#they'll have to peel the masks off each other

[one-of-tankhuns-neurons]

Joke's kink is the opposite of roleplay. It's more of a "can you love me for who I am and fuck me in my own skin?" And Jack will. Eventually.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[boxofthings]

Ayo @rodolfoparra suggested GhostRoach post-military domestic fluff wayyy back and this has been sitting in my draft for AGES cuz I forgot about it I'm so sorry :')

Read on AO3

---

The bed he sleeps in is warm, a gentle material that feels like it engulfs his body in a soft, sinking embrace. When he opens his eyes, rays of sunlight drape over his body in cozy stripes, over his sheets and throughout the room. It's quiet, and the other side of the bed is empty, sheets messily rumpled without a care.

When he gets off the bed, he allows himself a few moments to breathe, stretch and slowly allow wakefulness to flood through his eyelids and into his brain.

There's noise in the kitchen, and without a second thought, he lazily shuffles towards it.

There's no sense of urgency in his bones.

He turns the corner and is met with the back of his partner at the stove. A smile pulls at his face.

Gary does not turn around at the sound of his footsteps.

There are eggshells on the counter and two plates next to them. The pan sizzles with the enticing scent of eggs and bacon.

He approaches his lover and hooks his arms from behind in a gentle hold that makes the other huff a lighthearted laugh.

When Gary turns around, his eyes are bright and dopey as he signs a soft "Good morning, love."

The kiss that comes after is sweet and slow. He wants to savour it all, even if he's done this thousands of times, every day, every time they're together. He'll always await the next thousands that will come after.

He can't stop the smile that stretches onto his face as he sinks himself deeper into Gary's warmth.

"I love you," he says. And it's easy and familiar, words that have practically become embossed on his tongue.

It's a Monday morning. The sun spills through the early skies and onto the living room floors, lighting their home in a soft glow.

When Simon sits at the table across from Gary, peeling fruit, knowing that it will be his most bothersome task today, he feels content.

He hasn't flinched in years.

In the back of their closet lies the masks they'd long discarded and have eons ago become distant memories.

He hasn't been "Ghost" in years, nor Gary "Roach."

They'll lounge on the living room couch once they've finished their meal, and with Gary's head relaxed over his lap, Simon will think about how peace is real because he hasn't felt fear in years, and his fingers have long outgrown their itch for a weapon. And he also knows this because when he looks into his lover's eyes, he feels only happiness

There are still bad days, of course. No one lives through the horrors they've been through and leaves it all behind unscathed.

Sometimes, he wakes up with the faint taste of gasoline at the back of his throat, and all of a sudden, he's back on the battlefield, thrashing around, desperate for an escape from the fire on the skin.

But Gary's with him, and he holds onto Simon until the nightmares retreat into the back of his mind. Simon will do the same for him–every time.

He'll endure those nightmares many more if it means he gets to keep this life.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

There's an almost amused grin on Gary's face, and Simon supposes he must look a tad funny, staring so lost in thought while peeling an orange. His rough, callused hands that have previously only been used to kill now handle fruit and vegetables with a gentle care, and strangely enough, it just feels right.

"Just lamenting, love."

Gary's smile takes on a softer look, reminiscent, and he reaches a hand across the table to link with Simon's. "Despite everything that's happened, I'd do it all again," he signs.

The fear, the chaos and violence, the betrayal and gunshots, the fire–all that pain condensed into two people who found each other at the centre of everything wrong with the world. Simon would do it all again as well if it meant he'd have Gary at his side.

Instead of responding, Simon stands up, dropping the orange on the table and walking over to Gary's side. Keeping their hands intertwined, Simon pulls the other up, bringing his other hand to gently card through Gary's hair as he pushes their lips together for what will definitely not be the last time that day.

When they break apart, Simon can't help but stare into loving, green eyes. He would joke that Gary looks like a lovestruck fool, but he suspects he looks much the same.

This life that they've built for themselves had felt so unreachable years back. The Simon back then, with his ever-growing crushing weight of anger and fear that seemed to consume his entire world, would've never fathomed that he could've become someone like this–normal.

Later, they'll go to the town market for groceries and maybe have mediocre burgers at the nearby diner. They'll return home and lounge on the couch watching cliché chick flicks and unrealistic action movies. Tomorrow they'll visit MacTavish and Price and laugh over shitty beers together at the local pub.

