#yee haw sunday

[in-my-loki-feels]

Lokius 😱 (H/C #13) for the bed sharing prompts? (Whichever flavor of Lokius variants strikes your fancy is just fine with me 😉)

Thank you for the prompt and for letting me pick the flavor! I got bit by the cowboy Lokius bug and, in my usual fashion, went way overboard. Sorry to dump 3k on you instead of a nice short fill, but I hope you enjoy it! (Feel free to add it to your TBR list 🤣)

Happy Yee Haw Sunday, everyone!

😱 Can't fall asleep (danger)

CW blood, mild injury description

The gunshots came first. Then the shouts for help. 

Mobius wheeled his horse around, one hand dropping to his revolver, and saw a man almost falling over himself as he ran towards them. Mobius had accompanied the stagecoach along its full route, worried about recent robberies, but it seemed trouble had found him in the next town over instead of on the road. This wasn’t his town to protect, but that wouldn’t stop him wantin’ to help.

“Shoot out!” the newcomer gasped. He wore an apron so it wasn’t much of a surprise when his next words were, “Saloon!”

There were gasps from those inside the stagecoach and the crowd that’d come to meet them.

Mobius swung down, hastily wound Brandy’s reins around the nearby hitching post, and pulled his rifle free of the saddle holster. The bartender came to a stumbling halt and Mobius grabbed his arm to keep him upright. 

“What happened?”

“S-shoot out. Dunno why. Jus’ had one customer, then some men came in—mean lookin’ fellas—and next thing I knew, they all started shooting!” 

“Where’s your sheriff?” 

The bartender shrugged helplessly. With Mobius’ luck, whoever looked after this town was sleeping off a long night of drinking somewhere. 

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, but he headed in the direction the bartender had come. The street had emptied, though not everyone had retreated inside. Gawkers pressed against buildings, watching him pass with wide eyes. Some people had no sense. 

Mobius flinched as another gunshot sounded, but it was just the one. It was a reminder for him to get his own damn self out of the street. He went left, hurrying along the building fronts. A few people still lingering to watch ducked out of his way. The general store sat on a corner, with the saloon around the bend, so Mobius paused there to peer around the building. 

A man in dusty black clothes stood out front, two pistols in hand. Mobius’ heart stopped, until he looked closer and saw the man’s profile was all wrong. Another figure in black lay crumpled in a heap on the saloon steps. 

“How much longer you gonna hide in there?” the man called to whoever was still in the saloon. “I got more men comin’ than you got bullets.” 

Well, wasn’t this a real bag o’ nails. The man could be bluffing, but if he was tellin’ the truth, whoever was trapped was in real trouble. Mobius didn’t know what their argument was—and frankly didn’t care. He only wanted to keep the town from being shot up any more than it already was. 

“How ‘bout we—” The rest of what Mobius planned to say was lost when he ducked back ’round the corner to dodge a bullet. The onlookers nearby finally went inside. Thank the Lord. Mobius stayed where he was and raised his voice. “Look, fellas, I got no quarrel with ya, but you need to take this outta town.” 

There was a brief pause, followed by a man—he assumed the man in black—yelling, “Who the fuck are you?” 

“Nobody,” Mobius answered. “I’m just lookin’ out for the townsfolk.” Naming himself might get even more bullets sent his way. 

“Mind yer own business!” 

Mobius chanced a look around the corner and saw the man had split his attention between the door of the saloon and Mobius’ hiding spot. There had been no movement from inside the building. 

“You sure anyone’s even alive in there?” Mobius said. “Your business might be finished already.”

Another silence, during which Mobius took another look. The man was watching the saloon doors, considering Mobius’ words. 

Mobius said, “Let me come out and we can go have a look together. How’s that sound?”

A shorter pause before the response came. 

“Alright, come on out, but keep yer hands up.” 

He didn’t say anything about weapons so Mobius took a chance. He raised both hands, one still holding his rifle, and began to slide around the corner. At this distance, he couldn’t see the man’s face clearly, but he caught the sudden narrowing of his eyes. 

“A sheri—” 

The first shot caught the man in the shoulder, spinning him around. The second dropped him like a stone. Mobius crouched, heart pounding, and waited for follow-up shots. The man had stood out there so long, Mobius really had thought the person inside must be dead or out of bullets. 

“Goddamn it,” he muttered again. Now he had to hope whoever was left had more sense than the dead men. 

He slid around the corner and hurried to the side of the saloon building. The man in the street had been in plain sight, but Mobius had the advantage of cover. 

“Alright,” he called, “if that man was tellin’ the truth, you ain’t got long before company shows up. Your best bet is lettin’ me in, so I can see about helpin’ you out of town.” 

Silence was his answer. Were they finally out of ammo? Succumbed to their wounds? Mobius hunched over—wincing as his back protested—and tried to stay below the windows as he crept towards the doorway. He paused there, but there was still no response. 

“I’m comin’ in.” He took a deep breath and then stood, raised his hands, and pushed through the doors. 

The saloon was a mess. Tables and chairs overturned, bottles behind the bar shot out. There were two more bodies, dressed much like the ones outside. So far, it seemed to match the bartender’s story of a gang ambushing one person. No sign of who that was, though. 

“Anyone alive in here?”

“Unfortunately,” came the strained response. Mobius’ stomach dropped. The voice had come from behind the bar and was worryingly familiar. He pushed his way through the mess and came around the edge of the counter to see Loki Laufeyson sprawled on the floor, half-propped up against the bar, his gun steady on Mobius. 

“Goddamn it.”

Loki wore his usual all black getup, but he had one hand pressed to his thigh and the palm was stained dark red. Mobius almost swore again, for all the good it would do. 

“What the hell’re you doin’ here?” 

“Enjoying a whiskey,” Loki said, feigning calm; his voice gave away the pain he must’ve in. “At least until this lot showed up.”

“And what did they want with you?” 

Loki shrugged. “I have made a great many enemies over the years.” 

“Yeah, well, I ain’t exactly been making friends either.” A lawman never did. Mobius glanced at the door. “Any idea if he was telling the truth about more comin’?” 

Loki finally lowered his revolver. “It’s possible. There are more of them than I shot here.” 

Mobius smoothed down his mustache and tried to keep a cool head. Last he’d seen of Loki, the outlaw had been slippin’ out of Mobius’ house before the sun had come up. That was how most of their encounters went these days and as grateful as Mobius was to see him, he coulda asked for better circumstances.  

He set the rifle on the bar and knelt beside Loki; he didn’t miss the way Loki’s gun hand twitched. 

“Where’s your horse?” Mobius asked as he pulled off his neck kerchief. He eyed Loki’s leg, wondering if one kerchief was enough—and tried not to think about how he oughtta know with as often as he’d had his hands on Loki—then reached for Loki’s kerchief. This brought the gun back up, Loki’s eyes wide and panicked, like a cornered animal. Mobius froze, then moved more slowly, turning Loki’s kerchief around so he could untie it. 

Then he tied the two together and tapped the hand Loki had pressed to his wound. 

“I need to bind this before you bleed out,” he said as calmly as he could; his stomach was churning at the thought. Loki’s chest was rising and falling too quickly for the composed facade he was clinging to, but he lowered the gun and moved his hand, looking away. 

Mobius wrapped the makeshift bandage around Loki’s thigh, wincing when Loki hissed in pain. He didn’t even know if the bullet was still in there—something he’d have to figure out once he got Loki out of here. If he could do that, if Loki didn’t die on the way. 

He shut that thought right down, rising to peer over the bar. Still no sign of anyone outside. He looked down at Loki, who watched him warily. 

