wanna leave the world in a better place than when ya was born inta it. Ya can’t be uncarin’.”

Best Eye Color: “Hell, I don’t know. If they’re pretty and I’m attracted, I don’t really care what color their eyes look.”

Best Hair Color: “Don’t care. This isn’t a dealbreaker if I’m attracted ta some’un.”

Best thing to do with a Partner: “Even if it sounds borin, it’s talkin. I like sharin’ what’s been goin’ on in my head and them sharin’ what’s goin in theirs. It’s just... a way of ensurin’ that they care--that they don’t mind the rottin’, ya know?”

LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: “My people, and I would kill fer them.”

I feel: “Nothin’ most days.”

I hide: “Behind cover when bein’ shot at.”

I miss: “The way things were.”

I wish: “Ta show people that we’re not all monsters.”

Tagged by: @tilnathiel, @irielle-firine (Thank you, you two!)

Tagging:  @star-spire, @glitchphil (any), @ms-winford (any!), @lynaeclarke, @the-real-arcanist-val (any), @bigdumbchicken (any!), @belnorem, @bluexepher, @magistrixvoidchaser, @many-many-oakenmoons @saimbere, @ranekvilmas, @tilnathiel, @caideyn, @latildarommel @melisandemeadowshine, @theunfortunatedruid, @knownashaunt, @monster-of-master,  @sin-emberstalker, @grandpa-swagger, @kharrisdawndancer, @the-soiled-dove, @littlestcreampuff, @kavtari, @swordsandsaddles and you, dear reader!

[daisysouthmoore]

Hey! Remember when I started that GIF game a million years ago and I promised Negan would tell you a lovely little story? Well, I’m finally getting my crap together and pulling through! Thank you for your requests and I’m sorry for the delay! Hope you enjoy!

Category 2 - Smut for @dramaqueenarg @barnesbestgirl @ask-kakashihatake and a little Category 5 - Surprise me ending for @dana-dixon-rpoc

Warnings: Explicit (18+) language and dub-con smut

You know, I think of all the assholes you got livin’ here in Alexandria, you might be my favorite asshole. Every time I see you, you’ve got this look on your face like you’re about ready to rip my throat out but the second I come close, your cheeks turn a real pretty shade of pink. And you might try to hide it. You might pretend like you’d rather see me rottin’ in hell but you and I both know what you’re really feeling. What you wanna feel deep, deep down.

So, when I come knockin’ on your door I’m pleased to see you answer. Very fuckin’ pleased indeed. You seem surprised at first. Maybe a little anxious or scared but you paint that face on. That cute little glare that you save just for me and me alone. You stand your ground in your tight little tactical pants, blocking the doorway like you’re so big and bad, but I shove right past you and allow myself in. I can hear you mumble something under your breath as you slam the door behind you but I let it slide cause I like you.

“Where’s Rick?” I ask.

“You said you weren’t coming-“ You start bitchin’ but I shoot that shit down because that’s not what I fuckin’ asked you.

“Dooooon’t care… Where’s Rick?” I repeat.

“He’s out scavenging for you, obviously.” You say bitterly.

“For me? Oh, he shouldn’t have.” I joke but you’re a tough crowd. Not even a fuckin’ hint of a smirk plays on those pretty lips.

“He’s not gonna be back for a while.” You attempt to drop a hint, hoping I’ll just turn and leave but I’m not goin’ anywhere.

“That’s alright. I’ll just put my feet up and wait for my stuff to get here.” I grin and you scoff as you turn to leave. “Wait a minute there, darlin’! Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?” I ask.

“Inventory.” You sigh.

“No ma’am! Where are your manners? I want a proper fuckin’ tour! Come along and show me the digs!” I swing my bat onto my shoulder and lead the way upstairs while you scamper up behind me.

You know, you Alexandrians really got it fuckin’ made here. These houses are fuckin’ beautiful. They’re the kinda model homes that you see in the magazines. Even before the biters came crawlin’ outta the depths of hell, this place would be considered a fuckin’ privilege to live in. Hell, even my Sanctuary can’t hold a candle to this place. You mother fuckers have carpeting. The good kind too.

I take my time in each room, relishing and living in the world that never died. Marveling at the way time just seems to stand still here. All the while you’re just sulking behind me, pouting like a fuckin’ brat. As we continue further and further down the hall though I can see you growing tense. I can tell you’re trying to hide something from me.

“How ‘bout this one?” I point to door number three.

“I-It’s just a water heater.” You lie.

“Are you serious? Come on.” I roll my eyes and let myself in.