They'll do normal, boring people things in their normal, boring people house, living their normal, boring people lives.

Simon wouldn't have it any other way.

He's happy.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Sentient Affronts to Nature (and Sanity Itself) Need Friends, Too...

Hey.

I've got some weird plans for Halloween. This year's Special is gonna be much more on the supernatural side than last year's.

Ya’ll remember Cruz Freitas? That LixianEgo I created as a gift for @sammys-magical-au ? The funky guy whose hobbies include violin-playing and a whole lotta occultism? The scrungly blorbo who’s working as something of an assistant to the horrifying EldritchPlier himself?

Yeah, well…looks like the vibes I gave him are contagious.

I’m officially going Full Manic and cranking out a few more fanegos for this WIP! I'll be posting a few of my standard info-pages soon, and they'll definitely be updated/reblogged as more ideas come along.

(As per usual, I got tons of help with brainstorming from Sammy. Thanks so much for all your patience, thoughts, and encouragement, bestie 💞💞💞)

Also, since I always feel the need to give some clarification:

When I first created Cruz, I gave him a bunch of things that you could expect to see in the average cult (even though he, Sol, and Moses aren’t actually part of a cult. That’s why I’m calling them all “semi-cultists”). 

And what are those things, you ask? A ceremonial tool/weapon, a supernatural pet, and a protective mask. (I talked about the specifics of Cruz’s stuff here, in case you’re curious. Plus, Cruz’s pet, an outer-creature-cat-thing named Macaroon, is based off of irl Lixian’s cat, Cookie.) 

(Plus, if you’d like to really get a feel for Cruz’s stuff, check out this fantastic artwork made by the lovely @inkbedou! Please go check out their other stuff, they’re such a gem! Fun fact: the red-and-gold pattern on Cruz’s mask was inspired by a real mask that my dad hand-painted one Halloween back when I was in middle-school!)

So, two of my upcoming fanegos are each gonna get their own things from those categories! While I want to have plenty of variety between these characters, I also want them to have a few things in common, y’know? Just to make certain scenes feel well-balanced for all of them.

Keep those eyes peeled... 😈😈😈

[cluelessatthispoint]

Engineer x pyro

Pyro showing engineer there face for the first time and scare he'll freak out due to all the fire damage and scared they'll lose him

I love this ship. It's one of my favorites! Pyro is such a chaotic lil fire guy and Engineer is ready to help/prevent any mischief.

This is so sweet, and I was crying as I wrote this! Thank you so much for this lovely request.

~~~~~~~~

Pyro grasped the bottom edges of his mask nervously as he stood facing the mirror in Engineer's workshop restroom. The yellow lighting made the whole room appear pale yellow, the buzzing from the florescent lightbulbs accompanied by his soft breathing were the only noises to break the harsh silence. A thousand...no, a million thoughts ran through his head as he peeled up the bottom edges of his gas mask. Rough, scarred, horrid skin starred back from the mirror. It hurt to be like this. Harsh to look at, so strange and unsettling...even to him. How could Dell even love him?

How could Dell even accept him if he couldn't bear to even look at himself in a mirror? Feeling his breath become shallower, he gripped the edge of the bathroom sink to steady himself. His palms felt sweaty, and his harsh grip hurt. The tips of his fingers started to tingle. Startling him from his intrusive thoughts; two slightly burly arms wrapped around his waist and the feeling of a familiar face pressed down into his shoulder.

"Everything alright in here Py?"

Shaking his head slightly no, Pyro tugged the mask back on even lower. His heart beat rapidly in his chest. The feeling of his eyes burning with tears made him sniffle softly. The sound of Dell sighing gently met his ears.

"Oh Fireball....don't cry. It's okay. I'm here, what's wrong?"

Dell gently turned Pyro around to face him and wrapped his arms around him in a warm embrace. The smell of engine oil, sweat and some deodorant met his nostrils. Inhaling softly and exhaling just as softly Pyro let his shoulder relax into Dell's embrace. The feeling of just being held in his lover's arms made him feel so loved and yet so disappointed. Not disappointed with the situation, just disappointment with himself. How could he ever let Dell see him like this? So broken...so scarred?

"Hey now. You don't have to show me your face if you don't want to. I love you just the way that you are. I feel in love with you for your personality. I love you for you and nothing else."

Pyro felt his shoulders shake with messy inhales and sobs. It felt so good to hear those words. Burying his face into Engineer's neck he peeled off his mask slowly. The sound of rubber and latex rustling echoed across the tile. With his mask off the two stood and stayed there. Just the two of them holding each other close in the yellow florescent lights of the bathroom. It couldn't be more perfect.

