#they’re vaguely straight presenting

[nyxvamps]

list of fictional straight (or straight presenting) couples I actually like:

percabeth

dipcifica

sam/danny

lazlo/nadja

mr. krabs/mrs. puff

i’m drawing a blank. that’s it

[the-somwthing]

Sorry but I’m not getting over the person who basically implied that headcanoning Jimmy as taller than Tango is thinly veiled rpf and they’re not REALLY separating cc from character. Like WHAT are you cooking

[guiltyasdave]

just close your eyes

chapter 3 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.2k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury, implied death of a character, the angst is ANGSTING in this one

a/n: once again, i can't thank that jackson joel pedro photo enough for the inspiration that it's brought me. i hurt my own feelings with this chapter, and truth be told, it's gonna get worse from here.

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

Over the following days, something of a routine forms between the three of you. 

Joel spends most of his time resting, asleep more often than not, the shape of him on your couch a picture that you grow familiar with. But as his fever goes down and the skin around his injury is less red than when you first laid eyes on it, you allow yourself the tentative hope that you might have been able to actually save him. 

You’re becoming less skittish around him, getting used to his rather gruff demeanor, slowly realizing that what Ellie said was indeed true, it’s not about you. You come to think he just doesn’t like needing and accepting help.

Ellie follows you around like a puppy, eager to soak up every scrap of knowledge that you can share with her. It’s not much, you think, mostly cooking, the task of turning supplies into various meals, given the limited resources that you have in this world. You like having her around, the almost constant stream of chatter and questions never annoying you.

It fills your usual silence, helps keeping you grounded in the present. Most of the time.

Now that you have company, it becomes painfully obvious to you how much time you spend in your head, just sitting and staring straight ahead, lost in your thoughts, oblivious to the time passing. You have taken to having a book open in your lap, to make it seem like you’re reading, but you find yourself looking down at the page without seeing it, not sure when you last turned it. 

It’s not what they would have wanted, you keep telling yourself, trying to shake yourself out of it. Well, it’s not like anything happened the way we wanted, the bitter voice in your head answers.

If Ellie or Joel notice, they don’t ask about it. You hear their voices in the night sometimes, both of them sleeping in your parents’ bedroom now, since the couch was starting to hurt Joel’s back. 

You don’t lock your door anymore, leaving it ajar, just like them. The thought of someone else being down here with you is soothing you, the fear of them being a possible threat basically nonexistent at this point. Instead, a different kind of fear sets in. 

They haven’t talked about where they are going, but you know that they’re not gonna stay forever. Once Joel is completely healed, and winter has given way to spring, they’ll most likely be off again, leaving you on your own again. You don’t want to grow attached, but it’s difficult not to, while being with other constantly. 

You and Joel are taking longer to warm up to each other than you and Ellie have, but you’ve gotten used to having him around you. It’s a quiet, but trustworthy, reassuring thing, his presence in your space. Now that he’s healing, he’s someone who you trust to take responsibility, to take care of things if needed. You’re not sure how you know, but you’re certain that he is.

One evening, Ellie finds the DVD collection that’s stashed away in the cabinet under the small TV in the corner of the room. You hadn’t watched anything in forever, not sure if it’s even still working, but her enthusiasm makes it impossible to turn her down. 

Even Joel pipes up at the prospect of a movie night, crouching down next to her to sift through the DVDs. They’re both drawn to the shitty action movies – usually not your preferred taste, but you find the corners of your mouth lifting when they both turn around simultaneously, looking for your approval of their choice. 

Joel pushes himself back up with a grunt, pressing the button on the TV and making it spring to life without issue. You settle deeper into the couch cushions, pulling a knitted blanket over yourself as you watch the opening credits play. 

It’s so comfortable, so normal, and you want to get lost in the feeling in a way that makes your heart ache. Ellie sits down beside you to share the blanket while Joel stretches his legs out on the other couch. A smile is tugging at his lips when he catches you looking at him, but it can’t hide the wariness in his eyes, mirroring your own. It’s the feeling of things being too good to be true, the fear of nothing good ever lasting, of the world crashing down around you again, that always accompanies you, and without asking, you know that he feels it too. You cast your eyes back to the screen, trying hard not to get yourself lost in the fear, but to enjoy the moments of peace while they last. 

Ellie loves the movie, her eyes wide at every action-packed sequence, gasping at every explosion. At one of the more absurd scenes, you can’t contain the burst of laughter that bubbles up your throat. You’re unexpectedly joined by the deeper rumble of Joel’s, a sound that you haven’t heard before. 

You glance at him, to find his eyes already on you, an emotion in them that you can’t place. Neither of you say a word, both quietly returning your eyes to the TV. 

When you’re lying in bed later that night, you still feel the smile on your face. 

While your closeness with Ellie came quickly, almost taking you by storm, it’s a quiet, slowly growing thing with Joel. 

It begins with him lingering in the kitchen when you’re preparing the morning coffee, asking you questions about the place, about keeping supplies, electricity, the safety measures. He helps you with cooking, grumbling about giving something back when you protest. 

He’s gruff, no comparison to Ellie’s lively chatter and endless questions, and it makes you nervous at first. But you get used to him, his more quiet demeanor, his dry humor. You can tell that he’s trying hard not to scare you again, avoiding sudden movements or getting loud, and while you appreciate it, you also can’t help but wonder how broken you must seem from the outside. 

He doesn’t ask prying questions about your past, how you’ve come to live here all alone, though you have to imagine that he’s curious. You don’t ask him about his either, even if you do wonder how he and Ellie ended up together. It’s a quiet mutual understanding and you’re grateful for it. 

You have to believe that he had his fair share of loss in his own life, that the both of them had; an inescapable reality at this point in the world’s history.

It’s like a silent camaraderie when he catches your eye as Ellie is reading out puns to the both of you once more, rolls his eyes in a way that still holds so much love for the girl next to you, but that fills you with the urge to giggle. It stops you in your tracks the first time it happens, the sensation so unfamiliar to you that you can’t place it for a second. 

When you smile at him, the corners of his mouth rise ever so slightly as well, before he huffs an exaggerated sigh at the joke that you just heard. It riles Ellie up, just like he wanted to, you suspect. But you block out her bickering at him, busy with your own thoughts. One thought in particular, one that you haven’t had about anyone since you were a teenager. 

Joel is kind of pretty when he smiles.

The both of them have also taken to working their way through the bookshelf that’s taking up most of one of the walls. It’s mostly guidebooks on hunting, gardening, self defense, anything that your father deemed possibly useful. Over time, you had added books from your old bedroom, the one upstairs, that you had hastily carried down the stairs, hoping for the familiar words to give you a sense of normalcy in a world where nothing was normal anymore. 

Joel sometimes talks to you about them, asking your opinion on which ones to read, discussing their contents with you. Over time, you realize that he does it when you’re zoning out, pulling you back into reality with the drawl of his low voice next to you. You’re thankful for it, not used to being cared for like this, but also mortified that as it seems, he does notice when you’re too deep inside your head.

It’s one of those afternoons, you’re just about to start preparing dinner, when Ellie asks if you have more books somewhere, about something cool. “Like what?” you reply, an easy smile on your face. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “like comics, maybe? Ohh, or something about space?” 

It takes a moment before the words register, before they form a picture in your mind, the memory of exactly what she’s asking for. You stop in your tracks, frozen on your way to the kitchen. Your toes dig into the carpet beneath your bare feet. A faint trembling starts in your hands and slowly spreads through your body. 

Ellie says your name, an edge in her voice. You’re not sure what your face looks like. 

Your wide eyes find hers, looking up at you from where she was spread out on the floor, her hair splaying out over the scratchy rug, one of your books held over her head. You had joked about how that position couldn’t be comfortable a few minutes ago. 

You see Joel from the corner of your eye, slowly raising to his feet from the couch cushions. It feels like you can’t breathe, like you’re sucking in air but it doesn’t reach your lungs. 

A large, warm hand lands on your shoulder, making you jump. Joel rubs soothing circles over your back, your name a low rumble on his lips. 

“It’s– it’s not a problem if not,” Ellie murmurs, sitting up slowly, her eyes flicking between you and Joel, uncertainty written over her features. 

You force a shuddering breath in, using the sensation of Joel’s hand splayed over your back to ground yourself. Nodding your head, you will your voice to travel up your throat. 

“Yeah no, I– just a second.” 

Joel repeats your name, more questioning this time, but you ignore it, feet carrying you into the bathroom where you quickly shut the door behind you. Skin stretching over your knuckles, you stand over the sink, gripping its edges to stay upright. 

It’s what he would have wanted. He would have been so happy to share them. It’s true, you know what. 

You’re not sure what’s worse. Going in there yourself, crossing the threshold of a room that you haven’t entered in years, haven’t even opened the door to, or letting someone else do it, let them disturb the memory of a reality that you’ve tried to preserve in there. Too painful to touch, but too important to let go of. 

Steeling yourself, you return to the living area. Ellie and Joel are sitting close to each other, both of their heads flying up at the door opening. It’s obvious that they have been talking about you. You bite your lip. 

Ellie rises to her feet slowly, takes a tentative step toward you. “Listen, it’s not that important really–” She sounds like she’s talking to a skittish animal. 

You shake your head, not trusting your voice not to betray you. With a deep breath, you cross the room to the door beside yours. One of two that you keep firmly closed. 

It creaks on its hinges when you open it slowly, your hand shaking on the handle. You try not to look around, to keep your eyes closed to the truth that nothing changed in here, and yet everything changed. It’s stuffy, stagnant air that’s been untouched for too long, but it smells like him. Like he’s still here with you. 

You don’t see the unmade bed, still carrying the trace of the last time he got up, the stuffed lion beside the pillow. Don’t see the half finished drawings on the desk, or the mess of action figures in the corner. You grab the stack of comics from the nightstand, ignoring the way your vision blurs at the edges. Move on to the shelf, smaller than the one in the living room, blindly picking out random books. 

When you step out of the bedroom, quickly pulling the door shut behind you again, neither Joel or Ellie have moved. You can’t meet either one’s gaze, don’t want to see the expression in their eyes.

Ellie takes the stack of books from your outstretched hands, murmuring a thanks, and you sense that there are more words on the tip of her tongue. Questions, apologies, you don’t know and you don’t want to. 

Turning on your heels, you escape into your own room, closing the door as quickly as you can before you collapse on your bed. Tears flood your eyes in time with the memories flooding your head, threatening to pull you under and drown you under their waves. 

You hear their muffled voices through the door, but neither of them comes to disturb you. You’re thankful for it, not needing anyone to witness you in this state. Eventually, you drift off into sleep, your mind gladly giving way to unconsciousness.

The following night is the first time that Joel has to shake you awake from a nightmare.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

[cherrys-side-bitch]

The Great 7 AU

Note: This is only general headcanons, I'm definitely writing more for this AU later

Since a young age, Yuu has had their parents (mostly Jafar and Grimhilde) teaching them how to act appropriately while also being taught fighting and magic. So, with that, Yuu would know how to keep a cool head in almost any situation, though it may be hard to keep a straight face with some of the seven’s comments.

Even though they have the power of the seven, they decide to play the role of the “magicless” prefect. I headcanon that, similarly to the actual game, the mirror said that Yuu didn't have magic since Yuu, by default, is just a random human and can't use magic without the seven’s aid. Though the mirror possibly hinted at The Great Seven being present, it was likely vague and quickly forgotten due to the absurdity of the situation.

