#Roadkill answers shit

[d3cay1ng-r0adk1ll]

Sorry for the boops

[microvibing]

Premarital hugging❗️❓️

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I pre-S4 I secret relationship AU I rated M I 3.9 k I angst I S4 fix-it I time skips

This was going to be a fully fleshed out story but I lost the umpf to finish, it just felt unnecessary to commit to an entire fic, so here's the rough draft for anyone interested.

July 10th, 1985

Eddie answered the door to find Steve Harrington standing off the porch, one foot on the bottom step, looking a bit like mangled raccoon roadkill, with somehow still an immaculate head of hair.

“Whoa, man, who'd you piss off this time?”

Steve slow blinked up at him. “I don't wanna talk about it. You open for business?”

He didn't normally take house calls but they weren't in school right now - Steve never would be again, the lucky bastard - and Eddie was saving up for a new amp, so yeah, he was open for business today.

“For you, Moneybags, always.” He held the door open wide.

Steve walked in, mumbling, “Not sure Moneybags is accurate now that I'm unemployed.”

“Well, then your money is even more precious. You could've spent it all on Budweiser but you chose me.” He fluttered his eyelashes at Steve.

“Don't know any other drug dealers,” he pointed out.

Eddie scowled. “C'mon, man, give me the illusion of being special.”

Steve's lips quirked, playful, even though it must've been stretching that cut painfully. “Oh, Munson, only your steller ditch weed can save me!”

Eddie would never admit it but the fact that he played along, albeit sarcastically, made him give Steve an extra pre-roll for free.

***

Aug 16th 1985

“And I said to her, ‘You can't expect me to tell you that. It's against the bro code or something,’ not that we were ever actually bros, it's the principle, right? But then she gives me the fuckin’ wet eyes, like I'm killing her-”

Eddie wasn't really listening, he was more focused on the task at hand, but Steve was a talker and Eddie had made peace with that weeks ago, so he politely hummed and nodded as needed to keep him going.

“Shit.”

“What?” Steve stopped monologuing to ask.

“Nothin’, just didn't have as much in this bag as I thought.” He put the tray aside and got up to grab another sack. There should be enough to round out Steve's usual six joints in his dresser stash.

“Anyway,” Steve continued on, unperturbed by the interruption, “I said to her-” He continued to wax about Nancy fucking Wheeler while Eddie dug through his top drawer. Ridiculous man couldn't wait thirty seconds, no, had to follow Eddie into his room. “Like Byers has the balls to cheat on her, ya know? And what the fuck am I supposed to do about it if he did? Fly to California and… Huh.”

“What?”

He was so wrapped up in looking for the right strain, he didn't turn to look until Steve's continued silence became weird.

He should've just given Steve five joints and charged him less.

“Uhhh. I can explain?”

Steve looked up from the skinmag on Eddie's side table and laughed. Actually laughed. “Oh yeah? I'd love to hear it.”

Why did he look so happy about it? Christ, he was literally bouncing on his toes.

“You're being weirdly chill about this,” he pointed out when Steve continued to grin.

“It's just funny, I guess. I have that same one.”

Time stopped. It started back up of course but not in any way that made sense. Because Steve was giving him that look, that open faced ‘See anything you like?’ look, with the steely eyed determination of a man who knew what he was doing. He'd seen that look before, in clubs, on the street. The problem Eddie was trying to work out wasn't so much ‘Could Steve Harrington really be queer?’, it was ‘Could Steve Harrington really want to fuck around with me?’

“What the fuck does that mean?” He asked, sure he was reading this wrong.

Steve cocked his head. “It means exactly what it sounds like.”

He turned to give Steve his full attention. “You, Steve Harrington, own the August edition of Drummer magazine.”

“Yes.”

“The gay porn mag.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He watched as Steve's face turned a lovely shade of pink. “To look at pictures of naked men and jerk off,” he said calmly, despite the blush. “Also the articles are well written and informative.”

That shocked a laugh out of Eddie. He crossed his arms and leaned up against the dresser. “Uh huh. What was your favorite one?”

“That story about the military rites of passage. Something about being told what to do gets me going.”

It could've just been a good guess, Eddie supposed, but he didn't think so.

“Oh yeah, private?” He said, all bravado. “Drop and give me twenty.”

The bravado died a soldier's death as he watched Steve hit the floor, on his knees, and then begin doing actual pushups. He watched up until twelve or so - the play of muscle under that blue and white polo was really something - before stopping him with a laugh.

“Get up, you fuckin' jock. We get it, you're in great shape.”

Steve did stop but only so he could sit back on his heels, hands placed firmly on his thighs, to look up at Eddie as though awaiting further instructions.

He gulped.

***

Sept 28th 1985

Eddie had his hand down Steve's pants, sucking a sizable hickey on his neck, when Steve blurted out, “Teen Wolf is playing at the Drive-In in Shelbyville.”

He backed away slowly, swimming through a haze of horny confusion to mumble, “The fuck?”

“Um. Just sayin'.”

“‘Just sayin'?’ Why are you ‘just sayin'’ right now?” He articulated this with a heavy squeeze to Steve's dick.

“Ha!” Steve arched toward him while also wincing in embarrassment. “I just wanted to ask before I forgot.”

A drop of cold lead sank Eddie's stomach. “Ask…what?”

He blinked at Eddie in the dark. “Do you wanna go? To the movies? With me?”

Heat washed out the cold feeling and replaced it with mounting anger; Eddie slowly pulled his hand from Steve's pants. He watched Eddie back away with wide-eyed confusion, going to ask what was wrong probably, but Eddie beat him to it, unwilling to hear the concern in his voice.

“I thought you understood what this was, Harrington. We don't do dates,” he spit the word like a curse. “That's something you do with the nice girls from your daddy's country club. We get each other off in the back of my van, where no one can see it rocking. Right? That's what this is.”

Steve's whole face shut down, giving nothing away. He gave Eddie a small nod, doing his pants back up. That was probably for the best, he was too rattled to get off now anyway.

“Yeah, I think we're done for today. Come see me when you remember what it is I'm good for.”

Steve didn't respond, just kicked open Eddie's back doors and hopped out. The beemer started a second later, not peeling out angrily, not kicking up gravel and dust in its wake, just drifted off into the night.

Eddie's hand shook as he tried to light a cigarette, flame winking in and out as his fingers slipped, another thing Steve had ruined. What an asshole, he thought, still furious. What the fuck was he thinking, asking Eddie out? That they'd just go to the movies together? Like a couple of regular people? Didn't he know that's not how things worked? If you're lucky, which Eddie was, you find a mentor to teach you the rules of staying safe. If you're not lucky, you learn the hard way.

Going steady with rich, popular boys was not on the list of approved activities.

Eddie snapped his cigarette in half and chucked it out the back door. The black of the lake beyond the trees, near invisible under a waxing moon, left him feeling sick to his stomach and lonely. The nights were getting too chilly to sit with the doors open anyway. He swung them shut and shrugged his flannel back on. The memory of Steve running his warm hands over Eddie's shoulders, slipping it off as he ran them down his back, struck Eddie like a slap to the face.

He shouldn't have freaked out. He could've handled it better. It wasn't Steve's fault he didn't know the rules. He didn't have someone like Gil to warn him about how dangerous it was out there. Oh well, it was too late to take it back now. He'd apologize when Steve came around again.

***

Oct 10th 1985

“I just don't get why he won't talk to me. I tried to see him at Family Video and he ran into the back office and locked the door. Buckley just stared at me until I was sure my hair would catch fire. Like I ever did anything to her,” he grumbled.

“Ed,” Gil sighed over the phone like Eddie was being particularly stupid, “he wanted to take you out and you yelled at him.”

When he said it like that it sounded reasonable. “Yeah, except we don't do that! You taught me that! That's not safe!”

“Oh, no. Oh, Eddie,” he sighed again. It was really starting to piss him off. “I didn't mean for you to take that to heart. You can't shut out everyone who might love you-”

“Love me?!” He screeched. “Are you insane? He didn't love me!”

“I'm not saying he did, I just mean you can't expect everyone you sleep with is going to agree no strings attached forever. Eventually you're going to fall for someone, and then all the bullshit running around in secret, that shit becomes worth it. I wasn't trying to stop you from falling in love, I was just trying to teach you how to get around safely.”

Eddie sputtered. He was so confused. Where was the burly, son of a bitch, leather vest wearing, biker bear who once told Eddie where to find the best glory holes in a new town? What the fuck was the shit about falling in love? That wasn't supposed to be in the cards for him. And certainly not with Steve Harrington. That was never going to be a thing. Not in the cards, not in the casino, not in Las Vegas itself! But all of a sudden he was allowed to date if he was sure the other person was worthy? Since when?!

Gil, instead of taking pity on him, doubled down. “I think it's probably too late with this Steve fella, but Eddie, don't push away the next one who takes an interest in you. Okay? It's still rough out there, it's still dangerous, but, god, what is any of this for if we aren't allowed to be in love?”

“You asshole,” he sniffed, “where was all this lovely advice two years ago?”

“You were a kid, dumb ass. If I'd told you to run off with the first guy who gave you butterflies, you'd be dead already. I was trying to keep you safe first, cut me some slack!”

“Fine! But I still blame you for fucking me on the Harrington thing. You have no idea what you cost me. Literally and figuratively. The wallet and the ass on that man.” He wasn't going to admit to missing the man attached to the wallet and the ass. It was too fresh of a realization.

“I'm sorry, kid. Seems like you really liked him.”

“What? No I didn't.”

“That why you called me and ranted about him for a half hour straight? Because you don't like him?”

Eddie scowled at the sink. “Shut up.”

Gil sighed at him again.

***

March 29th, 1986

A car had pulled up.

His blood was rushing in his ears, nothing but the sound of the ocean in a giant seashell, like the one his mom had kept on her dresser, so he didn't hear the voice at first. It wormed its way into his understanding slowly, a male voice, low, calling his name.

