#written while sleep deprived

[firerose18991]

College is kicking my ass, have a batfam:

Jason:  (on the stairs) And if I'm lying then may the devil himself strike me down.

*immediately trips and falls down screaming*

Bruce: *un bothered, reading a book* Stop summoning things the mansion is haunted enough.

Duke:  Haunted? *eye roll*

Bruce:  Half my family is buried in the backyard. Of course this place is haunted.

[flamingpudding]

Little Snippets #5

Okay, so maybe Danny screwed up a little big. He was just trying to train some of his powers in secret. Really. And sure, just because he wanted to test the limits of what he could do, he tested and trained with a powered he swore he wasn't going to ever use on anyone.

But that kind of turned out to be one of his worst mistakes.

He was pretty sure Jazz was probably posting missing person posters. Maybe hid parents were also wrecking havoc over Amity, leaving literally no stone unturned to find him. And he didn't even want to imagine what his ghost gallery of rogues were up to with him missing.

Now he really regretted that he started training in secret without telling anyone.

Because now... here he was stuck in a doll sitting on some weird guys shelf that apparently used him as therapy doll and was talking to him. Or maybe the other was talking more to himself than Danny stuck in the doll.

Either way Danny was stuck and currently had no idea what to do, and his attempts in making the move doll didn't work as much as he hoped for. It took him an entire night to move his doll body from the shelves to the windowsill.

Tim swore the doll he had picked up on a whim as a mission souvenir was hunted. He swore he had placed the doll on his shelf several times now, but each morning he found it somewhere else.

He had contemplated installing cameras but fos some reasons his electronics stopped working at night. He had told Dick about it.

And what does he older brother do?

Ask him how much he slept the past week.

He sleeps enough, thank you very much. His sleep schedule was a mess but he sleeps and he functions.

The amount of energy drinks and coffee he consumes has noting to do with that.

Still Tim sat on the couch the doll placed on the table before him as he stared it down like it was a criminal he was going to interrogate.

"I know you can move..." he muttered behind his folded hands as his eyes narrowed. "I will figure out what your deal is..."

Behind him Dick looked worried at his younger sibling, wondering if he should get the tranquilizer gun. "Guys... I think he has one of these phases again..."

Jason next to him scoffed with his arms crossed, already planning on tipping Alfred off to restrict Tim's coffee and energy intake.

Damian only clicked his tongue, watching the older teen. "So Drake finally lost it."

[akirasstories]

Blue, Gold, Red

for @thiamficweekly week 13

WC: 3326 | rating: M | cw/tw: none | tags: idiots in love, liam dunbar true alpha spark, biting and kissing

🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀

Just a milkshake. 

One of those ridiculously sweet, criminally overpriced ones from the 24-hour diner at the edge of town—the kind Theo pretended to complain about every time Liam insisted they stop there, which was often. 

But Theo always caved.

Because Liam liked them.

Because Liam always ordered the same thing.

Because Theo remembered.

And tonight was no different.

Liam sat in the passenger seat of Theo’s truck, legs spread like he owned the world, hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbows, blue eyes the streetlights through the windshield. He looked over and grinned, soft and boyish and unfairly beautiful, and said, “You remembered I like extra whipped cream?”

Theo, halfway into a sarcastic reply, caught the look on Liam’s face—sincere, surprised, pleased. And something in him faltered.

Because yeah. He had remembered.

Of course he had.

He always did.

What Theo didn’t expect—what completely derailed him—was for Liam to lean across the seat and kiss him.

Not a peck. Not a brush of lips.

A kiss.

Full. Certain. Stupidly soft at first—and then not.

Suddenly Liam was half in his lap, kneees awkwardly bumping the center console, milkshake long forgotten in the cupholder. Theo’s hands found Liam’s waist on instinct, sliding beneath the hem of his shirt like they’d been there a hundred times before.

Liam kissed like he fought—fierce and desperate, like the world might end if he didn’t give it everything he had. His fingers tangled in Theo’s hair, tugging hard enough to make Theo shiver, pulling a groan from somewhere deep in his chest.

The windows fogged. The world narrowed. They were making out like idiots in a grocery store parking lot, in a fogged-up truck, mouths hot and messy and frantic.

The air was thick with heat and breath and the low bass hum of a song neither of them were really hearing. Theo barely noticed the sting at first, the sharp scrape of fangs against his lower lip—but then Liam bit down, not hard, not enough to break skin, but enough to make Theo gasp and press closer.

It was chaos. 

Glorious, overwhelming chaos.

And Theo let it happen.

Let Liam lick into his mouth like he was trying to claim it. Let his own claws slide out a little when Liam rolled his hips down into him. Let his eyes flicker gold—just for a second—before he forced them back. He never let that happen.

But Liam was everywhere. 

Tasting. Biting. Grinding.

And Theo—control freak Theo—tilted his head back without thinking. He offered his neck.

Instinct.

And when Liam’s fangs grazed just below his jawline—when he bit down harder, not just playful but possessive—he didn’t pull away.

He let him.

 It hurt. But it felt right. Final. Like giving something away he never really owned in the first place.

And it felt good. 

Good enough to make Theo moan.

And when Liam finally pulled back, his lips were wet, his pupils blown wide, his breath ragged

His eyes weren’t gold.

They weren’t blue.

They were red.

Theo froze

His entire body went cold, his heart punching against his ribs like it wanted to escape.

Because that wasn’t a trick of the light. 

That wasn’t a glitch.

That was real.

—-

It had been nearly a year since the war with the hunters ended. Since the world didn’t burn, and Theo Raeken—former villain, genetic experiment, chimera freak—stayed.

Not like a ghost haunting the edge of town. Not hiding in tunnels or sleeping in his truck.

He stayed-stayed.

Got a job. Took community college classes. Helped Deaton. Slept in a real bed, under a real roof, not in his truck or some moldy abandoned tunnel. Got accepted into the local college, set to start in two months.

And somehow, despite everything, stayed close to Liam Dunbar.

Liam, with his righteous anger and his too-big heart and his fists that sometimes talked before his mouth could catch up. Liam, who flared gold when he was angry and still snarled at Theo like he might punch him just to make a point.

They grew closer.

That had happened slowly. 

In glances and grudging trust.

In stupid late-night drives, in silences they didn’t fill with apologies but with shared songs and milkshakes and sarcastic one-liners. 

Theo acted like none of it meant anything. Like he hadn’t spent months clinging to any excuse to stay near Liam.

But he did everything for him. Without hesitation. Without question.

Because Liam wasn’t like Scott.

Scott was perfect. Noble. Good. The kind of person people wanted to believe in. The guy who inspired others to be better. 

But Liam?

Liam was messy. Angry. Flawed. And still—still—he chose to be good, every single day. Even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard.

Theo thought that made Liam realer. More honest. Stronger.

That’s why the first time Theo noticed red flashing in Liam’s eyes—just for a second, like a glitch in a system—he didn’t panic.

He blinked. Tilted his head. Quietly stored it away.

Because he knew what it meant.

Liam Dunbar had the spark.

The potential.

The terrifying, impossible power.

Liam Dunbar could become a True Alpha.

Theo wasn’t surprised. 

He’d known for a long time that Liam had something burning inside him. Something bright. Something dangerous.