Turns out, it’s not a water heater at all. Judging by the decor and the way you start to fidget I might even venture to guess this is your room. I do a quick spin around your space, stopping occasionally to snoop through some of your shit before I’m standing at the foot of your bed. I plop down on the edge and smooth my hand over the perfectly fitted sheets.

“You get a chance to break this in yet?” I smirk.

“Excuse me?” You glare.

“Well, it looks like I'm gonna be here for a while, awaiting your fearless leader's return.

And if you'd like I think it would be enjoyable to fuck your brains out. -I mean, if, you know, you're agreeable to it.”

All the sudden you come storming over to me. Without battin’ a fuckin’ eye you smack a hand across my cheek so fuckin’ hard my neck snaps. For a second all I can hear is a loud ringing in my ears. As it starts to subside I can hear your breath trembling. I slowly turn my head to face you and shake off the fuckin’ dizzy spell. You look like you’ve finally come to your senses as you realize what the fuck you’ve just done. You must think you’ve sealed your fate. Like I’m gonna pick up Lucille and bash your pretty little head in but your wrong. In fact, I kinda liked that feisty shit.

I slide up close to you and your knees get weak. I’m so damn close I can smell you. I can almost fuckin’ taste you. I lean down so you can feel my breath on your skin when I speak and sure enough that hint of color crosses your paled cheeks again.

“I’m about fifty percent more into you now…” I whisper deeply.

For a second your eyes sort of glaze over like you’re lost in your own thoughts but you shake yourself out of it. You reach back for another swing but I grab hold of your wrist to restrain you.

“One shot is all you fuckin’ get,” I growl.

Our bodies are pressed together now. I’m already hard as shit and you must be able to feel it prodding against your thighs ‘cause I can see your face start to change. You look like you might actually fuckin’ like it. Your breath gets heavy before a desperate little whimper escapes your lips and your eyes flutter shut.

It’s so fuckin’ obvious baby. You wanna play the role of the good girl. You want to do the right thing but you are fighting your baser instincts. Every aching bone in your beautiful fuckin’ body wants me to fuck the good girl outta you. You wanna dance just once with the fuckin’ devil and here I am, standing in front of you. All you need is a little push in the wrong direction.

“How about a kiss to make it better?” I suggest and your eyes bolt open again.

“Go to hell!” You weakly shove away from me.

“Do it.” I buck up to you again. “Take your time. Make it good.”

A moment passes as I watch you gulp and swallow down your pride. Your brows furrow and your eyes squeeze shut as you lift onto the very tips of your toes. All the while your body is trembling until finally you close the gap between us and press your mouth to mine. You do as you’re told. You take your time and ease into the kiss. Your lips soften and part giving me permission to go on.

As the kiss lingers on I grab the hair at the nape of your neck and dive my tongue between your lips. I move down the curve of your back and scoop up a nice, tight squeeze of your ass. The tips my fingers meet the inseam of your pants and follow it down to barely brush between your thighs. Just enough for a little tease. You’re moaning now as the sensations take over you. Every bit of good in you is shrouded in a filthy fuckin’ lust for more.

I’m not the least bit surprised when you reach for my belt buckle on your own fuckin’ accord. You jostle and struggle with it a bit before unlatching it and reaching for the waist of my pants. We stumble as I yank you to the edge of your bed where we fall back with our tongues and limbs tangled. I growl deeply when you reach into my pants and grip my cock.

“You know, all I asked for was a kiss.” I laugh between your lips.

“Just shut up and fuck me.” You mumble as you kick away your panties.

“Whatever you say darlin’.” I shove and roll you over onto your back.

You prop yourself up and watch as I press the head of my cock against your entrance. You’re already so fuckin’ wet that I could glide right in. Instead, I take my time and slowly sink every fuckin’ inch until your legs start to shake. You throw your head back and moan when I hit your cervix. I’m so fuckin’ deep you can feel my balls against your ass.

Then without warning, I grab hold of your hips and start plowing the fuck in. I’m going so fuckin’ hard our skin starts to clap. Your tits ripple and bounce while you grip and claw at your sheets. I can’t resist a fuckin’ mouthful and as I swirl my tongue around your nipples I can feel you dripping down my balls. I’ll be damned if your sweet little pussy doesn’t start to quiver and clench. You’re already so fuckin’ close. You arch your back and scream out my name, begging for me to keep going deeper, harder, faster.

“Easy baby... You wouldn’t want the neighbors to hear.” I laugh.

You gasp when I flip you over ass high and lay down a hard smack before plunging back inside you. You have to bite down on your pillow to stop yourself from crying out my name but the truth is I wanna fuckin’ hear it. I could give two shits about the rest of them. So I grab hold of your arms and pull them up and back. I use them as leverage to fuck the holy fuckin’ hell outta you.

