#they're calling for rain and snow all this week | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovingapparition · 7 months ago

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If Would Sure Do Me Good (to do you good)

Genre: Angst, Slow Burn, Smalltown American Aesthetics

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

A retired Simon moves to town. There are vibes.

Light warning for not very subtle sugar daddy implications that will ramp up later on.

AO3 Link

Modern civilization would be all but dead and gone, turned to dust, before this guy stopped talking. He's a regular at this dingy little convenience store, in at exactly 5:15pm Monday through Friday because it's, “just down the road from my job, and on my way home!” he reminds you, over and over as if you could possibly forget after being told for the second time that week. He insists you call him Pat but you never do, he's mostly just this fucking guy in your head. And boy, does this fucking guy love to yap your ears off.

You blink rapidly, not that he notices, focusing in on his hands. They're dirty, always are, with some weird mystery grime that makes you vaguely queasy when he hands you his warm dollar bills. You think he might be a mechanic, he must have told you at some point, but information like that doesn't really stick during the evening rushes because hello dude there's like ten people behind you-

Deep breaths. You are taking deep breaths, nodding, and smiling. The guy pauses for a breath, and you pounce. “So your total’s gonna be $13.47, the usual,” with a tight smile, your jaw a little clenched. Across the counter, he hums and digs his wallet out of his pocket. He's still describing something, gesticulating with his free hand before he pulls out a few bills. Through a couple of well-placed hums and nods you manage to focus on counting the proper change from the drawer. He pockets it without recounting his bills, too busy looking right at you as he tells you to, “Have a good night. Stay warm, honey.”

Ugh.

At least the next few transactions go quick, other people also getting off work but not as willing to talk your ear off. The weather was too cold for anyone else to feel like idly chatting. Your shift was just beginning, and already you felt worn out. Working evenings into the early hours of the morning wasn't ideal, but a job is a job. You value paying your rent more than seeing the sun or having time to hang out with your friends and family, at the moment. At least your cat was always happy to see you at one in the morning.

When the first rush eventually slows down, you're able to take what feels like your first real breath since clocking in. You let your mind wander as you wipe the counters down, fill out the daily logs, and stare at the grimy spot on the ceiling that seems to grow inch by inch each time it rains or snows. It's all become a familiar routine, as horrifically boring as it is. You'd listen to a podcast or something in one ear bud if you could, but your phone barely got service inside the old building. A perk of the cheapest phone plan you could find.

The night goes without too much fuss, and when you've tidied the shelves and double-checked that your boss hasn't left any cryptic notes for you to interpret, you find yourself leaning against the counter. There's early 2000’s rock playing softly over the old speakers, and you desperately wish that your boss would give you permission to change it to anything other than 98.8 FM The Rock.

Against your will you hum along to a Nickelback song as you watch the clock tick its way closer and closer to 9:30pm. Lunch. Also known as the only time you were allowed to lock the store. Your boss doesn't really vibe with the idea of paying two people at a time, so obviously you still had to help customers on your fifteen-minute breaks.

Halfway through the song you step out from behind the counter to go lock the front door. It's dark outside, and the street lamps cast everything in a warm, rusty yellow. The unshoveled and slushy snow looks like crushed gold, mixed with the oil and dirt from the parking lot. Inside, the lights inside Mo’s Mart buzz overhead. Their sickly green cast makes you feel a little ill if you think about it too hard. Looking outside just reminds you of it. You try to not feel disappointed as you trudge back to the counter to sit down for the first time in four and a half hours.

The stool beneath you is only a little rickety, and you sigh as you lower yourself into it. For lunch you pull a bag of potato chips out of your bag. You'd bought them from the store yesterday and saved half for tonight. At a certain point the frozen burritos and hot pockets stopped being appetizing. This isn't much better, though. The chips are already going a little stale, gumming up in your molars as you chew.

You're in the middle of digging at the crevices in your teeth with your tongue, zoned completely out as you stare at yesterday's crossword section from a newspaper your boss had left out. To be without. Six letters across and it ends in T. You're tapping your pen against the paper in thought, trying to ignore the urge to check the clock to see how much time you've got left on your break. You know you've got to have at least-

The locked front door clunking in the frame snatches your attention. You sigh. There are three loud knocks on the glass. You set your pen down. Without a doubt in your mind you know you taped the handwritten, “On break! Back at 10!” sign up at eye level. When you look up and make eye contact with the man out front, this only seems to incense him. You recognize him, a regular who's never really happy about anything. Why he keeps shopping at Mo’s you'll never understand. He shouts something that's muffled through the door, like you're the asshole right now. A quick glance tells you that you've got eight minutes until the inevitably awkward confrontation where you have to let him in. You would rather sink into the tiled floor and never come out. It almost makes the rest of the break not even worth taking.

Almost.

Trying to quell the unease his presence brings, you stay behind the counter. It's your break, and it's your right to take it without having to worry about some guy who wants his convenience store snacks in the middle of the night.

When you approach the door you try to avoid his eyes, you can practically feel him staring daggers already. As soon as the lock turns in your fingers he's pushing the door open, brushing past you as he haphazardly stomps the snow and salt off of his boots. You mentally add sweeping and mopping back onto your short mental to-do list.

You count your breath on the inhale, and again on the exhale, as you walk back to the counter. The small monitor on the cluttered counter shows the store’s security cameras on three separate little boxes. You’re vaguely aware of the man hovering by the liquor section, but you can’t bring yourself to head out into the center of the store to bother him in the hopes of deterring theft, your boss be damned. His abrupt entry brought in enough cold air to make you shiver and jam your hands into your pockets. Standing behind the counter gives you an odd sense of security as the guy wanders from aisle to aisle. You know exactly where the store's panic button is under the counter should anything go away. Some cynical part of you wonders if it even works, knowing how cheap Mo is.

The door chiming as someone else enters the store jolts you out of thought. You turn your head to greet the customer and you're met with probably the scariest individual you've ever seen. He's huge, wearing a heavy black work coat that doesn't hide the bulk of his body. The fact that he's wearing a skull print balaclava is what makes it worse. This guy could be totally normal and just wearing it because it's snowing out. He could also be about to ruin your night.

He's looking right at you as he beelines to the counter.

Anxiety bleeds into your hands, makes them feel like you've just stuck them in freezing water. Slowly, you take them out of your pockets and press them flat on the counter. You watch your own fingers spread out. From some job training or another, you recall that it's worse to look into the eyes of someone trying to rob you. “Hey there,” you try and fail to sound like you're not nervous. “What can I get you?” He's quiet for a long time. Too long. Risking a glance up at him, you find he's not even looking at you. The guy is carefully scanning the rows of cigarettes behind you.

You breathe a small sigh of relief. He doesn't say anything and you don't feel like pushing your luck tonight. You scoot over to the side and quietly thumb over your abandoned crossword. With a quick glance up you can see the man running a gloved hand over his jaw. There's a faint sound of his stubble rubbing against the balaclava. His eyes are dark, half lidded. Without moving his head, his gaze flicks to meet yours, and you look away without even thinking. Bright blue. Jesus Christ this is awkward. You tap your pen against the newsprint, wishing whatever was happening right now would just end. This guy isn't a regular, and he's certainly no one you've ever seen around town. Fingers crossed he's just passing through, never to be seen again.

“Hey dickhead, anytime now!” Your head jerks up. The masked man slowly looks over his shoulder. The guy who came in earlier is cradling a bottle of cheap rum and a liter of coke, clearly pissed about the long wait. Your stomach feels like it's about to fall out of your ass. A stranger you've never seen and a pissy regular, what could possibly go wrong? Chewing at your lip, you take a step back from the counter.

“Hey Marvin, I can get you over here. Relax,” you say over the stranger's shoulder, just barely managing to remember his name. You've carded him everyone else in this town enough to remember a few faces. The giant man in front of you steps over wordlessly as if Marvin hadn't just insulted him. Wanting to get him out as quickly as possible to avoid anymore confrontation, you check Marvin out. He's still grumbling to himself, working the toothpick in his cheek with his teeth. “Have a good night. Drive safe,” you tell him as you hand him his brown paper-bagged liquor. Marvin scoffs at you and yanks his items from your hands. You try not to react as he lets the door slam on his way out.

The fluorescent lights buzz above you. Coldplay is on the radio, crackling softly. The man approaches your register, already reaching into his coat for his wallet. “I'll have your cheapest menthols,” he rumbles in an accent you've definitely never heard in town. What the hell was this guy doing in Mo’s this late at night? The vibes were sketching you the fuck out. You school your face into as neutral of an expression as you can manage and turn to reach for a pack of Marlboro Black Menthol 100’s from the shelf of tobacco products behind you. The man is looking down at your crossword, still unfinished, when you turn back to him. You were half tempted to ask where he was from. You don’t.

