dogmatik - Tumblr blog

[dogmatik]

575 words, more hungover rick, mortys trying to be more responsible.

"Fuck, my heads killing me. Why's, wuh-whats, all the fucking, noise about?" Ricks voice is rough with sleep, there's vomit on the collar of his shirt, stained a strange shade of purple. "Thunderstorm I guess. Are y-you hung over?" "I fucking wish. Must've got into that hendler's powder." "Uh, did you take all the, morphine last time? Y-you said that helps." Morty responds from atop one of the kitchen stools. he's rearranging the stuff on top of the fridge, throwing out the empty cereal boxes Rick always puts back. "Shit good idea, where the fuck, where'd I leave it Morty?" "Bathroom I think."

Rick stumbles into the bathroom, hissing when he has to turn on the too-blue light to see. He finds the morphine inside an old Tylenol box, starts to dig underneath the sink for his syringes. Rick can smell eggs cooking as he draws up, pretty sure he hears Morty curse as the liquid spreads cold and golden through his veins.

"Rick? Hey, there's b-breakfast." Rick cracks open an eye, sees Morty in the door way, pigeon toed and holding out a glass of orange juice. "I pass out?" He asks, takes the juice and drains the glass in four grateful gulps. "Uh I dunno, maybe? You, uh, weren't in here that long." "Yeah, fuck. I forget how good earth drugs can be." Morty holds out his hand, helps Rick up off the tile.

In the kitchen there are two plates set at the table. Scrambled eggs and burnt toast with way too much butter. There's a bowl of Cheerios sitting next to one plate, and Rick starts eating spoonfuls before he can sit. He's not hungry, but he can tell his blood sugars dropped. Morty pulls his chair up to the table and starts in on his eggs. They sit in companionable silence, the rain fills the quiet house up.

"Times-it?" "10, Dad'll be back n-noon. Uh, Summers at her f-friends house." "Wanna go somewhere?" Rick asks through a mouthful of eggs. "Uh, maybe later? Wanted to, get some laundry done before muh-mom gets back." "You kissing ass for s-something? She walk in on you finally?" "Gross! No! She obviously k-knows better. I-I'm just, sh-she works a lot! I-it's not l-like dad's gonna d-do it." Morty glares at his plate. "Damn, yeah. You f-finally on my side with the whole J-jerry is fucking useless and y-your mom deserves better t-thing?" "No, but. Rick i-it's not. It doesn't have to be a w-whole, whole thing okay? I just. Wanna help out more, you know, a-around the house." "Yeah, sure. Anyway. I'm gonna g-go see if Ball Fondlers is on."

Rick goes to the living room, reaches around in the couch cushions until he finds the remote. He starts to flick through channels, met with neons and fleshy reds and all sorts of colors that make his vision swim. He listens to Morty's little footsteps and the sink turning on while his world tilts, head meeting the soft but firm texture of the cushion beside him. It's easy, letting his eyes slip closed. It's been a long time since he's fallen asleep so quick.

[dogmatik]

Under a readmore, word count 897. Rick got too drunk and freaked poor Morty out.

There's something cold and wet pressed to Ricks forehead. He's only been conscious about a minute, hasn't quite figured out where he is yet, so his eyes remain closed. He takes in his surroundings with his other senses, not sure if he wants anyone who might be in the room with him to know he's awake yet. After some time he determines he's in his own room, can tell by the canvas texture of the cot below him, the smell of booze and alien B.O. He's bundled up in the shitty military surplus blanket he got ages ago, and its dark.

There's breathing to his right, someone sat next to the cot on the floor. he cracks an eye open, the augmentations he keeps tweaking adjusting his sight to the dark immediately (it hurts, human pupils aren't meant to dilate that quickly, he's got a mean case of chronic dry-eye that he hasn't quite figured out how to handle yet.). Morty sits with his arms folded over his knees, head bowed like he's sleeping sitting up. He's breathing to hard to be sleeping though, and there's a string of little sniffles on every other inhale.

"Morty, you seen that morphine? Grandpa's got a killer headache." Rick says. Morty startles, head whipping up immediately at the sound of the old mans voice. Rick regrets talking when he sees the poor kids face, it's red, a little string of snot connects his nose to where it was pressed into his sleeve. "Rick!" he yells, sending a flash of pain bouncing behind Ricks eyes. He throws himself over the old man, the cot creaks like its about to snap. "Jesus M-Morty chill out, I just said I had a fucking, headache." Morty squeezes him, he can feel hot tears soaking into his shirt.