He grasped the bottle tighter, waited until the voice got closer, and then sprang out from under the tarp. His senses grew sharp, focusing on the dark shape in front of him. They came together hard, fell into the wall with a jarring crash. All thoughts went into stopping the body against him from hurting him first.

Hands grasped his wrist to keep the bottle from finding its mark. Strong hands, with wide knuckles, ones that Eddie hadn't seen in six months but still, unbidden, saw in his dreams.

He finally looked up and found Steve Harrington at the end of his makeshift knife.

“It's me, Eds, it's me” he was panting. “You're safe. I promise. It's okay.” He kept repeating it until Eddie finally let go of the bottle. Let go and then buried his face into Steve's neck and wept. He couldn't stop it, it just came out of him, everything, all the terror and confusion and guilt.

“I didn't do it, I didn't hurt her, it wasn't me,” he kept repeating.

“I know. I know, Eds, I know you didn't,” Steve answered, hand still running over the back of his head. Like the last six months were just a terrible dream.

He didn't even notice Steve wasn't alone, not until Henderson clasped him around the shoulder and told him there were things living under Hawkins, things that would make a horde of Beholders turn tail and run.

And they'd been dealing with it all since ‘83?

Which meant Steve was already a hardened veteran when he was goofing off in Eddie's trailer, making tusks out of pretzel rods and calling Ewoks by the wrong name.

“Jesus Christ.” He put his head between his knees and did his best to ignore Steve's hand rubbing up and down his back. He didn't want the comfort but he took it anyway.

***

March 31st 1986

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve pulled up next to him, skipping over the slimy Devil Roots with ease, “I just wanted to say thanks for savin’ my ass back there.”

Eddie chuckled lowly, not ready to say, ‘You know what you did, you macho asshole.’ “Pretty sure Wheeler saved your ass but you're welcome.”

“You definitely helped. I mean, you didn't have to swim through a portal to hell after me but you did.”

The shame of Steve giving him even an ounce of credit crept up his throat and started to choke him. Steve had been getting drug to hell by some unknown force and still Eddie had hesitated. He was a coward.

“Man, I just didn't want to be the asshole who stayed behind.”

The silence felt damning, like he should've just kept his mouth shut.

Steve jammed his hands into his ratty sweatpants. “Right.”

Now he thought Eddie didn't care at all.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he whispered, “You know that's not the whole truth, right? I know things are weird between us but I don't want you dead.”

He had to keep his eyes on the ground as they walked but out of his periphery he could see Steve nod.

“Yeah. I get it.”

He didn't but Eddie didn't know what else to say. He hadn't let himself think about what they were to each other now. Not friends, not ex’s, not strangers. He’d tried not to think about Steve at all - except what he couldn't avoid, like Henderson’s obsession with him and things his brain forced him to remember at night - since whatever they were doing ended. Since Steve left and never came back.

He opened his mouth to soften the moment, tell Steve how Henderson would've killed him in a more creative way than Vecna if he'd let Steve die, but Steve cut him off.

“I should thank you for that too.”

Eddie chanced looking over.

“For what?”

“For ending things when you did.”

The squirm in his gut worsened. They hadn't talked about it. He didn't want to talk about it. “Oh?” He choked out.

“Yeah, I was, uh, making a bigger thing out of what we, what we were doing, than I should've. I blame Robin for enabling me, she's the one who said to just ask you out like a normal person. Sorry for making it weird and ruining it. Always trying to give my heart to people who don't want it.” He chuckled morosely. “Anyway, thanks, I guess. You probably saved me from a lot more heartache later down the line.” He slapped Eddie on the back, like they were old chums, and then he skipped up to the girls without a backwards glance.

Eddie stood there, alone, gaping at his retreating back.

***

April 1st, 1986

Eddie had always been good at compartmentalizing. When his mom got sick, he got really into Tolkien, let that be his focal point in a storm of hospital visits and missed days at school. When his dad got picked up and sent to prison, he let Wayne teach him how to play guitar, which he spent most of his waking hours on. When Steve made it clear he was done with Eddie, he packed up the little pocket of time they had, the enjoyment he'd found in Steve's company, and folded it under the recesses of his mind, told himself it was all for the best, to not think of it again, and then he threw himself into Hellfire.

So, now that he’d found himself in another untenable situation, clarity struck Eddie like lightning as he thrashed on the ground - Hey, dumbass, Steve Harrington actually liked you, wanted to date you, would've fallen for you, and you fucking blew it. Not only did you blow it, you broke his fucking heart.

It was an asinine thought to have while he was actively dying but considering the alternative was acknowledging that he was being eaten alive by demon bats, he welcomed thoughts of Steve.

Steve, who Eddie had convinced himself was just scratching an itch with someone who wouldn't tell, but who had actually been telling his best friend the whole time.

Steve, who came over for weed but stayed to hang out, sometimes for hours, well before they were fooling around.

Steve, who wasn't anything like Eddie had assumed he would be, was exactly the kinda guy Eddie would've fallen for. If he was allowed.

But he had been allowed, the whole time apparently, and was too stupid to notice.

Henderson showed up a minute later, just as the bats collapsed around him, thank god. If he'd gotten the asshole killed he was fairly certain Steve would've brought him back somehow just to kill him again.

He wasted a lot of breath apologizing to Dustin, agreeing that he was totally gonna make it. Wasted some more trying to bequeath Hellfire to him. Wasted his last breath to say, “Tell Steve I'm sorry.”

Dustin wouldn't understand what for but maybe Steve would.

Just before he lost consciousness he caught Dustin saying, “Tell him yourself,” and then something that sounded suspiciously like, “Eddie! No.”

But by then he was gone.

***

Date unknown, 1986

He was never sure if what he was experiencing was real or not. Since the pain had stopped everything had a surreal quality, mostly flashes of light, some sound trickled in, shouting and crying and tires squealing; all of it was fleeting and seemed unimportant.

The first thing that felt real was Wayne's voice. Gruff and short and so, so familiar. It brought tears to his eyes. He was pretty sure anyway, hard to tell when he couldn't open them yet.

“Get your boy, Fletch, or I'm gonna break his arm.”

“Now, Wayne, we're just doin’ our job,” Chief Powell said in a softer tone than Wayne's snarl or Callahan's offense.

“Either one of you touch a hair on his head, I'll-”

“Have Steve call his famous lawyer dad,” Robin piped up from somewhere in the room, thankfully stopping Wayne from further incriminating himself.

“He's a divorce attorney,” Steve mumbled. “But he knows people!” He rallied after what Eddie imagined was a look from Robin.

A beat went by, Eddie almost slipped away in the quiet, before Chief Powell spoke up again. “You're all gonna go to bat for this kid?”

Steve responded first. “He's a hero.”

Eddie didn't get to enjoy that for long, a nurse came in to shuffle them all out of the room so they could re-up his pain meds and then it was nighty-night again.

***

Date Unknown, 1986

The next time Eddie woke, it was dark in the room, only a bit of light coming in from under the door and from the parking lot lights outside. His eyes felt gritty, heavy with sleep, but he could make out the shape of Steve in the chair beside his bed.

He was awake, staring down at the side of Eddie's mattress.

No.

Eddie followed his gaze and found Steve staring at his hand where it laid across his own forearm, careful of the tubes they were both hooked to. As soon as he saw it, he became aware of the warmth of it, Steve's huge hand draped over his cold skin.

“Feels nice,” he tried to say but it came out more garbled mess than actual words.

It was enough to get Steve's attention though.

“Eddie!” He said with excitement, relief. “What do you need? I should get the nurse.”

Eddie forced his arm to respond, to turn over and clasp Steve where he was about to remove himself. His grasp wasn't near enough to keep Steve in place but the fact that he tried kept Steve where he was.

His voice refused to cooperate, felt like coughing up glass, but he tried to communicate that Steve should stay.

“Okay, okay, I'm here. Not going anywhere. Do you need anything? Water? Pain meds?”

Eddie could definitely use both of those things but the most pressing thing, the only thing he could really think of was…

Lifting his hand to point as steadily as he could at Steve's chest.

He chuckled. “Why do you keep trying to take my shirt?”

The question made little sense. For one thing, this was the first he remembered being coherent enough to demand anything, and second, Steve wasn't wearing a shirt, he was in a hospital gown, same as Eddie.

He shook his head as best he could, a frustrated frown and a grunt to indicate that wasn't what he meant at all.

Steve leaned closer. “What is it? I don't know what you need, Eddie.”

Now that he was closer, Eddie reached out as best he could and pressed his palm to the left side of Steve's chest.

They stared at each other. Eddie could feel the tears slipping down his face but he didn't dare move his hand to wipe them away.

Slowly, like he was scared, Steve's hand came up to press Eddie's hand closer. Big and warm and missed to the point of aching, though Eddie had been loath to admit it to himself.

“You’re serious?” Steve whispered. “You want...this?”

Eddie nodded frantically.

“If you mean my tit I'm going to be so pissed at you.”

Eddie choked on a laugh. He did his very best to mouth, “That too.”

That got him a laugh, a soft one. "Some things don't change." He looked away, shy. Or not shy exactly, cautious. "I hope you remember you said all this when you wake up again. You're pretty doped up."

That was an easy fix. The drugs probably made it easier to admit but he was tired of pretending it wasn't true.

He pulled Steve's hand until it settled over his own chest, stitches and all, and forced himself to croak, "I already tried to forget, sweetheart. It didn't work."

Steve's answering smile rivaled the dawn.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - nsfw, physical/psychological abuse, wildly unhealthy relationship dynamics, and derogatory language.

Most days, Bailey struggles to decide whether you're an idiot or a masochist.

He’s leaning towards the former, but it wouldn’t take much to sway him towards the latter. That doesn’t make you special on its own, though – no, most of the stupid brats in his orphanage have shit for brains and the survival instincts of pre-splattered roadkill, but you manage to make your peers look like shining pillars of intelligence and caution and all the good, important, necessary traits that you were tragic enough to be born without. If he didn’t know better, he might think that you’re doing it on purpose, that your behavior is just the product of some misplaced cry for attention. You should count yourself lucky that he’s a hell of a lot smarter than you’ll ever be.