~~~~

AAAAAGH! SO SWEET!

[montagu3]

What one of my issues are you?

Depression

Everyday I wake up submerged in cement that’s nearly dry. I have to pull and push against the edges, fighting against the suffocating grip until I’m finally sitting on the edge of the bed. I open my eyes to see my drab reality and I’m ready to go back to bed. I don't want to shake off and peel away the pieces of cement that stuck to me. The casting separates me, muffling the voices of others and masking the monster that gnaws at my core. You’re tired. You’ve been holding onto a rope in the overcast waves, in the relentless churn of water. You could pull yourself in, maybe, but you don’t want to. The water is comforting, even when it cascades over you and you think you’re finally going to drown. You didn’t even have to drop the rope. It wasn’t your fault.

Possible Psychosis (undiagnosed)

A voice of a loved one comes from behind me, telling me how I should do it. I know it’s not real, but I let them talk anyway. Time is a slippery eel, wriggling out of my grasp with every attempt to hold onto it. It moves erratically, twisting and contorting until yesterday bleeds into tomorrow and today is lost in the chaos. The maggots eat me in my dreams even though I let them know I’m not dead yet. I know I’m not dead, I have to remind myself every night, but it never stops the maggots. I repeat the mantra like a prayer, a desperate attempt to rid the maggots that are eating the last sane parts of me. But with each repetition, the line between reality and hallucination blurs until I’m no longer sure which is which. I’m greasy and soaked in my own sweat, the stench of decay clinging to me like a second skin. I'll have to shower and change the covers before I can go back to the dirt. You need something to be wrong with you. It has to be some type of outside force, an unseen hand guiding the puppet strings of your existence. If it is you (and you alone), it means that there’s no chance for redemption or normalcy. It means that the maggots will never rest in the grave with you because you’ll never be dead. And so, you cling to the illusion of external influence, a disease, a psychosis, a fragile lifeline in the maelstrom of your madness.

Abuse (from others)

I try to hide in plain sight until the time I can move out, navigating each day with a carefully constructed facade of normalcy. Behind closed doors, I wrestle with the memories that haunt me, the echoes of pain reverberating through every fiber of my being. I attempt to subdue any inch of care that I still hold onto, burying it beneath layers of self-preservation, yet inevitably, something small will peek through, a glimmer of vulnerability that they'll seize upon as an opportunity to inflict more harm. I'm not invincible. Despite my best efforts to convince myself otherwise, the wounds of being drugged, touched, and hurt by those I once trusted have left indelible marks on my psyche. It's as if they've carved out pieces of my soul, leaving me feeling fragmented and lost. I can pretend that it hasn't changed core parts of me, that it hasn't eroded my sense of self, but the truth is undeniable. I am wounded and it hurts. I cling to the fragments of myself that remain, determined to reclaim what was taken from me, one shattered piece at a time. Most of the shards fall through the gaps in my fingers. You can resonate with that. It doesn’t have to be anything big (if it is, I’m sorry, I really am), but it still tore the same hole inside of you. It took something from you, something precious and irreplaceable, and now you're left grappling with the aftermath, trying to piece yourself back together in a world that feels irreparably broken. Keep holding on and keep pulling. I hope you can get it back.