When you ask him for ID he hands you a card from his wallet. Upon inspection, you find that it’s a British Military ID and heavily censored. It only tells you his first and last name initials. S. R. The photo is censored as well. As far as you can tell, it looks real to you. If it’s not, then he’s gone through an awful lot of effort for the worst cigarettes Mo’s has to offer. You weren’t in the business of prying. Most everyone else who lives in town you stopped carding years ago. Over time you just know through the grapevine who has what birthdays and when. Hard not too. Regardless, you nod uneasily at the man and carefully slide his ID back to his side of the counter.

You tell the man his total and he slides you a crisp twenty, avoids touching you directly. With a quick hand, you count his change back to him. It's all very normal until he neatly drops the cash into the dusty tip jar by the register. What the fuck? The cigarettes were barely five dollars, and you're pretty sure in your entire tenure at Mo's you've never been tipped anything other than the loose coins people don't want to keep. You're in the middle of trying to figure out how to thank him when he nods to you once, and turns to leave.

Stunned, you have no idea how to react. Genuinely what the fuck was any of that? You eye the tip jar suspiciously as if the man had filled it with Monopoly money instead of enough cash to buy yourself a couple of hot meals. You entertain the idea of going to the local burger place you used to love as a kid. Hot, fresh fries and a large coke would probably fix you at least a little bit, you think. When you return to the comfort of your crossword you see in very neat, small handwriting, that the last word has been penned in.

Bereft.

The rest of the night goes without much else of note happening. You sweep the floors and mop the salt and grey sludge from the entrance. The coolers are stocked and the cash drawer is counted when your replacement arrives at two in the morning. Mo liked to keep the place open 24 hours since it was close enough to a busy highway that folks came through at all hours of the day. Your coworker, Olivier, arrives a little early so you can check them out at the register. Each morning they like to buy an energy drink in a tall pink can and whatever gummies they wanted to snack on that day. You enjoyed the little moments you got to have together. Olivier was one of the few people in this town who you could relate to. Their hair seemed to change color and style by the week, and they always had the best fashion sense. It seemed they were an expert at thrifting in a way you could only dream of. Layering different fabrics and patterns, they seemed to somehow never repeat an exact outfit.

“How was everything? Good night?” they ask, already rooting through their bag of gummies for the blue ones. You shrug, making a high-pitched noise somewhere in your throat. Olivier, bless them, immediately understands. “Did that weird masked guy come in again? He pulled in with a giant moving truck the other night.”

This immediately perks you up. “No shit?” That guy was moving here? “What's wrong with him?” you half-joke as you punch out on the register. Olivier chuckles with you, and the shared judgment over a new face in town reminds you how glad you are to have them. These small moments in the quiet hours of the morning made the town feel like it wasn't so small and empty.

As you pull your heavy coat on you look out the windows into the parking lot. The lot had been heavily salted, but it was dusting snow. You could see the suspended motes in the yellow street lights outside. Part of you was a little jealous of Olivier. This time of the morning always seemed so peaceful and quiet. You knew you’d never want to work their hours though. Waking up at midnight to get ready for work? No thanks. You wish Olivier a good shift as you pull your gloves on, before pushing out into the parking lot. The air shocks a chill into your chest as you breathe it in. Your breath puffs in a heavy cloud as you exhale. Already you could feel your fingers burning as the cold licked it’s way through your heavy layers. Awkwardly, to avoid slipping, you shuffle your way across the lot to your truck. It’s a little blue beat-up thing. How you’ve managed to keep it running all these years, you have no idea. Apparently, luck and hoping for the best are good enough for the ancient beater. It takes a couple tries to get the engine to turn over, and you sigh in relief when it finally roars to life. After idling in the cabin for a few minutes, you shift into drive and begin the slow crawl home. The roads aren’t plowed, but it’s not slick enough to worry you. The sound of snow crunching beneath the tires, barely audible over the low hum of the radio, accompanies you home.

When you pull into the driveway you can feel your shift finally weighing down on you. You turn the key and slouch down in the seat, eyes shut. Your feet are cold. Your shoulders sag under your heavy coat, but you're somehow not warm enough. The cold always finds a way in. After a few moments, you manage to drag yourself out of the truck and you make the short walk to your front door. The only benefit of small-town living was the fact that you could afford the rent on this little house. Never mind the fact that you were pretty sure your landlord lived about an hour and forty-five minutes up the highway and owned most of the houses in your street.

Your nightly routine goes without much fuss. Tabitha, your cat, is pleased that you've come home on time to refill her dish with wet food. You undress, shower, and bundle back up in your warmest sleeping clothes. The house is cold, no matter how well you insulate the windows and the cracks in the baseboards. In the dark, you sit in bed with microwaved pasta in its plastic packaging with the instructions on the side. It's not good but it warms your belly and fills you up. As you eat you scroll on your phone, lazily browsing your social media and clicking through posts. Your mind wanders to the man you saw today. He was odd, and him moving here was even stranger. In all your life you can't really remember anyone moving into the town. Mostly your friends from high school have slowly trickled out, save for Olivier. You weren't sure why you'd never left for the bigger city, you'd just never felt the pull to get out and see more.

When you sleep that night it's restless as ever. You wake up often, teeth chattering. Your cat is nestled somewhere beneath the blankets with you, and you're careful not to roll onto her. You vow to do a once over, just to see if you can stuff any more of your hand-me-down towels into the draftier baseboards. It feels like it's been winter forever now, but with Christmas barely around the corner, you knew it had just begun.

—

You start seeing that guy around town. You pass by him in the grocery store. He's got a cart full of stuff, and you figure he's just stocking his kitchen. You grab your scant groceries, milk, and some canned goods that will last. While you're in the checkout line he pushes his cart behind you, leaving a respectful amount of space. You're not really the type to engage in the painfully long-winded Midwestern custom of talking about everything you possibly can, so you don't acknowledge him. You set your items down on the belt when it's your turn, and you offer a polite smile to the cashier.

“Hey, find everything okay?” he asks, nice as you please.

“I did, thanks Carter.” He was a few grades above you back in school. He also stuck around after his class had graduated. You vaguely wonder each time about his dreams of joining the military, and whatever happened to them. Maybe it was just life that happened. You know he's got a little boy to take care of with his high school sweetheart and another on the way. Maybe that was all it came down to, at the end of the day.

Carter tells you your total and you mentally curse. You'd counted your cash twice before you'd come in the store, and you were certain you'd been doing the right math as you grabbed your items. Carter gently angles the register's screen to you so you can see the line items. God damn. You'd just plain miscalculated, probably too tired to keep it all straight in your head. You look down at the things you'd grabbed, trying to calculate what you could do without. You force a laugh. Humiliation roils in a dark pit in your chest. You find yourself speaking without thinking, “Oh whoops! Sorry, go ahead and take off the soup cans.” Carter, bless his heart, doesn't make a fuss. He punches the register keys quickly and counts the cash you hand him. You very much do not want to look at the stranger behind you. You pray to whatever god might be listening that maybe he wasn't being as nosey as everyone else was in this town, and that he didn't just hear that you can't really afford an armful of groceries.

Carter hands you your single plastic bag, tells you to “Have a good one, hon,” You speed walk back to your truck, your breath puffing in clouds around you.

–

The next time you see him you're driving to work. The radio is playing softly and your truck's heaters are blowing semi-cold air onto you. You're stopped at a light when you see the guy, dressed in a light coat and the same balaclava. He's jogging, somehow managing to work a sweat on the cold. You have no idea what kind of psychopath goes on a run in the dead of winter. When the light turns green you have to drag your eyes off of him before you accelerate through the light.

It was rare that anyone in your town went on a jog. Unheard of in the winter. You were certain the old ladies would be gossiping up a storm at church. You figured it was no different than you and Olivier at Mo’s. You smile at the thought of sharing your sighting of the masked stranger with Olivier tonight. The little chats in the quiet morning hours were a light in the dark of winter.

It was easy to get lost in the cold. It seemed all your waking hours were spent in the dark, during these months. You'd wake up later in the afternoon, always too tired to rise any earlier. It wasn't great for your mental health, but neither would being homeless. You'd take your victories where you could get them. Without much family nearby to rely on, you had to get by on your own.

The joy of adulthood.

–

You see him again that same night. He comes in around midnight. He's the first customer in around an hour. There had been a small rush of truckers passing through, trying to make it off the major highways before some snowfall was forecast to hit the area. You note that he's better dressed for the weather than he was earlier while he was jogging. He's in the same black work coat and leather gloves as before. You find it hard to meet his eye when he approaches the counter.