He should’ve gotten rid of you the first time you failed to pay your rent. He should’ve, and he tried to – selling you off to the highest bidder, leaving you blindfolded in alleyways and restrained on the edge of town, but like a beaten dog too stupid to acknowledge that its master left it for dead, you always seem to drag yourself back, always bruised, most often bloody, and occasionally soaking wet. More than once, you haven’t made it all the way back, and he’s had to go out of his way to pick up ‘his precious ward’ from the intensive care unit at Harper’s request. He would leave you there, if he thought his reputation would survive giving that freak of a doctor a free lab rat.

 You can’t hold down a job. That part, he can’t entirely blame on you. If going outside is risky, then trying to earn a living is all-but a death sentence in a town like this. He knows you have a few minor gigs, pick up odd jobs every now-and-then around the wealthier neighborhoods, but it’s never more than petty cash, and having to watch you drag yourself through the orphanage halls with torn clothes and that distant, glazed-over look in your eyes almost makes what little rent money you can scrap up not worth it. You’re wary enough to keep your head down in school, so you don’t have a lot of friends, either. Most of your time is spent at home; toiling in your weed-infested garden, trying to pretend you aren’t hiding in your room, and when he lets you, curling up in the smallest, darkest corner of his office – your legs pulled into your chair and your eyes fixed on the floor. He asked, once, why you thought you had to waste your time sulking in his peripheral like some poor, attention-starving kitten. Despite help from the better half of a bottle from his vintage stash, he can still remember your answer.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, with a smile so delicate, he was almost tempted to see how easily it shattered. “I guess I just feel safe around you.”

He stopped asking for rent, after that.

He tries not to think about you. It’s a constant effort, but he tries the hardest when he’s standing in your doorway hours after midnight, fucking his fist as you pretend to sleep less than a full ten feet away. He still hasn’t made up his mind about the masochist part, but you have to be an idiot. A pretty, empty-headed idiot.

His pretty, empty-headed idiot.

He decides, as he finishes to the sound of your muffled sobbing, that he’ll soak it in while he can. Even if he does his best, even if he keeps his distance, even if you never come to your senses and run far, faraway, he knows he won’t have long left to enjoy this.

He knows that, no matter how hard he tries to hold himself back, you’re not going to feel very safe around him for much longer.

[rcmclachlan]

tease tidbit tuesday

Tagged by @firehose118, @devirnis, and @ambernotember. Thanks, y'all 😘

Here's some more from the s3 alternate meeting au I'm working on.

+

Buck squints, because, "Wait, don't I know you?"

The guy, who looks like he competes in Steinstossen on the weekends, gives Buck a familiar smile—the same one he gave Buck a few years ago.

A four-alarm grease fire had consumed half an apartment building after someone supposedly tried to put it out by throwing a pot of water on it, and at least four stations showed up to beat it into submission. This guy had been climbing down one of the ladders with what must have been twenty kids on his back, and as he passed the window of the room Buck was in the middle of clearing, he smiled and waved at Buck through the glass like it was just another day at the beach.

"Hey, Buckley! How's the leg treating you, man? We were gonna send you flowers, but your buddy Chimney said you were a real weirdo so we sent that big box of whack-ass candy instead."

Amongst the explosion of flowers and wreathes and cards he'd gotten from people whose names he didn't know, there'd been a big box full of the strangest candy he'd ever seen: lollipops with ants frozen in the center, mints that tasted like roadkill, Carolina Reaper cotton candy, mac and cheese gummies, and chocolates shaped like dicks. He, Chim, Eddie, and Hen had laughed themselves to tears trying all of them one afternoon. Even Bobby couldn't deny the cactus candy was interesting.

Tied to one of the chocolate dicks—"cocklates," Chim cackled—had been a short note.

The bacon and cheddar cricket crunchies will get you back on your feet in no time. Get well soon! — Station 217

Buck bursts out laughing. "'Whack-ass' is right. Hey, Meyers, it's been ages. I-I didn't realize all of you were LAFD."

"Oh shit," one of them—a woman with broad shoulders and the most incredible mop of spiral curls he's ever seen—gasps. "You're the bomb guy! The one the engine fell on! I heard you were caught down the pier when the tsunami hit, too. I can't believe you're even walking around after all that. Don't even tell me you're back to work already."

"Y-Yeah," Buck says, eyes glued to a patch of the table top where the sealant is chipping away. "It's been an, uh, interesting year."

Tommy nudges one of his teammates further down the booth and then steps back so Buck can slide in. It takes every ounce of energy to actually do it, because even though he knows this woman means well, it feels like she's standing before a jury of his peers and listing all the reasons why he shouldn't don his turnouts again.

In all honesty, he should just call Chase and tell him to withdraw the suit wholesale. If a complete stranger thinks Buck shouldn't be back, then Bobby's definitely never going to budge on it. Eddie's never going to return his calls. Hen's never going to look him in the eye again. The days of daring Chimney to try a bacon and cheddar cricket are over. The 118's bay doors will never open to let him in again.

Thankfully, the din of the bar is so loud that no one can hear him sniffle as he glances toward the bar. Maybe they're hiring.

"Dude," one of the others chimes in. "I heard you were suing the department. I didn't know you could even do that. Maybe I can sue Cap for banning Mittens from the station, because that's just cruel and unusual. She gets lonely when I'm on shift."

"You bring your fucking snake to the hangar one more time, Nico, and I'll garrote you with it," the curly-haired woman snaps, then turns interested eyes on Buck. "But, are you? Taking the department to court, I mean."

Before Buck can excuse himself to the bathroom where he can have a good cry and then drown himself in a toilet, Tommy slides into the booth next to him.

"Actually, Jacinda, I can answer that one: none of your damn business," Tommy says sunnily. Without missing a beat, he reaches across the table to smack the guy with the snake upside the head when he opens his mouth. "Besides, I've got a better question: what's the deal with your kid, Benowitz? Did he finally ask what's-her-name to prom or what?"

Benowitz sighs, takes a long-suffering sip of his beer, and begins what sounds like a new chapter in an ongoing saga of his son Steven, who's been working on the world's greatest-slash-worst promposal for the last two months with no end in sight. Apparently trained doves are involved, and so is spcaLA.

Swallowing hard around the burr in his throat, Buck nudges Tommy's foot in gratitude.

Tommy nods at whatever Benowitz is saying, then nudges back.

+

No pressure tags: everyone who tagged me, plus @screamlet, @setmeatopthepyre, @beanarie, @geddyqueer, @freneticfloetry, @apollabarnes, @station18908, and @leashybebes

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Secret relationship; Fred Weasley x muggle American reader

*Author's note*

Imagine this is POST Battle of Hogwarts and a timeline where our beloved Fred Weasley LIVES!!!! BUT. He got so injured that he now has to use a cane to help walk after years of physical therapy so that is pretty much the only warning that's in there is the description of Fred having to limp for the rest of his life but other than that just full on FLUFFY FEELS ALL AROUND!! Oh and reader-chan is a Muggle (always wanted to try and write one cause I've noticed all my HP fics I've made the reader a witch so why not try muggle?).

Also reader is American so expect some sorta lame old school American slang vs. British slang, And I as a non-Brit probably used the most obvious ones so I apologize for any cringy that might get some of my british readers out there but I hope nonetheless you all enjoy this fluffy little fic :)

Taglist:

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@waddles03

@queen-paladin

@remussl0vers

@plethora-of-things

@psychosupernatural

_________________________________________________

The crackling sounds of the fireplace warming up the flat, the television playing in the background playing some sitcom was mere background noise as my attention stood before the man that sat next to me on the loveseat kissing me.  His face buried in my neck pressing feather-like kisses up and down, his arms wrapped around me snugly pulling me just ever so closer to his front.

I turned my head so that our lips could meet in a passionate kiss and as our kiss became more passionate, I couldn’t help but think back on our relationship in the past 2 and a half years.

*Flashback*

I was heading to my usual lunch spot after taking my break from work.  As I waited at the cross walk, I heard my phone ring and I picked it up and answered it.

“Hello? Yes Kurt the portfolios are on my desk in the second drawer. No, no the second drawer to your left. I need you to fax those off to Paris within the next hour so that they’ll be ready for the spring catalog. What? How do you use a—please tell me you’re joking. You don’t know how to use a fax machine? You’ve been at this job for six months and you still haven’t figured out how to use it? Look just…..” I then felt myself slam into someone and I said, “Oh shit I am so sorry I—didn’t see…..”

“No, no, the fault was entirely my own.” Oh wow.  I was told by my brother that the gingers over here were more prominent here than they were back home but he didn’t tell me they’d be so cute.  Wait what (Y/n) get a grip.

“Oh here le-let me help you.”

“No it’s okay I’ve got it.” That’s when I saw him reach for a cane as he slowly tried to lift himself up.  But he seemed to be struggling with it a bit and it just made me think of my brother.

“You sure you don’t need any help?”

“Given the fact that we’re in the middle of the street where the light could turn at any given moment. Maybe I could swallow my pride just this once.” I came to his side and wrapped my arm around his back and hoisted him up before the two of us got out of the crosswalk.  “Thanks, would’ve been roadkill had you not helped out.”

“There’s never anything wrong with asking for help. I know I tell my brother Frank that every day.” He looked down at his cane before turning back up to me.

“So he’s……”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you with it. But I do wish to make up for my actions of bumping into you. Can I buy you lunch?”

“Oh I couldn’t impose.”

“It’s no trouble at all really. I was on my way to lunch anyways and we’re already at the place so might as well.” He turned to see the sandwich shop.

“Well—I guess I am feeling a bit peckish. But I’m paying for my own lunch.”

“Alright. Come on.” I led him towards the side entrance door and told him of some recommendations of some good sub-sandwiches.  However when he went to pay, the cashier nearly got into an argument with him over the money he was about to give to pay for his meal.