Abuse (from myself)

Hurt becomes the balm for the ever-aching hole inside of me, a void that seems insatiable. With each added hurt, I find solace, as if I'm closing another small hole of Tartarus, where a piece of me was imprisoned by my own transgressions. Why I ended up in Tartarus, I don’t know; perhaps I committed some unforgivable sin, or maybe I simply exist as a vessel for suffering. Regardless, I know I belong, it’s woven into the fabric of my being. As I navigate this labyrinth, I don’t know which will come first: when my body inevitably gives out or the eventual closure of each festering wound inside of me. The prospect of release from Tartarus terrifies me. There's a comfort I can’t find elsewhere in the hurt. Whether the pain is self-inflicted or delivered by the hands of others, it serves as a reminder of my existence, a validation of my worthlessness. You, like me, share a perverse communion with pain. Maybe it’s the guilt and self-loathing that make you seek absolution through hurt. Or, maybe, it’s a subconscious desire for punishment, cemented by your believed unworthiness. The only question is, do you know what you did to deserve your own personal Tartarus?

Obsession

The old Christmas lights that light the depths of my mind come alive in a way that they never do. They throb with the pressure of my heart, my gut thrills and I feel. I’m going to win this war, regardless of the cost. Obsession is passionate, it’s one of the only (usually) non-malicious things that remind me that I’m alive. But with every flicker of light, there's a shadow lurking in the corners, threatening to engulf me in its darkness. Like a moth to a flame, I'm drawn deeper into the allure of my obsession, unable to tear my gaze away even as it consumes me from within. Every thought, every action becomes consumed by the object of my fixation, distorting my perception of reality until it's unrecognizable. The highs of euphoria are matched only by the crushing lows of despair when reality comes crashing down around me. It's tearing me apart and slowly eroding my sense of identity. I yearn for someone to share this intensity of my passion, to see me as I see them. But the bitter sting of unrequited longing only serves to deepen my sense of inadequacy and isolation. Each rejection feels like a dagger to the heart, reinforcing the fact that I am inherently undesirable and unworthy of love. God, you want to be wanted, no matter how much you believe you’re undesirable. That same hunger you pour into your passion projects, you long for someone to reciprocate that fervor towards you. It's a yearning that, if fulfilled, could make you feel complete. That you would die happy with. But deep down, I believe you don't seek death; rather, you crave the raw intensity of emotions that obsession ignites. I hope in your passion you don't succumb to despair but instead learn to navigate the intricate maze of desire, emerging on the other side with your humanity intact. May you embrace that insatiable hunger, finding purpose amidst the chaos that surrounds you.

Burnout

Although the light is already out, the whirring of the electricity never stops ringing. The light I produced stopped hitting the earth lightyears ago and the only thing still present is the decaying of my final form, a reminder of what once was and can never be reclaimed. As I languish in this state of deterioration, the relentless drone of the machinery persists, a haunting soundtrack to my descent into oblivion, into the void of nothingness. There was a time when greatness seemed within reach, you had potential, but now it feels like a distant memory, a ghost of your former self haunting the corridors of your mind. The picture you painted was that of the classics, but now you’re one of the starving artists. Every day, you pass by the remnants of my aspirations, your painting, you’re reminded of what could have been—a masterpiece left incomplete, a dream left unfulfilled. With each passing moment, the chasm between your former self and your current reality widens, stretching further into the depths of uncertainty. Is it better to continue grasping at the fading embers of your former glory, or to come to terms with the fact that you may never reclaim that lost brilliance?

[tobeornottotc]

I don't know but after watching that Vegas Pete torture session, i don't think they'll get together. There is no way pete will survive this and then want to give his heart to vegas, it won't be sane, i don'twant him to...also, is vegas even capable of feeling love for anyone. After this episode and the reveal of how he manipulates and plays twisted games with people and the great lenghths his willing to go to achieve his goals without any feelings or remorse, yea don't think he can love anyone....

Hi!!!

Interesting... I mean again the thing with VegasPete is that they're not for people who are looking for morality or the 'perspective' of what romance is to people in society normally. Pete is going to be fine, Pete doesn't need saving as he's shown in this episode he can stand against Vegas and is up to the challenge. Yes he's not enjoying the torture atm, because it's not consensual yet, but he's goanna break Vegas and have him eating at the palm of his hands, this is painful but it's also something he can handle which is why he's made for Vegas, they are puzzle pieces (as BIbleBuild said) that have been searching for each other for so long, Pete recognises that but the situation started off in an unfortunate way, Vegas fully gone and needing someone to release his pain on, and Pete still not yet fully in the know of who Vegas is but he will and he'll fall for him, and it'll destroy them both but then raise them back to life and give them all they've wanted in their life for so long. 