“Where’s your horse?” 

“Out back.” 

And Mobius’ was with the stagecoach. His mind spun with possible plans. Did the townsfolk know who Loki was? The bartender hadn’t said Laufeyson was cornered, so they might not. Mobius could claim he was taking Loki to safety, but what would happen if word got out that the man he helped was the infamous bandit? Should he reveal who it was and say he was takin’ him in? Mobius didn’t see Loki going along with that one. 

“Can you ride?” Mobius asked, and couldn’t help the dubious note in his voice. It sparked annoyance in Loki’s eyes. He grit his teeth and dragged himself to his feet, leaning his weight heavily on the uninjured leg. 

“Of course I can.” 

Stubborn son of a bitch.  

“Two bucks says you collapse a mile outta town.” Loki’s glare bounced off him. “Look, here’s what we’re gonna do.” 

—

Loki refused at first—too uppity for such an undignified plan, Mobius guessed—but he must’ve been hurtin’ more than he let on because he didn’t push past Mobius to take his chances on his own. Mobius just hoped he didn’t bleed out before they got out of town. 

Mobius went through the doors of the saloon first to stand on the porch. 

“Everything’s alright now.” He spotted the bartender—along with several others—peering around the corner he’d used for cover. “Any sign of your sheriff?” 

The man shook his head, then cautiously came out of hiding. “They all dead?” 

“’Fraid so, and your bar’s a mess.” 

The man looked dismayed but not surprised. 

“Your customer was a wanted man, so I’m takin’ the body with me to report it. I don’t recognize the rest of ‘em.” He gestured to the bodies on the steps and in the dirt. “Maybe your sheriff will have some idea.” 

“O’course. T-thank you, sir,” the bartender stammered, and came closer to give him a clammy handshake. More people were starting to gather, but Mobius needed to get movin’. 

“I didn’t do nothin’,” Mobius said, and he really hadn’t. Unless you counted him distracting the bandit so Loki could take the shot. “Can someone fetch my horse while I get the body?” 

Every time he referred to Loki as a body, his chest tightened, but he tried not to show it. He went back inside, crossing to the bar quickly, before anyone followed him in. Loki was sitting out of sight, still conscious.

“You ready?” Mobius asked. 

Loki grit his teeth. “As much as I can be, I suppose.” He holstered his pistol, but tension radiated from him. 

“This’ll probably hurt,” Mobius said apologetically. “Jus’ try to keep quiet.” 

Loki’s eyes narrowed—as if he could look any more mad than he already was—but he said nothing as Mobius knelt down and pulled him closer. For a second, it was like they were about to embrace and Mobius’ breath caught at the thought. Then he bent and dragged Loki’s weight across one shoulder.

Loki made a noise through gritted teeth, his whole body tense, as Mobius staggered to his feet. Before Mobius could remind him, Loki went limp, his arms hanging down Mobius’ back. Mobius put a hand on Loki’s thigh, half-covering the kerchief bandage. He was glad the redness in his face could be attributed to the strain of carrying a grown man. Then he went out back. 

This was the hard part: transferring Loki to his horse. Mobius did it as carefully as he could, draping Loki sideways over the saddle. He knew it wasn’t painless but Loki stayed quiet. Seeing him like that reminded Mobius too much of when he’d taken Loki’s man back to bury him. He had to reach out and put a hand on Loki’s back to feel his breaths, shallow they might be. 

Loki’s mount nudged Mobius with his nose. Good thing all those apple bribes had brought the horse around, or this plan wouldn’t have worked. 

“Go easy now,” Mobius murmured as he gathered the reins, then slowly led the horse around to the front of the saloon. 

There were far more people gathered now, but someone had fetched Brandy, who whickered when she caught sight of him. Or maybe she was greetin’ the black stallion followin’ him.

“Thank ya kindly,” Mobius said, bringing Loki’s horse close enough to tie the reins to Brandy’s saddle. He looked around, catchin’ eyes with the bartender. “If anyone comes along, you tell ’em exactly what happened: there was a shootout and then Sheriff Mobius took the wanted man’s body with him when he left.” 

That’d put trouble on their tail, but Mobius didn’t want these innocent people getting tangled up in somethin’ that wasn’t their business. He swung up into the saddle and turned Brandy towards home, nudging her into as gentle a walk as he could. With Loki’s mount in toe, he headed out of town. 

Loki wouldn’t make it the whole way back in the condition he was in, so Mobius’ plan was to find a place to hole up and let the outlaw recover enough to ride on his own. On the way into town, he’d seen a spot that could work: a rocky hill with enough trees to obscure them. It would be an obvious place for anyone chasin’ them to look, but they weren’t exactly spoiled for choices. 

Once in cover, Mobius slid off his horse and hurried over to Loki, who had remained still and silent the whole ride. 

“Loki?” He put a hand on Loki’s back and felt his heartbeat, weak as it was. 

“Mobius…” Loki attempted to lift himself up and started to slide off the saddle feet-first. Mobius caught him with both arms around his waist, before Loki’s weight could land on his injured leg. Loki groaned at the sudden stop.

“I gotcha,” Mobius murmured and flushed at the intimacy of the hold. Not the time or place, he reminded himself. He dragged Loki over to the most shaded spot and lowered him down. Then he went to move the horses out of sight. 

He couldn’t help looking over at Loki again and again, watching for signs he was getting worse. Loki was propped up against a rock, eyes closed and lips pressed together tightly. He was awake, for now. 

One eye cracked open as Mobius came back to his side with a water bag, but he wouldn’t let Mobius help, taking it from him and raising it to his lips. Mobius chose not to comment on how Loki’s hand shook, instead looking at the wound. The kerchiefs were stained but with all the jostling, it weren’t a surprise to see it had bled more.

“Is the bullet in there?” 

Loki shook his head. “Passed through.” He glanced down, then away. “Or so I believe.” 

Mobius chewed his lip. “Can I check?” 

Loki eyed him, pale, drenched in sweat, and still looking dangerous as hell. Then he looked away again. “If you must.” 

Mobius placed a hand lightly on Loki’s thigh, feeling him twitch, then slid it around to the underside. It felt intimate, even under these circumstances. He probed with his fingers cautiously along the edge of the kerchief, then pulled back when Loki suddenly hissed. A knot in Mobius’ stomach loosened. 

An exit wound meant Loki wouldn’t have to suffer Mobius diggin’ around in his leg. Didn’t mean they were out of danger yet.

“We should wash it,” Mobius said. The outlaw pressed his lips together, then took a shaky breath and said, tersely, “Fine.” 

Aware they might be on borrowed time, Mobius worked as quickly as he could. He used one of Loki’s knives to cut his pant leg open so he could rinse the wound with water before following with liberal splashes of whiskey. Loki paled even further but stayed conscious. Mobius dug through his saddlebags for a clean shirt and tore it into strips to rebind Loki’s wound. 

He half-expected a dry comment about how often Mobius ruined his own clothing for Loki, but the outlaw seemed too focused on staying awake. Once done, Mobius checked the path they’d taken but saw no signs of pursuit yet. 

“Sun’s goin’ down,” he said, unnecessarily, but it got Loki’s attention. “You get some rest and we might be able to leave in the mornin’. I’ll keep watch til then.” 

Loki was looking a mite bit cornered again, which made Mobius sigh. 

“You went along with all that—” he waved towards the horses “—but can’t trust me to guard you while you sleep?” He could’ve pointed out the number of times Loki had seen fit to sleep in Mobius’ presence, but maybe the sex made that different. 

Or being wounded and vulnerable. 

Mobius blew out a breath and went back to the horses. He’d left the saddles on, in case they needed a hasty getaway, but he could brush around them. 