The kid who’d been dragged kicking and screaming into the supernatural world… and still fought to protect it?

Yeah. Theo had seen it coming.

But Liam hadn’t.

Which brought them to tonight.

To this moment.

To red.

Bright, real and so painfully vivid in the dark.

—-

Theo sat up so fast it jolted Liam, who blinked at him, dazed and flushed, lips kiss-bitten and cheeks red. His eyes had returned to blue now, wide and confused,like he hadn’t just shattered reality five seconds ago.

Still draped across Theo’s lap like he hadn’t just flipped the entire world on its axis.

“What?” Liam mumbled, voice wrecked from the kiss, already leaning in again like they could just keep going.

Theo slammed a hand to his chest, holding him back. “Wait. Liam. Look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” Liam said, frowning, like Theo had gone completely insane.

“No. Your eyes—” Theo exhaled, throat tight. “They were red, Liam.”

Liam stilled.

“What?” he asked again, less certain now.

“Red,” Theo said. “Not golden. Not blue. Red.”

Liam stared, brain clearly buffering.

“Like… like Alpha red?” he asked slowly, like saying it out loud might make it less real.

“No,” Theo deadpanned. “Like beta red. Yes, like Alpha red! Jesus, Liam!”

Liam blinked, still straddling Theo, shirt rumpled, hair a disaster from Theo’s hands. He looked like he’d just rolled out of a fever dream.

“They were really red?” he asked, genuinely baffled.

Theo didn’t answer. Just stared, heartbeat pounding, neck still throbbing from the bite. His brain had already sprinted fifteen steps ahead, making connections he didn’t want to make.

And Liam, sweet, stupid Liam, blinked again and said, “But… Scott’s alive.”

Theo let out a laugh that was more of a sound of disbelief than amusement. Bitter and sharp.

“Yeah. Scott’s alive. No one said you had to kill him to become an Alpha,” Theo said. “You just had to earn it. Which I guess you did. Somehow. Lucky you.”

Liam’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “That’s not—I can’t be a—”

“You can,” Theo said, voice flat. “Because you are.”

And then, softer, mostly to himself: “Of course it happens now. Great. Just—fuck me, right?”

Liam just kept staring at him. Puppy-eyed and confused. “Wait, but… that’s not bad, right?”

Theo turned his whole body to face him, staring like he was speaking another language.

“Is that bad?” he repeated. “Liam. You kissed me—which, great, amazing, ten out of ten, would definitely do again—but then you bit me. While your eyes were red. While your Alpha spark was activating or breaking through or doing whatever the hell it does when that kind of power decides to claim a body. ”

Liam blinked again. Still so baffled. Still gorgeous.

Still sitting on Theo like none of this was world-altering.

Theo huffed. “And because you’re apparently too stupid to realize what that means, let me spell it out for you.”

Liam tilted his head, still playing catch-up.

“You bit me,” Theo said. Slowly. “As an Alpha. Which means you gave me the bite.”

Liam’s brows furrowed. “Okay, but… you’ll heal, right?”

Theo just stared at him for a beat. 

Then pushed Liam off his lap—not violently, just enough to make him tumble back into the passenger seat like a startled kitten. Theo grabbed the steering wheel, gripping it like it might keep him grounded.

“You gave me the bite, Liam. As in the bite that turns humans into werewolves.”

“But you’re not human,” Liam said, confused.

Theo let out a strangled noise. “Correct. I’m not. I’m a freaky science experiment built by psychopaths who rewrote my DNA until I stopped making sense. So this bite? This could either A) finally make me a real werewolf—like, an actual beta with a normal biology—or B…”

He mimed an explosion with both hands. “Kill me. Painfully. Within twenty-four hours.”

Liam’s jaw dropped.

He turned, leaned toward the rearview mirror, and flashed his eyes.

Golden.

Theo watched him in stunned silence as Liam muttered, “Huh. Not red.”

“Oh my God,” Theo groaned, smacking the steering wheel. “Are you seriously more concerned with your eye color than the fact that you might’ve killed me, you absolute dumbass?!”

Liam turned back, guilty and wide-eyed. “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know!”

Theo threw his hands up. “Of course you didn’t! No one plans to activate their Alpha spark during a makeout session in a grocery store parking lot!”

He dropped back in his seat, rubbing a hand down his face. “This is just my luck. I finally get to kiss the stupid boy I’ve been pining after like a lovesick loser for months—and what do I get? A bite. An accidental bite. So now I either become a real werewolf, which would be wild and kind of poetic, or I die in agony by sunrise. Awesome. Fantastic. Love that for me.”

Liam blinked. “Wait… you’ve been pining after me?”

Theo froze.

His head whipped around so fast it cracked his neck.

“You’re stuck on that part?!”

“I mean, yeah?” Liam said,still wide-eyed.  “You said it. Like out loud. Pining. That’s… a word. With meaning.”

“Are you kidding me?” Theo barked, voice pitching up in disbelief. “I just told you that you might’ve accidentally killed me and that’s what you’re latching onto?”

“You said you were into me.”

Theo shoved the key into the ignition and started the truck. “We’re going to Deaton. Right now. Before I either die or strangle you.”

Liam, still looking dazed and awestruck, murmured, “Pretty sure you moaned.”

“Pretty sure you’re gonna walk home,” Theo snapped.

“You kissed me back.”

“I was concussed by shock.”

“You grabbed my shirt.”

“You bit my neck!”

Liam grinned, completely unapologetic. “And you liked it.”

Theo growled, actually growled, pressing harder on the gas like he could outrun the last ten minutes. 

“I’m dying.”

“You’re probably not.”

“You don’t know that.”

Liam paused, then offered helpfully, “Hayden survived the bite.”

“Hayden didn’t have her inside rearranged by science-worshipping psychopaths with God complexes, Liam.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“…Right.”

Silence settled between them. Heavy. The low hum of the tires on asphalt the only sound.

Then, softer this time, Liam asked, “…You really like me?”

Theo didn’t answer.

He just gripped the wheel tighter. And drove faster.

—

Luckily, Deaton was still at the clinic when they arrived—probably finishing a late-night check on the animals. HHe looked up as they burst through the side door, eyebrows lifting just slightly at the sight of them: Theo with a fresh bite on his neck, and Liam looking like he’d been kissed senseless.

“Long night?” Deaton asked, voice annoyingly calm.

Theo didn’t respond right away. He perched on the edge of the exam table, avoiding Liam’s gaze and launching into the facts—mostly. He explained that Liam’s eyes had turned red, that he’d been bitten, and that, given his, uh… unique biology, he had no idea what it meant.

He very deliberately left out the part where Liam had been in his lap and moaning like it was a deleted scene from a very different kind of movie.

Deaton listened, hands tucked in his coat pockets, expression unreadable in that Deaton way—but Theo didn’t miss the flicker of realization that crossed his face when he glanced between the bite mark and Liam.

He knew.

Of course he knew.

But he didn’t say a word.

Instead, he hummed thoughtfully and said, “If Liam’s eyes are golden again, then the spark hasn’t fully taken hold. Not yet. Which means the bite wasn’t… complete. Not like it would be from a full Alpha. You should be fine.”

“So I’m not going to die?” Theo asked, voice flat, eyes narrowed.