 Just because it's not sane or proper to you doesn't mean it's the same for people who are like Vegas and Pete and they are people who are like them who find this exactly perfect and who are we to judge or belittle that? You're not Pete, You're not Vegas you don't know what they find perfect or freeing for them, you don't know what removes their scars. So you can't say that. If it makes you uncomfortable then don't watch it, if you can't process it, it's okay if it makes you feel uncomfortable you're allowed to choose what does that for you, but for them and other's it makes sense and that's okay too. 

Vegas is cruel, he's a monster, he's been made one, he's been given no choice, his actions throughout the whole episode his need to break down his family and teach them a lesson, his screaming and need to be heard, accepted and listened to, is important and this show showed, that everything he's done comes from his father who is just as sick and twisted as he is and forced him to be that way, he has become numb to depravity and madness, he's become numb to suffering and pain, that's why he's the way he is, but he's also in a mafia environment, this wasn't going to be a romantic comedy situation this is a complete environment you and I have never had to experience or feel the brutality and ruins of, Vegas is as much a victim as an attacker, he's as much a prey as a predator, he's as much a hurt person as much as a torturer. That's the irony of him and Pete understands that, Pete yearns for someone like him who is both sides, who understands both sides, Pete understands Vegas and yes right now he hasn't yet seen Vegas, right now they're still in their sick game, because Pete still is seen as an enemy, danger to Vegas and vice versa but once it's revealed it's not what they want to be to each other, then it'll be for them their own freedom and relief. It'll unravel both of them, free both of them and save both of them.

 Vegas wears many masks but Pete will get to see him without it, and so we will finally get to see him, you still don't know the real Vegas, the one behind the masks, he's still wearing masks, still hungering for something, still peeling a layer of himself raw each time he tries to seek acceptance and love from the people around him now that's been twisted it's become a sharp object repeatedly hurtling at him consistently he's wounded bleeding with no point of stopping and he can't breath unless he's with Macau. There's reasons for Vegas but those reasons don't make him less of a monster that he is and that's okay for me, that's okay for Pete, if it's not okay for you that's okay but it just means you don't have to watch it. Again Vegas and Pete are complex it's always two sides with them, it's sickness, pain and danger on one hand, it's also freedom, healing and safety on the other, it's always that with them. You have to be open to seeing both and understanding both and being open to mercy and repentance of brokenness if not it won't be easy for you to stomach these two.

Thanks anon! I'm not ranting at you btw, I actually understand your pov because on one hand like I said with these two there's issues, there's sickness, there's far more pain you and I can imagine and it does bring those feelings of discomfort and fear however it has taken me a lot of moments, and reading and watching to get Vegas, and to get Pete, it's been interesting once you open your mind to truly understanding them it'll be the same for you. It'll hurt but at the same time you'll end up needing them to be together for their sakes and freedom. Thanks again for the ask :) Also Build has repeatedly said to people it's okay if you don't get them but understand it's always been Pete's choice in the story, it is Pete's choice and I agree with him. So just wait and you may understand why they end up needing each other.

[tethered-heartstrings]

Thoughts on hannigram's first time, please.

A boring but realistic answer is its probably awkward and rushed. Both of them want it but its a vulnerability they haven't crossed with each other. They've gotten over what most people would consider impossible to deal with (murder, manipulation, cannibalism, etc.), but they are not most people. Neither of them are good at expressing their feelings. And neither of them have been truly seen by another person so deeply as with each other, its like peeling off the very last layer. They have acted through sex before but I don't think they can keep that mask on with each other anymore. Its novel and nerve-wracking. They have found someone they truly love and want to be with, someone they are willing to kill for, kill with. Someone they trust their life with, and who they'd be willing to let take their life. But dying by the other's hand is something so permanent, it almost becomes casual. There are no consequences to claw through once that exchange is over. After they have sex, they'll catch their breath and settle in to what's changed. They'll need to be able to look into the other's eyes knowing what they see, and have to see themselves as well. See themselves as vulnerable, and see everything that's been laid out between them. They've been physically and mentally vulnerable, but not emotionally. Not entirely. Sex can be simply physical, but for them it won't be. It's also a place they can express their affections in a tender or gentle way. They've shown love and understanding through violence and bloodshed, they understand that form of wordless communication. But to be soft and caring is different. Hannibal bandaged Will's hands but after he beat someone to death, violence preceded it. What happens when the room is quiet and the knives are clean, and all they have is just the two of them, uninterrupted, in a place they made for themselves, a space they opened up for each other?