I know Frank had told me of euros, pounds, quid, and all the other European slangs and terms for money but what the hell was a Galleon? That’s when I stepped in and offered to pay for both his meal and mine as to deescalate the situation.

As we took our seats the ginger-haired man said to me.

“Guess I needed more saving today.”

“That guy was way out of line to yell at you. Although I must say I’ve never heard of a galleon before. Is that a new currency here in England?” he started stammering.  God he was even cute when he flustered, again girl get a grip!

“Uhh well umm….I-I….maybe old money. Once belonged to my great-great-great-great granddad. Thought it would work but I guess not.” I nodded pretending to agree with him.  “Now I hope you don’t think me rude but your accent, you’re not from London are you?”

“That would be correct. I’m originally from New York. I had moved here a couple of months ago for a job offering. I work in a shop called Bloomingdales, that’s a great big clothing store and I had gotten an offer to work as an assistant product designer here in London.”

“Ahh a fellow business person.”

“Hold on a minute, do you work for a rivalry clothing line cause if so I’m afraid this lunch will have to be cut short.”

“Oh bollocks guess this is goodbye then.” Seeing the teasing grin on his face and the twinkle in his eye instantly made me realize he was playing along with me.  We both softly laughed and he continued, “No I don’t work for a clothing line. My brother and I actually own a joke shop.”

“Really? Must’ve been hard trying to build your business from the ground up.”

“It was but we managed. At first our parents didn’t really believe we could do it, in fact a lot of people said we were absolutely daft. Said we were throwing our lives away for something that may not take off but we proved them wrong.”

“I wish I could take that leap of faith. I’ve always loved designing dresses, especially wedding gowns but I don’t know if I could ever run my own business.”

“You never know if you don’t try.” Smart, brilliant, and cute.  Was there nothing that this guy couldn’t do? When I looked up at the clock and saw the time I nearly jumped out of my pantsuit.

“Oh Jesus! Sorry but I gotta get back to the office and make sure one of my workers faxed over those portfolios. Kurt’s a nice guy but sometimes he’s as dumb as a bag of rocks. I—wow I just realized we’ve been talking all this time and I never once asked you your name.”

“It’s Fred. Fred Weasley.” Weasley? Wow that’s sure a name I’m gonna remember.  We shook hands and I told him my name before bidding him goodbye and racing out of the shop and back to the office.

I didn’t see Fred for a couple of weeks after that day.  I was walking along the streets once more going over some files and portfolios of some new designs I was going to pitch later this evening when I didn’t notice a painter working just ahead.  Just before I went under the ladder, I was suddenly pulled back and just before I went to yell at the person for suddenly grabbing me, I saw the can of pain splatter everywhere just barely missing my pants and shoes. 

Oh god, if I hadn’t been pulled back, the designs I’ve slaved long nights for would’ve been ruined.  Not to mention all the files that my boss gave to me about potential partnerships and deals.

“Looks like we’re even now.” I turned and saw Fred smiling down at me.

“Fred.” I breathed his name.

“Aye canno’ believe this! I’m so sorry lassie! You alright down there? This ladder I swear canno’ hold a bloody candle let alone a paint can.” The painter spoke with a thick Irish accent.

“We’re all good sir, no harm done!” Fred called up.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” I said.  “I guess we’re just meant to save each other.” I said as Fred released me.

“I believe I once heard a wise woman once say to me, there’s nothing wrong with asking for help.” I scoffed softly.

“You’re literally quoting me to me, you do realize that right?”

“I imagined the conversation going like ‘well she must sound quite wise’.” He said doing a horrible impersonation of me.  Speaking with an airy, ditzy voice.

“I do not sound like that!” I laughed.

“Don’t go ruining my vision. Then I would say, ‘well not only wise but attractive as well.’” I looked at him stunned and felt my cheeks heat up.

“So are uhh….you doing anything?” I asked trying not to stammer like a bashful idiot.

“Not much just strolling through London. Getting some fresh air especially after all the rain we’ve been having.”

“Yeah that’s the one thing I can’t understand about you English people. Why live in a country that’s constantly raining?”

“Welcome to an island love.” Oh sweet Mary and Jesus he just had to say that.  Yeah, yeah I’m a sucker for when British men call their partners ‘love’ and hearing him call me that���ooo mama it gave me goosebumps. 

“Well uhh…..if you’re not too busy or anything, I don’t know maybe you’d like to get some grub?”

“Grub?” he asked tilting his head cutely.

“Uhh sorry food. Sorry slang term back home. Past lunch time but not quite dinner time yet, so my brothers and I always called it grub time.”

“You Americans and your silly little words.” He chuckled.

“Silly little words?!” I gasped in faux offense.  “You’re the one to talk Mr. Fish and chips! It’s chicken and fries! Nothing else!” he laughed.

“But aren’t your so called fries and chips all made from potatoes?” I went to retort but knew he was right.

“Touche you make a valid point there Mr. Weasley.” He laughed again and continued,

“But to answer your question I’d love to grab some grub with you.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.” I grumbled.

“Not at all love. C’mon this time I’m buying. Shall we go to that sandwich shop we went to when we first met?”

“It’s like you read my mind. I had seen they’ve got a new item on the menu that I’ve been meaning to try out.” He extended his arm out and very poshly I looped my arm through his and he said.

“Shall me milady?”

“Let us go milord.” We both laughed and walked down the street towards the sandwich shop and ended up chatting the entire afternoon away up until they were getting ready to close.

For the next few weeks I had seen Fred pop up every now and then either before work, during my breaks or after work.  It wasn’t before long that he had asked me out on our first date and yeah you guessed it, it was at the sandwich shop.

Which I truthfully didn’t mind at all.  There wasn’t any pressure for us to do anything fancy, it was familiar territory, and we didn’t have to worry about trying to pay for an overpriced meal.  And it was actually on that night that he and I shared our first kiss.

You know how some people say that when you kiss the person that’s said to be ‘your One’ there’s fireworks or a spark between the two of you.  Well for me personally it felt like a warmth had been unlocked within me.  A warm, butterfly feeling that I didn’t even know existed but I knew I didn’t ever want it to end.

Eventually after that, that’s when we decided to make it official and we were now boyfriend/girlfriend.  Fred was such a great support system, especially once the holidays came around and not only would my work schedule be incredibly busy with deadlines for the holiday sales, but also prevented me from flying back to the States to spend Christmas with my family.

The snow was starting to fall outside as I sat in my dining room with portfolios and design sketches to fax to both New York and LA offices for the upcoming spring catalog.  After hours of working and getting nothing but hand cramps from drawing and sketching all afternoon, I decided that now was a good time as any to retire and put the work aside for the night.

“Here you are love, fresh hot chocolate just like mum used to make.” Freddie said as he carefully set down a steaming cup of hot chocolate on one of the coasters on the table.

“Thanks Freddie.” I let out a groan as I stretched my arms outward before flopping down across his lap.  I felt his fingers run through my hair gently massaging it and I let out a relaxed sigh.

“I hate to see you so worked up like this love, especially around the Christmas holiday.”

“That’s what it’s typically like. The holiday season and summer time is where the most demand for new designs come into play. Luckily for me all I have to do tomorrow is just work out the finishing touches on the last sketches and then fax them off to the offices back in the states. Then I’m home free for the rest of the year.”

“But it still seems unfair that you don’t get to fly over to see your family. I mean you were packed and everything when you got the call.”

“Yeah well these things happen. Plus with the snow falling now I doubt I would’ve left tonight anyways. But what about you? Shouldn’t you be heading over to see your family?”

“They understand why I’m not coming this year. Can’t leave my new girlfriend alone on Christmas. Mum would have my head.”

“Just curious, why can’t we both go see your family together? We don’t have to just let it be the two of us?”

“Think I’d rather have our first Christmas be just the two of us before you’re hounded down by my entire family.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

“So possessive.”

“You mean devoting.” He kissed my forehead again, “Loyal,” he kissed the tip of my nose, “Loving,” he kissed both my cheeks, “And ungodly handsome.” He then began fervently pecking kisses all over my face making me laugh before ending it all with a soft kiss to my lips.

“You are such a dork.”

“But you chose to love this dork.”

“And I don’t regret a second of it.” I sat up from his lap and reached out to cup the side of his face.  He nuzzled into my palm even gently giving my palm a loving kiss.  “Thanks for having my first Christmas in a foreign country not seem so lonely.”

“Of course. Christmas time isn’t as different as you think between here and America. For one thing, look up.” I raised my brow and looked up to see a string of mistletoe hanging over us.

“Where did—”

“Never question a Christmas tradition love.” Fred said as he scooted closer to me and hooking his fingers underneath my chin.  He then leaned forward and gave me a kiss so loving and sensual that I felt my senses go into overdrive before I kissed him back with the same amount of love and passion as he was giving me.

*End of flashback*

Fred separated from our kiss and he said.

“(Y/n), there’s—something that I need to tell you.”

“What is it Fred?”

“I…..I just…..” he let out a deep breath before lifting himself up off the loveseat.  He hobbled over closer to the fireplace and continued, “There’s something that I haven’t told you, about me. And the reason why you haven’t met my family.”

His family always seemed to be a touch and go subject to talk about.  Ever since we cemented our relationship with each other, I’ve introduced him to my mom and brothers but the closest I’ve ever gotten to meeting his family is through the stories he’s told me.

“Okay.” I said slowly as I adjusted myself on the loveseat.

“This—this isn’t easy for me to say and I could risk everything by even telling you this but, I love you (Y/n). I never thought I would find happiness and love again until the day I met you. But…..how can I continue this if I can’t even be honest with you?”

“Fred, you’re starting to scare me a little, just tell me. I’ll try to understand whatever it is you have to say.” He let out a deep, anxious breath before turning to me and he said.

“First do you remember on our first date together how I was able to help you unlock your door when you had forgotten your key?”

“Yeah.”

“And how the past couple of Christmases we’ve spent together, there’d be mistletoe that always seem to just pop out of nowhere.” I nodded.  He came back over and sat down beside me and hesitantly reached out for my hands.  “Can you just answer me this…..do you believe in magic?”