All it takes is a few more inches. A few more hard and heavy thrusts into that sweet pussy before you fuckin’ burst. You’re pouring out around my fuckin’ dick, trembling and quivering all over. Your voice catches in your throat and it cracks as you let out a final fuckin’ groan. When I finally pull out and leave my mark, slick and wet across your low back I laugh breathlessly. I admire my handiwork while I zip up and readjust. Meanwhile, you wrap yourself up in your sheets. Then to both our surprise someone comes bargin’ the fuck into the room.

“Rick!” I greet him excitedly. “Look baby girl it’s Rick!”

Thrilled as I am to see him, he looks like he’s about to lose his shit. He has that same look on his face he had the night I beat the shit out of a couple of your friends. When I turn to you, you’re scrambling to gather your clothes with a look of utter fuckin’ shame. You’re both at a loss for words but I can feel a harsh fuckin’ tension in the air. Then all the sudden it dawns on me.

“Oh shit… Were -Were you two a thing?” I ask and I can’t help but fuckin’ laugh.

[mushi-shield]

[Verse 1] Humans been controlled since the day that they was civilized The truth has been so heavily politicized If you don't who's controllin' you and killin' all the little guys Find out who you're not allowed to criticize Black folks who were never ever actual slaves Fighting with white folks who ain't actual Nazis Controlled by rich folks who use the news to make hate While elite folks control all the political parties It's a big lie, tryna make you pick sides Tryna make you burn the cities down and kill each other, they got sick minds Big lies, dеfund the police so that therе's big crime Then take away our freedom to restore order they let die Play with people, turn men into women Make the counterculture mainstream to mix up the system Change the pronouns, if gender is a spectrum, so is privilege I know poor white folks and black celebrities with millions They starve you wit' a lack of information And only give you facts through a branded corporation Distort your worldview with an algorithm that changes Based on propaganda curated for your engagement [Chorus] We can't be free (No!) Can't have no peace 'til we're on the same team But y'all are sheep (Oh!) Glued to screens, just part of the machine Y'all are sheeple, what do y'all believe? To all my sheeple, nothing's what it seems

[Verse 2] Hollywood been rottin' your brain, controllin' your mouth You say "Lit", "Fleet", "Bet", "Cap", they tryna dumb you down They endorse whatever narrative is popular to shout And use minorities in movies for diversity clout Two sides on the spectrum, but ain't none of 'em honest Took the red pill and the blue pill, spit 'em both in the garbage Bein' woke used to mean you understood you're a target And now it's havin' two good legs and never takin' a step forward If you agree, it's free speech, disagree, it's hate speech Erase it if it came from anywhere except the mainstream Trump supporters labeled as the racists, but that can't be Lincoln was Republican, and that's who ended slavery Science been politicized, it's easy to see A mask became a symbol of which side you believe But you'll never cure a sickness 'til you cure all the greed 'Cause the problem with our natural immunity is it's free Society is broke and want you locked inside a cubicle Addicted to pornography, liquor, and pharmaceuticals Tell you that you're fat and poor and you were never beautiful Then tweet how much they love you when they hear about your funeral [Chorus] We can't be free (No!) Can't have no peace 'til we're on the same team But y'all are sheep (Oh!) Glued to screens, just part of the machine Y'all are sheeple, what do y'all believe? To all my sheeple, nothing's what it seems

[Verse 3] If they can't convince you they confuse you, they want you dumb or dead They divided you by race, religion, income, and sex Made everybody right or left, the hatred got so intense If the other side likes oxygen, you'll put a bag on your head And the conspiracy theories labeled as misinformation It's just the terrifying truth that scares the hell out the nation The system treating you like trash and you got rifles to aim with Just imagine how they'll treat you when your guns get confiscated George Orwell, 1984 was his last lecture George called 'em "thought police", now we call 'em fact-checkers Government surveillance tryna catch you, they don't ask questions Mass incarceration equals capital for cash investments The system isn't broke, it's workin' fine Oppressive and chaotic is how it was designed They say, "If we ain't doin' nothin' wrong, there's nothin' to hide" While their agenda and intelligence completely classified They don't teach you rights in school, you never learned 'em at all 'Cause they're easy to remove if you don't know what they are The only people you can rule are the criminal ones So they force you into corners 'til you're breakin' the law [Chorus] We can't be free (No!) Can't have no peace 'til we're on the same team But y'all are sheep (Oh!) Glued to screens, just part of the machine Y'all are sheeple, what do y'all believe? To all my sheeple, nothing's what it seems

[shimmershaewrites]

Waltzing's for Dreamers, Chapter 13 (a Walking Dead story, Caryl AU).