“I wouldn’t expect that, no,” Deaton said. “But just in case, you shouldn’t be alone tonight. If your body reacts… unexpectedly, I need someone there to call me.”

He said it like it was a simple medical recommendation. But the look he gave them was pointed. Very pointed.

“I’m not going to tell Scott. Or anyone else,” he added, more quietly. “I think you two can handle this. And I trust you,” he looked at Liam now, “to stay with him. Watch for any changes.”

Liam nodded immediately. “I will.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Fantastic. Bite someone once and suddenly you're assigned night duty.”

Deaton didn’t dignify that with a response. Just gave him a look that said, you’re not half as annoyed as you want me to believe, and disappeared down the hall, leaving them to see themselves out.

—-

Back in the truck, the silence was different now. Heavier. Not awkward—just charged.

Liam was watching him again. Quiet. Intent. Like he couldn’t help it.

Theo started the engine, eyes forward. “You’re still staring.”

“You still kissed me.”

Theo drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “This conversation again?”

“We didn’t finish it,” Liam said simply. “And Deaton didn’t say you’re dying, so… we’ve got time.”

Theo let out a long breath through his nose. “You’re really gonna make me do this, huh.”

Liam shrugged, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You did say you’ve been pining.”

“I was emotional. Possibly delirious. Also bleeding.”

“Doesn’t sound like a denial.”

Theo shot him a sharp look. “I kissed you back because you caught me off guard.”

“You slid your hands under my shirt.”

“I was verifying your abs were real and not a product of Photoshop and fragile masculinity.”

“Uh-huh. You literally offered your neck to me.”

Theo’s lips twitched. Just barely. “Well, you do get bitey when you’re turned on.”

Liam flushed immediately, a red tint blooming across his cheeks like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to fade or deepen. Theo’s eyes snapped to the subtle shift in color, noticed the way Liam’s scent spiked—nervous, warm, and laced with a very specific kind of tension.

He didn’t say anything.

But he filed it away like he always did. Neatly. Precisely. Something to unravel later. Like a gift.

Liam cleared his throat. “I wasn’t turned on, I was just—okay, maybe slightly. But I was literally in your lap, and you—”

Theo held up a hand. “You really don’t need to explain how my entire existence overwhelms your teenage hormonal brain.”

Liam made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a flustered wheeze.

Theo smirked, eyes back on the road. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’ve had a crush on you since, like… probably since you tried to kill me, which is weird and possibly something for a therapist,” Liam admitted. “So yeah. I’m kinda enjoying this.”

Theo finally looked over..

Really looked.

And Liam wasn’t grinning now. He was just… open. Honest. 

“You like me,” Theo said, testing the weight of it aloud.

Liam nodded. “I do.”

Theo narrowed his eyes. “And you’re not freaking out over the fact that you might be becoming an Alpha and your first move was to bite me like some horny werewolf-vampire hybrid?”

Liam leaned in, grinning. “I mean... no. Because I didn’t kill you. And also? You kissed me back.”

Theo rolled his eyes and stared out the windshield. “I’m going to regret telling you anything.”

Liam’s smile turned soft again. “We could go back to your place.”

Theo gave him a sidelong glance. “If you’re expecting sex, I’m still mildly traumatized and may or may not be partially infected with supernatural venom.”

Liam choked slightly—just enough for Theo to glance back over and smirk. Because yeah, there it was again. That scent spike. That warm flush. Nervousness tinged with something distinctly not nervous.

“Relax,” Liam said, recovering with only a hint of a crack in his voice. “I meant hanging out. Watching a movie. Maybe couch cuddling. I’m not that much of a perv.”

“Sure you’re not,” Theo said smoothly. “You only dry-humped me in a grocery store parking lot.”

“You were into it.”

Theo didn’t deny that.

And Liam knew it. Which is why he was smirking again.

Theo refused to let him win this round. So instead, he said coolly, “I guess I can tolerate your presence for a few hours.”

“Hours?” Liam echoed. “I was planning to stay all night.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You’re soft for me.”

“Lies.”

“You keep looking at my mouth.”

Theo stepped on the gas. “Say one more word, and you’re sleeping on the floor.”

Liam was still grinning when they pulled into the lot outside Theos place.

—

Theo’s apartment was small—barely lived in, borderline minimalist, but clean. It

Liam walked in like he’d done it before, kicked off his shoes, and sprawled across the couch like it was his. 

Theo let him. 

Mostly because it was… weirdly nice, watching Liam fit so easily into the space that had always felt too quiet.

Theo tossed him a blanket, then dropped down beside him. Not close. Not touching.

Not until Liam shifted closer without asking and slung his leg lazily over Theo’s thigh.

And then it was over.

The second kiss happened somewhere in between bickering about which movie to put on and Liam mumbling, “You’re just stalling because you want me to kiss you again.”

Theo leaned in and kissed him just to shut him up.

It was slower this time. Less chaos. More control. 

Lips brushing over skin like they had all night to get there. 

Fingers skimming ribs, threading into hair, slipping under fabric.

Warm. 

Steady. 

Intentional.

Theo kissed like he’d been waiting for months, because he had.

And Liam kissed like he wanted it to last forever

They didn’t go further than kissing. They didn’t need to. 

Touches lingered. 

Breath mingled. 

They stayed tangled together on the couch under the blanket, skin pressed to skin in slow-burning silence. 

Liam fell asleep eventually, one arm flung over Theo’s chest like he was trying to keep him from going anywhere.

Theo didn’t sleep right away.

He stayed awake, listening to Liam’s heartbeat, feeling his breath on his collarbone. Trying not to think about how much this already felt like a memory. Like something he wanted to keep.

—

It was almost dawn when Liam stirred, face buried against Theo’s neck, voice gravel-soft.

“You know,” he mumbled, lips brushing skin, “you’re lucky.”

Theo blinked, still wrapped up in the feel of him. “Lucky?”

“Yeah,” Liam said, pressing a lazy kiss to the edge of Theo’s jaw. “You got kissed and bitten by me. And you were very into it, by the way.”

Theo huffed, shaking his head but smiling anyway.

“I almost died.”

“You didn’t.”

“You almost Alpha’d me to death in a truck.”

“You offered your neck.”

“You growled.”

“You moaned.”

Theo sighed and rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he said, voice low and full of fondness. “Just my luck.”

[lavenderscented-stories]

HIIIII HEEY HEELLOOO!!!!! :D

Subspace angst no comfort, no specific scenario but I want that man to SUFFER.🙏💥

Hello! I hope you are doing well yourself, here is your request.

cw // hurt no comfort, inaccurate portrayals of explosions

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Subspace was smart enough to not bring you anywhere near his line of work as you were much too important to be subjected to such dangerous situations, yet you kept poking and prodding about it everyday.

Much like his skin, his resolve slowly corroded overtime as the comfort he felt in your presence grew. He wanted to share the deepest parts of himself yet he knew the risk would be much too taxing for the reward to be worth it, yet despite that knowledge he took the gamble.

It felt so liberating to talk about it!! From small mundane things like an annoying coworker to extravagant breakthroughs like the crystals he told you everything, and you seemed to be so enthralled it somehow made him fall for you more than he already had.

So when you brought up the idea of actually going to his workplace he was most certainly skeptical, but after mulling it over he gave into the temptation.