Something about seeing him in town made the transaction feel off in a way that you've never experienced before. Getting Janet her pack of Marlboro Reds and ringing her son Nick up for his energy drinks was never sullied by the fact that you saw them at the Sonic Drive-In in their old beater from time to time. Seeing him now with the sense that he was apparently sticking around in town made you feel strange. You didn't know anything about him besides his initials and the skull print on his balaclava. Knowing he was likely some retired military operative from a foreign country was nerve-wracking and exciting and weird as hell for your little town. You had no idea how to interact with him.

When you're getting the register open to count his change, you can't help but blurt out, “Are you liking it here?” Immediately you wish you could stuff the words back in your mouth when you see his eyes flick to meet yours. How on Earth could anyone be enjoying one of the worst winters your town has seen in years?

To your surprise he humors you. “It's nice. Quiet,” he says after a beat. You blink at him, quickly looking back down to the cash you're supposed to be counting back to him.

“Good. That's good. Folks can be weird about new people, but I'm glad you're settling in.” Oh God, you're rambling. Make it stop.

To this, he hums. It's a low sound, almost silent, deep in his chest. You suppose that's the only response you're getting as he accepts the cash. You slide his pack of menthols across the counter. Your eyes widen as he doesn’t even recount the bills you’ve handed him, just folds them once and drops them into the tip jar. Sputtering already, cheeks red with embarrassment, you search for words but find none. This had to be about the grocery store. You were completely fine. Really, you were. You get paid this week and you would definitely go back to the store and probably pick up some extra groceries. None of this is coming out of your mouth though, as the man has basically vanished already. You can hear his truck starting up outside, the crunch of the snow and gravel as it pulls out of the lot.

Guilt rolls through you, thick and familiar. You had no idea what to make of this guy. First, he blows into your dead-end town and starts leaving you ridiculous tips on the cheapest cigarettes possible? What the fuck? It makes you feel ashamed and unnerved. No one had ever given you more than the change they simply didn’t want to carry around, and you’d never expected anything more than that.

When you talk it over with Olivier that night in the early hours, they eye you mischievously, clearly very interested in the man’s motives to give you excessively large tips. “C’mon, let the guy toss you a little cash here and there, it’s a free country. He can do what he wants, even if it's to give all his money away,” they tease over the lip of an energy drink. You hang your head, groaning in response.

“I dunno… I don’t know what to make of it, is all,” you admit. That little pit of nervousness in your gut had been sitting heavily all night. Olivier gives you a pitying look.

“Don’t worry too much about it, I think you should just let it ride. And tell me all of the details.” You can’t help but choke a small laugh at their insistence on being in the know. Almost nothing new ever came to town, of course it was the juiciest thing ever to Olivier. You give them a weary smile and wish them a good shift before heading out.

–

The next few weeks are more of the same. You see the man around town, like any other local. At the grocery store, he’s always got a cart full of food, and you’re sure to hurry off out of his way with your armfuls of items. Once or twice you’ve seen him meandering around the local shops, and you sort of dread the idea of running into him at the little cafe you sometimes indulge in when you’ve got a little extra cash on hand. Something in you wanted to be protective of your favorite spots in town, but you knew it was irrational. Soon enough he would be just as familiar to the folks around here as you were.

Without fail, he continued to come into Mo’s with large bills. He’d ask you for his cigarettes, tip you far too much, and leave before you could really say anything about it. He never spoke to you more than you spoke to him and he was never anything other than perfectly polite. You hadn’t begun to have a single idea as to why he insisted on tipping so much.

Eventually, you had come to terms with his insistence on leaving all of his excess cash with you. You started squirreling some of it away, using it specifically on groceries and smaller bills. It was nice to have a little extra padding in your wallet, especially during these cold months. You definitely weren’t touching the thermostat though, that’s for sure. Old habits, and all that. It was easiest to be thankful, to not look this gift horse in the mouth, and to do your best to just keep pushing through the winter.

–

A winter storm was forecast for your town. The weatherman you’d grown up watching warned this would be one of the worst in years, and to stock up on the essentials. You knew you had about a month’s worth of cat food and a few cans of something or other in the back of your cupboards and called it good before heading to work that day. Calling out wasn’t really a thing Mo liked you to do. It didn’t help that you’d woken early today, sweating through your layers of blankets and somehow still chilled to the bone.

Getting ready for your shift had taken about twice the time. You’d taken a cold shower, teeth chattering and your stomach turning the entire time. You did not look in the mirror while brushing your teeth and getting dressed. It had to be bad, the way folks looked at you when you arrived. You were bundled up in a hoodie and an oversized flannel. There was something about being ill that just made the cold weather feel so much worse. The black K-95 mask you’re wearing isn’t doing much to hide the puffiness or dark circles under your eyes. The near-constant sniffling and perspiration aren’t doing you any favors.

Between the little rushes of your shift, you unabashedly sit on the floor behind the counter, not caring if Mo saw you on the cameras and wanted to give you a pissy little talk about it later. You hadn’t had any medicine to take at home and all the store carried were caffeine pills and Tylenol for eight dollars per two-pack. You do your best to stay hydrated, refilling a small styrofoam cup from the soda machines often. The water tastes vaguely like Hi-C Punch, and you try to not think about it. When you’re able to focus on your own hands, you see them shaking as they bring the cup to your lips.

You think it’s around one in the morning when you hear the door chime. Close to the start of Oliver’s shift, the end of yours. No one has been in the store since around eight, you think. Time has stopped feeling real at this point. Breathing heavily, you muster the strength to stand. You lean heavily over the counter, trying to wet your mouth against the sudden nausea crawling up your throat. Under your layers, you’re sweating and chilled and just so uncomfortable. Whoever’s just entered the store stomps the snow off of their boots, and you can hear their steps squeak on the linoleum straight to your counter. A quick glance up and you’re making eye contact with the masked man who has become strangely familiar to you.

You can only manage a nod to acknowledge him, before turning around to grab his cigarettes. He’d been in the night before, so you weren’t expecting him tonight. Normally his packs last him a few days. Why would he come out so late, especially during this bad weather? You can’t really bring yourself to think too critically right now, instead choosing to focus on not passing out before you can clock out and go home. When you turn around, pack of menthols in hand, you find that the man is eyeing you more intently than normal. You think? The mask made it hard to tell. Your hands are shaking, you realize it just as the cigarettes slip from your fingers.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry-” You bend to pick them up and are met with a rush of blood in your ears. When you rise you lean against the counter for a moment, eyes closed. It would later come back to you as an embarrassing moment, but currently, you’re focusing very hard on staying upright.

“You're sick,” the man says, so plainly it's kind of funny. You huff a small laugh, nodding.

“Why’re you here? Storm’s gonna get bad tonight.” It’s a poor attempt at deflecting the obvious statement. Something bristled in you at him, it was enough that he’d seen you at the grocery store. Being seen by him like this now, especially after all the cash tips he’s been leaving you, makes you feel cagey and defensive.

“I could ask you the same.” He slides you a twenty as he says this. You meet his eyes, briefly. It’s easier to look at him with half of your face covered, you realize. Maybe that’s why he’s never been seen around town without his balaclava. He meets your gaze evenly, seemingly unaware of the shame that pulses under your skin. You sniffle loudly, not looking down at the bill on the counter. You’ve got about a dozen questions for him, but your jaw is clenched so tightly you’re not sure where to even begin. Just when you’ve worked up the nerve to fire a question at the man, the door chimes.

Both of you turn to see Olivier entering the shop. They wave one mittened hand at you. “Oh hey! You’re here too, Simon. Nice to see you again.” Simon? Somehow Olivier had failed to mention his name after all this time. Admittedly, you’d never even thought to ask. He’d never introduced himself formally, and you weren’t one to pry, especially into the lives of odd men who only buy their cigarettes after sundown. Simon raises a hand to greet Olivier, the most human thing you’ve seen him do so far.

“Hey Liv,” you croak, clearing your throat a little. At the sound of your wrecked voice, Olivier grimaces at you. Already, they’re reading into their tote back and donning a mask.

“Stay over there, and disinfect the counter when you leave!” They harp, only half joking. You nod wearily and quickly check Simon’s cigarettes out on the register. It feels strange to even think of him using his first name. Simon takes his leave, and as soon as you've got your coat on you’re following right behind him, waving a quick goodbye to Olivier as you go. They’re immunocompromised, and the last thing you want is to make their life harder by getting them sick.

The snow falls heavily, immediately sticking to your eyelashes and blinding you. You drag your gloved hands over your eyes, trying to clear them. Blinking rapidly, you see that the parking lot is a smooth expanse of honeyed yellow. The street lamp makes the area look warmer than it is. You can already feel the cold sinking into your fingertips. The trees on the edges of the lot are bowed heavily under the snow’s weight. When you step into the lot, the snow is powdery soft, but icey beneath. Not good. It would be a very slow drive home once you got your truck moving. The snow is only about halfway up the tires, but you’d still need to shovel it out to give it a fighting chance of leaving the lot if you could get it started in this cold.