“Not like I’m stickin’ my neck out enough as is,” he grumbled to himself. Brandy flicked her tail in agreement, or so he told himself. Loki’s mount had nothing to add on the subject. 

He half-expected Loki to have passed out when he came back, but the outlaw was still awake…barely. 

Keepin’ himself conscious out of pure spite, Mobius thought grumpily. 

He began gathering up the remains of his shirt and damn near jumped outta his skin when Loki grabbed his wrist. He looked up into green eyes set in a face tense with pain. 

“Thank you, Mobius,” Loki said quietly. Mobius’ traitorous heart flipped in his chest. He laid a hand over Loki’s. 

“’Course. Get some rest. I’ll wake ya if I hear anythin’.”

Loki stared at him a moment more, then gave a small nod. He closed his eyes, head tipped back against the rock, and was out like a light. Mobius watched him—the frighteningly pale skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the slightly parted lips he knew too well—and went to shove the scraps of his shirt in his saddle bags. When he came back, he leaned against the rocks opposite Loki where he’d have a view of the road, rested his rifle in the crook of his arm, and prepared for the long night ahead.

From this prompt list. Other fills will be under this tag.

[iwtv-az-hours]

I'm sorry, 18th century Armand is so incredibly hot to me (both looking like death & the ponytail couture in palettes that make his skin pop) happy flippin birthday to me

[traumatrios]

the name of the game

pairing… dodge mason x fem!reader

wc… 2.3k

summary… you don’t talk to strangers— but there’s something different about dodge. was it his charm? his looks? or the way you couldn’t get him off of your mind?

warnings… ends in smut, face riding, drinking (not drunk sex), iconic red cowboy boots, brief pain pleasure, dodge is soooo delusional

josie’s notes! um i kinda don’t remember how panic ended for dodge (i finished it a week ago) so take the beginning plot with a grain of salt

otherwise enjoy my lovelies ❤️

Dodge didn’t have many friends to begin with, but with most of the kids his age out of Cape and attending college, he did feel quite lonely. 

He’s not a stranger to the fact that college wasn’t in the cards for him– he had too many responsibilities. He knew his sister could very much take care of herself, but lazy Sunday’s on the couch next to her was where his heart truly belonged. 

His mother needed help managing the restaurant, because as much as she prided herself for her hardworking motherhood and independence, he saw the breath of relief she had whenever he was there.

He was perfectly fine as a blue collar working adult. What did he need college for anyway? It was too expensive, especially after the necessary but monetarily disappointing ending to Panic. He was too old to apply now.

Dodge took his time off of working at his bar to nurse the foam of a beer from another in a neighboring town. 

Was this really what his future was? He was dangerously nearing a seat in the same boat as the men surrounding him in the ambience of the dive bar: old (21) with a family at home (he was unattached with a sister and a single mother 5 minutes away from his apartment). 

Dodge might as well accept it; this was his destiny.

But the glimmer of fate came to him through a vision he wasn’t sure whether he was imagining from the wild dreams in his head or the material of a Playboy magazine. 

The mechanical bull sitting in the middle of the recreational space of the bar with a pretty girl attached to its saddle.

Dodge couldn’t tell if you were a saddle bronc rider (like himself) or just intensely familiar with your hips. You rode the mechanical bull like it was a kids bicycle with training wheels.

But with how you grinded against the fur of the mechanical bull with the rhythm it was bucking, he landed on the latter.

It was entrancing to look at, he admitted. The winks you sent into the collecting audience only strengthened his hopes of getting one shot at him. 

The mechanics continued to whir and spin you around, pathetic attempts to throw you off of the attraction you were obviously very skilled at riding. Have you been here before? Has he just never noticed you?

How could he never notice you.

Before he knew it, Dodge was leaning against the inflatable rim of the attraction, eyes wide in awe of your performance. One hand gripped the braided rope attached to the nape of the bull’s neck whilst the other waved in the air freely to your girlfriends, who had been screaming your name in the same way Dodge heard it yelled by paparazzi during award shows his sister watched on the weekends through the television.

The moderator of the attraction seemed just as impressed as anyone else watching you, even holding the twinge of suspicion some kept in the quirk of their brow. A crowd eventually formed around your performance, whistling and cheering you on as the meat of your calves squeezed the sides of the bull’s stomach.

Dodge thinks he heard a “yee haw!” come from the intoxicated group of guys (no younger than 30) stuffed in a booth attached to the wall facing your ass.

Bright digits flashed on the screen beside the control booth, announcing the new high score of Big Star Bar. 2 minutes and 36 seconds.

As you unmounted the artificial bull, Dodge didn’t pull his eyes away from you like the rest of the crowd did. You weren’t a one hit wonder, he had to know your secrets. What was a girl with hips like yours doing in a random dive bar in Texas?

Dodge wasn’t sure how to approach you, especially after losing you in the crowd of girls in identical cowboy hats and guys in flannel. He was lucky enough to skin his eyes over the bar and spot your sparkling red boots tapping and gliding against the dingy dance floor.

The boy filed through the crowd until the heat in the air turned from heavy to sweaty dance floor heavy. 

Dodge scanned the horseshoe— painted? —on the back of your jean jacket and how it paired with your cowboy boots. It felt like something out of a movie, seeing your outfit.

“This your first rodeo?” he greeted, though from his stance behind your back, he wasn’t surprised by the small jump in your shoulders. But when you turned around, you were just as beautiful up close than you were on that damn bull. Dodge noticed the thick pieces of glitter scattered across your collarbone and how it seemed to match with the other girls in your party.

“Sorry. I don’t talk to strangers,” you shrugged, offering Dodge a friendly smile in apology.

Your gaze didn’t even falter or scan him, just unwaveringly looking him in the eye before you turned around again to chat with your friends. 

“Aren’t those the most fun to talk to though?” Dodge tried, and god did it form a pit in his stomach to feel like one of those guys that pushed for a girl's attention— a bad guy.

This got you to turn back around again.

Truthfully, his looks were hard to deny; especially with that ivory colored cowboy hat on his head. Otherwise, he wore a navy tee with a pair of dark jeans and black boots; the simplest thing ever. 

One hand was stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, the other tapping its digits against the sweaty glass of a bottle of beer. 

“Do you really wanna talk? Grandma taught me that boys like you never want to just talk.” 

Dodge couldn’t fight against that, not confidently at least. He knew he didn’t want to just talk, but he also didn’t know what else he’d want to do. Is this what being in limbo felt like?

You gave Dodge the grace of a second before pointing an eyebrow at him and turning again, only this time walking off with your friends to a different corner of the bar.

Dodge was too stubborn to talk growing up, and in this moment— and only this moment —did he curse himself for doing so.

In Cape, everyone was a regular. 

It didn’t matter where you went or with whom, you were known better than the alphabet.

When Dodge came into town, he became a regular. In most places, at least.

He knew you weren’t from Cape because you weren’t a regular here. Which is why he was surprised to see the same red heels he’s been dreaming about since the weekend stroll into the establishment he worked in.

You knew what you were doing, of course. You knew about Dodge Mason because Gina knew about Dodge Mason, and she knew about Dodge Mason from her boyfriend Daniel.

That’s how you got here, wasn’t it? But, Dodge didn’t need to know that.

He didn't need to know how your girlfriends teased you for playing hard to get or how you began sweating just from looking into his piercing eyes.

And when those piercing eyes caught the sight of the painted horseshoe on your back, he thought it must be my lucky day.

As you sat at the bar, Dodge couldn’t think of any other way to praise whatever god trailed you in here rather than repeating the same ‘thank you’s in his head.