He wouldn’t realize that it was his worst mistake yet until it was too late.

Subspace strutted through the halls as he prattled about his reputation in his line of work, while he knew you adored him and everything he did he still wanted to brag about his achievements before getting into the finer details of his work.

“Oh yes- I know my work is absolutely enthralling but make sure not to touch anything!! I wouldn’t want my dearest to accidentally explode a… Darling??” The scientist looked behind him to see you yet was met with nothing, his heart sank in worry as he started backtracking through the halls to find you.

He walked through the halls as he called out your name, going from room to room in an even pace filled with more confusion than anything.

Yet you never answered back.

Slowly the dread started seeping in as he quickened his pace and called for you more urgently. Why hadn’t he asked a Biograft to accompany you!? How were you able to slip away so quietly- when did you leave?? Why didn’t he notice that you left?? He was always so attentive so why had he failed now of all times??

Finally he found you. You had somehow found yourself in one of the rooms that held the more dangerous experiments, yet despite regulations it wasn’t locked off. He sighed in relief and was about to call out for you when he noticed that you were reaching out for something.

His eye widened in panic but before he could warn you about the crystal, it was too late.

A catastrophic explosion rang out as Subspace flew back from the impact of the explosion- his head hitting the wall. After a few seconds of recovery he shakily got up and clumsily ran into the room as panic and adrenaline fueled him.

He hastily looked around at the now messy and ruined room trying to look for you. His eyes finally landed on you as his heart skipped a beat and he looked down at you in horror.

He quickly kneeled down and cradled your body in his arms and tears formed in his eye.

A small crowd formed in front of the room- each gazing upon the scene in realization and horror. Subspace hadn’t cared for his reputation as he whipped his head to face them and screamed.

“SOMEONE- GET A DOCTOR!!” His voice was raw as it cracked with desperation, he gasped as sobs threatened to spill out from his throat and he turned back with his head hung low as he clutched you like a lifeline.

As paramedics came to the scene he reluctantly let go of you before being escorted to treat his own wounds, he prayed for you to be alright yet deep down he knew the revolting truth.

You were already dead.

[typing-catastrophe]

Ford shook his head. He thought he had seen something in the corner of his eye, but when he turned there was nothing there. Not that he trusted it. The emptiness and his gut feeling telling him something was wrong.

He knew Bill was gone. He knew it. But it still kept him up at night. The possibility of his return... What if their plan didn't work? What if something went wrong?

The never ending nightmares in which he was, despite the demon's absence, tormented by the it, kept him from even attempting to get rest. He'd rather have it he collapsed on the floor in the inevitability that was the weakness of his body, than succumbing to his inescapable suffering willingly. Even if it meant that his paranoia would spike, even if he would start to see movement in the corner of his eye, only to turn and find his study empty and ever so still. Even if it meant he would go insane. At least it was at his own hand, his own choice and not due to the remnants of an egocentric megalomaniac. 'Well', he thought, 'maybe he would. Maybe he was just that, too.'

[jellynotbees]

So I’m going back through my notes app and some of the stuff there is so unhinged omg

[imeriayapping]

Accidental kiss pedro/fermin for @ellearts

The club is so stuffy it's almost unbearable. Jorge dragged them all out after race end, not even having a coherent excuse this time. Since aleix retired jorge took role of keeping strangely formed friend group of spanriads together, arranging semi regular going out sessions.

But something started feeling a little strange ago. Fermin suspects that it's all because jorge is Pedro's designated person to go and rant and on track scrap they had few races ago probably gave him enough emotions that they needed a way out.

Or maybe jorge talked to aleix for too long and they thought that they could play matchmakers and repair old friendship or some shit.

Who knows.

No matter the reason Jorge started inviting him and pedro at the same time to the clubs and restaurants way too often. They had somewhat established unspoken agreement about how they didn't go to group hangouts at the same time. Usually it was just how it happened naturally but Fermin knows for a fact that pedro sometimes intentionally made himself unavailable at times.

And Fermin can get a hint even if it stings a big so he doesn't try to do anything himself. At some point you stop reaching out when the answer becomes too clear.

But nowadays jorge is way too persistent and it feels suspicious. Way too suspicious. So instead of incredulously drinking his sweet cocktail fermin decides to go and dance, it won't be less stuffy but maybe at least being surrounded by people will help him loose all of his thoughts. (And just maybe it'll help him escape awkwardness of being close to pedro)

And it does, everything gets lost in the background while his body is vibrating with music. Fermin closes his eyes just to watch colours dance under his eyelids in tact with him.

People move around, someone even deciding to dance with him their back so close Fermin can feel it's shape without even having a point of touch. His hands find their way to other person hips, by the feeling of it it's probably a guy, not that it really matters for him. At this point they don't dance as much as just sway around.

When he decides that he got enough of just starring at colours under his own eyelids fermin opens his eyes, giving himself a second to adjust back by looking at the ceiling.

He still doesn't know who is it next to him and now that he actually can look it feels a bit like a game, wanting to see how they look, if he matches broad outlines his mind painted.

So without any worning fermin spins that mysterious person in front of him, focusing his look on him too.

All loosnes that got into his muscles is suddenly gone, each part of him rigid in shock. Why the fuck is Pedro is standing in front of him. And why the fuck is he smiling.

He feels lost, pedro is clearly drunk enough to forget all of his dumb mind games but it's very likely that if he continues dancing with him, morning Pedro will not appreciate that. Probably even try to kill him or something.

It takes effort to relax his body enough to bend down wanting to tell pedro that he's probably too drunk and he can help him get out of here.

But none of this happens, instead someone from behind pushes him and suddenly Fermin is kissing Pedro.

It's flat press of lips at first but before he can react and pull away there is a hand on his neck bringing him closer, fingers curling at his nape. It's intoxicating and Fermin starts answering the kiss without even processing what is going on. Everything feels very strange and familiar at the same time, way too confusing.

He realises where they are only when cramp in his neck gets too bad from the uncomfortable position they are in making him pull away.

And suddenly the weight of situation settles onto him, not even on personal level with all their bullshit but tge fact that they are two motogp riders making out in the middle of some random club. This couldn't end good.

Without even thinking Fermin starts leading pedro out of mass of people on the dancefloor by his shoulders.

Huh. He didn't even notice when his hands got there.

When they get out of there Fermin doesn't stop, making them go outside. It's very fortunate that there is private corner behind the building letting them have at least some privacy.

It's quieter here and cold help sober up, even tho there wasn't that much alcohol inside his blood to begin with. But same can't be said about pedro, who looks proper drunk while grinning like cat who got his cream.

Just as he opens his mouth to ask about what the fuck just happened, pedro manages to get on his tiptoes and kiss him again before any sound escapes him.

And Fermin is a simple man, it's not like he can push away someone who he fantasized of kissing a million times, especially when it's very likely the only chance he will get. Pedro's solid body under his fingers feels too heavenly for that.

Instead he lets his hands to roam free anywhere they can reach, from small of Pedro's back to short shaved parts of his hair. Trying to carve each little detail and sound he can, fermin finds Pedro's lips with his teeth wanting to know what sound that could get him. Low whine be gets in return feels incredibly rewarding. Their kiss escalates without end, Fermin suddenly feels a tongue in his own mouth, exploring around.