When you get it started.

Historically, your beloved fossil of a truck has not done well in the cold. You’d been meaning to replace the battery and get the transmission checked out this Summer. You had forgotten.

The sound of snow crunching behind you tells you that Simon has not left the lot, and is apparently watching you have your silent meltdown now. Great. “You want some help getting that snow shoveled?” It’s strange hearing him outside of the contained environment that is Mo’s. The wind changes his voice. It’s odd to be shoulder to shoulder with him, and not talk about cigarettes. Dejected, you know when to choose your battles. You nod your head and lead him to the driver's side door of the truck.

“I might need a jump, it really doesn’t do well in this weather,” you admit wearily. Simon nods like he knows that already. Maybe he did, it’s not exactly the nicest-looking vehicle anyone’s ever seen. You crank the door open and hop in the seat. When turning the engine over multiple times does nothing but pitifully crank the engine, you lean your forehead against the steering wheel in defeat. Before you can say anything you can't fight the urge to suddenly cough. You turn away from Simon, who's kind of hovering near the open door of your truck, to bury your mouth in your elbow to cough. You've honestly had enough of being gross and embarrassed in front of this guy for one night. When your coughing fit is done you lean back, exhausted, against the seat. Your throat is raw, and your entire body feels weak. The thought of shoveling out your truck and waiting on the battery to charge fills you with dread. “Fuck this, man.”

Snow has started sticking to Simon's coat, dusting white onto the black fabric. He's standing a small distance away with his hands in his pockets, giving you a decent amount of space. “You want a ride home? Can come deal with it in the morning with you, if you like.” You turn your head to regard him, thankful again for your mask to hide behind. There's plenty of security footage of him coming into the store over and over again. You supposed if he wanted to kill you there would be at least a half-decent physical description. Plus Olivier probably knew more about him, given that they're a chatterbox no matter the time of day.

Your eyes flick out to the lot. The snow shows no sign of stopping. Fuck it.

“My house isn't far from here.”

#oh hey im back #sorry for the hiatus lol #ghost x reader #cod mw ghost #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #my writing #subtle sugar daddy stuff #idk i love angst so much??#i just want reader to be well taken care of <3

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tj-dragonblade · 10 months ago

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[FIC] Chaos and Calm

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: G Word Count: 1551 Tags: fluff, domesticity, single dads, pre-relationship, outings in the park, feeding the ducks, rain

Notes: For Day 1 of Dreamling Week 2024 as organized by @mr-sadman, for the prompt 'hunt'. Also dedicated to the wonderful @chaosheadspace, whose single-dads AU Castle in the Sand rotates in the back of my head quite often - I meant to have this coincide with your birthday but didn't quite make it, alas.

Summary: Searching for rain boots and meeting friends in the park. No real plot, just meandering domestic parenting vibes.

On AO3

"Robyn! You 'bout ready, kiddo?"

Hob winces at the sound of something heavy thudding on the floor above, and then his son appears at the top of the stairs. "I can't find my boots!"

Hob suppresses the urge to sigh. "Do you remember where you had them last?"

Robyn's brow furrows. "Maybe? They might be in the cupboard? But I think I might have used 'em as astronaut boots and forgot to put 'em back."

"Did you check by the washing machine?"

"Not yet."

"Okay. You keep looking in your room; I'll check down here and then come help you look if I don't find them."

"'Kay." Robyn scrambles back up from where he'd started down the stairs and dashes back to his room, and Hob heads to check the coat cupboard in the front hallway.

They're meant to be meeting Dream and Orpheus at the park in fifteen minutes. The day has turned out to be dreary and grey, light rain off and on keeping it misty and damp and a raincoat plus wellies are definitely called for.

If only he or his son could be relied upon to consistently put things back in their expected places. Ellie had always scolded them about it, gently, and for all the years since she's been gone Hob has kept trying to do better, but it's not always top of his mind and they're both surviving okay, despite the current inconvenience.

He checks the bottom of the coat cupboard; no boots.

He lets the sigh out this time, since Robyn's not there to see the frustration. He checks the utility room next, where last year's too-small snow boots are still sitting next to this year's because Hob hasn't gotten round to dropping them off at the charity shop yet. This year's snow boots will have to do if they can't find the wellies, but he's not giving up yet.

He's not going to tear the house apart looking, either, though; he's eager to get going. Letting Robyn spend time with his best friend is important, but also. Hob really looks forward to seeing Dream, for—well. For lots of reasons, that he's comfortably aware of but cautious about acting on because the kids would be caught in the middle if it didn't work out and that's the last thing he wants. Right now he just wants to let himself enjoy the possibilities. Hanging out, conversations while the kids play, watching Dream's pretty face go soft and expressive as they talk.

So. Best check all the likely spots in this comfortably-cluttered chaos he lives in, then, so they can find the boots and get going. It would certainly be easier if his home was less messy, but he's a single dad with a very active kid, he teaches secondary school, and taking the time to make his home look like a magazine spread is just not on his agenda. And sure sometimes it bites him in the arse, like now, but most times the chaos is of a manageable level and more importantly, it works for them.

Just. Not today, apparently.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, fires off a quick text to Dream.

May be a few minutes late We've a crisis of missing wellies over here Keep you posted

Dream's response comes through almost instantly.

I wish you luck in your hunt, then. We will wait.

Hob smiles, tucks the phone back in his pocket and heads up the stairs to join the search.

Robyn's room is a little bit of a disaster zone, as he's been throwing things around in his haste, and Hob kneels to crawl around the floor and help him look. He'll help him straighten up later, too, but for now they're boot-hunting.

Robyn is a little worried, as it turns out. "What if Orpheus and his dad leave before we get there? What if they think we're not coming because I can't find my stupid boots?"

Hob laughs, a small laugh full of kindness. "They wouldn't," he assures, pulling his kid into a one-armed hug as they sit on the floor. "And besides—I texted Orpheus's dad so they know we're running late." He drops a kiss in Robyn's hair. "Now let's find those blasted wellies so we can get going, yeah?"

The boots are not under the bed, or the desk in the corner; they're not in the toy chest, nor the basket for Robyn's dirty laundry, nor under the laundry that hasn't quite made it into the basket. Hob helps that last category get to where it was meant to be and sits back with a sigh, making a mental note—and hopefully he'll remember later—to be sure to run a load of Robyn's clothes.

"Alright, kiddo, is there anywhere you haven't looked yet?"

Robyn ponders for a moment, face scrunched in thought, and then lights up. "Oh!" He scrambles off the floor and over to the wardrobe, yanks it open. Hob would have thought that would be the first place to check, so he hadn't looked himself but obviously he should have, because Robyn dives into it with a little yell of victory and emerges with a boot held high in either hand and triumph radiating from his grin.

~ They're only a little bit late to the park; Robyn and Orpheus spot each other at the same instant and yell in excited unison, charging across the wet grass and crashing into a hug that also involves a lot of jumping up and down. Hob grins at their enthusiasm, eyes searching beyond them to find Dream looking for him as well; the smile that blooms on Dream's face, visible even at this distance, makes Hob's heart do a pleasant little flop in his chest.

"Your hunt was successful, I see," Dream says, when they are close enough for speaking; they are trailing after the boys, who are cavorting in the general direction of the duck pond, splashing in collected puddles on the path. Dream's got his umbrella up, even though it's not raining right this moment, which somehow just enhances his general goth vibe.

Hob stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, time to do a major cleaning. His room's a bit of a mess but we finally found his wellies in the wardrobe. Which honestly would have been the first place I checked if I'd realized he hadn't. Kid brains work on different logic, I suppose."

"True." Dream shifts a little, casts a glance sideways at Hob. "Robyn is fortunate to have a father so skilled at finding lost items."

"Got a lot of experience misplacing my own crap," Hob offers, laughing to cover the flustery warmth seeping into his chest at Dream's simple compliment. "And he found the boots himself, just needed some help thinking it through."

"As I said. He is fortunate to have your guidance," Dream reiterates, and Hob is saved from having to respond when Robyn comes running back to where the two of them have stopped at the path's edge. Orpheus is over by the pond, bending down to peer between the rails of the short wooden fence that surrounds it as several ducks swim toward him.

"Dad! Did you bring the peas? The ducks're hungry!" There's eager excitement in Robyn's voice and Hob smiles.