“Evening, lucky,” he coined the nickname from the symbol. You fought a smile at his wit, instead rolling your tongue along the flesh of your lip. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you sir?”

Dodge chortled at your act, but your face stood unwavering. Your tits looked perfect while pressed against the bar, but Dodge managed to pull his eyes a little higher to see the small tick in your neck signaling your so-called ‘confusion’.

You must’ve not liked his silence, because you picked up the silence with a small sigh and your order.

“May I have a shirley temple with just a dash of lime juice, please?” you batted your eyelashes at the unconvinced boy, being met with the playful roll of his eyes. 

Despite himself, Dodge began to concoct your beverage. You were strange, he thought. Where did you come from? Were you visiting? Would he see you again if nothing came from this conversation? How would he be sure?

He had to make sure this one counted, not like that pathetic excuse of conversation at the bar. The clicking of your nails rippling against the waxed bar behind his back mimicked the ticking clock– he might as well shoot a shot. Perhaps it was an easy target, especially with his luck sprawled against your back. 

“Did your grandma also teach you these manners?” Dodge planted the highball in front of your impatient hands. You took a look at the glass, then him, then to the glass again, where your eyes stayed as you tasted the drink. The sugar spreads across your tongue, satisfying its parched state.

“I still don’t talk to strangers,” you said, but the smirk that played on your face told Dodge something different. Your game wouldn’t fool him, not when you drop it just as limp as that. Did you want him like he wanted you?

You two weren’t strangers, no, he knew you were meant for something more. 

“So you admit to it,” he turned his head from the focus on your drink, only to catch your face hot with guilt. He chuckled to himself at your game.

“We ain’t strangers. This is our second meeting, perhaps fate is sending a message?” God, when did Dodge Mason become so sappy? He was grasping at the ends of a rope he wasn’t sure you were on the other end of.

But then you smiled. You smiled and twirled the skinny black straw around the ice of your drink. “And what message would that be?” you challenged.

Dodge leaned his elbows on the dark oak of the bar. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue before his proposal, or rather, ‘the message’. “You should come home with me tonight.” He kept it at that; simple and charming. 

You giggled like a schoolgirl at his confidence. By the looks of it, he had been a lustful young adult, admittedly like you, with maybe a studio apartment. Your mind could only think of one thing he planned to do if you accepted the invitation, and you knew it wasn’t puzzles and lemonade. 

Were you opposed? Not entirely. 

“And what would this night entail? What do I get from entering your home? You gon’ drive me home after?” You matched his stance, leaning forward on the folded elbows you stuck to the waxy countertop. Dodge felt a stream of intimidation flow through his veins at the way you pointed your eyebrow at him.

“Might have to come to find out,” he replied, swiping his tongue over the toothpick that hung from his mouth. You couldn’t restrain your eyes from flickering down to the pair of lips. 

You were sure the sharp metal of his handle left a burning mark when he pushed you against it in the barren hallway of his apartment building. But with the incessant kissing of his lips distracting your mouth– and eventually everything else –it didn’t matter much to you anymore.

Your frame had been stripped of all fabric, laying in addition to his in the ratty hamper dejected in the corner of his room. Soon enough, he was insisting on a third round to cure the burdens of his barren tongue.

“Wanna see how you ride up close, baby,” he reasoned through a hushed tone, kissing the clammy skin of your temple.

How could you refuse? Especially when his hands began to rub those soothing circles into your hips and the tip of his tongue licked the shell of your ear during the whisper.

When he was prodding his tongue into your entrance a few minutes later, you knew it was the right decision to follow him out of the door. With your tits bouncing underneath the warm light thrusting through the ceiling of the sauna he called his room, Dodge took it upon himself to bruise your skin of this (rather heated) interaction through two large grips of his hands on your ass whilst you fucked his face. 

Dodge’s curious tongue soon turned into a hungry one, accompanied by the brief scraping of his teeth against the puffy lips of your pussy. The small bumping of his skull against the wooden headboard spurred him on rather than slowed him down, and you hoped the string of moans and mewls coming from your mouth were enough gratitude to satisfy his desires.

Due to popular demand– a loose request that fell in pieces from Dodge’s dumbstruck position underneath you –you wore his cowboy hat, glaze sticking from your hairline onto the weaved material. Dodge didn’t mind, in fact, he reveled in the thought of that same sweat mixing with his own during a rodeo. Dripping down his face just like how the sudden flood of your sweet juices were coating the stubble on his chin and the point of his nose. 

Dodge lived up to his word the morning after, tapping the ends of his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel to the tune of Bruce Springsteen’s voice singing “Glory Days” from the beaten up radio of Dodge’s Cadillac. Summers' heat wavered through the air of Cape even when Dodge drove past the speed limit on a lonely road. 

When you arrived at the doorstep of your grandmother's house, Dodge didn’t worry about the possibility of seeing you again, only admiring the way you swayed your hips and clicked your heels against the pavement during your strut. The corners of his lips pulled up into something that was not quite a smirk. 

He liked how your game was turning out.

traumatrios, 2024

divider by @saradika-graphics !

[ak319]

- ,, 𝐑𝐃𝐑𝟐

┆⋆⑅˚₊YEE and dare I say it, HAW⋆⑅˚₊┆

───Sub-m.list(concept)

──Arthur Morgan

─ Platonic

Part I Part II Part III : a short fic (completed) You run away You run away alter/2 You get injured Getting caught Daffodils and tears You get sick Sugar, spice and everything nice In all Black Pa's Princess Damn Pest

─Romantic

Rose Hats and Rough Hearts You are jealous She wanted sundays Kisses on your bruises Babysitter Pregnant and Protected Damn Pest Corset Diaries Owed And Paid

─Drabbles

Bonding time Moi horsey Oh Scandalous Men

──Sadie Adler

─ Platonic

Soulmates

──John Marston

─Romantic

Word of Claim Daddy troubles Corset Diaries

─ Platonic

The Sins Of My Father His Little Girl, His Big Problem

[king-candybug-backup]

July 6..... Sunday.......

THE RECKONING DRAWS NEAR

no pressure ofc lmao take your time and take care of yourself buT NEW CHAPTSER SOON MAYBE?!?!?!???!??

YEE-HAW, really really hoping to have it posted tomorrow, but it'll be Tuesday at the very latest lmao, I think I can do tomorrow though because this is one of my all-time favourite chapters and I'm getting through it quite fast 😂 I LOVE MAKING TURBO SUFFER WHEEEEE 💖💖💖💖

Will have a cover WIP posted to tease chapter 18 in probably like an hour or so, too! Drawing just takes FOREVERRRR LOL

[wolfpup026]

Seven Sentence Yee-haws Sunday

Thanks for the tags @devilbearingtrouble and @in-my-loki-feels!

I've been working on the Avengers AU but since today is officially yeehaw sunday Loki gets a cowboy hat 🤠

No pressure tags: @cha-melodius, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @blackbirdofasgard, @lgwilt, @mirilyawrites

[silverandarsenic-hcs]

Skeletal, Chapter Five: Lachryma, Part Two.

AO3. Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four

2 Corinthians 4:18 So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal

With frameless glasses perched on the bridge of his knobby nose, Paolo skimmed the papers in his hands like the Sunday paper. “What is that for?” V pointed to the stone altar which caught his attention the first time they entered the church, above ground. The ladder was a long climb up, and Paolo waited for a few minutes while V stared at the door to the outside world, knowing that he was debating whether or not to make a break for it. Two had tried before. Neither got to leave. V always preferred the horrors he knew to those he did not - almost always, at least. 