It feels like they will devour eachother at this rate but he will never know because out of nowhere his phone starts loudly ringing, making him jump away of reflex. It's clearly jorge calling because of his distinctive ringtone and fermin can't let himself ignore it.

When he pics up it's all frantic Spanish ask if he saw pedro because everyone is concerned about him and they also wanted to go back to the hotel already. It takes a lot of work for fermin to put any words into answer but in the end he manages to say something about how pedro wasn't well and he took him outside and how they will meet whole group near entrance in few minutes.

Honestly he's not sure if truthfully that's what he said but at least he hope for it.

He gets two of them back to the club in haze, not thinking about what just happened or what it may mean, instead picking his own and Pedro's stuff on autopilot.

Whole ride to the hotel Fermin lips burn

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

Trent receives information he would rather not have, putting him in a position he'd rather not be in, and must decide what to do from there. There are no good moves to make.

[doctorcranes-ask]

the drafts of a criminal mastermind, such as myself, is often filled with disturbing notes

cower before my dark thoughts.

[bradassholemajors]

Wtf Is Shock Treatment’s Deal? (Or, Local Critic Discovers Escapism and Having Fun In The Midst of Late Stage Capitalistic Dread)

Watched Shock Treatment for the first time this week, and I am a changed man lol. Here are some disorganized thoughts:

I think something that makes Rocky Horror so special is that it can be as deep or not-deep as you want it to be. Like, if you want to think about the cultural implications of the themes portrayed (hedonism, gay & trans liberation, gender roles, the Invasion-of-the-Body-snatchers style infiltration of outside queer forces, the downfall of the safety contained within a collective identity), you can absolutely do that! There’s so much to be interpreted there!! But if you are just here to see Tim Curry looking incredibly sexy and violently thrust along to the Time Warp at a midnight showing with a bunch of cool strangers, that is absolutely awesome, too. Slay!! Take what you want.

BUT SHOCK TREATMENT MANNNN??? Shock Treatment is a whole different ballgame lol. Like, it is also a thematically rich goldmine, if you’re willing to squint a little— in terms of content included, not necessarily how it’s portrayed within the narrative. In the words of Barry Bostwick here, “it was a statement about the future that we weren't quite ready to explore. We didn't really even have the mental emotional vocabulary to understand what Richard [O’Brien, the creator] was trying to say.” I think this is spot-fucking-on!!! It’s absolutely frighteningly prescient, especially today in terms of the commodification of mental health. Like, woah. Janet being crowned “Miss Mental Health” felt like such a Gwyneth Paltrow moment. Cultural prophet Richard O’Brien saw the dark cloud of Betterhelp and wellness culture galloping over in the horizon in the distance of the American landscape, and he set out to warn us.

I still don’t quite understand what happened in the movie. I still don’t know what my takeaway was supposed to be. And I guess if you’re a little insane and love having fun doing thematic analysis with weird media (like me), taking Shock Treatment seriously may be right for you, lol. But thematically overall I think it’s safe to say: it’s a lot less coherent than its predecessor. It’s messy. It’s not interested in being flawless. It’s not interested in appealing to an audience. It’s barely interested in being a sequel. Shock Treatment is lowkey pointing and laughing in the face of those who showed up expecting a masterpiece— which admittedly was me, because I take Rocky Horror pretty seriously. (I put off watching Shock Treatment for a while bc I wasn’t sure about how it would affect the Rocky Horror Universe I had in my head.) If not for the internet reviews prepping me, I would have walked in completely expecting another nuanced perfect symphony of a movie to measure up to Rocky Horror’s magic.

But the thing was? Watching Shock Treatment, it ended up I did not really care!!!!! I was having the time of my life!!!!!

(more under the cut whoops)

Wtf was going on!!!!!!!!!!! Who knows!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I still don’t quite know!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I loved it!!!

This reaction of such joy, just letting myself vibe out made me think because when did I start getting surprised when watching a movie is more pleasurable than not??? Isn’t that the entire point of media??

I think with the modern commodification of media analysis and examining pop culture up close, I’d argue that Fun Media without a message is actually pretty hard to come by— at least in mainstream culture. Even stuff as sanitized as Disney movies are now digging into like generational trauma, appealing to what seems to be a collective search for depth (or at least the appearance of depth.) Modern neo-nazi brands of fascism wields power like never before, horrific images of violence follow everyone left and right. Sometimes it seems like this open secret, that everyone knows there’s this looming darkness at the forefront of our minds at all times.

So this transition from Rocky Horror to Shock Treatment felt actually sort of powerful to me. Rocky Horror’s generation-long reverberations of shamelessly depicting sensual revelry are so powerful; it’s bold even for today! (Of course, we all know transvestite isn’t a term commonly used today, but looking at it through the lens of its time, it becomes clear what a miracle the movie is. Knowing what it must have meant to queer people at the time it became a phenomenon— giving them a real space to be themselves in a hostile world criminalizing who they were, in a time of oppressive pressure to stay silent — that is the type of brave blatant acceptance hard to come by in any era.) Rocky Horror is something I don’t know if will ever happen again, and its sequel seems to concur.

Shock Treatment has been called a cash grab but I beg to differ. If you’ve seen it, no offense: but does this seem marketable to you??? It seems like it’s a Richard O’Brien project (already wacky) that went through several levels of development hell and heavy modifications through the creative process. Said with the utmost respect… it may have got away from them a bit. Put lovingly, Shock Treatment lowkey kinda sucks a little at times. It’s silly, it’s got a huge cast and musical fun galore. It’s serving B-movie realness. I don’t say this to bash on it, I say this with a bemused respect— I think the existence of Shock Treatment is as much a miracle as Rocky Horror (aren’t all creations???)

So in the first iteration, we have advocacy and fighting for freedom for those long silenced… but also, Shock Treatment seems to allow the creators to just let themselves have fun. Aren’t they both revolutions in their own right? Does everything have to be lasting cultural milestones or does our enjoyment matter in the moment? I’d argue we need both as human beings to thrive. It comes back to that Rocky-Horror-experience philosophy I covered where you’re taking what you feel you need most from the media you consume: a message or a celebration of just being here.

In conclusion, sometimes shit doesn’t have to be that deep. More movies should just say “fuck it, we ball” and give you the most absolutely incoherent fun time of your life. I love not taking things seriously, and I love creators willing to not take their work seriously. Perhaps Richard O’Brien also had a premonition with Shock Treatment in the sense of how he just had fun with it! Maybe we need less attempts at masterpieces and more attempts at just creation for the joy of it— or both, because joyful creation makes masterpieces!!! I’d love to see more creators of every skill level and every background, known and not known, say fuck you to capitalism and expectation and marketability and just say, we’re gonna do it anyhow, anyhow!!!

[dustyspines]

two souls, converging

Albus is a Squib. And a Potter. Those things, combined, make life a little tricky. Throw in a peculiar friendship with Scorpius Malfoy - someone who, all things considered, he shouldn't really know at all - and you end up with quite a little life story to tell. They're both stepping into their final school years a little confused, a little nostalgic but, most of all, a little bit in love. They don't know that, though. Not yet, anyway. Even though it's been right in front of them their entire lives.