Title:  Waltzing's for Dreamers

Rating:  PG-13? 

Warnings:  adult language, angst.  Allusions to Carol/Other. 

Characters/Pairings:  Daryl Dixon, T-Dog, Noah, mentions of Beth Greene, Sophia Peletier, Carol Peletier, Merle Dixon, Karen, Enid, mentions of Noah/Beth, Jacqui, Jacqui/T-Dog, past Merle/Karen, past Carol/Daryl, original character. 

  Waltzing’s for Dreamers

    Seven years after Vegas.  Middle of March. 

      His mouth tastes like ass. 

  That’s the first thought that coalesces in Daryl’s sludge-ridden brain when he fights his way back to consciousness.  His mouth tastes like ass��hairy ass—with an undercurrent of Jack and…wait a damn minute.  Just when did he board a fuckin’ Tilt-a-Whirl?  Suddenly finding himself spread-eagled on the rottin’ porch, squinting into the too-bright morning sun and trying to figure out why the kid from his last period is looking at him like he’s a member of the undead, he groans.  Tries to sit up but that just spurs the jackhammer battering against the confines of his skull to maximum and shit.  Is that T kicking at his boots?  Tossing a grease-soaked bag in his general direction with a smile that’s more pitying that anything? 

  “I’d offer you hair of the dog, but…” 

  He opens up the bag and takes an experimental sniff.  Winces when his stomach rolls like he’s trying to surf a ten-story wave with a kid’s piece of shit boogie board and sets the offering aside.  Notices the stray that’s been haunting the place since his first night back lurking in the yard, big brown eyes peering out from beneath an overgrown crepe myrtle bush, and grumbles.  “Man, don’t even.” 

  “Just saying.  You two looked plenty cozy to me,” T says.  His grin a little more genuine as he falls back into his old pattern of trying to wrestle a matching smile from Daryl’s reluctant lips.  “Right, Noah?” 

  The teen smirks.  Ducks his head and mumbles something indecipherable beneath his breath as he wisely leaves the two of them alone. 

  T shakes his head and offers him a hand.  “Kids these days.” 

  Daryl lets him pull him to a sitting position but waves him off from doing anything more.  In response, his old friend plants himself on the porch beside him and with the farmhouse’s weathered wall at their backs and a grove of towering pecan trees beyond the crumbling stone pathway, the tire swing swaying in the breeze, they lapse into a familiar sort of silence.  Just let each other be while they gather up their thoughts because it’s been a long time.  Too damn long.  Eventually, he just has to know.  “How’d you know where to find me?” 

  “Kids these days,” Dog repeats.  “They talk.” 

  “What kids?” Daryl asks, even though he has a pretty good inkling who before the question has fully left his mouth.  The boy?  Noah?  He’s a quiet sort, much like he’d been that age.  Observant.  And the little Greene girl that never strays too far from his side when she can help it?  Well, she ain’t loud exactly.  Not in your face confident like far too many of her little jerk classmates are, but she notices things, too.  Seen his truck coming and going as he passes her daddy’s farm every day.  Talks and knows some people that know some people and they talk, he’s sure.  Which leads him to wonder.  “Carol know?” 

  “That you bought this old place?  Don’t think so.  That you got trashed last night?  Probably, considering the way things went down between you and Soph yesterday.  Those two are tight.  ‘Specially since you…” 

  “Go ‘head.  Say it.  Ain’t like I don’t know I’m an asshole.”  He picks at his thumbnail.  Sighs as he tries to bury the all-too-fresh memory of the words ‘Phia had thrown at him like knives.  It’s an impossible task.  Because even now, he’s bleeding from the cuts.  Don’t know if he can stop the seeping before it becomes a hemorrhage.  Don’t know if he should even try because ultimately?  She’s not wrong.  No matter his reasons—reasons he’d once held to be valid and honorable—he’d still left.  Still broken the promises he’d made and hell.  He don’t want to think about it because all he can picture is her pretty little face.  Fierce and tear-stained as she’d landed gut punch after gut punch and as much as it’d hurt.  As much as it still goddamn hurts, he can’t help but be proud because she’s got her mama’s back just as much as Carol’s got hers and it’s a thing of fuckin’ beauty, those two.  No.  Those three, he reminds himself.  Feeling his throat close up and make it even harder to force the next words out.  “I left.  Abandoned them.  Right to hate me.  Don’t blame ‘em.” 

  “They don’t hate you.” 

  “Do,” he insists.  “Know what she said to me?  I thought you were dead.  I thought you were dead ‘cause no way would my daddy leave me.  How the fuck does she not hate me, Man?” 