"Ri-ck, I was so scared, and you s-s-said not to tell M-mom but you stopped, you stopped breathing and I couldn't get the-the oxygen to work and I swear I didn't tell but y-yuh-you can't do this to m-me again man I can't-" His voice keeps cracking, chest heaving and words broken up by half-aborted little whines and hiccups. "Morty, Morty calm down, hold on just fucking, t-take a breath alright. Morty just breathe" Rick rubs his back, the kids practically crawled into the cot with him, his little hands clenched so tight in Ricks shirt he's sure the seems are gonna snap. "A-asshole..."

Morty sobs. Rick realizes he doesn't remember a fucking thing from the last 36 hours, which is not ideal when you're a manic super-genius. From the sounds of it he gave himself alcohol poisoning again, considering the barely contained nausea and the way his head pulses with pain along to his heartbeat. It's been a while since he drank enough to make himself sick, it takes a lot. Last time must have been since before he came back. That explains why Morty's so fuckin broken up about it, it's not a pretty sight and the little guys never seen him that bad before.

"Mort, buddy it's okay, just a little alcohol poisoning. Little bit of zerock powder and I'll be good as new." "W-why'd you drink so much?" Morty asks, finally pulling his face away from Rick's chest. He's still breathing hard, but his eyes have dried. He looks genuinely confused, a little crease forming between his eyebrows. Rick gets the inexplicable urge to rub it away, kids too young for wrinkles. God, he's gonna go grey by 30, just like Rick. The thought brings a new wave of nausea crashing over Rick's head, he has to lean off the side of the cot so he doesn't fuckin drown in it. There's a big plastic bowl there, he almost gets all of it in. All that comes out is clear liquid and bright yellow bile, his stomach cramps sharp and he almost knocks Morty clean over with how violently he flinches.

"Rick, why did you drink so much. Did, did something bad h-happen?" Morty asks again, incessant. "'Something bad' what are you talking about?" Morty looks at his hands, he's sitting on his folded up legs right on the edge of the shitty cot, Rick just realized the boys still in the same clothes he last remembers him in. There's blood down the front, it doesn't look like it came from Morty. "Dr. Wong says, uhm. She said that people, they do a lot of like drugs and stuff when they feel bad. Or like, to escape or whatever. Is that what you were doing? R-running away from something?" What the fuck is that lady talking to this thirteen year old about? He should find out where she lives. Encourage some fucking boundaries.

"Jesus wept Morty, Can't a man get blow-out black-out drunk w-without his grandson fucking, psychoanalyzing him. No, I do it cause it's fun Morty. And I don't need to, ugh, to run from anything, I deal with my pr-problems just fine." Morty looks skeptical, little bastard. "Get, get offa my bed, fucking. Change your shirt, look like a vampire victim." Rick shoves at the boy, knocking him off the cot onto the floor. "Ow! Asshole! I-I'm trying to, trying to help you dick!" Morty yells. "Morty I swear to god if you keep being a loud piece of shit I'm gonna down your sisters hamster and blame you for it."

[dogmatik]

272 words, trans morty idk

"Jesus H Christ Morty, are you on your period or something?" The look Morty shoots Rick is a mixture of anger and hurt, and while Rick would never admit it out loud, he realizes his mouth moved a little faster then his brain this time. Morty's pace toward the stairs to the top floor of the mall quickens a hair. "What? It's a figure of speech. We all know dudes can have periods. I'm up to date on my trans rights, Broh." This does not seem to make Morty feel any better. In fact, he seems to tense even more then he usually is. Shoulders hiked up to his ears like he's about to get hit. Rick can see his head darting side to side, trying to be subtle about checking to see if anyone is listening to their conversation. Rick would bet a pretty penny no one in this shitty little mall gives a fuck about what a random pre-teen and his grandpa are arguing about. Most of the patrons are either too busy on their phones or stealing from un-guarded display cases to pay any attention to their surroundings. "Jesus Mort relax. You're gonna burst something." "Do you ha-have to make it so obvious? I know you have like, a super strength exo-skeleton-" "endo-skeleton Morty, Exo is the prefix for outside." "Whatever! Just cause you're, invincible and strong and stuff doesn't mean I am okay? It, it's dangerous for people to know. What if someone heard you?" "You've dodged Galactic Federation laser blasts while carrying flesh-eating worms and your worried about some shit-stain teens hate-crime-ing you?" "A little!" Morty hisses.

[dogmatik]

Rick & Morty arguing about Rick taking him to school. 402words.