“What do you think it’s for?” Paolo asked. V opted out. “Will you sit down? Your pacing is making me uncomfortable.” 

“I haven’t moved since we came up.” 

“Yes, but you are standing so still that it feels to me like you are running circles around me like Dew. I can see your heart beating in your chest like a… rodent .” V sat beside Paolo on the front pew, a safe distance apart. After missing out on the first opportunity for a handshake, they had not touched once. 

“What is Dew?” He asked. He picked at his fingers even through his extremely tight, restrictive leather gloves, embellished only with bare grey threads and worn in the palms from many a hopeless night. 

“Who is Dew.” Paolo crossed one leg over the other, really only hooking his ankle around his other thigh. V skirted a few inches right to avoid his knee. “He is an animal. He and the others will be here soon. The girls will cry for you, be prepared for that.” To be cried for implies that some type of terrible tragedy would fall upon V very shortly, one worth weeping over, even grieving. He placed his hand over his heart like the touch would slow it. It did not. “I have a few questions for you, then we will do some tests, and then the work begins. I only wanted to come up here so we wouldn’t be disturbed. Are you ready?” V shrugged quickly in a way that made Paolo cringe. “What are some things that you like?” 

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I’m not you. Just, tell me some things that bring you joy.” V laced his fingers together to stop from scratching. The room where V kept things that brought him joy was a small grey prison cell, where he locked up each of his happinesses to keep them safe or stop them from getting out. 

“Um… well… I like soft fabrics. Things like that?” Paolo nodded him on. “I think I like films, but I have not seen very many of them. Animals- well, pets. Cats, namely. Being clean. Trains. Reading. Anything, really. I like Western stories about cowboys and the sort. Yee haw and- well, anyways. I used to dream about being a cowboy with a gun on my hip and a great big hat when I was a boy.” None of this impressed Paolo enough for him to even react. He wrote down each thing as V listed them. 

“Okay. And dislikes?” That room was not a room at all, but a sprawling meadow over a mountain range, with bright green grass, pastel skies with cotton clouds, and a fresh breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers and icy streams. 

“Loud noises. Particularly scratching, cracking, slapping, and crunching. People who speak too loudly. People who speak too quietly. Being touched. Public speaking. Introductions. Goodbyes. Broken dishes. Dirty things. Extremely short people, because it makes me feel like I’m talking down to them- I wish I wasn’t so tall. Dancing. Fast music. The radio, AM or FM. Fast cars. Running.” Paolo watched V ramble out of the corner of his grey eyes with what one may call delighted indignance. “Swimming. Having unclean hands. Forgetting things. How my middle finger hurts after long days of writing. Rulers. Scales. Maybe any method of measurement, I find it to be-”

“Alright, that’s quite enough. What do you love?” 

“If I say God will you strike me?”

“No- V I am not going to strike you. Get that through your big head. No one here is going to be abusing you. Though I will laugh at that answer, because how can you say that you love the man when it is his house you were brutalized in? Most Catholics just have Stockholm Syndrome, if you asked me, but no one does.”

“What is that?” Paolo pinched the skin between his eyes and wrote down God in bold capital letters. 

“It’s how you feel about God, V. That’s what that feeling is. Now tell me what you hate.” 

“I cannot say that there is a single thing I hate in this world.” He said softly. 

“You just listed a hundred things you don’t like.”

“I also don’t like exaggeration.”

“And you can’t name one thing you hate?” There was nothing to hate because there was nothing V could not explain to himself. He could see the goodness in everyone, even the worst sort, and believed that anyone with a shred of kindness in their heart was not worth hating. Those who beat him fed him. Those who groped him buttoned his clothes. Those who blinded him showed him the way. “How… inspirational.” When Paolo finished this laundry list of dislikes, he put his paper to the side and crossed his arms, his shirt wrapping tightly around his biceps. “Alright. Strip.”

“Pardon me?” In a jump, V slipped off the pew onto his hands and knees, and crawled away like a crab a few paces before jumping up and to the other side of the altar. All of the candles in the small room made it impossibly hot. Add being warm to the list.

“ Satanas… what did I just tell you? It is a medical examination.” 

“Are you a doctor?” 

“I could be.”

“That is not an answer.”

“V, make my life easy. Take your fucking clothes off.” 

“No.” V pulled his jacket even tighter over his chest. 

“Now.”

“No. I am Papa and I am making a scene. You have to listen.” 

“That goes for everyone else. Not me . This is non negotiable. Strip naked or I will send you back to the ministry for them to deal with. And I am sure they will send you right back. So unless you want a vacation with those fucking fools, you’ll drop your pants.” The idea of the ministry was no longer mildly uncomfortable to V, but wholly disgusting. He said no one is going to hurt me, but I don’t trust him. It’s not great here, but it’s terrible there. They would just send me right back too. V turned and slipped his black jacket off his shoulders. He had never been asked to strip by a doctor before - come to think of it, he had only met one, and only once when he was eleven years old and in the later stages of dying of pneumonia. There, Paolo mumbled. V’s fingers fumbled over every pearlescent button, and he tightened when he allowed the fabric to fall to the floor. Nothing happened. God was not in the candles, or the brick wall he was focusing on, or the fabric of his loose underpants, and definitely not in Paolo, which would have meant V was completely alone except for the other thing he felt watching him. He had no idea what it was, but it sent a chill up the ridges of his spine. He expected to find a pair of glowing eyes staring back at him everywhere he looked. The two men were not as alone in that chapel as he made it out to be. V stepped out of his trousers with his hands over his crotch, and took tiny brave steps on the carpet back to Paolo, who’s entire expression illuminated at the sight of him. 

“Christ, boy…” It was not only being naked that made V sweat, but what his pale skin revealed to the world. There was scarcely one square inch of his body that was not covered with puffy pink scar tissue. Some were newer, some were very old, some bigger and some smaller. V could call to mind each exact situation that led to every wound as easily as he could conjure up his master. Burns, cuts, wounds that exposed bones, scratches. From shoulder to hip his back was, from a distance, one massive whipping scar. It was only up close that you could distinguish individual lines, some on top of others. While washing his back in the shower every morning, the soap that dripped down his butt and thighs felt like hot blood. What V would never tell anyone was that on two occasions the whipping was his choice, and on many more, done by his own hand. “Is there no part of you they didn’t touch?” Paolo manually closed his mouth and swallowed. V could not look up from the piles of wax in the aisle. When he stood V willed himself not to flinch, repeating in his head Paolo’s promise that he would not be harmed. “And that is the man you love?” With two fingers on his shoulder, Paolo turned him and gasped again. He expected the scars on his back, they matched his own in depth, but not that V’s entire body would be so destroyed.

“G- God did not do this to me.” 

“Only the people who act on his behalf.” 

“And people who called themselves my parents. And teachers- may I get dressed, please?” 

“You stand before me as one gigantic scar, and tell me there is nothing you hate? You don’t hate those people? You don’t like the radio, but you’re okay with liars?” 

“How did they lie?” 

“Telling someone you love them and then abusing them is a lie.”

“They never told me they loved me, Sir.” Under the section of his paper asking for a review of V’s physique, Paolo just wrote fucked . “They told me it would make me better. That I could worship God better.”

“And are you? Better, because of all of that? Put this on.” He handed V a white hooded robe with a gold tie at the neck. The material weighed down his shoulders and was rough on his sensitive skin. It provided little comfort to his exposed brittle soul - the damage had been done.

“I am, yes. One of the only things I am good at is worship. I am quiet, clean, and fearful.”