"'Course I did, kiddo, here." He rummages in the bag at his hip, slung comfortably across his chest, and hands over the snack-size freezer bag of peas; Robyn thanks him and dashes back over to Orpheus. Whether or not the ducks are 'hungry' is arguable, but Hob won't deny his kid the human joy of personifying the world around him nor of feeding the ducks, which is generally their purpose in coming to this park. He glances sideways at Dream—who is Hob's own private secondary reason for any of the activities they do together with their kids—and finds him watching the boys with the softest little smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

He's so beautiful.

It starts raining, then, just a light misty sprinkle. The boys put up the hoods on their raincoats and carry on tossing peas to the eager birds who've gathered for the feast; Hob is about to dig his own umbrella out of his bag but Dream steps closer and shifts his own broad umbrella over Hob as well. His arm presses up against Hob's, from shoulder to elbow, and Hob swallows the urge to lift his arm and put it around Dream's shoulders, leans solidly into the touch instead. It's nice.

It's so, so nice, and Hob revels in the imagined warmth he can feel seeping into the contact despite the layers between them, the way that seconds turn to minutes and neither of them moves away, how they both watch their boys in comfortable silence. Hob's thoughts and emotions often feel chaotic and jumbled up in the same way his house manages to be a mild-but-functional disaster zone but this—sharing an everyday domestic moment with Dream, the casual unremarked closeness between them—it quiets something in his head, makes anything and everything seem gloriously possible.

This, this is a feeling worth finding, a feeling he did not even realize he was searching for.

He is still entirely grateful to have found it.

= Started: 6/2/24 Drafted: 6/3/24 Posted: 6/3/24

#TJs Fics #Sandman #Dreamling #Dreamling Week 2024

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trashland-llamas · 2 months ago

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Blind Leading the Blind

AO3 link // Gn! Reader

Matt Murdock finds it funny that out of everyone who answered the call for a roommate, he ended up picking someone that had low vision. Reader had learned about the apartment opening from Foggy, as they had been openly complaining about the difficulty in finding an affordable place.

And Foggy, from what he knew about them, didn't think it'd hurt to mention that his other closest friend was having the same problem. Trusting Reader's character with what he had garnered about them in their shared legal history lectures. Foggy convinces Matt to give them a shot.

Aware that he was close to giving up on finding a roommate. He'd just have to pick up more hours at work and squeeze every penny. Having a roommate would make the finances easier. Less of a burden on the mind. So Murdock conducts an interview with them as they're sat across from one another with a cup of coffee. Surprisingly it goes well. Reader moves in towards the end of that week. Not owning much, the bare essentials were packed up into two duffel bags.

Having learned from said interview that their vision issues include that of solar retinopathy, macular degeneration, and astigmatism.

The first condition made their eyes extremely sensitive to light. Having clarified that they didn't get it after looking directly at the sun during a solar eclipse.

It did also make the fact that Murdock tended to not use any of the overhead fluorescent fixtures wasn't that big a bother. Plus the times they did need light, they could simply flick a switch.

Reader would wear sunglasses more often in summer time than winter. The sunlight would annoyingly reflect off the snow. Having transition lenses on their glasses where they inherently turn into sunglasses whenever it's remotely sunny outside.

With the macular degeneration, they can't recognize people in crowds. Something both Foggy and Murdock knew well after waving at them multiple times over the years and being ignored. Having to go up to them instead.

'It's not a person,' Matt would offhandedly remark when he noticed they stood in one spot for longer than a few seconds. Other times laughing when he'd hear them say, 'oops, that's a person,' realizing that they had accidentally been giving a stranger the death stare.

'Wasn't there glass in that cabinet before?' He does sometimes gaslight them when it comes to Daredevil stuff. Reader had only noticed after a few days when it looked off. There was no longer a glare where there should be. And the shadow was off.

Another thing is that sometimes when cleaning up a spill, they'll pat the surface to double check they haven't blatantly missed a spot. It's easier when the substance leaves behind a sticky residue. If they do miss a spot, Matt doesn't mind cleaning it up himself as Reader tries to keep the space tidy. Keeping their things out of the walkway despite not really needing to with his heightened senses.

The astigmatism exposes itself more whenever Reader forgets their glasses than when they do wear them. Holding papers closer to their eyes to read. Otherwise having to squint if they were to hold them at the usual distance. Even with the papers being closer, the lines of text don't remain level.

They have also been relegated to passenger monarch along with Matt after scaring Foggy and Karen with their driving. As they deal with the characteristic streaky lights along with guessing how far/close away the traffic lights are. Also guessing where the yellow line was. Stressing everyone in the vehicle out, including themselves as they try not to crash with rain pelting their window shields.

'How the hell did you manage to get your license?' 'No clue, genuinely thought they would've restricted me to daytime driving by this point.' Luckily with the city they all live in, they can get anywhere they need to on foot.

#mcu #marvel #marvel shows #daredevil show #daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #x reader #x gn reader #mcu x reader

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shadowuserannie · 4 months ago

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Tips for writing Singaporean characters/stuff to keep in mind

--They will have a second language. That's not even a debate. The three Mother Tongue languages taught in SG schools are Chinese, Malay, and Tamil. However, if you have, say, a Thai character, that Thai character is likely to pick Chinese because Thai isn't an option for them. But Singaporean-born-and-bred are more likely than not to also know a few random bits and pieces of other languages.

note that this is not as limiting as it sounds-just because three MT languages are taught doesn't mean only speakers of those languages exist. Dialects aren't taught, but people do speak them. Hindu can also be an option if your SG character is Indian. Chinese dialects like Teochew, Hokkien, and Cantonese are also options.

--If you're not Singaporean don't try writing Singlish. This is not a threat it's awareness. You can slip a Malay or Chinese word in while they're speaking, but space it apart. Most of us nowadays are better at full English. Please do not just tag "lah" onto the end of every sentence and call it a day. It's better to write us speaking in English, than whatever the hell you just made up.

--We don't mess around with education. What, you thought our declining mental health rate was for show? We have the STRESS. If it's a teenage Singaporean character they are definitely stressing about either O-Levels or A-Levels. Please don't make that their entire personality and call it a day though.

--Most Singaporeans fall into two categories: love spice or cannot tolerate spice. Of course there are in-between but most people love spice. Hawker center stalls have a tray of little chili sauce plates next to the cutlery tins. It's not for show.

--They're not celebrating Christmas. They acknowledge it exists (if you want to have them say something controversial, you can have them get annoyed by the limitless Christmas marketing to tourists that plays into the tourism industry) but it's like just another day for them. Regardless of race/ethnicity, they will definitely know Chinese New Year, Hari Raya Puasa, and Deepavali. That's a given. (Unless they're Christian/Catholic.)

--We start school on Jan 2. We end school in November (exact date depends per school). Our school year does not begin in the fall and end in the spring. [This only applies to primary and secondary school. Primary is 6 to 12 years old and Secondary is 13 to 16 years old.]

--Don't make them racist. For the love of whatever you (don't) worship DON'T MAKE THE SG REP RACIST. We respect other races and holidays and ethnicities and religions. Don't have your Singaporean character representing US call slurs or alienate someone who's a foreigner. Have them be accepting because THAT IS WHAT WE ARE RAISED AS. Also there's like a three-year jail time for catcalling a slur.

--Housing in Singapore is either HDB-built [making it a HDB flat] a condo [making it a condo flat] or private property. The last is the rarest because Singapore doesn't have land to spare. We are tiny. We are "Little Red Dot" because you spin a globe and we're LUCKY to get a dot. Anyway no "country" exists in Singapore. There is no empty country space to grow up in. All of us are city people.

--We don't have spring/summer/autumn/winter. We get monsoon seasons due to being a country close to the equator. We get heat that kills us, and it usually rains at least once a week in even the hottest spells. "Coldest" spells can be rain multiple times a day at peak monsoon season. A Singaporean who's touched snow is a Singaporean who has braved a winter country before and not the norm.

--if you create a Singaporean character I applaud you. I'm dying for rep of us. I will pick whatever you have written up solely for the SG character first, then I might stay for the actual plot. please can people remember we exist

#writing #writers #writers on tumblr #writing tips #character writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #honestly I think this will do poorly #singaporean #singapore

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livfastdieyoung69 · 9 months ago

Note

Can I have Edge x Fem reader where she's been friends with him and Christian since they were kids leading to them sharing a kiss in the rain after being locked out of the rental house they're staying in by Christian and Lita?

NOVEMBER RAIN

( Adam ‘Edge’ Copeland x gn!Reader)

“This isn’t funny guys, it’s cold out here!” Adam yelled from beside you, pounding onto the motel room door as you shivered and tried to shove yourself further into your coat. Christian and Lita had decided it would be funny to lock the two of you outside after honking the horn and sprinting from the car as fast as they could, startling the two of you awake in the backseat to stumble out into the pouring rain, just on the verge of snow thanks to being in the ever freezing Alaska. It wasn’t often visited by WWE, but every once in a while it was sprung upon everyone.