Featuring highlights and lowlights throughout seven years of their friendship, their trials and their tribulations. After all, it's Albus and Scorpius, they get up to quite a lot together.

chapter one: now chapter two: and then

read on ao3 here ♡

[galaxymagitech]

Me when Anton turns out to be Charles Knight’s son: …

[skoulsons]

Eye To Eye Is All We Can See

• gif by @azertyrobaz

Pairing: Ezra & Cee (Prospect 2018)

Word count: ~2900

Summary: Ezra says something stupid and Cee tries to convince him that he’s wrong

A/N: Nothing except I wrote this until sunrise , so I apologize if it is absolutely terrible, downright ooc, or horribly grammatically. I have not rewatched the movie quite yet 💀 Just a bit of fluff and a tiny hurt/comfort?? Don’t ship them!!

Tagging my favorite people who I get to talk about this movie with: @sotvtaughtmehowtofeel @not-so-mundane-after-all @orangechickenpillow @jessahmewren @alternatewriter @starchild0985

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you,” she said.

They’ve been together a few cycles, the Green Moon left far behind them.

The cycles have been nothing short of eventful in a small spacecraft and two strangers in a very complicated relationship. Cee has had to keep an extra keen eye on Ezra. Not because of distrust, but to make sure his arm is healing well. Or, as well as a cut-off limb could heal with limited medical supplies and a kid, though capable, having done the operation.

Also because Ezra keeps forgetting he’s lost an arm and continuously reaches out for support along the walls of the ship when he moved from their sleeping quarters to the cockpit and he has fallen every single time. He fell out of his bed the first night they were in it; Cee spent five minutes trying to pull him back into the bed and then another fifteen having a verbal battle with him to try and convince him to get back in bed.

There have been moments of frustration where things catch up with Cee, her irritations coming out verbally to Ezra. He never fights back. He always sits, patient and understanding as Cee rehashes the things she’s kept bottled up and taped down for years with all the strength of scotch tape that’s lost all its grip.

They were also navigating their route off the Green to somewhere safe and figuring out… what exactly they were. Strangers? Partners? Friends? Family? Ezra has treated Cee as a real person, a girl with agency and deserving of a fruitful life since the second he met her; it’d be difficult to walk away from someone who gave you something you missed out on all your life. In that same way, it’d be hard to walk away from a kid that saved your life—twice.

Cee also had nightmares about the Green. The Saters, the mercs, the music, even her own father. Ones of Ezra, too. Him dying, abandoning her. Him using her, just like Damon seemed to do. On the worst night, the night when Damon and Ezra’s lifeless eyes were all she could see and their cold, torn open skin were all she could feel, she woke up crying.

Ezra was at her side before she even woke, unsure what exactly to do. He waited, and when she finally did wake, with a tear-stained face and a burning throat, Ezra’s compassion was overwhelming. His eyes were gentle, concerned. He kept his only arm hovering over her shoulder, waiting for permission. She let him hold it, for both their sakes, wishing she’d hugged him instead. Wishing she met him on the floor, their legs a conglomeration of limbs as he held her tight against his side. Instead, he stayed beside her until she calmed, quiet and reserved affirmations in It’s okay, little bird and You’re safe, Cee. Damon's cold, almost robotic responses to her harsher dreams were always Quit your crying or It’s a dream, calm down, so when Ezra keeps a firm, reassuring hold on her shoulder, talks her through it, and wears a soft smile Cee thinks she got to see even before Kevva knew of it—one that is only heightened when the stars of the Black shine enough light in to highlight his strands, making him look less intimidating than he makes himself out to be—Cee relaxes. How a stranger, of all people, can sit beside her and walk her through something so small compared to what all the Black has to offer is beyond her. How Ezra, literally, stooped down to her level to comfort her.

It doesn’t make sense. Nothing that has happened the last seven cycles makes sense. The Green and the people, if they could even be called such a thing, that the pair encountered still seemed so far away from Cee. That they were things that seemed only to be written in fictional novels and included in stories of old.

Except for one thing. One thing that makes sense. One thing that Cee is becoming more clear on with each passing cycle. Perhaps the clearest thing to come out of their time together.

He cares.

She cares, too.

And now they were in the Black, and had been for six cycles. The vastness and eternity of the growing darkness offered a strange comfort to both of them. Despite their care for each other, freedom was out there. Freedom awaited the both of them out there. Separate freedom.

Cee was always confined to Damon. She was always just another pair of hands to mine or hold something Damon couldn’t. An extra pair of eyes to search for Aurelac or an extra pair of ears to listen for any harm or to protect him, completely selfishly. Damon never acted selflessly, not even for his own daughter.

She hadn’t much freedom apart from him. She was always tied to him and his work. She was never given opportunities away from him. No chances for her to explore on her own. To see what was so great about this life that Kevva gifted her. She never had the chance to meet other people and form lasting friendships. She wasn’t given time to… live.

The Black offered that to her—Opportunities. Planets to stop at, to lay low on. Places to settle down. A life to live.

Ezra had freedom ever since he was a kid. He was free, encouraged even, to explore. To get to know the world around him. The vastness of the growing creation. He had the freedom, the opportunities, to explore all of it. But as he grew, there was a hunger for earning. A hunger for points and mining. Anything that could offer him a more than satisfactory life. Aurelac, specifically. An attachment to the work, the hunt, also selfishly. He did what he had to to get what he wanted, similar to Damon. Only Ezra, despite being on his own for most of his adulthood and being separated from his family for longer, cared. He cared enough to listen and pay attention to a little girl he didn’t even know.

He cared enough to be fair. Even split.

Being free from his work wasn’t too far-fetched for Ezra, but it happening because of a child was definitely not his expectation.

Especially someone like Cee. She had a fire in her. She was capable, he knew first hand she was. She was strong, threatening when she needed to be. She was skilled, intelligent, able.

But she was just a kid. He saw how scared she was, even with Damon. But in their time on the Green, he’s gotten to know her. Cee was kind, careful. Ezra noticed the way the inflection in her voice changed when she got excited about Streamer Girl. She cared and she protected. Her heart was big, willing to risk her life to go back for him, even after he specifically told her to go.

Cee was good. All she did was help. Love. She wasn’t a killer. She wasn’t selfish. She wasn’t ruthless or hungry for points. She wasn’t bad.

Ezra believed himself to be. He killed. He was willing, ready, to kill. Someone who has that reputation isn’t good, especially when killing a little girl’s dad gets added to the list, despite what he thought of the man.

He doesn’t believe he’s worthy to be thanked. That anything he’s done, especially to her, is any reason for thanks.

“Oh, no, nothing to thank me for, birdie. I have left you barren and deem your gratitude inappropriate for such a time. Ever since you touched down on the Green Moon, your conditions have been less than unacceptable…”

“Ezra…”

“...and I have been present in all the things that have troubled you so greatly these last few cycles. You have been burdened with dragging my weakened bag of bones across the Green.” “Even as we venture into the Black, you have continually endured my long-winded communication and idle, though I believe fascinating, narrative.”

“Ezra-”

“I am a bit crestfallen that you’ve been subjected to a multitude of predicaments in the time we’ve been together and that I have imparted insignificant salutary to your current expedition.”

“Ezra.”

“The Saters, the mercenaries… I’ve only brought you hindrance after hindrance, little bird. Allow me to implement points in to your care so that you may persevere in your journey and-”

“Ezra!” she shouted, grabbing at his face. Her hands reached his neck first, fingers stretching to the back of his neck, tickling his hairline.