“You’re just like your brother, you know? All bones and ribbon. We are done with this. It is actually too sad to go on.” The word Paolo was looking for was pathetic, but he needed V to trust him and did not want to insult the man who was clearly emotionally unraveling after removing his shirt.

“I’m sorry.” V learned from a young age that making himself as small as possible made people go easier on him, slipping into his shoulders, tucking his face away in his shoulder, crossing his arms without looking defensive.

“For what?” 

“For being sad. Or for being skinny. Whichever has offended you.”

“You cannot apologize for being what you are. Some people should, but they never do, am I right?” V laughed very obviously because he thought he should. “Now I have one more question for you, kid. Sit down.” V took the pew behind Paolo, wishing to crawl right under it instead, and Paolo turned to the side to rest his arm over the wooden back. “If you could make this all go away, would you?” V had no idea what was happening to him, so he did not know if it was worth wishing less of. “I mean, the scars. Your past. If you could snap your fingers and make it as though it never happened, would you do it?”

“Half, sir.” He brushed his curls away from his face and sat on his hands. “I want the scars gone. For a long time they were a reminder of my lessons, but now I know I can never forget. Now they remind me only of my failures. They make me ugly. But I would like to keep my mind. My memories. That is what made me who I am today, and without them I would never have arrived here. What here is exactly I am still not sure, but everywhere I go I hear people laughing, and that makes this feel like somewhere I could stay for a while. Even if the work is difficult or strange.” 

“Even if being here makes you feel like an apostatic heathen?” V pursed his lips. “It does, I can see it in your eyes.” I can see it in your eyes, says the man with the leathers who knows that V has stolen something, or spoken out of turn, or committed some kind of worthy crime. I can see it in your eyes , says the man with the thick wet tongue. “That feeling will leave you soon, I promise. Faster than it left me.” When Paolo remembered himself he turned forward and coughed into his fist harshly. The sound made V cringe. Before V could ask the thousand questions running through his mind about Paolo’s time in the church and how he overcame the feeling, he began again. “Do you know why they cut off Terzo’s head?” 

“No.” Blood should have been added to the list of things V disliked, unless it was his own and pooling up in dots at his shredded fingertips.

“For a…” Paolo laughed himself into and out of a cough. “For a photoshoot. They killed him for misusing company resources, and then cut his head off so they could have something shocking to hold on the cover of a magazine. They plastered this gory humiliation on newsstands and televisions around the world. That’s worse to me than carting their bodies around in boxes. I always say, what can’t rot was never alive, but no one listens to me anymore. They wouldn’t even if they came here. Those are the types of men that you are related to. Your father and your twin.” V could not tell if he was going to throw up or cry, but leaned forward so that whatever may happen would land on the floor and not his pristine white cloak. “Your brothers were stupid, brutal, fearful, and reckless.” 

“In order?” V gasped as he swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth. 

“No. All of them, all at once. Oh look, your ride is here.” When V sat up the front door was creaking open slowly but steadily. 

“My ride-” Two beastly heads burst out at him from either side of the doorway. One was wrapped in skin - it did look wrapped around its bones, less than it looked like normal, grown skin - as red as fire, long talon like fingernails, and glowing yellow eyes. Four short white horns on either side of its shaved skull protruded from the skin like broken bones. The other had dark green skin, like the sheets on V’s bed, with tall antlers sticking up out of its head at least a foot taller than the massive thing stood. The scent of rotting wood and stale water filled the church, and every candle was extinguished with a single flourish from the first beings fingers, tapping on the door frame like a piano. V’s heart stopped still in his chest. “D- Demon. Demon!” He jumped up and knocked the empty pew ahead forward. Its crash echoed in the small room. Both monsters wrapped their hands around the door and slowly pulled themselves through it. 

“Have fun, boys!” Paolo called through the crack of the hatch leading underground, and let it slam behind him. V fainted before either beast could move an inch closer. They took him anyway.

[nerdychaoscherryblossom]

Once Upon a Pixar (2026)

Hello. It's me, and this is the Pixar version of Once Upon a Studio called Once Upon a Pixar.

(The film opens with the headquarters at Pixar as the employees leave for the day.)

Pixar Intern: It's so incredible to think that George Lucas started Pixar back in 1979 until it was founded by Steve Jobs in 1986 40 years ago today. To think of all those talented animators and unforgettable characters who have been a part of the studio over the years.

Pete Docter: Yep. (as he and the intern turn around one last time) If the characters could talk to each other.

(Pete Docter and the intern leave as the door closes while the title comes up: "Once Upon a Pixar". The camera zooms into a photo picture of Woody, Jessie and Bullseye running on a record player. Woody glances back as everything seems quiet in the lobby.)

Woody: Psst! Atta. Princess Atta. You there?

(Princess Atta flies into the lobby and over to his picture.)

Woody: Is that it? They all gone?

Princess Atta: Yep, they're all gone.

Woody: Yee-haw! (he, Jessie and Bullseye leap out of the picture) Come on, Jessie, this is it.

Jessie: Let's get everyone. Yodel-ay-hee-hoo!

Joy: (gasps) There's the signal! All right, everyone! (she, Sadness, Anger, Fear, and Disgust jump out of their production cell) It's picture time!

Elio Silos: That's tonight?

Joy: That's now.

Ember Lumen: The 40-year group photo. (she and Wade jump out of their production cell as well) And the sun's going down. Come on, Wade, let's feel the burn!

Wade Ripple: Ooh, a fire pun. (chuckles) Got to like that.

(Suddenly, Arlo and Spot come out of their production cell as Wade gasps and goes against the wall.)

Arlo: (chuckles nervously) Sorry.

Woody: Picture time, gang!

Mei Lee: (chuckles) Okay, here we come!

(Mei Lee, Miriam, Abby, Priya and Tyler jump out of their production cell while they laugh.)

Abby: Wake up, everyone!

(The Oozma Kappa come out of their production cell as Squishy yells while Russell, Carl and Dug walk down the hallway.)

Russell: Whoa!

Dug: Awesome!

Russell: Oh, Mr. Lightyear! Get the folks upstairs!

Buzz Lightyear: Roger that, Russell. To infinity and beyond!

(Buzz Lightyear flies upstairs as Lightning McQueen drives happily down the hall with Mater.)

Mater: Yee-haw!

Merida: (jumps out of her production cell) It's picture time! (runs to the lobby) We're meeting at the lobby!

Flik: Okay! See you there!

(Miguel Rivera and Riley Andersen ride on Dim as Dim flies to the lobby.)

Miguel Rivera: (hollers)

(Francis gives a fun ride to Dash Parr.)

Dash Parr: Whoa! Higher! (laughs)

(Francis chuckles as Remy and Emile slide down the stairs as Luca Paguro lands on the floor and sighs as he catches Nemo.)

Nemo: Water.

Luca Paguro: (shudders and rushes to the counter)

P.T. Flea: No, no, no, there's no time for snacks!

Luca Paguro: Uh, Andy! A little help here?

Andy Davis: Oh, uh, let me see here. There we go, a nice bucket of water.

(Luca Paguro dunks Nemo to a bucket of water.)

Nemo: (grunts)

Linguini: (chuckles) Oh, waiter! There's a fish in the bucket! (laughs)

(Ernesto de la Cruz tries to get candy from the vending machine while he curses in Spanish as Mr. Incredible and Frozone walk down the hall.)

Mr. Incredible: Yikes! Do you think all the villains might catch up?

Frozone: Hmm. (freezes Syndrome in his frame) Not all.

Syndrome: (strains)

(Rex goes to the elevator with Imelda Rivera, Manticore, Ian, Barley and Laurel Lightfoot.)

Imelda Rivera: Going down?