“What kind of question is that Fred?”

“J-just-just…..answer the question. With the truth.” I thought about it long and hard.

“I mean, there’s always an explanation for when magicians perform their stuff. Whether it’s wires, trapdoors or mirrors.”

“What if I told you that it is real. And I’m not talking about in the ways you’ve seen magic before. That there’s actually—another world within London itself that holds real magic. And that there were people who can actually perform such magic.”

“But that would mean that there’s wizards and witches running around London and…..” seeing Fred’s face unchangeable as he looked at me with those solemn brown eyes of his.  “Wait, y-you mean…..”

“Yes (Y/n). I’m a wizard. Magic—is real. My entire family are wizards as well, my friends and school mates, they were all wizards and witches. The school I went to was for young witches and wizards to hone their skills and control them. The war I fought and barely survived in wasn’t your normal human wars like your brothers fought in, it was a wizard war.”

“Fred stop!” I silenced him as I took my hands out of his.  I turned away from him.

“(Y/n) I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you but I—”

“Just quiet. I-I need to just…..process this.”

“Okay.” He muttered so softly you wouldn’t have even heard him.  I sat there staring at the roaring fire as I pressed my hands together and took in everything that Fred said.

And truthfully now that I think back, there were a bunch of incidences and events that just struck out as too odd to be anything else.  It’s true how he was able to unlock my door whenever I didn’t have my keys, or the random mistletoes appearing out of nowhere when I know I didn’t have any to hang up.  But there was also the times when he thought I wasn’t looking how he’d somehow prepare a meal that would normally take an hour or so to prepare whenever I came home from a long day at work, and once I came down changing into my comfy pjs, the dinner would all be set up.  And the time when we had this big thunderstorm last year, we were walking along the street when a car came barreling down the road and couldn’t stop in time for us to use the crosswalk.

I swore I thought we were as good as dead but as I held onto Fred, the car suddenly came to a screeching halt.  He didn’t make them too obvious but it all seemed to make sense.

“So you’re actually a real wizard? Like pointy hats and wands, wizard?”

“Not pointy hats, not anymore at least not since my second year of school. But yes I do have a wand.”

“Can…..can I see it?” he was hesitant at first but he went over to his coat and pulled out from his pocket a real wand.  He came back over and held it out to me.  It was roughly between 12-14in. long and the handle resembled a pinecone.  It was a dark brownish wood almost appearing black in certain aspects of the light.  I slowly reached out but didn’t want to overstep anything.

“It won’t hurt you.” He assured me.  I looked at him and he gave me a soft nod as he presented his wand once again to me.  Slowly I reached out and held it between my hands.  The handle-shape was rough as it dug into my skin but the rest of the wand was as smooth as satin silk.

“Can you really do magic with this?”

“Yeah, here I’ll show you. Nothing too grand but just watch.” He took back his wand and pointed at one of my portfolios of a wedding design I had been making.  “Wingardium Leviosa.” With a wave of his wand, the page of my design slowly began levitating up into the air.

My eyes widened as I lifted my head up to follow my portfolio levitating by itself before being gently placed into my lap safe and sound.  I turned to Fred and I muttered.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, holy shit.” He repeated.

“So….the whole time you could’ve gotten anything from the top shelf and handed it to me with a flick of your wrist?” Fred stared at me surprised before a smile came across his face and he threw his head back laughing.  And I don’t mean any ordinary laugh, I’m talking a full-on belly laugh that makes tears come at the corner of your eyes.  “What I’m serious do you know how many times I’ve begged you to help me with the shopping and cooking?”

“Oh this is why I love you. Only you could be told something life-changing and then switch it into a joke.” Fred wiped away the tears from the corner of his eyes.

“In all seriousness though Fred. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” his once happy face became solemn.

“Like I said, it’s kinda forbidden. Not that we can’t have relationships with muggles, I’ve had friends who’ve had parents who were either a muggle or had muggle parents.”

“Muggles?”

“Non-magic people. Think it over, throughout your history witches have been hunted and persecuted for what we were. Deemed us unnatural or even demonic. Some those would fit to a T but most of us we’re just trying to live our lives, have families, make friends, nothing world ending. So we’ve had to be keep ourselves hidden from your world.”

“Oh yeah. The Salem witch trials, and I’m sure here in England you guys had a similar thing.”

“More or less but it was more like every day was the Salem Witch trials. So we can’t really expose ourselves to your world less we risk exposure. Sure you won’t probably burn us at the stake or drown us anymore but…..”

“No, no I get it.” I took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.  “It must’ve been so hard for you to tell me, but I commend your bravery for taking that step Freddie.”

“Well if I couldn’t live up to the Gryffindor name, I’d never be able to live it down.”

“What’s Gryffindor?”

“It was my house back at school.” He then proceeded to tell me about his school, Hogwarts, and about the four houses that reside there.  Gryffindor was the House of the Brave and Courageous, Hufflepuff for the Just and Loyal, Ravenclaw for the knowledge seekers and wisdom, and Slytherin for Ambitious and Evil.

He continued to explain to me about the War that had happened nearly ten years ago and how he had be some miracle survived the wall that had crushed him.  And god was I lucky too, had he not then—I doubt I would’ve really found myself a partner.  I was too invested in my work and Fred keeps me on my toes by allowing me to have fun every once in a while and learn to take breaks.

“I don’t even know how it was possible but—” I could see his hand trembling so I placed my other hand over his to ease his anxiety.

“I guess….whoever is up there decided it wasn’t your time to go yet. And I thank whoever that is. Cause if you weren’t here, I doubt I’d be this happy as I am now. I’d just be buried in my work.”

“Yeah, a boring, wound up stick in the mud.”

“I am not!” I gawked as I playfully shoved him.

“Without me darling, you wouldn’t even remember what fun is.”

“Okay I think you lied about Gryffindor being Courageous. More like Arrogant.” This time he faux gawked as he dramatically placed his hand over his chest.

“How dare you! And I thought you cared about me?!” he pulled me back into his lap embracing me as tightly as he could while he buried his face into my neck rocking me like a child.  I giggled as I tried to get out of his grip but each time he’d give my hands a light slap before capturing them and pinning them to my side.  While fervently kissing any square inch of my face and neck that he could reach, each kiss he made a dramatic and overexaggerated kissing sound.

“AHHH! FREDDIE STOP IT!!” I exclaimed through my laughter.

“Not. A. Chance. Love.” He said, pausing between each word with a kiss.  He nuzzled around my sweet spot on my neck that made me go putty in his arms, the faint touch of the tip of his nose grazing along my neck before following it with a soft kiss.

“Not….fair.” I moaned.

“All’s fair in love and war love.” He teased as he continued to kiss and even nip at my sweet spot, marking me as his.  When I finally submitted to his desire by leaning my back against his chest, he finished off with one last kiss to my neck before coming back up and capturing my lips in a loving, sweet kiss.  His finger holding my chin as he deepened the kiss before separating.

“I would say something completely sappy right now but I know you’d roll your eyes and think it’s rubbish.”

“Can I just say, hearing you use British slang warms my heart. I’ve finally converted you.”

“Not a chance, you know Frank would do whatever it took to make sure I stayed American at heart.”

“Too bad it was swept away by a Brit.” He pecked my lips before reaching up and cupped my cheek.  “I can’t thank you enough for hearing me out about all this. I mean, I would’ve left you if you had asked or if it was too much but I—” I reached up and pressed my finger to his lips.

“Shhh. I don’t wanna hear another word of it. Yeah it’s gonna take time because again, it’s a lot to unpack but it doesn’t change how I feel about you. But I do have one condition before we continue this relationship now that I know the full truth.”

“Anything, name it.”

“Can I please meet your family now?” he chuckled and grazed our two noses together.

“I’ll send mum a letter tonight and we’ll head over to the Burrows tomorrow for lunch. But be warned, I didn’t lie about how my family acts. So expect an over-dotting mother, a father who asks too many questions, especially since you are a Muggle. He’s always found them fascinating. A sister whose been pleading to meet her next sister-in-law, and two brothers in particular whose a little git and the other who believes he’s the handsome twin when it’s actually me.” I giggled and said.

“They all sound wonderful. Not only from the stories you’ve told me but just because they’re your family. And if you are as half as what they represent, I’ll love them even more. Could I also maybe see your joke shop while we’re at it?”

“Slow down there love. First let’s see how you react to being in a wizard’s home before you step into my shop. Seeing too much magic at once can be a bit overwhelming. It was for Granger’s father seeing multiple things happening by themselves.”

“Fine.” I grumbled.

“Oi now,” he pecked my lips again.  “I promise, you’ll see it. Have I ever broken a promise to you?” I shook my head no.  “Then no more pouting. Just because you look cute doing it, doesn’t mean I want to see it. I prefer to see you smile or hear you laugh.” He gave my sides a quick poke making me shriek and jolt upward as I playfully glared at him while he laughed.  He held the back of my head and kissed my forehead softly before bringing me back into his embrace.

[directdogman]

would gingi be unnaturally strong or incredibly weak

There's a canon answer to this and it's actually kinda funny. I was gonna push off answering it, but y'know what? I'll give you guys this one:

Gingi isn't very strong but ironically is capable of being WAY stronger than it is. its diet is so unbelievably shit (drinks cough nectar instead of water + eats gravel) that Gingi essentially suffers from malnutrition. If Gingi ate more meat + roadkill, Gingi could potentially be a force to reckon with.

[creepz-art]

I keep forgetting to post the shit I make. Whoops.

Here's a Masky and Hoodie drabble, based off Masky and Hoodie in the lil rp group I'm apart of

Wanted to try a new writing style thing, lmk what you think.

Thank you @mis-fortunate for letting me make this w/your Masky :)

At Least We Tried.

The ache had settled deep — bone-deep. Hoodie could feel it vibrating in his teeth, buzzing behind his eyes like static.

He came to in his room, facedown in the mattress, everything screaming.