Despite only arriving in this world from another, they’re incredibly knowledgeable about magic, potions, and even the history of this world. It's almost suspicious to the other students that some begin to think that their story of being from another world might be a lie even though they insist it isn't. Admittedly, though Yuu knows the history, they are still clueless about the laws and places of this word. Don't let them play geoguessr. They might die. Either that, or they’ll cry, then you have the Great 7 to deal with.

On the topic of the Great Seven, they don't have physical forms, only visible to Yuu and possibly other ghosts (Sam also probably knows due to the whole “friends on the other side” thing, but who knows). However, I believe they can still influence the world around Yuu through magic, even if only a little. An example may be that Yuu fell asleep on the couch after one of their nightly strolls with Malleus, and Maleficent draped a blanket over Yuu to keep them warm. Another is if Yuu is getting harassed by one of NRC’s bullies, one of the 7 pulls some horror movie shit and breaks the lights or starts throwing things: that or one of Maleficent's iconic storms.

Adding to what I said earlier about them acting, the idea of Great 7! Yuu snapping is terrifying. Even if they don't use magic or attack someone, it's still scary seeing that. The calm and collected persona falling, and you get to see their genuine emotions? Terrifying.

Just your average, cute, little “magicless” human acting all prim and proper, then displaying magical prowess that could surpass Malleus.

If I were those side character students, I’d leave, tbh.

┉ˏ͛ ༝̩̩̥͙ ⑅͚˚　　 ҉　　⑅͚˚ ͛༝̩̩̥͙ ˎ┉

Also, since you asked me to tag you, @twisted-wonderland-but-gayer 🥲

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three Four Five

What the fuck are you even so happy about? You fucked it up. Jesus you both fucked it up. I didn’t even know something like that could happen.

Eddie smiles at his bedroom ceiling in the dim light, “it was amazing.”

You hugged. Congratulations, you hugged a boy. Eddie can feel Billy roll his eyes.

“You don’t get it.”

There’s nothing to get, because nothing actually happened. Because somehow you both fucked up something as simple as kissing.

Eddie laughs, “you mad Billy? Mad you didn’t get to make out with Harrington?”

Fuck off. I don’t give a shit.

“Uh hu,” Billy is finally quiet. He leaves Eddie alone, lets him grin up at the clean ceiling from his clean new bed, in the room Steve set up for him. Filled with the things Steve went out of his way to save from the old trailer. There’s no beeping here, no hospital smells, he’s warm and comfortable and he’s full of Steve’s casserole and mashed potatoes.

The scent of Steve’s aftershave lingering in his nose, on his cheek.

They were going to kiss, Eddie’s pretty sure they were. They were both so close, heads tilted and eyes wide, but someone twitched wrong, something happened, both of them simultaneously sublimating whatever it was they were doing into a hug instead. Steve’s arms wrapped carefully around Eddie’s middle, conscious of the still healing wounds, his face tucked carefully against Eddie’s neck, ‘never done anything with a guy before.’ The whispered confession from Steve Harrington, the soft lips and sharp stubble against Eddie’s neck.

A confession that means he was going to do something with a guy. Or at least was interested in doing something with a guy, and that guy was, presumably, Eddie.

An incredible turn of events, really.

‘Never done anything with anyone,’ Eddie had whispered back, earning himself a snort of a laugh. God natured though. Happy.

‘We can go slow.’

And Steve had left with a big sappy smile and a dorky little finger tip wave and a promise they would hang out tomorrow.

Eddie sighs. Then grabs a pillow so he can scream into it. And then he’s kind of just grinning, laughing a little, he’s just so fucking happy.

Jesus christ, you fuck ups are actually made for each other.

“I hope so.”

What is this we’re doing now.

Eddie ignores him, sets up his DM shield, his books, his dice. Unpacks his pencils, his notes. Eddie always plays it fast and loose, he’s got a vague plan sure. As long as he knows the plan and the motivations of the bad guys, everything else falls into place pretty easily.

So this is the nerd thing you’ve been planning for.

He wants this one to be good; first game with Will the Wise present, after all. Steve’s in the kitchen, left Eddie to set up the finishing touches. They’re going to hang out and watch a movie once all the kids have gone, and Eddie’s pretty sure he couldn’t have planned a more perfect day if he tried. Steve’s even making them snacks. He’s done something to the dining room table to make it even bigger, unfolding some extra hidden bit of wood to make it longer; wild rich people shit.

The bell tolls; the kids are at the door, and Eddie can’t suppress his joy at having all the kids here together, everyone alive and well. Well, except for Max, which is shitty, but all the kids are going to go and visit her after this, so that’ll be nice for her.

He wants to prance to the front door, leap and skip and play he’s so buzzing with excitement for this, but one single hop is enough for his body to remind him, pretty sharply, that he is absolutely not ready for that sort of nonsense just yet, so he walks instead.

Jesus christ, this kid is a straight up savage.

Lady Applejack stares Eddie down over his DM shield.

Could have done with her against the Mindflayer.

“I’m going to attack.”

Of course she is.

Eddie claps joyously, “everyone roll for initiative.”

Eddie’s standing now, can’t possibly just sit with all this going on, “and that is a hit, his mighty war hammer crashing into your armor with a resounding smack, for one D10 of damage…”

“Dustin,” Mike hisses, “how much health do you even have?”

Dustin shakes his head, worried, but doesn’t answer. Lucas is hanging onto Dustin's shoulder, looking down at Dustin’s character sheet. Eddie’s dice clatters on the table behind the DM shield, Lucas signals ‘five’ to will with his fingers.

The whole table collectively holds it’s breath as Eddie watches his die roll and settle on a nine. “It’s a glancing blow! Your armor must absorb some of the hit as you take four points of damage!”

Eddie, no, don’t lie. Kill the little shit-you're too soft on them.

Will immediately starts on his turn, so excited, “I cast Cure Light Wounds!”

Of course he does.

Why is this taking them so long?

The most simplistic puzzles are the best.

Literally all the have to do is match the colors. I can’t believe how dumb they are.

Eddie does his best to hold in the snort. Doesn’t quite succeed and earns a scathing look from Erica. Yep. They are over thinking it a little.

This is so frustrating, how can you even sit through this.

Watching them struggle is the fun. They’ll get it in a minute.

We’re going to grow old and die here.

They sit and listen to the kids argue a little longer, coming up with wilder and wilder theories on how to solve what is the simplest color match game Eddie could come up with.

Baldie is staring at us.

Don’t call her that, Eddie’s reply is reflexive, but Billy is right. El is watching them.

Eddie isn’t surprised when she lingers. Deliberately makes it so that she’s the last standing on the porch. The boys shot off on their bikes, but El, Mike and the ferocious Lady Applejack are hitching a ride with Nancy.

She waves to him through the wind shield, then turns, talking to Mike.

“Do you talk to him?”

No preamble. Just those big fucking eyes looking up at Eddie. Knowing. A little kid should not look like that.

“Yeah, all the time.” In his mind, Billy is still and quiet. Watching warily.

“Is he alright?”

“He’s still a massive dick, so, I guess so, yeah.”

“Does Max know?”

She cuts right to the heart of it, this kid, “she’s the only one who knows.”

She nods, “for now,” and then leaves, running to get in the car without a care in the world.

She’s terrifying.

I know, fucking great isn’t it?

Part seven

[marys2ndson]

hunting fucking sucks: a fic rec list

I just love when their lives suck not because they’re vessels for archangels or whatever, but just because their job is the worst. thankless, dangerous, morally ambiguous, leaving them injured and dirty and bone-tired. i <3 whump

Due East by sowell (4,700 words)

Just hunts and angst and them, together. Love the characterization. 

“I think I like you injured. Less bitchy,” Dean says with a smile, and Sam blinks at him. / “What?” / “You think I haven’t noticed you sulking for two days straight?”

Hard to Come By by sevenfists (1,700 words)

Hunting, driving around, sleeping in shitty motels. Making difficult choices, dealing with hard realities. 

"You don't smoke," Sam says, and Dean says, "What's it look like I'm doing?" The cigarette tastes like ass. He smokes it anyway, tapping the ash out the open window. It's August. Sam turns up the air conditioning. Dean turns it back down.

Below Breath by kalliel (3,100 words)

Season 2, case fic. Love the complete lack of exposition. You’re just thrown into it on Dean’s terms, and everything is complicated and difficult and unknown. 

Dude, he says, and shoves you in the back with his shotgun. You resist the urge to turn around and smack him with it. Or kiss him, all teeth. See how much he’s paying attention then. 

Every Rhyme Without Reason by kalliel (44,800 words) 

Season 1, case fic, Sam POV. Fascinating and atmospheric and a tough read bc Sam’s life is very uphill at this point, but he’s so present, wrestling and grappling with it. Love him. <3

Maybe they killed that rawhead, released that reaper, slashed that bax'aan's throat. Maybe they'll kill this thing in Rime. But this is what's gonna get them: They have $127.34, four more nights, half a tank of gas, and some cold leftovers to their name. Out here, there's nowhere to go but down; and even then, they're going to have to limp.

With Gravy by kalliel (3,700 words)

Vague season 2. A hunt gone wrong. Slim chances of survival, complete darkness, pain, and heroism. 

The tunnel stretches on and on, and all Dean hears is their footsteps getting heavier, sloppier. One kid cries. The woman cries. The man's leg doesn't quite clear some jutting rocks, and he weeps.

The Real Thing by ameliacareful (14,200 words)

Jensen wakes up in a motel room in Dean’s place. So outsider POV. That thing about the third trial, about Tom and Shep… Kill me. 

“Are you doing that on purpose?” / “What?” / “Sounding like him?” / “A little. Does it work?” Jensen asked. / Sam did that funny little flicker of a smile/grimace that Jared only did as Sam. “Yeah, it does.” His gaze hardened. “Don’t do it again.” / Sam was suddenly very big. Armed. / “Gotcha,” Jensen said.

Catch Your Death by road_rhythm (22,300 words)

They work a ghost hunt while Sam’s sick. This fucks severely! All their petty fights and their biases and bickering really get the spotlight they deserve, as well as the fact that they just really love and care about each other. Feels exactly like a really good ep of s2. And takes up some of the interesting Sam issues as well.

It was this, every time. Sam lashed out and Dean came back with impenetrable patience and washcloths and medicine and touch and one day it would be his life. And there was no answering back to that.

my habit of breaking hearts as soon as i have them by acccording2thelore (6,600 words)

WARNING: major character death. 

A hunt gone wrong. Staggering grief and horror mixed with intimacy and connection. <3 

If he can just get to Garth, he can send up some of his people and help carry Sam to the base of the mountain. Dean won’t make it that far.

the blurriness of being alive by hathfrozen (3,500 words)

WARNING: major character death. 

Sam dies of an infection.

“They don’t get to grieve for him,” Dean tells Miracle when he decides he isn’t calling anybody to tell them. “They ain’t allowed. They don’t get it.” Dean’s had the worst things in the known universe leeching off of him, trying to turn him into evil, but this is the most rotten, meanest he’s ever felt. He doesn’t fucking care.

A Lifetime or Two by nigeltde (18,400 words)

They work a case with their mom; Sam gets banged up; they try something new. This fic feels so real and lived in. The familiarity between Sam and Dean, the way Sam feels left out, Sam’s quiet loneliness and enduring hope, Dean’s desperate affection. <3

Sam would say lucky it was just broken bones. Lucky nothing else cut too deep. Lucky his ear was intact. Dean gets lost, strung out, trying to calculate: if Sam had been concussed, would that still be good luck? If he’d lost the finger, should Dean be thankful? Where does it end, the tallying? Sam thrown through glass, dragged across pavement, tossed into a car, stitched up in this cramped doll’s house of a room, having to bluntly endure; this is what he’s supposed to be grateful for?