Roz: Hold the elevator. I'm going to the lobby.

Rex: Huh? Oh, you've got to be joking.

(Joe Gardner hums to "Put On Your Sunday Clothes" while he draws Hector Rivera.)

Brook Ripple: Hey, black man. Shake a leg, will ya?

Joe Gardner: The leg won't make a difference, it's all in the wrist.

(Hector Rivera bursts out of the drawing as Joe Gardner shrieks in surprise.)

Hector Rivera: Ay! I haven't seen a fall like that since Spain. (fixes the chair) Oh! Much better.

(At the men's room, Hopper, 4*Town and Chef Skinner freshen up as Chef Skinner blows a kiss and chuckles. Suddenly, Tuck and Roll appear in front of his eyes, laughing, as Jessie opens the door.)

Jessie: Let's move it, gentlemen!

(While Lorenzo Paguro tries to free his wife Daniela Paguro from her picture, Giulia Marcovaldo walk with Buster, Mr. Mittens, Larry and Machivelli.)

Giulia Marcovaldo: Uh-huh. Meeting at the lobby. Don't eat the rats.

(Scud tries to eat Remy and Emile but Dante pops up and scares Scud away, thus saving the rats' lives. While Izzy and her team walk by, Mei Lee and her friends watch a cartoon on a TV.)

Izzy Hawthorne: Come on, everyone, you're gonna have nightmares.

(Zurg pops out of the TV and scares Mei Lee and her friends away, laughing. Back at the elevator, Roz makes it in time.)

Roz: Thanks very much for holding the elevator.

Rex: (groans)

Evelyn Deavor: I'm also going to the lobby as well.

Rex: Huh? Oh, come on!

(While M-O is being followed and annoyed by Dot, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson follow down the stairs, where Mr. Anderson is the one to drop his wallet and they laugh. Buster picks up the wallet and runs off with it.)

Mr. Anderson: Hey, Buster! Andy, get your dog!

(Woody follows up the stairs as he looks amused when he sees Underminer leading Colette Tatou with his hypnosis watch.)

Woody: Underminer? Underminer! You-- You stop that now, Underminer!

Rosie: Don't worry, Woody. (chuckles) I got this.

(Rosie hits Underminer offscreen unconsciously.)

Woody: Huh. (gasps) Wow.

(Woody looks up at photographs of John Lasseter, Andrew Stanton, Pete Docter, Lee Unkrich and Joe Ranft while he takes his hat off.)

Buzz Lightyear: Oh, Woody, where are you? We're at the lobby!

Woody: (chuckles) Got to go, but thanks. (puts his hat back on) On with the show.

(At the lobby, Woody rides on WALL-E with a fire extinguisher)

Woody: Yee-haw!

Mike Wazowski: Coast is clear, Sheriff.

Woody: Great! (holds the door open) Right this way, everybody.

(Sulley bumps into the door.)

Woody: Oh! Sulley, are you okay?

James P. Sullivan: (grunts) Never better, Eastwood. (accidentally trips the trash can)

Stinky Pete: I knew I'm surrounded by... (gets startled by Slim who rides on EVE) Idiots!

Slim: Tallyho! Whee! I'll show you the world! (laughs)

Woody: Oh, great, the ladder.

(Buzz sets the ladder while he hums.)

Mr. Dicker: Every time it gets hard. Money, money, money.

Woody: All right, everyone. Get-- Get together now. (to Tinny) Oh. After you, Tinny.

Emile: Oh. Pardon me.

Francis: (holds up a camera) Here's the camera, Lightyear.

Buzz Lightyear: (takes a camera and chuckles) Thanks, Francis. (climbs up the ladder)

Woody: Buzz, be careful!

Buzz Lightyear: (makes it to the top) All right, now where's the timer button?

Molt: Oh, oh! Three, two, one! (Randall Boggs grins)

(Buzz accidentally falls off while he screams and breaks the camera. As Buster walks to the broken camera, Buzz recognizes it.)

Andy Davis: Come on, Buster. (Buster runs back to Andy)

Buzz Lightyear: Huh? Oh, no. It's ruined.

Anger: Well, that was fun!

Sadness: Maybe we can try again in another forty years.

(The characters sigh disappointedly and are about to leave.)

Woody: Oh, no, no, wait. Come back. It-- It-- It'll be fine. It'll be...

(Just as the characters are about to leave, Randy Newman appears from nowhere while he plays "You've Got a Friend in Me" on piano with his orchestra.)

Randy Newman: ♪ You've got a friend in me ♪

♪ You've got a friend in me ♪

♪ When the road looks rough ahead ♪

♪ And you're miles and miles from your nice warm bed ♪

Hopper: I knew this was gonna happen.

Randy Newman: ♪ You just remember what your old pal said ♪

♪ Boy, you've got a friend in me ♪

♪ Yeah, you've got a friend in me ♪

(While the song goes on, Mr. Incredible fixes the camera as Buzz looks excited and Sulley puts the ladder back in position. Manny and Gipsy lift Buzz to help him up as Buzz sets the camera up for the photo.)

♪ Some other folks might be ♪

♪ A little bit smarter than I am ♪

♪ Bigger and stronger too, maybe ♪

♪ But none of them will ever love you ♪

♪ The way I do, it's me and you, boy ♪

♪ And as the years go by ♪

♪ Our friendship will never die ♪

♪ You're gonna see it's our destiny ♪

All: ♪ You've got a friend in me ♪

♪ You've got a friend in me ♪

♪ You've got a friend in me ♪

(The camera flashes as the group photo in the Pixar hall is taken, and the short ends with a text "To the animators, directors and crew of Pixar who worked for 40 years on movies and short films, Thank You." and then the song ends.)

Well, I think this is the transcript. I hope you like it. I also hope Pixar does a new short film like Once Upon a Studio did. Have a Happy New Year.

[in-my-loki-feels]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Clawing my way free of the feverish pit I've been in the last few days to share something because I'm so sick and tired of being sick. 🙃 Here's a little cowboy Lokius that continues from this ask prompt, because I decided if it was going on ao3, it needed a more complete ending.

“Are you leaving me here on the ground?”  Mobius blew out an exasperated breath and went over to him, holding out his hands. “Didn’t think you wanted help,” he muttered.  Loki wrapped his hands around Mobius’ forearms, gripping tight, and together they hauled him to his feet. Mobius started to let go, then stumbled as Loki pulled, spinning Mobius around so his back was to the rock. Loki leaned in to trap him against it. “What I wanted,” he drawled, “is to have run into you under better circumstances.” Then he bent his head to bring their mouths together.

Thank you @wolfpup026 @mobiusismycomfortcharacter @distracteddream @elodiah for the tags! (And everyone who tagged me on Wednesday!) Here's hoping I can get back to writing this week. 🤞

[jblockman1]

So something of a tradition amongst my friend group has been doing little tumblr posts about our weekly sunday dnd games. And it started with our module-based games like Descent into Avernus and Waterdeep Dragon Heist. But now its somewhat extended to all of our games.

And today is the start of a new Western one I'm running in my homebrew setting! So, let me formally introduce you all to

YEE HAW SUNDAY

LIKE to be Rootin'

REBLOG to be Tootin'

and by god

COMMENT to be Shootin'!

[fuckmeyer]

By Starlight chapter 14 coming this Sunday, March 10th yee haw

[lynxindisguise]

sunday snippet

ty for the tags @kaaaaaaarf @fruityindividual I'm finally back to writing (yee haw!)