[we-will-begin-again]

(from betaofthedead) “wait.” for jesus

Send me   ‘ wait ‘   for my muse’s reaction to yours grabbing their arm to keep them from leaving

@betaofthedead

Pretending to be a walker was a game that Jesus hoped the whisperers wouldn't find out more than one group of people could play. It'd taken a couple attempts, because he didn't want to get Lydia involved in fear of what repercussions she might face if he was caught and her mother realized she'd helped, but eventually, he'd finally decided to make a pretty decent mask. He'd have to give it to the whisperers, it wasn't easy to peel the skin off a walker's face without having it break, and there was also the smell.

While he waited for the mask to dry enough for it to be wearable without risking infection, Jesus thought his plan through. The maps of the woods were a decade old, and in that time the land had changed, but they were still better than nothing. He'd memorized them, because if he was going to pass as a walker he couldn't go around reading a map; made sure to remember landmarks near hiking trails that might still be there, large rock formations or funny looking trees, even the signs, even though those were less likely to still be standing. Then, when the mask was finally dry, he'd left with the first rays of the sun peeking over the horizon, not wanting to alert even his own people of what he would do. They'd only worry about him, or want to follow. If things went his way, he'd be back before anyone started worrying about where he might have gone off to.

His people needed medicine, and he wouldn't stay idle waiting for more people to get sick or worse. Jesus would go out and solve this problem if he could.

It seemed he wasn't the only one out and about this early in the morning. Out of habit, he paused at the sight of a group of walkers, a few dozens, moving through the trees. They passed him, and when it became clear he was getting their attention by standing still, Jesus began to walk with them, his steps dragged and slow because he didn't want to get too far away from the overgrown hiking trail he'd been following, but also didn't want to get the attention of the walkers, or any other living person who, like him, might be hiding between the dead.

The walkers continued to pass him and he looked back over his shoulder as subtly as he could to find that there were only a few left behind him. He counted thirteen, then looked back forward.

Carefully, Jesus started stepping backwards, mouth moving as he soundlessly counted each of the dead that passed him. He waited a couple seconds after he reached thirteen to ensure that he hadn't missed any before he turned on his heel and started his way back towards the hiking path.

Then a hand closed around his forearm with an almost bruising grip. Jesus tried to whip around and kick at his attacker, but a second hand closed around his neck and before he knew it, his back was hitting a tree as his one free hand instinctively clung to the arm holding him by his throat.

"Trespasser," the Beta growled, his face only inches away from Jesus's. "You've tested me one too many times."

Beta didn't try to reach for one of his blades this time. He'd learned from their previous encounters, he wouldn't risk releasing his arm nor his neck this time; and so he began to squeeze, his grip getting tighter and tighter on the shorter man's neck.

"They'll come for me," Jesus wheezed, and those words were just enough to make Beta pause, head tilting a hit too far to the left as he glared at the man. "If you kill me, they'll come for me. Your people will die before you can take all of mine out–" Beta growled, his grip once again tightening in warning. Jesus made sure to think his words carefully. "If you let me go, I won't come back, and I won't tell anyone I was here."

The whisperer seemed to ponder it for a moment, Jesus's eyes snapping from him to the walkers that due to the commotion had begun to move back towards them. Slowly, Beta looked over his shoulders to see them, then back at Jesus with a dark look in his eyes that worried the man. Beta's hand released of his arm, blood slowly flowing back through the limb in a way that made Jesus's skin feel like there were ants crawling under it. He grabbed Jesus's mask, yanking him off the man's face with ease before pushing him off the tree.

Jesus didn't understand what was going on until he realized many pairs of dead eyes were focused on him.

"Run, trespasser," Beta whispered with a hint of a challenge in his tone.

Refusing to look a gift horse in the mouth and miss his chance to get back home alive, Jesus took off with the walkers after him, able to lose them only because they were slow. Beta watched him get out of sight, gaze wandering down to the mask he'd confiscated from the smaller man.

It was pretty good handiwork for an outsider.