Settle Down My Shivered Bones by abitingsmile (4,800 words)

WARNING: disordered eating, food insecurity, and child neglect. 

Pre-series. John, unreliable and off hunting somewhere, and Sam and Dean, making it work with too little cash and too little food. Love this exact flavor of codependency, not sweet, but hard-earned and for survival. 

Sam still bickered with him about school and television and laundry, but not about food. Hell, he practically waited for Dean to give him permission to eat, because that way they knew there’d be enough. John or no, this was something incredibly important they could control, they could handle. John simply wasn’t in the loop anymore.

[dokidokitsuna]

“Some of us…will always be alone”

Skipping forward a bit in this re-concept, just because I can~ (loooong post ahead)

So one of the many things I found underwhelming about Return of the Mammalians is the lack of villainous impact Mr. Grizz has on his own story.

For starters, he’s straight up absent from 80% of it. =/ Just a vaguely threatening disembodied voice that does weak comedy bits with Cap’n Cuttlefish from time to time…and that’s basically it until we face him in the final battle.

The worst thing he’s responsible for in the story (as in, a successful act we have to contend with, rather than a work-in-progress that we interrupt) is dehydrating Cuttlefish…which is very temporary and played for laughs immediately afterwards. We don’t even get the opportunity to engage with this “tragedy” by actively rescuing the Cap’n in gameplay, we just suddenly find his body during a cutscene.

Compare this to Commander Tartar manipulating the player and lying directly to their face throughout the game, attempting to kill the player during the reveal of its treachery in one of the most memorable scenes of the entire series, brainwashing a former protagonist into fighting the player, and then attempting to destroy an entire city while quietly confessing that it murdered thousands of victims just to get to this point.

I’ll let you guess which one of these antagonists feels like a genuine threat, and which one just feels like a disappointment. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Now, I don’t mind Mr. Grizz being less violent and deranged than Commander Tartar…the two have different personalities and slightly different goals, and anyway a body count isn’t really necessary to be a convincing villain. But I DO mind him being so totally uninvolved, despite being a character that we already knew and interacted with beforehand. Like, at the very least…talk to the player. o_O Care about the player. Do something to interfere with the player sometime before the last minute! The fact that Grizz just doesn’t give a damn about our existence for most of the campaign is baffling from a writer’s standpoint, and heartbreaking from a Grizz-fan’s standpoint. ;_; Notice me, Kuma-san!!

…Anyway, there’s a million ways to remedy this, because it’s such a simple and obvious problem that really shouldn’t exist. ^^; And the one I chose for #re_rise (besides having Grizz haunt the game like an ever-present specter, as explained here) is one of my old tried-and-true favorites: using the villain to parallel the protagonist.

Basically, both characters are lonely at heart. Agent 3 left home for the Splatlands in search of a “fresh beginning”, after spending most of their life feeling like they never fit in anywhere. Throughout the story, we get subtle clues that what they want most is belonging and friendship…which they’re clearly discovering through their interactions with Deep Cut and Smallfry, although it’s not until the climax of the final battle that they can truly believe in it and accept it.

And of course, Mr. Grizz lost his home and entire civilization, and even in the midst of a thriving new one (that he actively engages with through his corporation…!) he’s apparently such a massive bigot that he doesn’t consider it worthy of his company. ^^; Fish-people do not count to him, thus his loneliness is self-inflicted and intensified. He believes his only recourse is to transform the world back into something he can accept.

These parallels, plus the desire-manifesting powers of Alterna’s crystals (discussed in this post) eventually brings the two characters to an understanding of sorts. Without having to exchange words, they can see and consider the similarities of their innermost feelings.

This doesn’t have much of an effect on Grizz, outside of something he might muse about while Agent 3 ascends the launchpad (and maybe quietly internalize as proof that fish-people have feelings too, just to give his last-second change of heart at least one leg to stand on). But it weighs heavily on Agent 3, especially since they’re being physically changed by their adventure in a way that makes these parallels even more relevant…yes, I’m finally gonna talk about what I actually drew. ^^

My idea was that spending too much time around Fuzzy Ooze will affect you even if you don’t touch it (i.e. through splashes/aerosols), just to a lesser degree. And since Agent 3 was the first to actually enter the underground lab spaces and spends more time fighting there than anyone else, they’ve had an unprecedented amount of secondhand exposure to it.

Through O.R.C.A.’s files, they can understand why this mild fuzzification is happening to them, and that it may not be reversible, although they press on anyway (I’d like to imply that they’re willing to ignore it to impress Deep Cut~). But Grizz’s offhand comments make them realize that they may be unintentionally setting themselves up to be cast aside again, slowly turning into a repulsive mutant monster that no one will want to be around. The only one of their kind in the world, just like a certain Ursine Anomaly…and if they succeed in stopping Grizz’s plan, that’s all they’ll ever be. 

…On the other hand, if they were to sit back and let him fuzzify the world, then…no, they couldn’t do that. They…wouldn’t…

[ficandkaboodle]

You know what? I like the idea of Copia’s potential dating life being absolutely rattled by his well-meaning but absolutely insane family.

Primo tells him to do it old school and offer his crush flowers. Proceeds to create a bouquet of poisonous plants for Copia to present (“Careful not to let this one receive more than two hours of sunlight.” “Per day??” “No, in total. Too much sun and it releases spores they haven’t yet created an antidote for.”). Copia coincidently forgets the bouquet in his room when he goes to meet his crush.

Secondo tells Copia to take control. To flaunt his wealth and power and his crush will throw themselves at his feet. Now, Copia does enjoy fine materials himself. But…the idea that they’ll only want to be with him because of his money and means just agitates his anxieties about being unwanted as a person. He only feels vaguely better and more full of hope when his crush notices he’s down and offers him a juice box. They ask if he’d mind if they sat next to him with their own and he sheepishly gives them the okay. He’s fighting for his life to not let his blush region turn ablaze.

Terzo means well the most, offering advice. But it’s of the sexual variety. And while Copia does want to do…stuff…with them eventually, he feels much more comfortable wooing them first. “Ah. Well. Lean into being Italian, then. Though…When I say ‘lean’, I actually mean to dive headfirst into it. You need the help.” (Yes, that was inspired by this ) Copia, dressed in his red sweats and a shirt that reads “Sweet Dreams Are Made of Cheese 🧀”, furrows his brows in confusion. “What do you mean by this?” he asks, taking a sip of his juice box.

Even if she’s dead, Sister stays working. This includes messing with the schedule to make sure Copia’s crush frequently interacts with him. However…she almost literally hovers. Telling Cardi to fix his posture, to speak up, but also to not be distracted — You’d think she wouldn’t really care about her son’s love life but I think in a way, her interfering is an extension of her efforts to make it up to him for the life he wound up having. Suffice it to say, it stresses Copia out.

Nihil…You can’t just… You can’t give your son advice on making out in the car and groping and whatnot. And for the life of SATAN, STOP IMPLYING YOU USED THIS SHIT ON YOUR SON’S MOTHER —

At the end of the day, though his family probably means well, they’re just not good for this and make the whole situation worse. Either Copia toughs it out and tries to woo his crush on his own, or Only Sane Man Psaltarian just cuts it straight and tells him “Just ask them out. If it doesn’t work, you tried and it’ll be over quicker than if you just nursed this. If it dies, la dee dah.”

[unicyclehippo]

One word prompt for hawkeye/bishova: tense

(Also yay! Excited for you to try to write for them! Love ur writing and also hawkeye 🫶)

ok just a short one while i have my coffee. in the same vague story as regret & stumble

//

so far, kate’s talked for the whole drive.

it’s not something she’s particularly proud of, okay? it’s just a fact. she does start to think she would make an incredible politician purely on her filibuster flair but the thought passes, a little because she can’t think of anything worse than politics, a little because she starts feeling guilty that her present filibustering isn’t some grand speech in defence of civil liberties but a desperate attempt to fill the car with noise so clint won’t ask her questions.

‘—and that’s obviously where everything started to go wrong, because apparently the bell wasn’t fixed in the tower properly and the arrow doesn’t weight that much—what am i saying, you know how much arrows weigh, and this was just a flute14, they’re like, what three-eighty?’

‘three eighty-five.’

kate turned in the seat to stare at him, mouth agape. she hadn’t seen him turn his hearing aid off but she had just figured, after three hours of this, that he’d managed to tune her out. she didn’t think he was really listening.

oh well. in for an arrow, in for a quiver full.

‘right! so i didn’t think it would bring a tower down. obviously. but it turns out that the weight of the arrow is nothing and it’s actually the force you gotta calculate, which, i should obviously have realised but yknow what they say about hindsight and shooting arrows at bell towers. i guess the bell wasn’t built to be rung because when i used the snapshut head—‘

‘snapshut?’

‘yeah. they have a claw on the front so when you hit something, it clicks the trigger and closes the claw around it.’

clint tilts his head. ‘huh.’

‘anyway, the arrow pulled the rope and the rope pulled the bell and the bell pulled the beam and the beam pulled the top of the tower and everything kinda…collapsed from there.’

if she had to pick when things started going wrong this year, that was probably it. or was it just the latest in a long string of things going wrong? there was an unhappy thought.

‘did you design the snapshut head?’

kate beamed at clint. she was so happy he was her partner—he knew she needed to talk. talk about taking one for the team.

‘no, i saw last years olympics champ using something similar. well, i guess i designed my snapshuts—design feels like a really sophisticated term,’ she confessed. ‘i just kept trying stuff until it worked.’

clint glanced sidelong at her. ‘yeah,’ he said. ‘that’s what designing is.’

‘oh. then yeah.’

he huffed a little laugh and turned his attention back to the road.

it was really pretty. they were still in pennsylvania and the highway ran straight and clear ahead of them. on either side, dense forests crowded in grey and green and on a distant ridge, she could make out rows of looming hemlocks like a fence of arrows.

maybe not arrows, she supposed. just because something was triangular didn’t mean it looked like an arrow.

she leaned her head against the window. it shuddered and jumped under her skull from the tiny bumps in the road and made her teeth buzz.

clint reached carefully back and grabbed his sweater, holding it out to her.

‘what’s this for?’

‘fold it up, use it as a pillow.’ he said it all stern, an order, like it wasn’t the sweetest thing in the world. ‘you’ll get a concussion if your head bangs around like that.’

‘another concussion,’ she pointed out cheerfully. ‘oh. you didn’t know that? i mean, i’m fine.’

‘mhm.’ clint glowered at the road.

kate folded up the soft sweater and tucked it between her head and the window. then, between one blink and the next, she fell asleep.

//

lucky barked when clint took him out to pee at the next gas station. kate jerked awake with a kick and a snort.

‘shh,’ clint soothed, patting her shoulder. ‘go back to sleep.’

//

‘you should have woken me up!’ kate insisted for the sixth time. ‘i can’t believe you bought chips, of all things. i mean, salt? what were you thinking? it’s gonna dry us out, parch the lips, we’re gonna be gasping for liquids, clint!’

‘will it stop you from talking?’

‘in the worst case scenario, yes.’ she narrowed her eyes at him and asked, darkly, ‘why?’

he scratched at the stubble on his chin, but not fast enough to hide his smile. ‘just wondering. there’s something blue in the icebox, by the way.’

‘blue?’

kate twisted to check what drinks he bought. it looks like the worlds most off-brand gatorade and she gets why he just said blue. it’s not only the name but also the most prominent and upsetting feature.

‘it’s so blue…’

‘i know.’

‘this can’t be healthy.’

‘can’t be.’