She doesn’t know what this is like. Damon was never really gentle with her. Not physically, at least. She thinks, maybe, he was gentle with her when she was born. Holding her in the crook of his arm, her small, fragile head resting in the safety of his hold. Her skin held against his, breathing in tune with his, eyes fluttering open to catch her first glimpse of the world; her father, a tight-lipped smile strung across his face as tears well in his eyes, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth over the blanket she’s wrapped tightly in, occasionally bringing his thumb up to her red cheeks, a quiet hi to greet her.

Something she thinks Ezra could’ve done.

Something she suspects Damon didn’t do.

Something she knows Ezra would’ve done.

Cee pulled her hands away from his neck and brought them to his face instead, her palms too small to hold him the way she wanted to. She tried, letting them rest against his cheeks and feeling the scratch of his beard beneath her fingers. She kept her fingers outstretched, her pointer and middle threading lightly through the hair above his ears as her last two sit beneath his ear. She kept her thumbs in place on both his cheeks.

If there’s something to say, Cee can't say it.

She’s used to apologizing. She’s used to apologizing over taking up too much space. She’s used to apologizing over getting excited over Streamer Girl. She’s used to apologizing for eating too much of their rations, even when it was the amount she and Damon agreed on. She’s used to apologizing over resting, even when there was nothing to do. She’s used to apologizing over… being around him. Her breath was enough to apologize for.

But this wasn’t for apologizing. Ezra said something stupid and she needs to convince him that he’s wrong.

But the words can’t come to her. They don't. A contrast to how Ezra seemingly has an eleven page research paper of words on hand at all times, no matter the situation, Cee comes up short on correcting him. On affirming him that he’s wrong. On reassuring him that he has helped her.

He’s a grown man. A grown man who killed her father doesn’t need affirmation. Doesn’t need reassurance. And he surely does not need his face held because some kid thought he said something stupid.

Definitely not.

She holds his face firmly, the skin of his cheeks forming at her hold. “Don’t… say that, please. You’ve…” she pauses, inhaling and exhaling through her nose, forcing herself to catch his eyes and to make sure he hears her. “You’ve done a lot. You have. I know it’s… it’s only been a few cycles, but…”

You saved me. You protected me. You kept me. You came after me. You encouraged me. You made me feel safe. You tried to sacrifice yourself for me. You killed for me, more than once.

You loved me. You love me.

Her mind races with all of it, every word holding an unimaginable weight she had never experienced prior. Every word holding truth and passion behind them. Honesty covered every single one, Cee knowing in her soul that that was the man Ezra is. Those things he has done for her, how he’s treated her—that is who he is.

She watches him, wondering if, somehow, the look in her eyes could say the words for her. And if the glimmer in his eye is any indication, she thinks the burning it has left in her heart has found its way to his, too.

She could never say any of that about Damon. He wasn’t an encouragement and any dreams she had and wanted to pursue were shut down by him. She didn’t feel safe with him—not the kind of safe where she’d hide behind him if they were approached. There wasn’t any confidence that he’d care to protect her with his life. And if it came down to the Saters, Damon wouldn’t have kept her.

Ezra was different. Ezra was new, fresh. Real. He showed her more in seven cycles than Damon showed her in sixteen years.

That, to Cee, was enough.

She was wanted now. She could tell. Ezra’s attempt at telling her he was no good for her and saying he offered her nothing was the furthest thing from the truth.

Cee has sought connections all her life and was always denied or taken too soon to form a new one. It was always just Damon. Ezra went through so many partners in his life that he became numb to anyone who would stick around permanently. Numb to anyone who would ever be with him—his other half. And when a child entered his life and created and filled the hole in his heart that wasn’t there before, it became something supernatural. A longing he had immediately, and also a resisting. He was dangerous and he managed to put Cee in some of the most risky situations in under a day.

But Cee didn’t focus on that. She saw through that. She saw his passion and interest in the things he talked about. While it has only been with her, she’s seen the way he cares. The way he went to walk her through the operation on his arm. How he smiled at her and had an immediate pet name off hand to call her by, which, surprisingly, has stuck around—not that she would ask for him to stop using it. How he indulged her interest in Streamer Girl, saying he must now read it after hearing her praise it so well. She’s seen his gentleness in how he’s treated her, spoken to her, but also his violence in how he’d protected her from the mercenaries.

He’s done more than enough, as much as he may try and convince her, or himself, that he has not.

She smiles at him, her hands still on the sides of his face. Before she has a moment to really think, she brought her hands around his neck more, tilting his head down and his forehead towards her. She goes to the side a bit, kissing the skin right at the hairline of his blonde section of hair. She takes a moment to breathe in while her lips are still pressed to his forehead and her fingers lay by his ears, gently holding his head in place.

If she can’t find words, she hopes this works in their place.

She pulls away from him, keeping her hands still on his face as she settles their glances back. Ezra smiles as he shyly drops his head, breathing out a light laugh. Cee smiles, too. A wide, happy smile. One almost unfit after all she’s been dealt.

Cee drops her left hand to his shoulder and takes her right hand away from his face and brings it to the blonde section of his hair. “So…” she starts, rubbing some strands back and forth between her thumb and pointer finger, “how did this even happen?”

Ezra lifts his head, trying to move his head out of Cee’s grasp, but she just laughs, continuing to rub the strands together. He stops moving his head and looks back at her, a more serious expression on his face. “Quite the story there, little bird.”

She makes a face. “...And? We’re not in a rush.”

“That we aren’t, birdie. That we aren’t. Still, it’s a bit of a lengthy tale that I don’t believe to be worthwhile taking up any cherished time we have on our trek-”

“Ezra.”

“Yes?”

“Are you avoiding my question because it’s an embarrassing story?”

Ezra looks offended and starts backing up his claim with no’s and some long and winding explanation as to how, after inhaling alarming amounts of Dust in the Green, he was brought to Central to be fixed up. A few cycles in, Ezra, prematurely, got out of bed and tripped over himself, hitting the small guard rail on the other side of the bed, knocking himself unconscious. The incident gave him nine extra cycles at medical bay and, within a few weeks, after his wound had healed, his hair was growing back blonde.

They laugh together in the ship, the joyous noise echoing off the walls as they continue to pile on jokes and more stories as the conversation flows. By the end of it, Cee’s face is red and Ezra is breathing heavily, both of them slumped against separate walls, holding their stomachs.