“I can hear you giggling in there! I’m gonna get pneumonia again and I’m gonna tell everyone it’s all your guys’ fault!” Once, last year, you’d gotten a little too tipsy after a big win and went to celebrate with your boys- of course they were there, the three of you were never far from each other- and had been coaxed into a few snow angels. Of course, you had no coat, or gloves, not even a hat, and caught a pretty bad case of pneumonia. Whenever you wanted something really bad you just pretended you were still mad at them for it. Usually it worked, but this time your trick seemed unsuccessful.

With a groan, you turned from the door and pouted your way to the bench not far from your room. Thankfully it was under a bit of roof so the rain couldn’t reach it. Tucking your knees close to your chest in hopes of a little bit more warmth, you watched Adam come join you on the bench.

“Think they’ll let us in soon?” You asked, tilting your head onto his shoulder and looking out on the rain. He shrugged underneath you.

“Who knows. I think this might be Christians payback for last week so we might be out here for a little.” The two of you had superglued Christians cup to his hand when he was too busy kissing all up on Lita to notice. Giggling at the memory, your pout recluses as you shuffle further into Adam’s side, his arm coming up to sit over your shoulder.

“Seems like the start of a prank war to me.” You spoke with fond memories quickly returning. ‘Prank Wars’ as your little trio liked to call them, were definitely not new, you just had an added enemy this time. Your hand left its nice, warm pocket for the warmth of Adam’s instead, fingers joining together and dangling over your shoulder with a comforting squeeze.

“Let the prank wars…” He moved in closer to you, whispering some dumb accent into your ear. “Commence!!” God, what a weirdo. And didn’t you just love him for it? Here you sat, pretending like he was just oh-so-weird, when he had you giggling and more bashful than you knew possible! It seemed to be a normal thing, he’d always make you sheepish and giddy with laughter, and at some point, when it was just the two of you, he’d started ending your giggles with a sweet kiss. Only when it was the two of you though, no one else knew. You weren’t really sure why, maybe it was just nice for the two of you to finally have something to yourselves. You didn’t have to share him with the rest of the world, even if they watched him wrestle at least once a week.

Your hand squeezed his again as you picked your head up from his shoulder with a huge grin, the one he was happy to have put there. Your other hand, which had been happily tucked between your legs and enjoying the warmth moved to cup his jaw, softly touching the little bit of stubble that’d grown since last night. Finally, with love sick grins, soft lips met soft lips. Neither of you want to put back, enjoying the warmth both emotionally and literally, it was fucking freezing, but when you finally do both of your ear-to-ear smiles return before another quick peck.

“How are we gonna get ‘em back?” You mutter, barely centimeters from him. You could see his tiny little freckles, he could see all the indents of your skin. Before he’s able to answer, the door swings open, and Christian and Lita pop their heads out. Lita, with a grin the size of Texas, but Christian looks like a scorned mother.

“Now, what in the hell is this?” He sounded like a scorned mother too.

Just a cute lil thing, today was my first day off of not even kidding the MONTH and I’ve been kicked back off the Netflix account so no supernatural for me 😔 ive cleaned, ive read a book and a half, ive now wrote im going stir crazy i dont even know what to do with free time anymore

Anyways hope you enjoyed i dont like love this but its not bad ig

#liv writes;*!#edge x reader #adam copeland x reader #edge x gn!reader #adam copeland x gn!reader #gn!reader #wwe x reader #wwe x gn!reader

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mad3lyncline · 7 months ago

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𝑪𝑨𝑷𝑬 𝑬𝑳𝑰𝒁𝑨𝑩𝑬𝑻𝑯 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺 . starters from the 2020 ep 'cape elizabeth' by noah kahan .

𝒂 𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅

if you could see it through my eyes , you'd understand my fear of everything in sight .

i'd quickly sell my heart for some advice on how to ease a troubled mind .

my brain's a dog asleep that i cannot let lie .

cloudy head but i can't find a single silver lining .

guess there is no hope for me in sight to ease this troubled mind .

i worry for the sun , oh i worry for the snow .

i worry i'll die young while i worry i'll grow old .

i worry for the time i spent worrying alone .

i took a bus down to the city where you live .

the past just amplified my fear .

i started counting all the times i saw you last year .

you were sadly making sense .

𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅

i think i found a fear of mine ; that you might love for no reason .

you know i worry only luck brought me to you .

i'm half awake most of the time .

it's just the timing of the seasons .

you know i worry that you're all i have to lose .

i should change this way of thinking ; that all my fears are facts of life .

i could die tomorrow ; you'd be close behind .

i live my life in years to come to prepare myself for sorrow .

i won't worry when i crumble at your feet .

it's something sinister to love without regard for dear tomorrow .

to search for worry is to love without deceit .

𝒈𝒍𝒖𝒆 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒕

you used to be scared of the water .

you're safe by the side of your father .

your sense of the world lay in your little home by the harbor .

you've always felt small in the city .

you think that last fall you were with me .

all of your old clothes are still in the hall of my building .

you never asked once .

you never asked why .

you'd wear yourself thin and accept every sin .

if i glue myself shut , you would find your way in .

we gambled our souls to the summer .

we watched every sunset until we got sick of each other .

you've always said fall was your season .

it only feels real after raining .

hearts only heal after breaking .

i stare at the tree line and notice the leaves aren't changing .

does the wind blow in cape elizabeth ?

love was a deadline ; spend the rest of my life fuckin' missing it .

𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒂𝒚

you've made a mess .

honey don't worry ; nobody's angry at any of this .

darling , be patient . stare into the vacancy . take a deep breath .

it's like when you're tired you're someone else .

honey don't worry ; i'll do your laundry , covered in dirt .

it's easy to break beneath the weight of the earth .

i'll wait for sharp glass when you break .

i'll be the light that you can't make .

i'll be your eyes ; you be my face .

darling , i get scared for you .

i'm not busy anyway .

today you looked older than me .

does it get exhausting ? have you gotten sleep ?

you said you were sorry that you hadn't called me in over a week .

i hope i ain't the last of what the world left you .

𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆

was your soul rediscovered ? was your heart rearranged ?

are you still taking pills in the morning ?

did you lose that longing now ?

this town's just an ocean now .

you don't hate the summers ; you're just afraid of the space .

i miss this place , your head , and your heart .

my dad still tells me when they're playing your songs .

if only baby there were cameras in the traffic lights ; they'd make me a star .

i wanna go to maine .

tell me , lover , once you've had a change of heart .

we're no more than the fossils at crescent beach state park .

used to sing along to church bells on sundays .

can you even hear 'em from the subway now ?

i hope that we make you proud .

#meme.#rp meme #indie rp memes #rp starters #rp sentence starters #indie rp prompts #rp prompts #rp prompt #rp sentence meme #sentence starters #sentence meme #rp ask meme #roleplay memes #noah kahan meme #noah kahan lyric meme #lyric meme #lyric prompts #mine.

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hmshermitcraft · 1 year ago

Note

Etho gets so stressed so fast it's concerning.

Tango knew that Etho'd love decked out, what he didn't know is that after every run Etho has to lie down for a while because he's shaking more than a Chihuahua in the snow. After his first run tango actually pulled Etho aside to make sure he's ok, make sure the dungeon didn't cross any lines. Etho reassured him everything was fine but did ask to have this conversation sitting down.

Etho is fine, running the dungeon is exhilarating and stressful but nothing but fun, and his body copes by shaking a mile a minute for a while. Not to mention that his heart beats so fast he can feel it in his feet but that's neither here nor there.

Secret life has only just started and the poor man can't catch a break. His task is very difficult for the first one, in his opinion, and he's crafting his terrible shrine when Cleo rolls up and scares the shit out of him. He lies, she somehow believes him, tango and skizz show up, Grian calls five minutes. Good gods he's fighting for his life out here!!

It's not the heart pounding, shake your bones like maracas stress of decked out, but the quiet, "o shit" stress of "please for the love of all you deem sacred can you just give me your bed".

Cleo tags along, she keeps mentioning his task, "just give me a moment and I'll be a normal person" "don't guess please just gimme a sec"

Poor guy. It doesn't help that his stress is projected out to the world via fox ears and tail. His ears flatten and swivel and flick against his will and completely out of control, same deal with the tail, so everyone knows that Etho is stressed because he looks like the saddest little guy on the side of the road in the rain. Someone save him, someone help this poor fox, let him nap.