‘…want half?’

clint rolled down his window and poured the dregs of his coffee into the highway gutter, passing the styrofoam cup over.

//

‘so. you had drinks with yelena?’

kate dug very nonchalantly into the bag of chips. she pulled out a folded chip between her pointer and middle finger.

‘did you ever get told it was bad luck to touch a folded chip with your thumb?’

‘…no.’

‘weird.’ she shoved it in her mouth and chewed obnoxiously loud. maybe he’d take it as a hint.

he didn’t.

‘some protege you turn out to be,’ he teased (she hoped). ‘you couldn’t have waited a week? she only tried to kill me yesterday.’

‘she wasn’t trying very hard,’ kate pointed out. ‘if she wanted either of us dead, we would be dead. like, you saw her fighting, right?’

‘yep.’

‘i’m not bad at fighting, clint! i have won—‘ she totted them up quickly. ‘seventeen trophies! important trophies! i got my black belt at fifteen. and she’s like, wow. so much better.’

clint nodded. his face stayed smooth but kate, half turned in her seat to lean against the window, had a perfect view of his hands curling tight around the steering wheel.

‘yep.’

‘was—‘ kate stopped. shoved another chip in her mouth.

clint’s lips turned up very slightly. ‘you can ask.’

‘are you sure?’

‘yeah.’

‘okay.’

kate thought carefully about how to phrase it. the black widow—the black widow—was a sore subject for clint. hawkeye. for obvious reasons. and with each hour that passed in this rust bucket truck that smelled now of gasoline and potato chips and dog, everything got a little bit more strange. she had known instantly who clint was when he stripped the mask from her face—the hawkeye! her hero! the world’s hero!—and then the week passed like a kidney stone and now he was hawkeye and also nathaniel’s dad and a husband and this guy. who was strange in his own right. like, who went into a gas station and bought the weirdest stuff on purpose? and kate was sitting in his passenger seat, their bows were packed together in the back seat, he had walked her dog. it was a lot. and she didn’t want to fuck it up.

‘was natasha like that?’ she asked quietly, words half vanishing under the putter of the engine so if he wanted to, he could pretend he hadn’t heard.

‘she was better.’ when kate scoffed, he grinned that tight lopsided grin, like he’d half forgotten how to smile. ‘i’m serious. she was the best. once, that meant she was the worst of the worst. and then…’

‘the shot you didn’t take.’

‘yeah.’

‘and she came to your side.’

‘not at first.’ clint opened his mouth. kate threw a chip in and cheered when he caught it between his teeth. ‘it was messy,’ he said through the crunch. ‘she killed some more people, injured more, broke into some facilities.’

‘what?’

‘she was a bad guy, kate.’ clint’s smile faded a touch. ‘yelena is too. just ‘cause she’s out doesn’t mean she’s changed.’

hot words raced up her throat into her mouth like bile; kate bit them back, surprised and a little weirded out by her own intensity. you don’t understand! she wanted to say, which was dumb as hell because of all the people in the world, the black widow’s best friend knew.

kate lowered her eyes to the dashboard. she thought of bell towers and scoldings and her mother’s gentle hand on her chin, looking at her the same way she had at eight years old.

‘i’ll be careful,’ she told him softly.

‘okay.’

//

clint had been a trooper through the trip, kate could and would readily admit that. she was the worst road trip buddy in the world. school trips relegated to being the teachers buddy could attest to that.

the last hour, kate folded her lips tight and her hands in her lap, only reaching out to stroke lucky’s head until he glared sleepily at her out of his one eye and turned away.

‘you’re being pretty quiet.’

‘are you sure i should come?’ kate blurted.

clint laughed. ‘bit late for that, isn’t it?’

‘no? i mean, the nearest airport is, what, two hours drive? or i could rent a car and drive back. it’s really pretty here, it’d be a nice drive, i wouldn’t mind at all. because christmas is a family thing and i know your kids were really wanting you back—‘

‘you’re coming.’

‘okay.’

clint threw her a few worried looks as the minutes ticked away.

‘she invited you. my wife. they want to meet you.’

‘me?’

‘no,’ he drawled, ‘the other girl archer who saved my life.’

he admitted it! kate very coolly grinned and pumped her fist in a secret little cheer.

‘okay,’ she said again.

she thought it sounded very happy that time, she thought she was very happy that time, but then clint had to sling a question her way—unfair—and she wasn’t so sure.

‘do you want to be there?’ he scratched at his head, above his deafened ear. ‘i didn’t really ask, i guess. did you want to stay in the city?’

kate leaned against the soft sweater and turned her eyes to the highway. the grass plain and the rolling hills that curtained the barton farm from the rest of ohio and the world.

‘nah,’ she said, tone light. ‘are you kidding? and miss out on christmas with the real hawkeye?’

given that she had raised her misgivings like, twelve seconds ago, she deserved his very intense and disbelieving side-eye. but it was sweet that he didn’t press.

//

cooper, she learned, was like his dad in that he kept most of his thoughts inside his head. he was less like his dad because when kate started rambling, he actually seemed to enjoy it and laughed at all her jokes. he probably got that from his mom, who was the most incredible host. warm and gracious and welcoming from the get go.

nathaniel—nate—was cheeky and bright and goofy and totally enamoured with lucky. he was at that age where he constantly had sticky hands and something on his face and when he laughed more than anything else.

lila was an odd combination of her parents. she looked a lot like her mom, and older than her years in the way kate remembered from high school, wanting to seem older than she was. she was so obviously sharp, clever and pointed and had a ton of questions for kate that started off kind and got way more… harsh wasn’t the right word. protective, maybe. of her dad and his time he had promised them. of herself, when it came to this stranger who had stolen their dad for a long precious week.

‘so, you’re like, his apprentice now or something?’ lila asked when her parents were busy in the kitchen kissing hello and, kate assumed, telling her some of the more important things that had happened.

‘um. something like that.’

‘that’s cool. you’re an archer like him?’

‘yeah, yep.’

‘and you nearly got both of you killed?’

‘lila.’

‘i’m just asking.’

‘not in front of nate,’ laura murmured, with a sweet smile. ‘and maybe not at all, yeah hun?’ she tugged at her daughter’s ponytail lightly, teasing.

‘i don’t mind,’ kate lied brightly, sitting tall and tense on the sofa with the girl. ‘it’s totally fair to ask.’

‘see! she doesn’t mind.’

kate had to look away when laura sent her daughter The Look; her ribs ached, clenching so tight around her chest, and it was weirdly hard to breathe for a second.

‘—ate? kate?’

a soft hand touched her shoulder. kate jumped up from the sofa, jostling laura and her own hot cocoa.

‘hey, sweetie, are you—‘

‘which way to the little girl’s room, sorry? it was a helluva long drive,’ she laughed, and chattered as lila stood at another parental look and guided her through a warren of doors and halls to the guest toilet.

‘sorry for badgering you,’ she said quietly, sharply, but not begrudgingly. ‘i’m just glad he’s home.’

and safe, she didn’t say.

kate smiled down at the girl. ‘i get it,’ and rolled her eyes when lila huffed and strode away. wild. she was usually so good with people, and especially kids. she had it on good authority that she was still just an older kid a lot of the time.

tucking away in the washroom, kate sat and let herself breathe. it smelled of lavender soap and some leafy plant on the windowsill. everything was clean and kitschy and so not home that kate had to curl up tight around her bruised and battered body and press her face into her coat, smell the singed sleeve and remember that yeah, she had fought kingpin and a thousand tracksuit goons yesterday and—and everything else that happened too.

her pocket shivered. more accurately, the phone in her pocket shook with an incoming text.

(yelena), the ID said. kate had changed it pretty fast. not that she was likely to forget.

no message to say you are there safe? how rude.

kate laughed softly.

we got here safe. no thanks to clint

should she have said that? yelena wasn’t on the warpath anymore but would she get it was a joke?

he bought this weird blue drink, she started, and kept talking until clint called her for dinner.

[lu-sn]

Arm has a top-secret file that he keeps on a separate partition of his hard drive, locked behind three different password walls. It’s a list of all of the main family’s bodyguards, ranked by how likely they are to be the mole.

(It’s top-secret because he’s not supposed to be looking into this. Chan explicitly ordered him not to.)

There’s a handful of people Arm doesn’t even bother putting on the list. Pol, for one. Pete. Erika. Chan.

By contrast, every single one of Kinn’s personal bodyguards, past and present, is a prime suspect. Kinn’s had a notorious streak of bad luck lately. Four murder attempts in four months cannot be a coincidence.

Ken is just aloof enough that nobody seems to know what he’s up to on his off-days. This rockets him straight to the top of Arm’s list, tied with Big, who has fallen so far out of favor with Kinn that Arm can’t help but wonder if Kinn is doing it on purpose.

And then there’s the name directly under those two.

“Be honest,” he says to Pete one day. They’re sequestered in his armory, but he keeps his voice low: there’s no harm in being careful with matters like this. “Do you think there’s any chance Porsche is the mole?”

Pete is silent for a good, long moment.

“You live with him,” Arm says. “You’ve been on more missions with him than me. If anyone here knows him best, it’s you.”

“There are reasons to suspect him,” Pete says slowly. “A lot of his missions have gone wrong. He didn’t stop that girl from attacking Kinn in the bathroom. The casino stakeout was a mess. The diamond auction was worse.”

“But…?”

Pete sighs. “I don’t know. He’s young. He’s made a lot of mistakes, but he’s improving.”

Arm stares forlornly at his list, cursor blinking innocently next to Porsche’s name. “Pete, I can’t clear his name just because he’s young.”

“No,” Pete concedes. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. “But he’s kind, too. He’s principled. He won’t betray people he cares about.”

“And that’s enough? You trust him?”

“I do.”

The knot in Arm’s chest jerks tighter. “But… he’s so likable.”

“Ohhh, right, he’s nice. Never mind. Death by firing squad.”

Arm smiles, sheepish.

“Okay,” Pete says. “So you think he’s tricking us?”

“Shit, Pete, I don’t know,” Arm splutters. “Isn't it possible?”

“I don't think so. Porsche isn't like that.”

Arm considers this, then plops his face into his hand.

“Did you want me to say something else?” Pete says, faintly amused.

“Yes,” Arm groans.

“Why?”

“Because…” Arm trails off.

Because the security of the main family rests on his shoulders. Arm cannot afford to be anything other than objective; he needs to leave Porsche on his list.

But the problem is that Porsche barreled into their lives and immediately made Khun Noo happier than Arm had ever seen before. The problem is that Pol hasn’t been this comfortable around someone since Arm himself. The problem is that Arm vaguely remembers being carried home from Hum Bar by an equally drunk Porsche, who took off his shoes for him and tucked him into bed and grinned brightly over his shoulder before staggering out the door.

The problem is that Arm is biased.

Pete, on the other hand, is the most level-headed person Arm knows. Leaving Porsche’s name on his list wouldn’t feel so terrible if Pete agreed with it.

“I wanted you to give me a reason to keep him on here,” Arm mumbles. “I feel bad. He’s our friend.”

“You’re doing your job,” Pete says sincerely. “There’s no shame in that. But…” He reaches over to pat Arm on the shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with trusting your gut. If you think he’s innocent, leave him off.”

Arm mulls over this. Then he pokes Pete in the side. “I think I trust your gut more than mine.”

Pete lets out a laugh, incredulous, and pokes Arm back.

-

Later, Arm highlights Porsche’s entry with his cursor and drags it to the bottom of the file. Then he pauses. His hand hovers over the delete button.

He thinks about Pete saying, I trust him. He thinks about what Pete didn’t quite say: you should trust yourself, too.