  T takes his time answering and he looks just as torn up as Daryl feels.  “Soph.  Carol, too.  They’re hurt.  There’s a difference,” he tells him.  “That woman hated you, she wouldn’t have cared enough to check on you.” 

  “Carol called you?”  Hope flares in his chest.  Instant and bright before it fizzles away because there’s that look again.  The one full of sympathy that looks more like a grimace than anything.  That look told him she cared, yeah.  But not enough to outright refuse another man’s ring.  Put his back on.    

  “Went about it roundabout.  Reached out to your brother.  Then his crusty white ass called me,” T finally admits.

  “Merle?” Daryl scoffs.  Immediately regrets it when the pounding at his temples resumes.  “Merle called you?”   

  “Shocked me, too.” 

  “He’s changed.” 

  “Sounded like it.” 

  “Got himself a girl.  Enid.  Same age as ‘Phia.  Little older.  Real wiseass.”  Something resembling a laugh sneaks past his lips.  “Thought she got it from Merle but Karen ain’t all sugar sweet neither.”    

  “Reckon she wouldn’t be, getting with the likes of Merle,” T-Dog chuckles. 

  “Reckon you’re right,” Daryl admits.  He notices the kid out in the yard, trying to coax the mutt out of its hiding spot and into the open.  Swears beneath his breath and earns himself a frown from the man beside him in the process.  “What?  He makes friends with the damn flea bag, I’ll never get rid of it.” 

  “You feeding it?  Don’t even try to tell me you’re not.  Man, I seen that bag of food in the back of your truck.  You done splurged on the good stuff.  Might as well start thinking up names.” 

  “Pfft.” 

  “Think I’m kidding.” 

  “Stop,” Daryl mutters.  Resting his head back against the wall with a groan.  Letting his gritty eyes drift closed as a hard-fought smile twitches at his lips.  “How you know the kid?” he asks after a while. 

  “Remember Jacqui?” 

  His brow furrows in thought.  Eventually, he nods.  Eyes still shut against the beaming sun.  “Yeah.” 

  “Noah’s her cousin’s boy.  The one that lives up in Virginia?  Anyway.  They’ve been having trouble up there with a gang.  Calls themselves the Wolves.  His mama thought he might have a better chance of it making it down here in sleepy little King County.  She just didn’t figure on him falling into puppy love.  And I’m not talking about your furry friend over there.  Get my drift?” 

  “The little Greene girl?” 

  “Beth,” T confirms.  “Lives down the road a mile or so.  When the kid found out I was coming here, he up and volunteered to tag along.” 

  “Bet,” Daryl remarks.  Fumbling for the forgotten takeout bag when his stomach grumbles.  Pulling out a biscuit and unwrapping it, taking first a small, careful bite.  Then a much bigger bite when his stomach don’t rebel completely.  “Still don’t really explain how you know the kid.  Unless you and Jacqui…”  The shit-eating grin on Dog’s face answers the unasked question for him and he lowers the breakfast sandwich to his lap.  Wraps it and the bag back up and tucks it away for later.  “You and Jacqui?  Really?” 

  “What you mean really?”    

  “Nothing.  Just thought you two were friends.” 

  “We were.  We are.  I’m here to tell you, Man.  Sometimes those old sayings? They’re true.  Friends really do make the best…” 

  “That’s alright,” Daryl cuts him off.  “Get it.  I do.  M’happy for you.” 

  “Thanks.  Appreciate it.  Happy for you, too.”  When that comment earns him a raised brow, he clarifies.  “Happy you came to your senses and finally come home.” 

  “Well,” Daryl mutters as he watches him stand.  Dust off the seat of his pants.  This time when he offers him a hand up, he takes it.  Does the same.  “Might be the only one.” 

  “Don’t do that, Man.” 

  “Do what?”

  “Throw yourself a pity party.  Own your shit.” 

  “Own my shit?” Daryl echoes.  “You don’t even know the half of my shit.” 

  “Doesn’t matter.  Still the only way you’re going to be able to work toward making things right.”  

  He’s right.  Course he is.  Don’t make the words any easier for him to say.  It just isn’t the Dixon way.  So he dips his head in deference.  Casts his gaze to T’s own truck, laden down with all the tools of his trade and an idea starts to form as he looks over the ramshackle old farmhouse.  One that the other man reads all over his face, no words necessary.  Sighs but offers to shake on it all the same.    

  “Gonna take lots of work.  Hard work.  Carol and those kids, though?” 

  “They’re worth fighting for.” 

[oozetownjournal]

“Artery cloggin’ and brain rottin’, my two favorite things!”

Mothman, but slimey