Another failed escape.

Another blackout.

A knock at the door — two short taps. Clumsy. Familiar.

He hauled himself upright, joints screaming protest, and opened the door.

Masky.

Slouched. Half-breathing. Mask cracked, jacket torn at the collar. He looked like roadkill with a pulse.

Still standing.

"You look like shit," Masky rasped, voice frayed.

Hoodie didn’t answer, just stepped aside. Masky limped in.

They collapsed onto the bed like puppets with cut strings, armor scraping armor, and didn’t speak for a while.

Eventually Hoodie tugged off his mask, fingers trembling. The air stung his face like a slap.

Masky followed, gritting his teeth as he peeled his own off, bruises blooming underneath.

They didn’t look at each other — not directly. Just leaned shoulder to shoulder, breathing in sync like it might keep them tethered.

"...At least we tried," Masky muttered.

Hoodie hummed, almost a laugh. Nudged him back with a tired elbow.

Masky stared at the ceiling, jaw tight.

His lips parted — like he was about to say something else.

Glad you made it.

Thought you might not.

Don’t want to do this alone.

But all that came out was a grumble and a shove. "Don’t get soft on me."

Hoodie shoved back. A little harder. A little slower. The kind of hit that said, I heard you anyway.

They didn’t talk after that.

Didn’t need to.

Tomorrow, they’d fight again.

Tonight, they’d exist.

Together. Unmasked. Still here.

[forthechubbies]

Roadkill°{Rated X} Drabble ->Series

Criminal!Woosan x Victim!Chubby Reader

W! MOMMY KINK!, MILF! Reader,Strong Language, Sexual themed , mentions of prostitution, Alcohol, and pissed off San yummy 😋...Wooyoung is a mean drunk by the way.

"I said take a left, dumbass!!!"

It is often mentioned that nobody can bear the burden of a guilty conscience. However, have you ever considered what happens when someone or a group of people shamelessly disregard feelings of regret, remorse, and the basic principles of humanity?

Instead, they prioritize their own selfish desires for greed, wealth, and personal gratification, even if it means hurting others.

"ITS HARD TO FUCKIN HEAR OVER THESE SIRENS"

The individuals are the Korean bonnie & clyde; Jung Woo-young; the man driving the getaway van and Choi San the man poorly reading directions. Not much is known about these menances besides them being nothing but a handful of trouble.

Cutting through a rural region facilitated the pair's escape. The guys puffed, drawing in as much breath as possible before bursting into nervous laughter between the duo.

“Oh, sh*t, that was close. Lucky us, huh?" remarked Wooyoung.

San sat in despair and rolled his eyes, saying, "Drive the fucking car.." He had had enough of his beloved for the day.

.....

The stillness between the lovers was uncomfortable following today's somewhat botched theft. San was the one who broke the stillness. "I'll be back," he said casually over his shoulder as he crossed over the motel entrance. Wooyoung huffed, hot on San's trail. "Where are you going?" he inquired, without shoes in the crisp autumn air.

"For a walk." San said, plainly

Instead of confronting San's emotions based on his actions, Wooyoung answered, "Okay." Wooyoung steps furiously into the van before speeding away into the night..l

San didn't bother giving him a moment's glimpse.

What the hell is this place?! Wooyoung was driving through this dump of a town, venting his frustration. He was cruising down the deserted streets when he stumbled upon a crappy gas station. "Just in time," he muttered to himself as he pulled up to the pump. But of course, the tank was empty. "Fuck!" Wooyoung screamed as he punched the steering wheel in anger.

....

In the depths of despair, San painfully acknowledged the vast gap of time without his foolish lover. Anxiety consumed him as futile calls left him restless. Where could that ass be?

By the roadside, the van sat motionless, as if devoid of any purpose. Within its confines, a wooyoung, heavily intoxicated, slumped over carelessly, encircled by a sea of discarded beer bottles. His supposedly peaceful slumber was abruptly shattered by the obnoxious blaring of his cell phone...again

Wooyoung bellowed furiously through the speaker. "Ugh, What..what- Ah! Shit!.... Quit goddamn yelling in my fucking ear!.. ... How the fuck am I supposed to know where the hell I am?! I just woke the fuck up!.....wah! I'm not some damn drunk-asshole! You've been a colossal asswipe all day.. I fucking saved your sorry ass and all you gave a shit about is the dead bitch on the pavement...... He. would have..fucking killed you!... You dumbass."

San's mind was filled with a disturbing idea - were they heartless murderers or courageous outlaws? The reality was horrifying. They were criminals, but taking a life was an entirely new level of wickedness. However, San couldn't ignore the fact that they were not entirely innocent either. The truth was staggering and left San in a state of shock.

During their incarceration, whispers circulated about his involvement in sinister dealings that involved the disappearance of both guards and fellow inmates. But he was not acting alone, driven by a primal instinct to survive.

However, Wooyoung was a different breed altogether. His thirst for blood was almost demonic, a rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins like a sweet poison.

He reveled in it, relishing the taste of fear and the power it gave him. It was as if he had made a deal with the devil himself, and now he was paying the price in flesh and bone.

San's point was clear: Wooyoung possessed the power to decide the fate of that man, whether to merciless slaughter him or spare his wretched existence.

The man, feeble and defenseless, posed no immediate danger. Yet, in a twisted display of sadistic pleasure, Wooyoung coldly pressed the barrel of his gun against the man's vulnerable skull, relishing in the anticipation of the impending explosion. And then, with a resounding bang, the man's life was abruptly extinguished, his blood mingling with the already crimson-stained surroundings.

In a state of intoxication, Wooyoung seized control of the wheel.

Tragically, lost in his drunken haze, he dared to shut his eyes for what seemed like a mere moment. Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced through the air, jolting him awake... Shit. He hastily pulled over, compelled to investigate, only to be confronted with a shocking sight - a lifeless woman sprawled before him.

He gnashed his teeth, the very last thing he wanted was the hassle of concealing a dead body. Wooyoung's gaze crept up your limbs until it met your face...Shit, she's bleeding a bit but she'll live...I must have scared her out of her wits and she passed out. The longer Wooyoung stared, the more he discerned your profession.

At first, The school girl uniform puzzled him but there's no way in hell, Parents would allow their daughter out the door the way your dressed.

He audaciously dropped to his knees in the grass beside your form, your name tag proudly displaying "Yn" with a heart-shaped flourish. "Bunny Lounge..." he uttered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're nothing but a filthy prostitute." A humorless chuckle escaped his lips as he continued, "My dear, you are far too beautiful to be a whor-"

His intentions abruptly shifted towards your forsaken purse, mere inches away from your body. A wicked smirk danced upon his lips as he scoffed, relishing in the sinister thrill of his impending actions.

"Just hold on a minute, Sweetheart," He sneered.

With a savage force, Wooyoung tore through the contents of your purse, his hands ravaging through the remnants of your personal belongings. And then, amidst the chaos, he stumbled upon a collection of cherished family photographs, capturing the essence of your existence alongside your innocent baby twin sons.

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, electrifying his twisted mind. "You... you're a mother..."

A wave of sorrow washed over him as memories from his troubled childhood resurfaced. He was raised by a single mother who tirelessly struggled to provide for him, doing whatever it took to ensure there was food on the table.

He sensually pressed his ear against your heaving bosom, captivated by the rhythmic melody of your steady heartbeat... Wooyoung wasn't the cuddlyist person in the world but he found instant relief being against your skin.

San was teetering on the edge of madness, his mind consumed by fury, when his spouse burst through the door, guzzling down yet another bottle of the delectable soju. "Daddy's finally graced us with his presence," San sneered.

Woo-young's freakin' good-looking mug was all shiny, like he'd been doused in oil or somethin'. "Sannie-ah!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" San exploded, launching himself at Wooyoung and forcefully slamming him against the door. "It's fucking 3am. Where the hell were you?"

"I... I killed an angel," Wooyoung whispered, a sinister giggle escaping his lips as he leaned in close to San's ear. "She's so soft n' sweet...like you." His tongue grazed San's stud earrings. "So I had to keep her-..I had no choice.."

San brushed off Wooyoung's words, tossing him aside like a rag doll as he stormed out of the motel room. But as he took a few steps away, doubt began to creep into his mind. Could it be possible that his drunken lover was actually telling the truth?

As he crept towards the van's rear, his heart pounded with fear. San's hands trembled as he reached for the cold metal handles of the doors. With a deep breath, he pulled them open, and his breath caught in his throat. In the center of the mattress lay a woman.No angel. your dirty body was bound and gagged, your blouse ripped open to reveal a lacy bra. The sight was enough to make San's blood run cold. He knew he had stumbled upon something truly terrifying.

San held his breath slamming the doors shut before rushing to confront the murderer. Wooyoung flinched at the sound of the door. " You look pissed." He chuckled. "Did you see my piece of heaven? Beautiful. Right?!"

Meanwhile, in the cold. As you slowly regained awareness, your foot landed on a glass bottle, knocking it against others. Bringing you up to speed on the issue.

Your heart races as you feel the panic set in. The pressure is crushing you, and you can't even sit up because of the damn rope tying you down. You look around frantically, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Are you outside? In a shed? No, it's a van. Your mind races as you try to figure out how to escape this nightmare.

"You're nothing but a filthy prostitute." A man's voice was the last thing you heard before you fully lost consciousness.

As your captors' voices grew louder, the chilling realization hit you like a ton of bricks - would you ever lay eyes on your beloved boys again? Tears threatened to spill, but you had no time for weakness.

Upon opening the doors, The men found you conscious and confused you stared at them as if their aliens. "Oh shit, She's alive." Wooyoung slurred, "See, Sannie, you hit me for nothing." He happily crawled into the van climbing up your body as you struggled. "Easy, mommy, you don't want to hurt your-"

San aggressively punished his lover upside the head. "Ya! The fuck is wrong with you?! This isn't us." He snatched his lover against the wall of the van with a Slam.