He hits delete.

-

#kpanniversary2024 episode 9 + prompt 9: trust

[bennysblabbering]

Quarantined

Kinktober: "Fuck or Die" || Vash the Stampede x Nicholas D. Wolfwood (Stampede)

contents: trans!Vash, forced proximity, lab/medical equipment, breeding, semi-clothed sex

words: 3.2k

sorry this is a day late oopsies

↓ Fic below the cut ↓

The subtle hum of the laboratory halls permeates the building, the fluorescent lights dotting the tiled ceiling and grey concrete surrounding the desolate corridors in a cold and unfeeling presence. Two quiet pairs of footsteps make their way across the floor, meticulously aware of each tapping noise against the surface; alerting any presence besides theirs would spell a death sentence neither wanted to imagine. Barely above a whisper, one of the voices speaks.

“Why are we here again?”

“Because, needle-noggin, there’s something I need. I can’t get it anywhere else.” Wolfwood’s brows are furrowed, a sneer present on his lips; being at the facility that spent so many years making him miserable made every muscle in his body tense. Every moment spent here was one he spent in constant fight-or-flight mode, though if need be he would always choose the former. 

“Alright, alright, sorry.” Vash holds his palms up in a playful surrender, a nervous chuckle accompanying his apology. Even though he’d never been here before, the vaguely malevolent aura was present throughout, instilling a sense of unease. “You really grew up here?”

“‘Grew up’ is a generous way of putting it,” Wolfwood grumbles, two fingers of the hand unoccupied with carrying the Punisher curling to make a quote motion. As the two round a corner, a large round door is pulled into view, a double-helix symbol above the frame. Bingo.

He halts Vash’s walking by placing the back of his hand against the other’s chest, peering down the hall cautiously. Navy blue eyes scan every inch of the area before them, checking for any movement or sign of any presence besides theirs; a small relieved exhale escapes his lungs as he stands up straight and continues the last stretch of their journey across the hall. Briefly punching in a code, the doors slide open with a whoosh, revealing a small room.

The assassin wastes zero time by immediately entering into the space, setting his colossal weapon at the threshold outside of the doorway before making his way past the bench at the center, directing his focus towards a temperature-controlled locked set of shelves in the back. The blond accompanying him remains in the hall, observing the details of what seems to be some kind of lab. 

“What is all this?” Vash vaguely gestures with a metal hand, despite the other having his back turned as he attempts to punch in another code, clicking his tongue as he’s denied several times. Wolfwood’s head barely turns a little to reply, his focus primarily on the screen in front of him. 

“You don’t wanna know. God dammit, there’s no way they changed it. I could’ve sworn…”

Vash cocks his head slightly with concern, still completely in the dark about what Wolfwood was attempting to acquire and why it was so difficult to do so. He takes a few steps, following the other into the small room. “Do you need hel-”

Slam!

The doors force themselves shut behind him, immediately sealing the two men air-tight in the cramped space. The blond jumps in surprise, initially laughing it off, but the smile fades and a pit forms in his stomach as he realizes the look on the other’s turned face is one of horror.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Wh…what do you mean?”

Wolfwood shifts his body to face the door, not only confused but scared, knowing the dire consequences if anyone were to discover them here. “The doors. They’re not supposed to shut unless it senses a male and a female together.” He pulls the sunglasses off his face, resting them on the top of his head as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

The bright blue eyes of the other widen as his heart begins to beat a little harder. “What?”

“I came here to retrieve my DNA sample. They can take genes from the DNA of whoever they want and use them in their experiments, sometimes to even make clones or babies if they want to. I didn’t want them doing shit with mine so I came to take it from them.”

“But…what does that have to do with it forcing us in here?” Wolfwood, growing more on edge, runs his tongue over his teeth and crosses his arms, his eyes wandering to avoid looking at the other man as he tries his best to explain the purpose of the room they were shut in.

“So it’s…how the hell do I say this…it’s a fertility lab. They have an archive of DNA in here that they take from, but they also use this room for…”

Tapping his foot and looking away, he sighs. Meanwhile, Vash remains entirely confused with no idea what the other’s train of thought is. His expression remains blank, waiting for Wolfwood to finish putting thoughts into words. 

“...there’s no way to sugarcoat it. They make people fuck in here.”

Both of their eyes nervously glide to the center of the room where a plain waist-high bench stood; no back to lean on, a cushion on top, clearly made for someone to bend over and lay on. There were even two sets of handles- one about halfway in and one at the end, designed for each participant to grip onto for stability. 

And then their eyes meet.

Immediately they both look away, the intensity of eye contact after such a blunt statement overwhelming for the both of them. Wolfwood makes his way over to the door, tapping on it with a knuckle and nodding to it as he speaks.

“These doors…they shut and lock the participants in until they’re done having sex. But, it’s not supposed to do that unless it senses one person who’s capable of making someone pregnant and someone who’s capable of getting pregnant enter together. So I dunno what the hell the sensors are thinking. We’re shit outta luck. Like a dumbass, I left the Punisher outside. And that little pistol you’re swingin’ around isn’t gonna do shit to a door like this. No offense.”

‘...one person who’s capable of making someone pregnant and someone who’s capable of getting pregnant enter together…’

The rest of Wolfwood’s words completely fade out as that sentence registers in Vash’s ears. His heart starts to pound and his hands ball into fists; he knew he was going to have to tell Wolfwood something incredibly personal. He’s not ashamed, of course, but he had no idea how the other would react to hearing that Vash is, in fact, capable of getting pregnant. There was no glitch in the sensor. 

‘…door like this. No offense.’

“Wolfwood.”

“What? You got some kinda idea to sweet-talk the door into opening? Your little pacifist way of doing things isn’t gonna help us outta this one, blondie. We gotta think quick, before either someone notices we’re in here, or we suffocate. And I’m not particularly fond of either of those outcomes.”

Vash’s hand meets the back of his neck, rubbing it idly as his gaze falls to the floor.

“The sensors…they weren’t…wrong.”

The other man’s eyes narrow. “How so?”

“I…well…”

His right hand nervously fidgets with the prosthetic fingers of the left, the volume of his voice lowering meekly and his eyes downtrodden with embarrassment. Please don’t hate me for this. Please don’t let this change the way you see me.

“I…have a vagina.”

Wolfwood blinks. The buzz of the lights above them was almost deafening as the silence filled the space between them. 

“Huh. Well this explains our predicament.”

“It does. I’m…sorry, I wasn’t expecting that to happen. Being trapped in here, I mean. I didn’t think I…my…would be an issue…”

“No, no, I…suppose it was my fault for making assumptions. I would’ve warned ya if I had known.”

They both stand quietly, navy and cyan refusing to meet like repelling magnets. Both of their trains of thought were on the same track. There was no other way out of this. No easy little code to enter, no forcing the entrance open with gunfire, no magic phrase to make the doors undo themselves.

Vash clears his throat, still avoiding directing his gaze towards the other’s face. “Do you think…we’re gonna have to…” His voice trails off, hoping the other man would get the gist. The brunette simply sighs, his own voice softening to a level uncharacteristic of him. 

“This isn’t how I imagined it going.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, nothing.” His troubled face turns and once again finds its way to the middle of the room, swallowing as he feels the adrenaline in his body rising. “There’s only one way outta this.”

Both of the men’s faces flush red as their eyes hesitantly meet, the both of them simultaneously feeling like they were hit by lightning the moment their gazes locked. Wolfwood is wracked by a heavy guilt, reaching out to gently take the other’s hand in his. “I’m sorry. I never should’ve dragged you here with me.”

Vash offers a soft but genuine smile, interlocking his fingers with Wolfwood’s. “It’s okay. Really. I don’t mind. If it makes you feel better…this…isn’t how I imagined it going either.” 

The matching blush between them only deepens, their eyes meeting one another in a silent acknowledgement. But…that was a conversation for another time. Right now, they need to get the hell out of this place. And the only way out is in.

As if reading one another’s minds, they immediately embrace, letting their lips connect, both faces trembling slightly. For a moment, their entire bodies remain still. They needed a moment to register that they were, in fact, kissing. Ever so slowly, their soft lips start to move against each other, their arms tightening their hold around the other’s body. 

Vash draws his arms back and slouches his shoulders, letting his coat fall as they continue to kiss. As Wolfwood’s ears pick up on the sound of the fabric falling on the floor, a flip switches and the heat in his body begins to rise. This is really happening, isn’t it?

Wolfwood growls, picking the other man up by the waist and pushing him against the wall, forcing Vash’s legs to wrap around his hips. A subtle whine escapes Vash’s throat, weaving his fingers through Wolfwood’s dark locks and pressing his tongue to the other’s lips in provocation. The mouth of the assassin eagerly opens to welcome the wet muscle, caressing it with his own. Neither of them realistically thought they’d ever be in a position like this, making out pressed against a wall- it almost felt, to them, as if they were making up for the lack of “normal” promiscuous teenage experiences they’d both missed out on. 

Their lips part with a soft pop, their heavy-lidded eyes meeting as they both let out a huff. For a lingering moment, they take in the expression of the other, swollen and saliva-coated lips, flushed cheeks, half-lidded gazes, and their hearts simultaneously flutter. Wolfwood slightly shakes his head and clears his throat to regain his composure, becoming more difficult by the second with the blood flow redirecting away from his brain. “Alright…we should…probably skip the foreplay, huh?”

Vash giggles, removing the glasses from his face, mirroring Wolfwood by placing them on the top of his head. “Didn’t realize you planned on giving me the gentleman’s treatment.”

The brunette only chuckles, tightening his hold on the other man as he leans into his ear and speaks in a low and sultry tone.

“If it were up to me, blondie, I’d spend hours on you with my hands and my tongue before you ever got to feel my cock inside you.”

Vash’s face has never been redder. He’s never been told something so vulgar before, and especially not from Wolfwood. Not that he hadn’t thought about it. But now that the other man dirty talking to him was a reality, he can feel his cunt ache, craving for attention. He grabs the other by the back of the neck, pulling him in for another kiss, the intensity increasing tenfold between them as their lips press firmer, harder, and messier.

Wolfwood instinctively grinds his hips, his prominent erection rubbing against the clothed crotch of the other man, groaning at the sensation of warmth already present. He pulls back with a grunt, his hands wasting no time to start undoing his own belt and unzipping his pants. “As much as I’d like to prolong this, we kinda have to do this as quickly as we can. I almost forgot where we were.”

The blond simply nods, his head nudging in the direction of the equipment a few feet from them. “You wanna…use that thing for its intended purpose?” 

The lips on Wolfwood’s face turn up into a wicked grin, his eyes filled with a lustful hunger as he nods. “Oh, dirty boy. I like the way you think.”

Vash makes his way over to the bench, pulling his pants and underwear down to his ankles in one swift motion as he bends over. The blush on his face deepens as he feels the other’s eyes on his exposed pussy. “I hope the view isn’t too bad.”

“T…too bad? Good fucking god, blondie, you’ve got the prettiest damn pussy I’ve ever seen. Shame I can’t devour you right now and make you scream and squirt all over my face.” Wolfwood pulls down on the loosened band of his own pants, freeing his erection and idly stroking a bit just at the sight alone. “Guess I’ll have to settle for pounding you till you’re dizzy.”