Being so obviously stressed so frequently has it's perks though. Any hermit will sit or lay with him until he feels better, Cleo teases him briefly before wrapping themself around him and cooing, sounds that Etho might have been offended by if they weren't so soothing. Tango holds his hands till they stop shaking, Grian reminds him that the stakes feel high in the moment but they really aren't, even Lizzie lets him chill in her Pretty Pink Bed for a while.

-s etho has been stressed out in every video for like 3 weeks

He's tired to hide his fox features under a hat or hood before, but they knocked themselves free and made the situation so much worse.

The trembling looks terrible, but the worst thing for him is the tummy aches. It's as if his body is like, "oh, you're stressed about something? Let's give you something worse to stress about!" He's not a big fan. Lying is already one of his worst skills!

Those moments where his partners and friends go out of their way to look out for him make it worth it, though. Even if it's a response he can't control, he knows they're looking out for him. If he ever needs serious help, they'll be there. It's reassuring - something his anxious self clearly needs.

#hermitshipping #trafficshipping #ask #etho tag #tango tag #grian tag #zombiecleo tag #polyhermits #s anon #mod 🎀#slsmp spoilers #sl spoilers

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mail-me-a-snail · 1 year ago

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oc interview: ✨✨vance✨✨

thank you to @swearingcactus AND @glitchinginthegarden AND!! @v-eats-bugs for tagging me !! finally got to sit down and answer this :3

let's hit it !

🧡 Name?

"Just call me V."

his first chosen name was penn, but he started going by vance after his medical transition. he doesn't give it out freely bc that was the name arasaka knew him by; he doesn't mention his surname, either, bc it's a pretty prominent one with much of its members still working for the megacorp in question.

🧡 Nickname?

"...Well, last I checked, 's still V."

apart from "mano" from jackie, vance doesn't have much in terms of nicknames. his old netrunning handle was N3tH0und (net hound); it's a retired username that's been largely scrubbed from the net, but sometimes he signs his major hacks with it just to fuck with people. it's a ghost's name, and it's fun to haunt the net only when he knows for certain that it can't be traced back to him.

🧡 Gender?

"Guy! Never been asked that outright before."

🧡 Star sign?

"'s not my scene--can't say I know much about it--but Misty's got me down as a Cancer, whatever that means. Says that's probably why I'm, er, so 'intuitive', as she called it. You ask me, that's just the merc work--bein' able to read a room, that is."

i first drew vance on july 7, 2023, so i consider that his birthday. like vance, i have no idea how being a cancer applies to him, but google says cancers are loyal, domestically inclined, and committed to their loved ones, so that sounds about right!

🧡 Height?

"Six flat. Johnny's pretty sure I'm taller than 'im...but he's slouchin' all the time, so don't think he's got a say in it."

🧡 Orientation?

"Usually go for other guys. But I guess the definition of that is pretty loose these days, 'specially in NC, huh. The hell does it matter to me if you've got certain...parts. If you're a guy, you're a guy, and if you're down, I'm down, y'know?"

vance is a gay man with a preference for masculine-identifying individuals. like he said, if you identify as a "guy" in any form, then that's good enough for him. he's not one to talk about having "appropriate" parts, and he thinks it's dumb that they're gendered in the first place. he's not usually looking for anything serious and he's more than okay with just being an input and having one as well.

🧡 Nationality/ethnicity?

"Nay's Indian. Tay's Filipino. Ya ask anyone, I look more like my mom."

nanay and tatay are the filipino words for mother and father, respectively. vance has a very limited grasp of either language but he at least knows that much from his dad's mother tongue.

🧡 Favorite fruit?

"Oh, man, 's been a while--this one time when I was growin' up, think I was ten or eleven, 'Saka sent Dad a basket of 'ganic fruit. For his 50 years o' service, I think it was. Anyway, had my first apple then. What I wouldn't fuckin' give for one right now."

he likes fuji apples the best :3

🧡 Favorite season?

"Gotta be winter. I got to go a lot of places back in '65--Europe, mostly--an' most of them were snowy. Loved seein' my breath fog up. You don't get that here. You get hot rains and the pavement steamin'--guess it's pretty, in its way, with all the city's neon shinin' through the rain.

"But it ain't a real winter without snow."

🧡 Favorite flower?

"If ya hike it out to the Badlands in the summer, you'll find these little white flowers blooming on the cacti; Net says they're called Saguaro blooms. I like their...tenacity, I 'spose."

"But if I had to give ya a traditional answer...blue hydrangeas. Maya--she used to grow 'em in her apartment, still don't know how she did it--she gave me some blooms for my birthday back in '70. A welcome home kinda thing. Don't got her green thumb, so they died a week later...but they were real pretty. Somethin' to look forward to comin' home to."

🧡 Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?

"Coffee--can't say it works for me, though."

he likes all three and refuses to drink his coffee black. he will put so much milk and creamer in that cup that it might as well be a dessert. johnny is disgusted (affectionate).

🧡 Average hours of sleep?

"...Hours, plural?"

vance is a champ at power naps and between the relic and an insomnia left over from his arasaka days, he doesn't get to bed much. if you do somehow get him into bed by morning, however, be prepared to not see him until near-evening the next day.

🧡 Dog or cat person?

note: those 10,000 photos are just the ones he has on his phone; do not look at the cloud where his kiroshi photos are stored.

🧡 Dream trip?

"...Was actually, erm, thinkin' of--well, when we get all this shit sorted out--I was thinkin'...might bring Johnny somewhere colder. Somewhere with snow. Said he hasn't seen snow before, so, I-unno, thought he might like it out there."

please take this time to imagine johnny in his android body nuzzled up to vance in the snow, red-faced and, for the first time in a long time, in awe. they're going to have hot chocolate later in some cabin vance rented out for the season--but right now, they're watching their shared breath cloud together in the air, simpatico even in this.

🧡 Favorite fictional character?

"Oh, oh--there's this real old holovid I used to loop when I was fifteen. 's fucked how they got most of it right. Anyhow, Rick Deckard. I used to think he was so damn cool."

deckard, with his big-collared jacket and general gruffness, was definitely one of vance's transition goals. that, and he watched br2049 right after--with how deckard was treating K, vance started projecting Really Fucking Heavily on K. like wow! you're a total killing machine with a father who just might love you. that's crazay man. could not be me

🧡 Number of blankets you sleep with?

"Run pretty warm as it is already, so just the one. Like the...texture of it, as it were. The weight o' it."

get this man a weighted blanket please god. i think it would fix him. alternatively, just lay on top of him and he'll be happy.

🧡 Random fact?

"I used to klep a lotta shit when I was a kid. Wires, chips, motherboards--mostly tech, really, from the vendin' machines and bus stops 'round the city. Sold 'em for a pretty eddie down in Heywood; got no buyers in the Hill, not when we could all afford the tech those Heywood kids were tryin' to kitbash together in the first place. Don't really know why I did it.

"To strike out, maybe? Maybe I liked the challenge. There's somethin' about makin' a machine give its own parts to you; get a vending machine to dispense its motherboard, a bus stop sign its LED, and ya feel like ya can make anythin' bend to your will."

thank you again for the tags!! this was a lot of fun to do :3

tagging @netripper , @knuckle-cluster, @matapang-coffee, and

@nakitengoku AND whoever else would like to do this! no pressure to do so ofc!!

if u ever dont want to be tagged in these kinds of posts, just lmk!

#cyberpunk 2077 #cbp2077 #cp2077 #cp77 #male v #digital art #doodle #mine #my art #vance #WHOOWEE this was a long one but i had a lot of fun doing it #hes so dead wife core here tbh

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constance-agony · 2 months ago

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So this is Loncollie

The design is really rough lmao but something similar to what's on the right will probably be the final. The left is closer to what I used to call a Meloncollie, it was from a much older project called Emotiamals (kind of morphed into five different projects before becoming Kritters). Basically it was sad type. Which is funny bc it looks joyous. I worked it into the lore though. Loncollie are like, 90% water (They're a watermelon collie if you couldn't tell). So they need a lot of water throughout the day. During droughts that can be really dangerous for them. So in the wild they built up a symbiotic relationship with another kritter called Ovicast! Loncollie is a (Water)[Plant/Beast] and Ovicast is a kritter that has a varying type and beast kind. The type varies based off the weather: Water for rain, Neutral for none, Wind for snow, and Earth for sandstorms. In the wild Ovicast were a pretty easy target. So, in exchange for summoning rain clouds to keep Loncollie from going thirsty, Loncollie would keep them safe. The idea behind this is that Beast kritters are typically week to Drake kritters, however- Plant kritters are strong against Drake kritters. So- a plant/beast kritter would stand a better chance against Ovicast's main predator! :D Just a big old rambly post about a couple of kritters. I'm up to somewhere around 60 kritters now. I've got like three different designs in the works. I've also started working on coding the actual game part of this. It's slow going because I've not used unity in about a year. But, i've got a lot of experience with it so I'm figuring it all out again. Excited to keep working on this! I need to get a different job though my current one is mainly part time, and I'll probably not get any hours over the summer. I can always doordash but I'd like something more consistent.