Wooyoung groaned, enjoying the feeling of being manhandled. " We're criminals, Dickhead, bad stuff is what we done." He couldn't take his eyes off your exposed legs. "We should reap the benefits. Don't you think, Sannie?"

San snatched Wooyoung's jaw forcing him to look at him. "There's a fine line between Criminals and monsters and that " He uses his head to movement towards your shaken figure. "Is going overboard!"

San had clearly had enough for the night, but Wooyoung wasn't going to let him get away with it. In a drunken rage, he snapped back, defending himself with all the aggression he could muster.

"Sleep in the damn van!" San barked at Wooyoung, not bothering to look back. "Fucking animal " He hoisted himself onto the bed, forcefully wrapping the rope that restrained your wrists around his neck, and effortlessly lifted you up.

As you observed the furious Wooyoung venting his frustration on the van, you instinctively leaned closer to San, finding some solace in his comforting presence.

..to be continued ♡

[someonesrealityshifting]

.・✭・. Life Explanation .・✭・. ・

✭ My life is like a 2010s coming of age novel, but one of the ones with a shitty ending, like Before I Fall. Except it doesn't have a shitty ending, you just worry it might. My life is dancing in the rain and forgetting a coat and ending up with a cough but not caring because I was dancing with him. My life is climbing into abandoned buildings and befriending the rats who live there, leaving them food and telling them how pretty they are. My life is finding roadkill and bringing it home to pray for it and to send it to Thanatos gently, as he would want it.

✭ My life is making stupid decisions because I never got to as a kid. My life is smoking cheap cigarettes and coughing so hard I vow to quit, only to come back six hours later when he pulls out his lighter. My life is drawing on myself and loving it so much I go get it tattooed that day. My life is incohesive playlists and rants about movies and bugs I love. My life is collecting rainwater and rocks and bones I find, pressing flowers and leaves between the pages of limited edition books.

✭ My life is collecting soda pop tabs and butterfly wings and walnut shells because I can. My life is crying over the dead things I find and mourning them, giving even the worm I find on the sidewalk as it pours the simple respect of life. My life is constantly defending my position as an ambiamorous gay trans man as well as a leftist, an anarchist, quite possibly a communist, because my idea that all living things have inherent worth is apparently 'radical'.

✭ My life is tiny jars and using watercolor on canvas even though you're absolutely not supposed to use watercolor on canvas. My life is painting my nails outside because I don't want to risk my dog inhaling the fumes and feeding my gecko by hand because he's a diva but I also can't touch him because it frightens him. My life is car rides to vibe-based playlists, sticking my arms out the window and screaming when I see a puppy in the next car.

✭ My life is loving, endlessly and without remorse. Giving my love to anyone who will take it, accept it, regardless of whether or not it's reflected back at me, because if one can hate without cause, why can I, too, not love the same way? My life is shamelessly blocking and cutting off toxic people because I'm worth more, because the people I love are worth more.

✭ My life is holding a cat like a baby, because I'm a bit too fucked up to have a real one, and dancing around the house with it, telling it how much I love it as shitty music blares from the phone in my pocket. My life is putting stickers on my canes and headphones and every electronic device I have because they deserve to feel pretty, too. My life is putting too many layers of dye in my hair and not caring because it makes me feel better. My life is asking "would you still love me if I was a worm?" a thousand times and never getting bored of the answers.

✭ My life is keeping Loki's altar in my kitchen because it's never not chaotic as all hell in there, even if the odd assortment of things he likes is a bit of an eyesore; that's where he belongs. My life is keeping Christmas lights up all the year round because they're pretty and I love them. My life is finding a spot where I can see the sky without light pollution and staring at the stars for as long as I can, even though I know so very few of them, just because they're beautiful and I can. My life is getting a shitty camera from, like, 2015 because it's cheap and it has decent exposure, and even though the pictures always come out a little blurry, I pin them to the wall over our bed anyway.

✭ My life is writing poetry on every available surface, buying a shit ton of notebooks in August when they're 25 cents each and them all being full by March. My life is texting him "this song reminded me of you" at 3am when I know we should be asleep but neither of us are. My life is freaking out anytime I see a cat, because fucking look at him, he's such a cutie, aaa he booped meeee. My life is listening to Taylor Swift because they like it, and because I'd do anything to make them smile, even if I think "Antihero" is the single stupidest song I've ever heard in my life.

✭ My life is the word 'paladin', which is not only my dad's favorite WOW class, but it's my mom's favorite episode of bones. "Paladin" means, "I will always protect you. I will not choose violence for myself, because I can keep myself safe enough, but I would burn the world for you, because I love you, and I will hurt anyone, even myself, to keep you safe." My life is my parents telling me at age 9 that to love a hero was to hate one's self. That a hero would sacrifice you to save the world, that a villain had no such obligation. To always love the villain, the person most likely to hurt everyone but you.

✭ My life is painting on a 60 year old denim jacket and having no idea how to get the paint off so I just take a razor to the paint to get it a bit thinner and then saving up money so I can buy a Vincian flag to hide the marks it left behind. My life is having a bunch of scars from stupid things, and being proud to share each misadventure, because they define me, because I let them. My life is wishing I wasn't clean until I meet him and them and maybe deciding that I prefer having marks from love than self loathing.

✭ My life is waking up with my legs tangled in theirs only to get up before they do, going to make us shitty coffee because it's the only kind I know how to make, but they drink it anyway because I also make French toast so it's palatable. My life is house plants that I take care of exquisitely for years only to leave them in his care for a week and find them to be on the verge of death. My life is eating too much chocolate and dragging them both into the living room to build a pillow fort and watch Bluey for 6 hours on a random Friday night.

✭ My life is thrift shopping and buying shit I know I'll never use, simply because I can afford it, and because I love it, and because I can. My life is gardening all of spring and summer and never leaving the woods in autumn and shoveling until my knees buckle in winter. My life is learning how to swim in a creek because I don't trust anyone but the two of them to teach me.

✭ My life is love. My life is light. My life is making myself feel whole, and being able to give myself to the people who love me and the people whom I love. My life is happy, and warm, and safe. My life is starlight and wholesome until it's dark moons and dirty jokes, and even then, the sun comes back the next morning, and so do the gentle kisses and caresses. My life is safety and comfort and value, inherent and known, in every person I come across.

[brokenlovesong]

Archival Parry Drabble

Hey y'all wanna see a small portion from an abandoned Parry fic that I thought was kinda funny and wanted to share? I'm not waiting for an answer.

Know that it's very much unfinished and never will be. It's mostly just dialogue but I was kinda sad I gave up on it so I'm letting it see the light of day.

He could hear Two-Bit from outside the jeep absolutely losing his shit. If Darry had the keys to his truck right now, he’d back it up and run that idiot over. He wouldn’t actually. That’d be like handing Pony and Soda over to a boy's home on a silver platter. He wouldn’t do that… actually, maybe he’d be willing to give away Soda right now without a fight. If Soda were thrown into a boys home and Two-Bit were roadkill, that would solve at least eighty-five percent of his current issues. “If we just sit here, quietly, long enough, do you think they’ll go away?” Paul asked. Glory, he wished. He wanted nothing more than to finish what they started. But the moment was definitely gone. “I asked that the day Soda was born and yet he’s still here.” Some sick person who ran the universe was sat up there right now, cackling their ass off at the bullshit they orchestrated. “Think this is, like, karma? For the last rumble when I beat his ass in?” “Beat his ass? Please. My brother’s not someone who loses a rumble.” “Maybe I’m thinking of you then," Paul quipped back. “Can y’all stop making out and get your asses out of the car already? Sodapop looks like he’s gonna have a cow,” Two-Bit’s voice rang out, gasping for breath probably due to how hard he’s been laughing. “I do not!” Soda said, sounding like he was gonna have a cow. “I won’t go for your brother outta respect for you,” Paul began, shaking a fist “But that other punk, my fist is aiming for his face the next time we all go at it.” “It’ll be for both of us.”

[jordanraye47]

Izzy headcanons that aren’t an entire fic🔥

Answers scam callers the best way possible “hi welcome to Pete’s roadkill pizzeria where yesterdays loss is todays sauce, how may o help you?” Like that’s her duty

Considering she’s a literal famous actor, she probably has a social media accounts, and even though she rarely posts, when she does, she’s on the damn edge of being canceled.

^ “damn getting arrested for no reason🔥 guess orangre really is the new black”

Speaking of spelling mistakes (no I don’t know how to spell organge), she has dyslexia.

She’s not th favourite kid we could all tell.

Regardless of how much she smiles normally, she can not for the life of her smile for pictures. So 90% of the time her pictures looks like an alien that hasn’t quite figured out where they are, or just a thumbs up.

Thst or that stupid Lin manuela (I think that’s his name) pose.

Speaks crazy many languages, including ASL

She has very good curls, just doesn’t care to take manage them (yes this is me being desperate for representation of girls with curly hair that doesn’t know how to mangene them)

That and the reason she wears the bathing cap is because chlorine FUCKS UP curly hair oh my gosh soaking from experience 🙏

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; Scarlett is her older sister.

dicorced nightgown porch cigarette mom and Texan truck motel dad that doesn’t give a shit what their kids do.

Always slightly thrown off when someone is nice to her bushes so used to Noah and Eva’s “mean love” or whatever you call it.

This girl did NOT have friends in school she BIT the other students

Favorite subject is art and sience (I have dyslexia you stuf don’t correct me)

So smart and also so stupid ^ “so what’s the square root of 589 iz?” “24.269.” “ok so do you think Pluto should be considered a planet?” “No of course not he’s a dog. Did you not watch Mickey Mouse”

“Parents got confused and chose daughter on anti-psychotics”

deadass i think her pshycosis is a genuine problem to her but it’s so easy to take it as a joke so she just goes along. (Read “artificial lawns” on AO3 by necrosys its very well explained there)

Has THE most vile t-shirts ever and she wears them in public with a pair of long ads jorts like she’d Adam sandler

Like these <33 - she lives on a farm it’s true she told me

She’s actually pretty funny she just can’t tell a joke without laughing at it herself

She is banned from the kitchen in every kitchen in the world

Izzy Cody and Duncan would be such a fucked up trio I’d love them

I got this from @kijosakka but she’s a really good braided us give her like 20 minutes.