Vash hides his face in his hands, completely unable to come up with a coherent response. Every single explicit word that came from the other’s mouth made his cunt wetter, and he craved Wolfwood’s cock with every bone in his body. He whimpers, shaking his hips back and forth a little bit to entice the other into finally bridging the gap between their bodies. “C’mere…I need you…”

The standing man growls hungrily, taking a few steps forward and grabbing a handful of Vash’s ass with one hand and lining his cock up with the man’s hole with the other. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

With one last inhale and a push of the hips, Wolfwood’s cock makes its way into the warm, tight cavern of Vash’s walls. The men simultaneously groan at the pleasant stretch, both of their hips deliberately moving to be even closer to one another. As Wolfwood’s cock reaches the hilt, he leans over and kisses Vash’s exposed neck as he grips onto the handles at each side of the bench.

“I dunno how much I can hold back, pretty boy. You feel so fucking good I just want to rail you already.”

Vash chuckles, reaching his hand back to ruffle through the other’s hair, nuzzling his cheek. “Who said I’m stopping you?”

The words make Wolfwood’s heart skip a beat, his cock twitching in excitement as he growls satisfactorily. He bites down on the soft flesh of the other’s neck, pulling his hips outward before thrusting back in with a force, the sound of the loud slap filling the small space. Vash screws his eyes shut and moans, moving his own hands to their assigned handles, gripping on tight in anticipation of the vigor of the other’s body. 

The man on top grins as he moves his hips, initially starting at a comfortable pace, but quickly picking up speed and harshly shoving his body against the other’s. “Dangerous words to tell me, blondie!”

Vash stays completely silent for a few seconds as he’s fucked hard, completely overwhelmed to the point where noises couldn’t even escape his throat. He gasps as his face contorts in pure pleasure. He’s never experienced anything like this before. 

Quick and hard Wolfwood’s hips move back and forth, every thrust passionate and purposeful. Vash’s pussy was so slick, squeezing him so perfectly and milking his cock for all it was worth; the lewd wet squishing sounds made themselves heard with every push and pull of the standing man’s midsection, the fluids from the other’s cunt generously coating both of their inner thighs. 

Vash mewls and whimpers repeatedly, his knuckles turning white from the tense grip on the handles, holding onto them for dear life as his insides are mercilessly claimed. His eyes, normally so friendly and filled with energy, were rolling inside their sockets, crossing slightly as his jaw hung slack, drool dripping down onto the seat underneath him. 

“F…fuuuuck meee…”

Wolfwood’s hungry grin only remains on his face, satisfied at the pitiful sight he’s made of the man below him. “Yeah? You like when I plow this pretty boy-pussy?”

The blond only nods, hardly any ability to think coherently left in his mind as he’s completely cockdrunk. A tight, hot tension starts to build in his core, his eager cunt sucking in Wolfwood’s length even harder as his climax approaches. The other man can feel himself getting close as well, his balls clenching and cock throbbing more with every growing second.

“Fuck, blondie, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“I a-am…too…cum with me…”

The blinding hot pleasure simultaneously overtakes both of their bodies, Vash trembling from head to toe as his pussy tenses and releases, the continuous pounding from the other making his mind go completely blank. Wolfwood refuses to let up with his pace, his length mercilessly drilling into the other as his own orgasm overtakes him, spilling endless amounts of sticky hot cum into Vash’s hole, painting his inner walls with his release. The two men ride out the intense euphoric highs, their collective moans deafening in the sound-proofed lab. 

As their breathing slows and climax washes away, a significant clicking sound is heard as the threshold finally parts, the fresh air of the hall rushing into the small room, now made humid from their collective perspiration. As much as the two wanted to lay together and revel in the orgasmic afterglow, they knew they had to hightail it out of there. Wolfwood hesitantly pulls his softening cock out of Vash, both of them saddened at the feeling of the loss. He tucks himself back in, helping the other man to stand up and pull his own clothes back on. “I’ll give ya some real good aftercare once we get the hell out of here and find somewhere safe, alright?” 

“Right.”

Vash retrieves his coat off the floor before they leave the lab, Wolfwood slinging the Punisher over his shoulder as they walk cautiously down the hall, the assassin picking up a brisk pace before he looks behind him and sees a collapsed Vash on the floor, his knees buckled underneath him. The blond looks up at him with round puppy eyes. “I can’t walk very well. You fucked me really hard.”

“Dammit, needle-noggin…” Wolfwood rolls his eyes, walking back to pick the other man up by the waist, slinging him over the other shoulder to carry. “We don’t have time to dilly-dally.”

Vash playfully shrugs. “Should’ve been more gentle then.”

“Didn’t hear any complaints from you, now, did I?”

The blond simply giggles in response. “Nah.” 

Wolfwood playfully huffs as he makes his way down the corridor before stopping in his tracks. “Shit, I still need that DNA sample.”

“...let’s go back and get it another time.”

[chuuyaspinkmotorcycle16]

Day 7: Alcohol of @/Black00Cat’s (twt) SKKtober

Dazai knows the phases of Chuuya’s alcohol intake (see: Book 7 of Dazai Osamu’s Grievances against Nakahara Chuuya) like the back of his hand.

Can picture them so clearly that it’s a movie playing in his head, each detail highlighted in his mind’s eye.

And yet he never imagined a scenario like this in all his daydreams of how to kill Chuuya.

No, no, it seems Chuuya has accepted Dazai’s proposal of double suicide in the worst way possible.

The slug? On his unknown number of glasses of wine, absolutely plastered. And Dazai? He’s feeling his soul leave his body thanks to Chuuya, who has decided his preferred seat for the evening is Dazai’s lap.

The worst part? They’re out with their coworkers, a celebration for another joint mission done well. Woohoo…

“Chibi,” Dazai hisses into Chuuya’s ear for the nth time. He’s tried pushing his dog off — did not work, earned a punch — he’s tried squeezing Chuuya enough to annoy him — did not work, the brat got even more comfortable — and now he’s been pestering him to gain his attention.

Which, for the record, has not been working, much to Dazai’s, and everyone else’s, unfortunately growing horror.

Chuuya continues to blab to Yosano and Ranpo, the only ones not in a state of shock throughout this, giving them a plethora of gossip to talk (and tease) about later.

“How much did you let him drink?” Kouyou glares at Dazai, tone telling Dazai all he needs to know about how fucked he is for this.

“Me? Ane-san’s the one that usually stops him,” Dazai argues back. He steels himself as Chuuya shifts around before deciding his shoulder is the perfect pillow. Dazai’s just praying he’ll knock out soon.

Distantly, he registers Yosano and Ranpo whispering to each other but the threat of Kouyou takes his foremost attention.

She opens her mouth to say something, likely a threat in the form of death by sword, but Atsushi speaks up, voice hesitant.

“I mean, at least he’s not hurting anyone.”

Dazai rounds on Atsushi, mouthing ‘Me! He’s hurting me!’ — specifically his pride — at the boy.

Atsushi, the traitor, merely shrugs.

Dazai’s movement from earlier had roused Chuuya off his upper body, and soon a weak punch is thrown at his shoulder with a growl.

Drastic times call for drastic measures.

Dazai never wanted it to really come to this but—

“Akutagawa-kun~” He throws his most charming (read: threatening) smile at the man.

Beside the raven-haired, Atsushi gets ready to tell Dazai off but a quiet ‘ahem’ draws his attention.

Akutagawa, with a glance at Chuuya, meets Dazai’s eyes to deliver “Unlike you, Dazai-san, I do value my life,” sealing the brunet’s fate.

All Dazai can do in his shock is mutter, “You’ve been hanging out with Atsushi-kun too much.”

Dazai chooses to ignore Atsushi’s protest of “Isn’t that our assignment?”, instead turning his attention to Kunikida—

who gives him the most adamant death stare with a shake of a head he’s ever gotten from the man.

Lovely.

“Yosano-sen—“

“The night’s still young! What do you guys say to a game~?” The doctor asks, the glint in her eye telling Dazai he is truly fucked.

“Mr. Fancy Hat~! Truth or dare?” And there’s no chance to even bribe Ranpo to help Dazai out before Chuuya is sitting up straight, determined to overcome his

“Dare.”

Maybe Dazai’s had too many to drink too because he’s unable to control his heartbeat in this moment.

“Kiss him.” Ranpo smirks.

Dazai isn’t able to protest with who exactly “him” is before lips are all over his, the taste of wine taking over all of his taste buds.

Thinking back on this night, he vaguely heard hollers and hoots and laughs. Presently, though, all he can hear is his heart in his ears as red hair takes over his vision.

He’s sure his face is red — and he really hopes he can blame it on the alcohol.

He can’t pull away — Chuuya’s making sure of that with the vice grip he has on his shoulders — and he can’t lean into it because these are his coworkers, for crying out loud.

As the need for air nears, some divine being out there must take pity on Dazai.

Chuuya pops off with a lick of his lips — that Dazai can’t help but stare at — and promptly passes out.

Dazai catches him from falling off without thinking. And before he can stop himself, he hisses out, “You’re so fucking dumb!”

The only reason he braves looking up is the stash of money that crosses the corner of his vision.

“I hate all of you.” He glares as he watches their bets pass around, Yosano and Ranpo the clear victors.

“No, you don’t,” Yosano replies back with a wink as she counts her earnings.

/No, I don’t,/ Dazai can’t help himself from thinking as his eyes wander back down to the sleeping beauty in his arms, completely out as he probably dreams about dogs, bringing a smile to Dazai’s face, even if drool is already threatening to drip onto his shoulder.

God, Dazai really is pathetically down-bad, isn’t he?

[frozenjokes]

After years of thinking... I finally want to know what is CUBGUY and his boyfriend's MBTI aka the 16 personalities

You’ve opened Pandora’s box with this one my man because I am a psych major that HATES personality tests however that did not stop me from taking the test three times (this one which I hate specifically because the commercialization of personality tests to measure worth is evil BECAUSE THEY DONT WORK. THEY ARE NOT A GOOD MEASURE OF PERSONALITY OR WORTH AND HAVING TO TAKE THIS FUCKING FOR LITERALY JOB APPLICATIONS INSTEAD OF IT JUST BEING A FUN THING TODO IN YOUR FREE TIME IS FUCKING AURYRHEUSHDHUDUSHDJSHSJAHSUSUSJ KILLING BITING MAIMING GRAGAGSHGEHWDGSHHS I HATE. HER.) anyway. I can be normal about this subject I promise.

normal elsa: haha hey guys! I took the personality test for my ocs! yippeee!!! from left to right we have Cub, Scar, and Grian. thanks for the ask! this was fun!

but it’s not about having fun is it

so anyway I took notes. So you may have noticed some things don’t look quite right here. I mean, Cub looks fine! That’s pretty accurate even! Scar too, look at him go! … wait a minute. Grian’s not nice!!!! Or poetic!!!!!!! Is altruism even real????????????? (It is and I feel strongly about this but altruistic as an adjective to describe a person i believe is doing a disservice to the definition because what they MEAN is ‘selfless’ not altruistic but while we’re on the topic of selflessness Grian is fucking NOT)

So why did this happen. I don’t really care that the personality test got someone wrong, but I am interested in Why that happened, and why a test like this will never get a character like Grian correct.

Put simply, the answer is that this test wants to make you Feel Good. Now, having fun isn’t a crime and oftentimes personality tests are there to have fun, but the danger of something like this is that the MBTI isn’t presented as a low stakes fun activity, it’s presented as fact. Look. This is you! This is a good, objective measure of your personality, aren’t you great? You’re awesome :)! Here’s a list of vague-enough sentiments that probably apply to you based on the questions we asked. Yippee! its a really clever and extremely affective trick.

While the little blurb for Scar describes him relatively well, nearly every description of his ‘personality’ besides extroversion read pretty inaccurately, and that’s because the focus is so positive. The thing is, Grian and Scar are largely very self serving people (/neutral tone). They are often more worried about themselves than others, they’re impulsive, and that’s not all they are, but it’s pretty impossible to get at someone’s actual personality without recognizing what makes people flawed.