It’s true, there are opportunities out there in the Black. Places to settle down and figure things out. And with each new passing cycle, their decision becomes more clear: they’re figuring it out together.

~~~~~~~~~

post-fic note: I can’t remember exactly, but Ezra’s hair growing back blonde after an incident I think comes from another prospect fic out there, I think we violent ones, but I’m 100% sure if it was that one or another one. All that to say it is not an original idea and I don’t take credit for using it for Ezra’s character. I liked the idea of it when I first read it and wanted to use it similarly

[moongothic]

I did not take any before photos, because all I meant to do was remove this busted ass backpocket from an old pair of pants and leave it at that. This was not supposed to be A Thing that I'd document. It was supposed to be a quick, low-effort improvement

But then I noticed this

A rip. On the ass seam of my precious pants. Kinda, it's not quite a hole yet but as you can clearly see, the fabric has deteriorated really badly and is well on its way to becoming a massive hole. On the ass seam.

And so I spent 8 hours mending these god damn fucking pants

If you needed more context as to WHY I'm so deeply upsetti about fixing these pants, here, I'm not even bothering with a TL:DR

The damage was about like 5-7 cm long (did not measure and can't be bothered to go check anymore), quite sizeable and as you can see from the photo above, quite see-thru. Like it wasn't too bad YET, I don't think anybody would've been able to see my underwear through the ripped area but. I wanted to fix it before it got to that point, right

So yeah. Started working on mending the seam at like 4 am, after I super quickly watched like two YouTube videos about mending rips on pants just to get an idea of what to do and just went for it.

Important thing to note is that because I started working on this in the middle of the night, I could not use the sewing machine because it woud wake up the whole bloody neighborhood. So it was gonna be all by hand

So I grabbed some scrap black cotton fabric I had laying around to use as reinforcement for the mending. In one of the videos I watched, the person demonstrating their mending technique used some iron-on adhesive to attach their fabric patch instead of relying on pins. Because I wanted to make this as easy as possible and because I figured it could help stabilize and strenghten the broken fibers a little bit (maybe?), I used some fabric glue because it's all I happened to have on hand

So I very gently dabbed a tiny bit of glue onto the the damaged area (inside the pants) and slapped my fabric piece onto it, cutting it slightly smaller after the glue was dry enough

And yes I failed the apply the patch straight so the first like centimeter of the damaged area didn't even get the patch on it. But like. Whatever man fdjghskdjfg

I picked some sewing thread that matched the pants' colors the best and just. Got to mending/borderline embroidering. On the bottom picture, you can see the first litle bit of mending I did on the right side, mostly on one red stripe and just a smidge on the black to the right of it.

It looks like ass.

Also, although I tried to apply as little glue as possible to the area, I still appearently managed to apply too much, so there's like visible glue residue on the ripped area. The glue also made the fabric really stiff and thick, which I could notice because I could tell if I did any mending outside the glue area, like my needle could pass so much easier through the two layers of fabric if there was no glue.

This alone made the process of just mending this rip take eight fucking hours. Also using a single thread of sewing thread did not help, I did realize on the final four stripes I could hold two threads at once for better coverage, so better late than never, but jesus christ I'm a dumbass

(Also no I absolutely do not expect the sewing thread of hold up super well, it'll last however long it'll last and that's that)

But yes. I kept on mending. For eight hours. From 4 am to noon. I did take like two brief snack breaks but that was p much it. Eventually, I had this on my hands

Cleaned it up a little bit and it turned into this

Now this cotton I used to reinforce the rip probably wasn't the best pick because it did want to start fraying immidiately, so I ended up applying just a smidge of the fabric glue onto the black cotton too, just to help it last a smidge longer maybe and keep it from fraying

But yeah, with that, the mending was done. I did have a Moment of Fear when I realised that the black cotton was quite thick and I was suddenly So Afraid the patch would become visible once I'd put the pants on-- like the shape of the patch ghosting on the other side. Which, considdering the shape and the location of it would be absolutely mortifying

But, when I did a quick test try-on of the pants I realized that the rip was actually much lower than I first thought, closer to my crotch than butt. Also, while the mending looks horrendous close-up, ain't nobody going to notice it from a distance when it's so low in my crotch.

So it's all good! The mending worked out!

Again, it doesn't look good close-up, it's super wonky (since the glue spread the fibers and left them stuck in the position they were in and I was just trying to follow the stripes), but it's good enough

Anyway, at that point I figured. I've gone out of my way to fix this rip when all I meant to do was remove a back-pocket. I might as well go all the way and fix that pocket properly too

To me back-pockets on pants have no purpose aside from maybe protecting the actual fabric of the pants from wearing out so fast by taking the damage instead. So I didn't need a pocket replacement (hence I considdered it optional to begin with)

But when I ripped the pocket off you coud see where the pocket had originally been, and while the indentation could probably be fixed by ironing the pants a bit, there were these small holes from where yarn had gone through the fabric so like. Yeah let's just replace the pocket

(Also sorry about the cat hair, did not clean it for this photo because god knows it would've been covered in a whole new layer 2 minutes later, you know how it is)

Using the same black cotton (since it's what I have and it fits just fine here), I freehanded the pocket like a gremlin.

Could not be bothered to do a better job, but again, I don't need it to be a functional pocket.

The good news though was that by this point it was noon, so I could bring out my sewing machine to finish the job for me

(I could have hemmed the sides, but did not bother. It's going on the inside, this is good enough)

Pinned it down to where the original pocket had been (using the indentation as a guide) to sew it on

And boom, pants fixed

The pocket took me like less than two hours to add (but this doesn't include the time it took me to remove the original pocket in the first place), so, yeah, much faster than hand-mending the rip.

In hindsight, I probably should've replaced both pockets if only because the fabric on the other pocket is wearing down, but like

By the time the thought crossed my mind I had already lint rolled all the cat hair off the pants and ironed them, the sewing machine was already put away so I did not want to bother with it. It's fine

But ye, you really need to look close to notice the mending, my 13~ish year old pants from approx. middle school are okay now, they have been saved. And now I can wear them to tomorrow's convention. Wheeeeeee

[idontneedspaceineedyou]

Wrote a little thing because I'm in horrendous pain figuratively and literally

Enjoy (?)

Lisa remembers it's yet another Christmas without becky. Without her. Again. It should be different. She should be here.

Her voice cracks as she tries to conjure words, the only things being through choked sobs "She.. she should-she should be...here" her eyes swelling with tears as it all hits her once again.

Only..This time, carla is here.

Carla feels her eyes also Welling with tears for her, seeing her in such a state always does seem to evoke strong emotions inside her. Like a fire in her chest. A fierce beating inside, an irresistible urge to protect, to love, to care for..

Carla closes her eyes for a moment, and sighs. Almost Immediately, she opens her eyes.

She leans in ever so gently towards Lisa, firmly cusping both her hands directly onto her face, with small swipes of her fingers wiping away her tears as she leaves her hands fixed directly on her face. Ever so slightly she pulls her face towards Lisa's tenderly pressing her lips gently upon her forehead, and slowly brings her head back down to rest upon the bridge of her nose and forehead.

Lisa completely melts into Carla's touch. It's like everything is brushed away. Nothing, nothing but them together in that moment.

Both open their eyes as they both meet, staring so fondly, so tenderly, with a look that could only mean love and devotion.

"You know," Carla's voice softens, "Lisa, becky would've wanted this. For you, to be happy. Not just for you- you and betsy." Carla's voice echoed through Lisa's head, listening to each gentle softly spoken word as her gaze fixed and entranced In Carla's eyes, and hanging onto the soothing calmness of her voice.

Thoughts, racing through her head..

Everything will be okay. We'll be okay. We have carla. I have carla. I can be happy again.

And, for once, she believes every word.

[lord-shitbox]

havig a crush is boring as fuck. thinking about them all the time im tired of it. can we get like anything fucking else on the mental picture screen im done with their face like actually what do i even like about them i dont think i like them enough to be tormented with THOUGHTS OF THEM ALL DAMN DAY