#indie dev #worldbuilding #gamedesign #kritters #what are tags

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the-brothers · 9 months ago

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Six Months

"The islands in the South are waaaarm ~ ...heads all ah-swoon- swoon ~. They're all fools~" your youngest brother sang off key jumping in puddles as you walked down the street that led to the park, "The islands in the North are coooold~ heads all ah brr-brrrr!"

"Luffy, shut up." Ace growled pulling the little ravens hood down.

"Ace," you called sternly, "let him sing his song."

Luffy pouted as rain drops pattered against his scalp. You reached down to tug his little red hood back up and share your umbrella with him. As soon as he was covered again he continued to splash through puddles with his little rain boots.

"It's really annoying." Sabo piped up from your left.

"Mr.Roro let's me sing it all the time." Luffy protested.

"Poor guy." Ace muttered.

"Be nice." you scolded, "The silly song isn't hurting either of you and it helps him focus."

"Focus! Focus! Focus!" Luffy trudged forward.

"Get back here!" you picked up your pace snatching the youngest back before he could step out onto the busier street, "Luffy, you have to pay attention to where you're going buddy, you scared me."

"Like Halloween?" he asked with a genuine curiousness.

"Because you could have gotten hit by a car dummy." Ace explained.

"What Freckles said, minus the dummy part." you reached down to pick him up, "I'll carry you and you carry the umbrella, ok?"

"'Kay," he exclaimed with a goofy grin.

By the time you got to the small park in your neighborhood the rain had died down and the sun was starting to peek through the clouds. After laying a towel from your backpack down on the park bench near the freshly planted dogwood saplings that lined the area, you took out your book and attempted to get some extra credit work Mihawk had given you done. The boys took off for the playsets, making sure to stay near. After the fight on the blacktop you didn't let them roam far. You could hear them bickering with each other as you worked. It always brought a smile to your lips, not only was the content usually funny but the way they caved in to Luffy once the crocodile tears started to flow. Occasionally you could hear him snicker after getting his way.

As time passed more people arrived to let their kids play. It was an unseasonably warm day and the weather was going to change drastically during the week, so it made sense to let kids get their energy out before being snowed in for a few days.

Suddenly a familiar yelp caught your attention sending you to your feet as you scanned the playground.

"Ace!" you called moving forward but not seeing your boys, "Sabo, Luffy? Where are you?"

Rounding the play structure you saw them sitting on the ground under the monkey bars. Ace was huffing and clinging to his scraped elbow while Luffy and Sabo sat on either side of him. A small girl in denim overalls and a beige sunhat was crouched down in front of them.

"I-I always keep band-aids in my bag." she murmured digging through art supplies for the small package.

"I-it's ok, our sister probably has one." Sabo assured with a small blush heating his cheeks.

"Ah, here," the girl chirped with a bright smile forcing both the older boys to go bashful.

She opened the band-aid and gently placed it over Ace's small scrape.

"Thanks." he muttered forcing himself to glance at her.

"You're welcome," she giggled shifting to say something else.

"Mija," a woman sharing the girl's characteristics called, "es hora de irnos."

The little girl turned sharply toward her simultaneously zipping her canvas messenger bag, "Ah - allí voy mamá!"

Her big brown eyes drifted back to the boys that were just staring, with the exception of the youngest - who's finger was jammed far up his nose.

"I guess I have to go," she stood smiling sweetly, "be careful on the monkey bars."

"Uh, y-yeah." Ace replied.

"Thanks again." Sabo murmured rising to his feet.

With another call from her mother the girl said goodbye and was dashing away.

"OooOoo~" you sang in a teasing tone approaching your brothers making them groan immediately, "A little young to be picking up chicks hmm?"

"Where the hell were you?" Sabo barked embarrassed.

"Just over there," you pointed behind yourself, "watching you two turn into puddles for that girl in the sunhat. I couldn't bring myself to interrupt your moment."

"If you had come sooner a stranger wouldn't have had to patch him up." the little blonde's shaggy hair swayed as he scolded you.

"Awe, but then I wouldn't have heard you call me your sister for the first time ~" you pinched his cheeks as he went completely crimson.

"You're so annoying." he grumbled rubbing his face.

"Just like a real sister." you chuckled turning to Ace and held out your hand, "Ya alright Freckles? Do I need to call Marco?"

"Nah, I'm good." he accepted your assistance and stood brushing himself off.

"Dat girl was weird," Luffy blurted tugging at your jeans, "Why she talk to the lady like dat?"

"First of all," you started, picking him up and wiping his face with a tissue from your packet, "don't pick your nose, it's gross. Secondly, it's rude to say she's weird. She was speaking Spanish to her mother. It's normal for families from other countries to speak to each other in their home language."

"Oh," he tapped his fingers to his lips before accepting your explanation, "ok. What's our home wangwage?"

"Language." Sabo corrected sounding out the word slowly for the toddler.

"English - what we're speaking now." you chuckled.

"Can we go now?" Ace sighed.

"Sure, buddy." you ruffled his hair, "Let's go get our stuff and head back."

The trek back home wasn't very eventful. When you got to the driveway there were a couple of unfamiliar cars parked, which meant Pops was having a meeting. It wasn't totally uncommon for work to follow your father home, however work at this point in all of your lives was only semi legal. Your younger brother's hadn't been exposed much so the older two clammed up the second you walked into the house.

You shuffled the boys through the kitchen where Thatch was working hard on something that smelled amazing.

"We have guests." the brunette turned toward you as you entered, "Can you please get the boys cleaned up and everyone has to wear something presentable to dinner. No sweats or hoodies."

"Roger." you saluted him while the boys groaned and continued to move forward.

As the boys were in the bath you stood in their room picking out a decent outfit for each to wear for dinner. After tweaking them a bit you were satisfied enough to go choose your own clothes and touch up your makeup and hair.

Crossing back into the hall to your room, your socks squished soaking up water flowing from under the bathroom door. A shiver wiggled up your spine. Wet socks are the absolute worst - the sound of splashing and laughter cut through your disgust.

"What are you three doing?" Ace and Sabo froze covering themselves when you entered, "This place is a mess. Where's - "

Just as you were asking, your buck-naked youngest brother bolted down the hall laughing wildly.

"What the hell, yoi?"

Luffy passed Marco coming up the stairs still in his EMT uniform.

"Get him! Pops has company!" you called grabbing towels to mop up the floor.

With a heavy sigh the blonde turned to grab the wet toddler, but he was already long gone.

"You'll catch a cold running around like that, lad." Pops chuckled scooping up the nude toddler.

Two men in suits sat across from him still a bit surprised from Luffy's display.

"Pops!" the little raven exclaimed cupping the old man's face, "Today we went to the park after the rain.. An-an' Ace, he was on the monkey bars an' he falled through."

"Oh, that must've hurt," Pops focused solely on the boy, "is he alright?"

"Mhm, he got a scratch but a weird girl made it better."

"There you are, yoi." Marco rounded the corner holding a towel you had given him upstairs, "Sorry for the interruption, bath time got a little out of hand."

"Gurarara, we can see that lad." your father laughed handing Luffy to Marco to be wrapped up, "It looks like I need to change." he turned to the men still sitting a bit bewildered on the sofa to excuse himself.

Finally you were able to wrangle all of the kids and get everyone sat down for dinner.

_____________________

"Can't I just come with you?" Sabo followed you through the house.

"You're not coming on my date kiddo."

"But, I don't wanna stay here." he whined.

"Since when did you want to go everywhere with me?"

He answered you with a small pout.

"Look," you ruffled his blonde waves, "you have to get used to hanging out with Marco and Thatch. They aren't so bad."

"Fine." he groaned.

In the last few weeks Sabo had become the total opposite of when he was first adopted. He followed you everywhere and did as much as he possibly could with you. Ace had bonded with Marco and Luffy bounced between all of you.

"I'll be back in a few hours and you guys are gonna use the grill one last time before it gets cold tomorrow. So, you can help them barbeque, ok?"

He nodded while you placed your cell phone in your purse. As you exited the front door to climb into Shanks' car Sabo joined your brothers on the back porch.

It wasn't far into your date before your phone began to ring.

"I thought it was only for emergencies." your redhead commented as you dug through your bag for the device.

"It's Thatch."

#the brothers #whitebeard one piece #thatch #monkey d. luffy #portgas d ace #lyndsyh24 #marco the phoenix #mdni #fluff

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