The closest I think the MBTI test gets to probing at this idea of potential selfishness are questions that are meant to test thinking versus feeling. Do you consider someone’s sensitivities in if they conflict with reason? Are you more concerned with facts or emotion? Logos versus pathos. That kinda stuff. But ultimately the MBTI test doesn’t really care about selfishness, it doesn’t care about flaws, it just cares about making you feel good baybe! So these neutral questions don’t really come back in any meaningful way. The MBTI is concerned about making caricatures of people, not accurately measuring their personality and that Matters because its so often treated as scientific, at least good enough to be used in consideration for jobs and work and school and all sorts of stuff.

And I could go on but the problem with modern personality tests goes so so so much deeper, even in more controlled, more science oriented fields like psychiatry. The system for diagnosing personality disorders is somewhat similar to a personality tests are at the very least aided by them, falling on a straight lined spectrum of Openness, Consciousness, Extroversion, Agreeableness, and Neuroticism. But this system Sucks and everyone knows it sucks because comorbidity between clusters (A, B, C) of personality disorders is Insanely High. I wish I had the exact percentages, but I can’t quite find the information I’m looking for, but the point is that if the rate of comorbidity between different disorders is So High, how do you know these disorders are correctly defined at all? If a person more often than not has Disorder A and Disorder B at the same time, who’s to say they’re all that different at all? In general, a lot of the criteria for diagnosing a personality disorders is Really similar, so in general it’s a section of the DSM that needs a pretty massive overhaul.

I don’t envy personality psychologists man their job is Tough (and in my opinion, kind of impossible. there’s too many roadblocks in making an objective test. It is. Eugh.)

TLDR: the MBTI test is about as decisive as a fortune cookie and it literally can’t be anything more because then you would realize its lying to you. amen

[guiltyasdave]

sun is going down

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.2k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury, blood, guns, i think that’s it?

a/n: i’m ridiculously nervous about sharing this story, it has been on my mind for over a year and i’ve been too intimidated to start working on it for the longest time. i really hope that someone likes it haha

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

The alarm goes off in the middle of the night. You shoot up, your body on high alert, your heart beating rapidly, before your mind is even fully awake.

Probably just a false one, you try telling yourself as you make your way to the office. You’ve never had a false alarm, but– one can hope, right?

The place is plunged into darkness, no windows for any moonlight to seep through. You turn on the camera feed, squinting at the grainy screen. There’s movement in the living room, two people, from what you can make out. Not infected, judging from the way they’re moving, but one of them seems to be injured. Please don’t be raiders. There isn’t much to loot in the house, but the anxiety is already settling in your chest, threatening to crawl up your throat.

You turn on the sound and a panicked girl’s voice rings through the room as if you were standing right next to her.

“Fuck, Joel, wake up. Joel, please–”

It’s eerily similar to words that you’ve said once, the memory still fresh, even now. You wonder if your voice was as thick with tears then as that girl’s is right now.

Not again. Not in this house, not while you’re watching, unable to do anything. Not again.

You still hear it, the echo in your mind clear as ever. Keep them safe. Promise me. The promise you failed to keep.

Unblinking, you stare at the screen, your mind running a mile a minute. This could be a trap. They could have been watching, could have somehow figured you out. Or, the tiny voice in the back of your head insists, or they really need help.

The girl is pleading for the man to hold on, to not fall asleep. The desperation in her tone is tearing at you, urging you into action. Fuck it, you have to do something.

You grab your gun from the wall and slowly make your way up the stairs, ignoring the anxious trembling in your hands. Maybe this is how you die.

Leaning your back against the wall, you take a deep breath, a fruitless attempt to calm yourself, and switch on the lamp outside. You can’t hear them anymore, but knowing that the living room is now bathed in light, you’re certain that they’re on high alert now. Shit shit shit. You steel yourself, undo the complicated lock and push the heavy door open.

Please don’t let it be a trap.

They’re both staring at you, a young girl standing in front of a man, lying on the ground, taking panting breaths. She’s pointing a gun straight at you, as if she’s trying to shield his larger body with hers. The weapon looks much too big in her hands.

The memory of a similar image tugs at the back of your mind, but you shove it away. Stay in the present, stay right here.

You clear your throat, raising your hands slightly. You don’t remember the last time you spoke to another living person. Your voice cracks.

“I– I don’t mean you any harm. I live here, I saw you on– on the cameras.”

The girl furrows her brow, her eyes flitting across the room.

“They’re hidden, you won’t– Listen, I just want to help, I promise.”

The sound of your voice wavers, almost unfamiliar to your own ears. The girl lowers her gun a fraction, but the distrust is written all over her face. You can’t blame her. You clear your throat again, willing your hands to stop shaking.

“Your dad, is he– has he been bitten?” Please say no, please say no, please say no.

She shakes her head quickly. An expression that you can’t place flies over her features. Thank god.

“He’s not my– no. He got– he got stabbed.”

You can tell that she tries to sound strong, brave, but you recognize the panic in her eyes. You see it often enough when you look into the mirror.

You take another steadying breath. You can do this.

“Okay. I can help with that, if– if you want. I have medicine, bandages…”

Hope flashes over her face, mixed with the obvious conflict of not trusting you.

“You can come downstairs, it’s safer there. I– I should turn the lights back off.”

You’re painfully aware of how bright the house must shine through the darkness, from how far away it’s probably visible right now. Your nerves are fluttering anxiously.

“I don’t mean to hurt you, I swear. Just– let me help you.”

She swallows, hard, and fixes you with a stare.

“It’s just you down there?”

You nod in silent confirmation, not trusting your voice on this. It’s the first time you’ve ever had to admit it to anyone but yourself.

The girl sighs, her head turning between you and the man behind her a few times, surely seeking guidance from him, but his eyes are halfway shut, his lips trembling. Your gaze falls on the dark red stain on his shirt.

Don’t look, don’t think- Just focus on this, right now, right here.

You tell her your name, promise again that it’s safe. Finally, she nods timidly.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” You nod back at her, give her a small smile that she doesn’t return. “I’ll come closer now, we’ll carry him, alright?”

The girl looks at the man again. Her body tenses when you near them, but together you manage to get him back on his feet and half walk, half carry him. You push the door open wider and heave him down the stairs.

In the back of your mind, you take note of the sound of multiple feet walking down the steps, and how long it’s been since… No. Stay in the present.

You prop him up on the couch, where the girl keeps hovering by his side while you rush up again to close and lock the door and turn off the lights. Next, you throw open the bathroom cabinet, gathering all the material that you might need.

You return and crouch down beside him, lying your things out on the table, and take a closer look, your fingers halting over him. He’s watching you through lidded eyes, a sheen of sweat on his pale face.

“What’s his name?” you ask, looking up at the girl.

“Joel,” she answers reluctantly. “I’m Ellie.”

“Hi, Ellie.” You hope your smile looks sincere, not betraying how nervous you are right now. How shaky the sight of his blood-soaked shirt makes you feel.

“Okay, Joel?” you address him directly. He only manages a tired hum in return. “I’m gonna clean this and try stitching you up. It’s gonna hurt, I have painkillers, if you–”

But he shakes his head, humming again.

“Alright,” you sigh, and get to work.

You explain what you’re doing with every step, to calm both their and your own nerves. You know how to do this, you’ve trained for this. The wound doesn’t look too deep and you pray that there’s no organ damage involved, because you don’t have the means to treat that properly, but it doesn’t look like it. There seems to be an infection spreading though, so you gather some antibiotics as well, hoping that they’ll still work the way they’re supposed to. Joel inhales sharply a few times, but seems to be out of it for most of the time, which you’re grateful for.

“How did this happen?” you ask, looking up at Ellie who’s still standing beside you, watching intently over what you’re doing.

“Raiders,” she mutters. “It was a broken baseball bat, I think.”

“Jesus,” you sigh. You wonder how they got out, your thoughts circling back to the gun in her hands, and you suppress a shudder. “Are you injured too?” you ask, deciding not to press her about the attack.

“No,” comes her quiet answer. You don’t catch the way she averts her eyes.

“Alright,” mumble eventually and straighten up. You’ve cleaned and bandaged the wound to the best of your ability and now you just have to hope that it will be enough.

“Do you want something to eat?” you ask the girl, who has taken to sit beside the couch on the ground, now that you’ve moved away from it. Her face lights up at the question and she nods eagerly.

You get two bowls of the soup that you’ve had for dinner for the both of you and she has already had a few spoonfuls before she eyes you warily.

“It’s not poisoned or something, is it?”

You huff a laugh and keep eating yours, holding her gaze with raised eyebrows. “Does it look like it?”

“Um, no…” she trails off, swallowing another spoonful and sighing at the taste. You wonder how long it’s been since they ate something. “You could have poisoned only mine though.”

“Well I didn’t,” you grin. It feels foreign, talking to another person, another child, but a warmth is slowly spreading through you that has nothing to do with the soup.

She wakes Joel and gets him to swallow a little soup as well as some water before he collapses back on the couch, his eyes closed and his breath evening out.

“Why do you… have all this?” she asks eventually, setting her bowl down on the table and looking around the room, the wood-covered walls and the multiple doors.

“My dad built it,” you reply, forcing your voice to stay neutral. “B–before.”

She hums in acknowledgement, her eyes still full of wonder.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you hear yourself say, “until he gets better, I mean.”

You don’t know if you’re being reckless, if this will be the thing that finally gets you killed, but it seems too elaborate to be a trap. And maybe, just maybe you like the idea of not being alone down here, even just for a short while, a little too much. She thanks you, her expression just as weary as you feel.

You offer that she can wash up if she wants, use the shower, that you could give her some clothes of yours. You’re still not sure if you’re doing the right thing, or if you’re just being incredibly stupid, but the sight of her worn down shirt and the way her hair is matted down with dirt makes your heart swell with the wish to care for her.

Her eyes flicker nervously between Joel and the bathroom door a few times, but eventually she agrees. While the shower runs, you settle down on the armchair across from the couch, sinking into the cushions, your knees pulled up to your chin, your eyes resting on the sleeping man. He’s huge, taking up the whole length of it, his feet dangling over the armrest, overwhelming even in his unconscious state.

You really hope that they’re good people. He could overpower you easily, there’s no doubt of that. You might not be a terrible fighter, but you don’t think that you’d be a match for him.

Your gaze lingers on his face, the strong shape of his nose, the pout of his lower lip, his brow furrowed even in his sleep. His fingers are twitching, one wrist adorned with a broken watch.

Ellie exits the bathroom again, clad in your old clothes, her damp hair dripping into the neckline of the t-shirt, like a younger version of you. It makes your heart ache.

Now that the adrenaline is rushing from your body, you realize how weird all this really is. You haven’t spoken to anybody in years and now there’s two people here, in your space. Maybe you’ve finally lost it for good.

You show her to the biggest of the four bedrooms, the only one that no one has ever slept in. It’s easier, opening this door, than the two other ones that you keep shut. You debate moving Joel from the couch to the bed, Ellie mumbling about his back, but ultimately you decide against it.

“Okay,” you hesitate, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m in the room right next to you, if you need anything… Just– please don’t murder me in my sleep, okay?”

She mirrors your wry smile. “I won’t if you won’t.”

You nod and leave the room, praying that you’re making the right call here. You’re doing something good, right? And no one would plan an ambush like this. Would they?