“Cheers. I mean... thank you kindly.” Black takes a long swig and sighs, casting a glance out the window. “I don’t know how to be a cowboy.” “I’ve got a hard time believing that.” A comment twitches across Black’s lips, dying at the mouth of the bottle. “Suppose, most days I don’t really know how to be a teacher,” Remus adds. “You’re a great teacher.” He clears his throat. “So I’ve heard.” “So are you, it seems. You’ve done well by Harry.” Black smiles to himself, then looks up, searching. “And yet you still seem wary of me. Why?” When he doesn’t answer, the toe of Black’s heavy boot nudges his shin. “Is it because you find me handsome?” Remus’s eyes widen. So that’s what this is. All this time he’s been worried about being recognised as the wrong type of monster. “It’s alright, Remus. I find you handsome too.” The cowboy relishes his shock, smirking his way through another sip.

open tag!!

[thecouchsofa]

📚NaNovember Stats 2024 (Month in Review)🌻

Total words written: ❗52,470 words ❗

No. of days written on: ❗22/30 days❗

No. of days used for editing: 1/30 days

Most productive week: November 1-7, with 15,201 words written

Most productive day: Sunday the 24th - 6,428 words written

Fics worked on: 7, including:

TTPD server gift fic (completed, ready for editing)

AAF/Something in the Orange (Drarry, currently stands at 40k total and est. 60% complete)

Dronarry fest (yee haw 🤠)

Bottomianos PWP (Capri, completed and ready for editing)

Hand and finger kink PWP parts 1, 2, and 3 (Drarry, parts 1 & 2 completed and ready for editing, part 3 in progress)

Favourite fic written this month: SiTO 🧡

Longest Fic written this month: SiTO - 19.5k of my monthly word count was towards that fic

Fics posted this month: 1:

Give/Take (Will/James - Dark Rise) (2k, E)

Thoughts: NaNo done, dusted, and fucking obliterated - I completed my 50k goal a week early and cruised to another few k's of additions. My progress was very consistent throughout the month (see graph below); my smallest writing week was still 11k! I got stuck into a WiP that I've been adding to on and off for the better part of a year and I'm getting pumped to finish it. Hopefully I'll send it to the editing basket next month, but who knows - my estimates of fic word counts are so far off that they're never in the same ballpark as the end total. If this fic goes over 80k someone needs to come to my house and throw water on me.

December's new name is Editcember; a cursed moniker for a cursed month. Aside from editing the five things I completed during NaNo, hopefully I'll finish writing the fic mentioned above. The plan is also to get stuck into my Seer Laurent WiP but I'm banning myself from that doc until SiTO is done (mainly because I'll need to do a reread of Capri for worldbuilding purposes and I refuse to let the Drarry fixation shift until this fucking fic is done. It's been sitting there for too long and it's taking up brain space)

December goal: 40,000 words - summer is here baby ☀️🌻🌇

⭐ Total word count for 2024 so far: 364,682 words ⭐

[abubblingcandle]

Six (Seven actually) Sentence Sunday

From Like A Black Hole (aka. the post Two Aces fic)

“I’m sure I do not have to tell you Jamie that receiving a call from AFC Richmond terminating your loan is disappointing,” Pep stated as soon as the door to his office was closed. “I, yeah,” Jamie stammered, standing in front of Pep’s desk with his head down. He stared at the grain of the wood and the engraved detailing to try and keep himself still. He was sorry. He didn’t think Lasso would be brave or stupid enough to doom his team for his stupid yee-haw bullshit. And sorry idiots didn’t fidget. He just had to stand there and take his bollocking.

[oreosmama]

don't read this. im shouting into the void.

I was having an argument with my friend about the word either and how to pronounce it. 

Well, I was arguing. She was just there.

I pronounce it eye-ther. Because it sounds fancy and elegant, and in high school there was nothing I wanted more than to own all of the jasmine and patchouli candles from TJ Maxx and feel fancy and elegant. 

For me, my friend had said, I think it depends on what I’m saying. Like, I usually say ee-ther, but if the sentence kinda flows, like, differently, I’ll say eye-ther. 

And that pissed me off to high heavens. Never mind that my friend had been fair game to discuss such a dumb topic in the first place—I was just so angry that she didn’t have a definitive answer. 

I was even more angry that her not-definitive answer made me question my own. 

Because…well, goddammit, I had pronounced it as ee-ther at some point in my life, hadn’t I? And fancy ladies raised with fancy shoes and tidy pinafores and jasmine-scented candles would never pronounce it ee-ther. 

Now, I’m sitting here, probably four years later, wondering why. Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve stumbled upon the why, but I certainly don’t like it. 

See, I’ve always hated a lack of structure. Summer breaks between school years, the flimsy definition of al-dente, a perfume without a body wash and a lotion to match. 

It makes me nuts. It makes me the whole bar mix, really; nuts and pretzels and whatever the hell sesame sticks are. 

Thing is, I’ve been stuck in a rut. I’m in the summer break before my senior year at college, and only just now am I realizing that, when left to my own devices, I become that clump of hair stuck between carpet fibers. I see myself like this: 

You should probably do something with the clump of hair. 

You probably should’ve done something with it a while ago. 

You’ll probably do something with it after this quick stroll through Instagram, or tomorrow after you get dressed, or the next day after breakfast. 

This last Sunday, I sat the clump of hair down and told it to write. I set down a stack of books by its favorite author, water to keep it hydrated, a snack to keep it fed. Everything it would need to do something. 

Or so I thought. 

But that Sunday, like most other days this summer, slipped right through my fingers, entirely unremarkable. Unmemorable, even, considering I don’t actually recall what the hell I did. 

But—

Oh, here’s a new thought that’s just hit. There’s something missing, I think, between having an idea of what you’ll do for the day, and actually doing that thing. I’m just not sure what that is yet. 

I fear it’s drive. Purpose. Knowing exactly what your future looks like, and taking mini, Babybel-cheese steps to get there, a little bit every single day, or every single other day. Don’t fear too much for me—I’ve already put a few motivational novels on my Goodreads “gotta-buy” shelf (including Atomic Habits, yee-haw). I’m just missing that step between having them and actually reading them. 

I never used to have this struggle. Maybe when you become an adult, you grow a new limb or a tumor between thinking and doing. Maybe that’s the cost of letting your brain develop a little too long. All those extra neurons and synapses fuck up the smooth sailing between your central nervous system and all the muscles you can navigate. 

Wouldn’t it be nice to pretend that that connection had snapped so I had an excuse for being a clump of hair? 

Wouldn’t it be nice to know what I wanted again, and move my foot back to the gas pedal instead of pressing on the brakes and hoping nobody notices my red lights?

[in-my-loki-feels]

Fandom: Loki (TV 2021) Rating: M Relationships: Loki/Mobius M. Mobius Characters: Loki (Marvel), Mobius M. Mobius Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Western, Sheriff Mobius M. Mobius, Outlaw Loki Laufeyson, POV Mobius M. Mobius, Enemies to Lovers, Developing Relationship, Pining, Bandits & Outlaws, Hurt/Comfort, Gunshot Wounds, Blood and Injury Series: Part 3 of Unwavering Forces

Summary:

The saloon was a mess. Tables and chairs overturned, bottles behind the bar shot out, and two more bodies on the floor.

“Anyone alive in here?” Mobius called.

“Unfortunately,” came the strained response. Mobius’ stomach dropped. The voice had come from behind the bar and was worryingly familiar.

Mobius makes an unexpected discovery when he’s called to help stop a shootout.

Happy Yee Haw Sunday, friends! I liked this prompt fill enough to want to make it “official” by putting it on ao3, but I felt like it needed some rounding out. So here is the original fill plus about 2.6k words. I hope you like it! 🤠