Still has all her baby teeth in a jar

I wanna write some angsty ones so bad but I’m not putting you guys through all that.

I truly believe that Heather and Izzy used to be so good friends but after Heather got a teste of sweet popularity she didn’t hesitate to leave Izzy behind.

She has a secret room in her room

Snacks on yogurt and frozen fruit

She’s covered in freckles so badly like it’s top to toe

Can raise one eyebrow

her mother or herself are the only ones that cut her hair

^ and she has probably never been to a proper hairdresser

That’s all i have for today don’t forget to like and subscribe if you want morir epic content 🔥🔥

[senka-mesecine]

"i've literally killed for you; who else can say that?" (saying via telepathy) and "you think this is my first rodeo?" when reader witnesses him killing someone with everyone's favourite handsome redneck bastard Barnes? 🔥

Die Twice.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

-

He drags the carcass along the squeaking floorboard like it's roadkill.

Holding the sorry fuck by the collar of the neckline with one hand, letting him go once he reaches the very tip of your feet's toes, allowing the motherfucker to limply drop there, never touching you but only just a mere inch away from you, letting him go with a thud not unlike a bloated, shit-filled sack, the whole shebang clean. No blood to trail along the ground behind him. He wanted it like that...in this particular occasion anyway. Barnes wasn't about to hide what he did from you, though. Quite the contrary. He dropped the sonofabitch in front of you like something lifeless and useless meant to be dropped so you'd get no delusions or ever miscalculate just who and what he was. What he was capable of doing. He holds your gaze in silence, watching you shiver in the corner, trapped there by a corpse and him looming over you both, cutting off your path. He's literally killed for you. Who else can say that? That's what he'd tell you if his eyes could talk wordlessly but he figured you knew that much already through the display at hand regardless how much you'd pretend you didn't to save grace. Ain' no point in empty speeches at this late hour if everything was already as obvious as it was. Barnes leans with his neck towards the spot where you stood paralyzed with fear. What's wrong? Ain' never seen a dead man before? Ain' never seen a man kill another man?

-"You think this is my first rodeo, hmm?"-

He finds time to tease, even now.

His humming authoritative and clipped, demanding answers.

Your lip quivers along with your entire jawline.

-"It's my first."-

You manage.

Oh, well, that much he knew.

You could just about tell by a person's eyes, their overall person.

Something about their airs could always reveal to him the truth of the matter that they neither took a life nor that they witnessed someone else take it and as much as he tended to leave dumbass comparisons to others it was like losing one's cherry --- why they always referred to new army recruits as just that; because they haven't earned their stripes. The casualty of innocence came bleeding out of the corner of your eyes like virgin's blood and there ain' nothing there could ever be done about that again; through this he had you in the last and only way he didn't as of yet, taking what was left of your soul's peace of mind and filling it with himself instead. The only thing Barnes didn't like was that you were effectively crying over this sack of shit motherfucker, trying to hold back sobs under tightly pressed together lips. -"Eyup. He's dead alright."- He mumbles, re-assessing the obvious like pouring salt over a gaping wound, staring down at the corpse with the nonchalance of someone discussing a flat tire. Barnes finds time to pull out a pack of Marlboro's out the carcass's pocket, push one into his mouth and light it himself solely because there was nobody here to do it for him. -"And seein' as how you're all bleedin' heart over it it's a shame this cocksucker couldn't die twice."- He tilts his head to the side, finding it's jealousy he felt. Jealousy over you being aggrieved and torn up in the first place, almost wishing he could shake this sonofabitch awake from his grave and place him in it a second time.

[visceravalentines]

OOOH!! mortician query 4 u, meg my beloved. would luv even a short lil play-by-play of what an average workday looks like for u. if there is an average!! I'm sure there's a TON of variation. I'm just. v v intrigued 👀👀👀 also!! not sure if u have answered this yet. but. how would u describe the smell of decomp? embalming fluid? I've seen u mention the smell clinging to u and. inquiring minds etc etc

MWAH. luv u forever

tysm my dearest!!! <333 i am putting the entire thing below a cut bc you really hit the talk button with the smells question and i don't need to inflict that on everybody lmao

my days are basically lego towers. there are many possible pieces and we fit them together however we need! my role at my current mortuary is largely meeting w families to make funeral arrangements, making all the phone calls and emails and filing the paperwork to Make The Funeral And Burial/Cremation Happen, helping them with any preparations they'd like to be involved in re: the deceased (dressing, doing hair, etc.), and then working the funeral itself. obviously this usually spans several days to a few weeks.

i also go on death calls, embalm, help get people dressed and cosmetized, get people ready for cremation, and transport bodies. everywhere. drivin them to other mortuaries we own, the crematory, the cemetery, wherever. probably at least a third of the driving i do involves a corpse buckled in behind me lol.

every day is different! the lego tower might be short or it might be so scary tall. my favorite days are the ones where i get to be out and about and busy, i don't like being cooped up with a grieving family for three hours (yikes that's half my job).

as for the smells.......oh the smells........they are genuinely very hard to describe. embalming fluid is often scented, so it smells kind of......chemical fruity. sweet and artificial. but formaldehyde gives off fumes, so often with the heavy stuff you're not smelling it so much as it is blinding you and searing your entire upper respiratory tract. imagine like......walking into a tiny bathroom that's been scrubbed with bleach. we call it "getting smoked out" when you have to physically remove yourself or perish. it can be brutal.

and decomposition my darling my beloved. it reeks, dude. but it's a clean stink. a reliable stink. far from the worst stink that the human body can produce. once you know what that smell is, you recognize it everywhere. roadkill, the meat aisle. one time i walked past a garbage can full of dog shit on a 95 degree day and that......that smelled like decomp.

fresh decomp smells much worse and has more variety. sometimes it's like the absolute worst fucking fart you've ever smelled and it never ends (i mean, that's literally what it is). sometimes it smells sickly-sour like meat that's gone off (also literally what it is), but like......so much of it. stale decomp i actually don't mind so much, but i am a freak. it smells musty. sweet the way an old library book is sweet. kind of wet, like wet fabric that hasn't dried properly. and it's cloying, like......you can taste it. crawls down your throat. sometimes after a bad death call in the middle of the night, you simply must shower. because you know for a fact you didn't get it on you.......but it's stuck in your nose and how are you gonna sleep with that. gosh it's my favorite ever. what an end awaits us all <3

[prongsfish]

sigh

im post blocked

anyway

FISHALICIOUS

WHAT ARE YOUR FAVOURITE EVAN ROSIER HEADCANONS

(ive been asking everyone because he's slowly becoming my favourite)

just now realising you asked this nearly a month ago i'm so sorry i don't know why i struggle with answering asks so much!! but anyways evan headcanons i will GLADLY give. my characterisation of him is less concrete than characters like barty or regulus but i think about him loads still i love him...

this is a classic ofc but i will always see him and pandora as twins!! i love siblings in media so much and i think it allows for suuupper interesting dynamics between them, even in canon

in muggle aus my go-to career for him is either a piercer or something in the medical science field. i can just picture him as this mildly off-putting medsci student who goes on to be a forensic pathologist or something, he's really intrigued by the human body and how it functions in various ways. could definitely also go the way of unlicensed surgeon or mad scientist who performs fucked up experiments on people but that sort of thing doesn't quite fit into every fic lmaoo

i've always thought of him as more of a piercings guy than a tattoo guy (which is the opposite to barty). he'd definitely have both but i associate him more with piercings if that makes sense? i imagine he'd have a labret, bridge, stretched lobes (~7/8"), stretched septum (~0g), eyebrows (normal and middle placements), and high nostrils. all symmetrical!! plus probably some other non-facial piercings

he'd love sci-fi, thriller, and horror (especially psychological) films. anything super tense and probably confusing

when he was a child he and pandora would trap and kill insects. they'd spend ages examining little bug bodies and dissecting them with sticks and stuff... as he grew older he became more and more interested in bigger animals. occasionally he would kill animals himself but more often he'd search for those already dead, especially roadkill. once he was finished with any given specimen he'd carefully remove, clean, and reconstruct their skeletons to give to pandora. she didn't like the organs stuff as much as he did but she loved collecting bones and taxidermy insects, in exchange one year for his birthday (10-14th, maybe) she spent ages searching to buy him a surgical set from an antique store

waaay scarier than barty. if you don't know them you might be more initially scared by barty but while barty is loud and crazy and violent and laughs at pain/danger, evan is creepy. he knows way a million and one ways to kill someone without leaving behind any evidence. he knows every single pressure point on the human body. someone mentions a medicine they've taken their whole life for the first time and when someone else asks what it is he can explain in minute detail exactly how it works to the point where not even the person who takes it knew even half of what he says. he's super quiet moving without even meaning to be so he scares the shit out of people all the time. he doesn't blink as often as he should but just often enough that you don't notice until you're paying attention. and this is all revealed gradually, whereas barty's most "scary" traits are purposefully the most surface level things about him

he loooves medical dramas. he's watched tons of them. he HATES the good doctor though, purely on principle because once someone said that must be his favourite because he's autistic. his actual favourite is house

he runs cold and NEVER wears shorts. lots of beanies and jackets

these were so random and i went on a few tangents but oh well i did like five other things between writing these so it's a bit of a mess LMAO

[insideliascrazyhead]

One thing Yasushi that feral gremlin that he is would totally do is answer the phone each time with a different totally weird kinda creepy sentence,for example:

_Thank you for calling Billy Bob´s roadkill cafe straight from your fender,served hot and tender. -Madam Shannon´s house of pain how may I hurt you today? -Joe´s taxidermy you snuff´em we stuff´em And each time the others would either totally loose their shit or think he lost it.You either wanna call to find out what he´s gonna say next or you will never call him again.