You heave a sigh and retreat to your own bedroom, your gun clutched tightly in your grasp. You doubt that it would save you, not against that man who’s currently softly snoring on your couch. Still, it makes you feel a little better. You turn the lock on your door too, just in case.

When you sink back under the covers, eyes still wide open and staring into the darkness, a small smile creeps onto your lips despite your worries.

It’s not the way it was, it will never be that way again. But not being the only soul down here fills you with the ghost of a warmth that you had thought you’d never feel again.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

[je5hko]

~ Beavis and Butthead headcanons!~

okay so i decided ill will post bnbh headcanons from time to time when im not posting art. The headcanons are random btw

TW: GAY PPL(/j), ANGST, GROSS STUFF, ABUSE, HOMOPHOBIA

Beavis eats his boogers, while Butthead has his own personal booger wall (behind the couch)

When they were kids, they would try to cheer each other up/ distract each other from their mothers yelling by making funny faces! Occasionally they would tickle each other as well!

Buttheads mother was absent most of the time, but when she was around she would ignore him. Refusing to believe he was her son. She would even tell him to stop calling her mom. (sobbing afterwards) But whenever Butthead cried, he received a slap on the face. "You are not allowed to cry” or "I’ll give you a reason to cry if you don’t shut up” is all she would say after hitting him. He quickly learned that expressing emotions is wrong, so he simply stopped.

Shirley on the other hand, would look after both of the kids. She was far from being a perfect mother, but there were times she would try to take care of them apart of being drunk all day. For example she occasionally would take them out to eat junk food, give them small presents like cheap action figures, making a vague attempt at showing affection. Basically trying her best at motherhood, but besides that she would often yell at them (mostly Beavis) slap them when they did something wrong etc.

Butthead was the one to learn basic hygiene even though he wasn’t a big fan of it, while Beavis struggled with it as fuck. The blonde would often use the sink/ bathtub instead of toilet, not bothering to clean after himself.

At 17 they tried to give each other stick and pokes. They ended up getting infections with the pen ink and rusty needle.

There are moments when their faces get too close, like when they're both trying to look at something on the TV or sharing a snack. Butt-Head gets flustered and pushes Beavis away, muttering something about personal space.

Sometimes Butt-Head finds himself wanting to do something nice for Beavis, like sharing his nachos or letting him choose what to watch on TV. When this happens, Butt-Head angrily tells himself to "stop being a wuss."

Beavis sometimes finds himself doing little things for Butt-Head, like saving the last chip for him or instinctively waiting for him before going anywhere. He doesn’t know why it feels important to do these things.

Butt-Head often convinces himself that whatever he’s feeling is just a phase or a result of being around Beavis too much, so he starts suggesting they hang out with others more often, though it never actually happens.

Beavis feels a strange sense of comfort when he’s sitting next to Butt-Head, often leaning in a little closer without realizing it. Butt-Head notices and tells him to back off, but deep down he doesn’t really mind.

Butt-Head is more aggressive in trying to pick up chicks than usual, using it as a way to distract himself from his growing feelings for Beavis. He convinces himself that if he gets a girlfriend, these feelings will go away.

Neither of them ever wears matching socks, not because they’re trying to be cool, but because they’ve lost so many pairs.

Butt-Head once wore the same pair of socks for two weeks straight just to see how bad they could smell. He proudly showed them to Beavis, who gagged but couldn’t stop sniffing out of morbid curiosity.

Butt-Head refuses to wash his hair more than once a month because he believes the grease gives him “natural style.” Beavis agrees.

There’s a cup in their room that has had mold growing in it for so long that it’s practically become a pet. They named the mold “Squishy” and take turns seeing who can get closest to it without gagging

They have a secret handshake that’s a combination of a high five, fist bump, and a quick flick of the middle finger, which they think is the coolest thing ever

Beavis and Butt-Head have an odd fascination with roadkill. They’ll sometimes poke at it with sticks or laugh about how “cool” it is.

Beavis sometimes wishes he was more confident like Butt-Head, not realizing that Butt-Head is just as insecure as he is but hides it better.

Beavis suffers from recurring nightmares about losing Butt-Head, being abandoned, or his mother. He tries to mask his fear with jokes, but these dreams deeply affect him.

They both have a subtle, unspoken agreement to look out for one another. When one is sick or down, the other steps in to offer support in their own way, whether it’s through humor or practical help

Beavis has a penchant for combining disgusting food items, like mixing pickles with peanut butter or dipping hot dogs in ketchup and ice cream. He genuinely enjoys these bizarre concoctions.

[campbell-rose]

Helluva Fucking Rant: S2 E6 

OKay I’m a big fat liar and my pants are burning my ass rn, I know I said I’d do Rwby designs next but then the whole leaked episode drama happened and now it’s out and I need to complain. 

*Off the bat, I’m not going to talk pacing mainly because I have little experience with dealing with pacing (having never written anything more than comic strips lol). The episode didn’t feel too fast but anyway 

I’m going to organize this based on gripes I have per character. 

Fizzarolli: He is my baby. He's like kind of babygirl if that makes any sense. “Maybe I could burn the milk this time” 

I adore Fizz as a character. He’s not babified or infantilized like a lot of Viv’s other gay men. So far. Who knows, the writers have proven how adept they are at contradicting and retconning characters. But uhhhh what the fuck was he doing in Greed? Am I stupid? Like, it’s never spelled out. Is it for pr? Is it a deal with Mammon type thing? Is he promoting something? If he had somewhere to be why did he let his dogs run him all over creation??? Like, bit of an issue there as it’s only vaguely mentioned that he was practicing something. 

His backstory is like... acceptable I suppose. Not what I was expecting. I was expecting like, what we got, and a combination of some other theories I had personally. See, my issue is the fire and how imps have been shown in previous episodes to be, ya know, IMMUNE TO FIRE. Imagine if, and bear with me here huge stretch I know, imps are immune to fire and hellfire – but not holy fire. Like, shit straight from the angel’s burning halo type fire. That would make sense, since hellfire is a thing in pop culture and biblically accurate angels are all gold and flames! 

I do like the idea that fizz’s entire body is white from scars, however I think his scars need texture for the idea to sell. Maybe in full costume it’s covered with makeup, but come on people he was lit on fire, you ever seen a healed burn? Fizz being scared of the flames legit made me sad, I love him so much. However they’re trying to show he’s got like ptsd (maybe not exactly but still) from it, but it feels inconsistent to me for some reason. On a final note, he never should’ve forgiven Blitzo in any way, shape or form tbh, I would’ve preferred what Barbie did just straight up, I don’t like you, I can’t forgive you please leave me alone.  

Asmodeus: This cemented for me how much I fucking hate his design. His stupid head is so tiny and his body is built like a brick shithouse like, it’s so unbalanced and weird looking. I like his character here I suppose. No noticeable inconsistencies from his first appearance. His va is killing it tbh, love him so much what a king. 

I’m fine with his character, what I’m not fine with is the weird consent angle their going with. Like... he is the SIN of LUST??? Valentino is more of what I’d expect as the sin of Lust compared to Asmodeus. Also, the WEAKEST and most NON THREATENING SIN??? KESHADOG IS RIGHT THERE 

Crimson: He should’ve been hired by Mammon to get back at Asmodeus. Maybe Asmodeus has an unpaid debt with Mammon and has been shirking him so Mammon is like ‘i have your fucktoy now, give me my money or you won’t get him back’ 

Like his little video chat could’ve been context, like “You don’t know me, but you may know my employer – Mammon?” 

The paperwork would make sense then, Mammon is sending over contracts and bullshit Asmodeus has to sign. The importance of reading the fine print would be even more present because Asmodeus is dealing with someone on his level who can actually fuck him up, not some nobody imp he could kill with a glance! Crimson’s motive could be that Mammon offered him a share of Ozzie’s stock and would let him run some shit because Crimson has become a prominent member of higher society despite being an imp, which is the only reason Striker is partnered with him. 

Striker: Striker baby doll, please just fucking kill Fizz. Like, stop fucking standing there, kill the fucker. Omg I was so annoyed with his lack of action this episode. Both Fizz and Striker are incredible agile and snake like characters, this whole distraction song should’ve been a mix of striker trying to kill Fizz/Fizz avoiding him and Crim’s gang being just flabbergasted by the bullshit they’re witnessing. It’s been shown before that Crimson ony ever sits on the sidelines while his goons get killed so like????  

Anyway, Viv can try as hard as she wants to paint Striker as in the wrong and a bigot, but it won’t work on me. He’s completely in the right because imps are literally the slave/working class in this caste system. Fizz is (to imps in the slums and less fortunate) probably the epitome of a pampered lapdog plaything of the upper class. ANd that could’ve been something interesting to explore. Why not show the perspective of other imps that think like Striker, maybe have them be antagonistic to Fizz because he’s Asmodeus and Mammon’s pet, or maybe Fizz finds out that’s what people think of him and he’s horrified and that’s why he’s mad Blitzo calls him a whore. But no, because Striker is an evil bigot who sides with the evil woman Stella so nobody else thinks like he does. 

Also, his new va has the sexiest voice i've heard since live action Buggy or sub Crocodile so I'm not complaining about him taking up screen time

Him all disheveled is straight up working for me

Blitzo: Once again he gets away with being shitty and stupid and awful because he’s a woobie. Why the fuck was the crux of their hatred based on a birthday cake and the miscommunication trope??? I hate this so much.  

Was Blitzo in love with Fizz? Is that what that blink and you’ll miss it letter was? I’m getting very tired of this show having blink and you’ll miss it plot beats. That isn’t showing not telling, it’s like sweeping shit under a rug. Its like they think just because it was on screen for a frame the audience will catch it and be like ‘omg it happened’ or feel smart for catching something. Stolitz making up through text shouldn’t be a pause the video and read moment for fuckssake. 

I’m finding it very ahrd to tolerate Blitzo. On the topic of him though, I saw the leaked episode. WHY was Barbie taken out of the final flashback???

What the actual fuck???? Like... once again the women in this show are just shoved away and forgotten this is like Naruto level female character writing guys. Naruto had one good female character and she was still sidelined half the damn time. 

Also i fucking hate how this show can't be serious for more than five seconds like when Fizz and Blitzo hug and Blitzo is like 'haha wanna make out' i hate this but it isn't as egregious as having dildos during an abuse scene

Conclusion: Animation was amazing (also one of my fav animators KittenSneeze is an animator for Spindlehorse now like i love them so good for them), plot was whatever, characters are where the story falls, this won and I can’t anymore. 

Actually no, not conclusion. You know what really makes me hate Helluva Boss? It isn’t fair. I know that sounds childish and stupid, but who cares I’m childish and I’m stupid. Why is it that someone like Viv, who consistently doesn’t take criticism and is just a shit person all around gets rewarded for doing dogshit all the time. Yeah it’s a bit step for indie animation or whatever but she literally has Alex Brightman in her fucking pocket I don’t wanna hear it. Lackadaisy has earned it’s time in the goddamn spotlight, not Viv and her stupid creations. It’s so unfair. She got popular off of happenstance for her kesha sparkledogs and now she’s off bastardizing demonology and writing borderline backwards gay and female characters and she’s getting praised as the patron saint of queer rep and indie animation. Like, she doesn’t deserve it. Genuinely. I wish I could just post my demon story and people would just flock to it like flies to shit and shower me in praise and protect me from any criticism. But that’s not how real life works, but for some reason it is for Viv. Its just... I hate it. 

Anyway, baby rant over. This episode was like 7/10 tbh. It wasn't amazing but for Helluva Boss it was good. Sarcastic Chorus made a video about it that I'm gonna watch because honestly his takes could convince me this show is on Arcane's level lmao. Bye bye <3