"Morty, get out of the fucking ship." Rick has a headache, the faint buzz of electricity coming from the ship enough to make his head pound in time with his heartbeat. "You said you'd take me to school! Mom already left for work, I don't wanna walk!" Morty yells, the crack of his voice is like a icepick to Ricks poor vodka-washed skull. He really isn't in the mood. "Y-yeah, I agreed to that on Xelios, you know I'll say anything to get back to the carpet texture." "But you said! And- and mom's gonna blame me if I don't make it to school!" "Morty, I swear to, swear to god if you aren't out of my ship in the next fifteen seconds-" "You'll what? Make me late to school? Throw me out?" God, he's somehow getting Worse with age. Like a fucking forgotten lab experiment. Even growing fuzz like one. Ever since Morty grew that single chest hair the little bastard has been challenging Rick on everything. "Don't get bitchy with me, I don't have to help you out with s-shit." "Clearly. When, when have you ever." Morty slumps back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, prepared to sulk until he gets his way or Rick actually does throw him out.

Goddamnit. Fucking teenagers. "This shit is why I wasn't around for your mom's teens by the way-" Rick starts, reaching into his inner coat pocket for the portal gun. "The hormones turn you into even worse insufferable assholes then usual. I don't think even I was this bad during fucking puberty, and I was already building pipe bombs." Morty perks up at the sight of the gun. Rick calibrates the coordinates from memory, aims out the passenger side window and shoots a swirling green portal into the air. "There, you little terrorist, straight to your locker. Get out." Morty hops out of the ship immediately, not bothering to look back as he steps through the portal "Thanks grandpa Rick!" The old man thinks about closing the portal just a little too soon, clipping the kids foot off at the ankle. He thinks better of it and decides it isn't worth the fight, Morty's gotten way more dramatic about the body horror shit recently. Apparently a few years of back to back nightmares was all it took for him to start actually flipping out on Rick about it. Wuss

[dogmatik]

Three Seconds.

Rick runs his tongue across his teeth, finds a split above his left canine sluggishly oozing blood. He presses into it, the wound covering his soft pallet with liquid-iron. He used to love the taste of blood, it was exciting, made him see red. That was a long time ago, back when he was with the flesh curtains, doing mostly earth coke in the galactic equivalent of shitty truck stops. Now the taste just pisses him off, reminds him that some nameless waste of carbon actually got a hit in. He can feel a drop of spit and blood plop onto his thigh. He spits and the blood splatters a lurid pink against the concrete floor. He'd wipe his face, but his hands are tied around his back, zip ties of all things dig irritating impressions into the thin skin against his wrist. His knees ache where they're pressed against the floor below him, the cold seeping in through his pant legs and promising a good week of creaking pain if he manages to make it out of this shit hole alive. Fuck, he's too old for this shit.

Rick is pulled very sharply from his thoughts when he hears the door open behind him, followed by strong, steady foot falls and much lighter shuffling ones. He recognizes the later, and his guess is confirmed when Morty stumbles into his line of sight. He doesn't look hurt, his clothes are dirty and there's dust sticking to the tear tracks along his cheeks, but no pain graces his features. Just fear. If it weren't for Morty he'd already be out of here, fucking plastic zip ties were the last thing that would stop The Rick Sanchez. His captor knew that though, and they both knew that the ties were really more of a formality anyway. So yeah, he could've left an hour ago, but with the couple of blows to the side of his head knocking loose his augmentation controls he wasn't convinced he'd find Morty wherever they were keeping him on their ramshackle compound before they decided to take him out back and put the sorry little bastard down.

Speaking of, there's a laser gun pressed snug against the base of Morty's skull. Their kidnapper is a Melvonian, bipedal and mostly humanoid apart from their second set of arms, eyes and various other appendages. Wink. This one is male, about middle aged for his species, his skin tone an admittedly pretty shade of mauve. It's a shame, the guys hot, too bad as soon as he lets his guard down he'll be dead. "Morning Sanchez, I've brought your little buddy. Say Hi little buddy." The man grins, shaking Morty by the bruising grip on his bicep. "Ow, H-hi, grandpa Rick." he winces. "So here's the deal. We've got a really important fight coming up, and that portal tech of yours sure would come in handy." "I don't get involved in interstellar politics, and neither does my badass tech. Bite me." The guy shoves the gun harder against Morty's head, eliciting a squeak of fear and causing his knees to wobble like a new born calf. "Don't interrupt me." Rick rolls his eyes, but stays quiet. For Now.

Rick can see the twitch in one of the mans four eyes, he's still smiling, but he looks angry, a little crazed. Damn, it really is a shame this dude's gotta die. Forgive him for thinking with his dick here, but crazy is pretty much the only type that can keep up with Rick for too long, and the guys got two sets of pecs. Drool. "As I was saying, your tech would help us a lot. Someone from my group has tried and failed to get the machine from you peacefully. Clearly peaceful is not a approach you sway to. Now it's my turn. So here is my ultimatum: Give us a working portal gun and blueprints to build more, or I send a laser through your grandson's head. Simple, no?" He cocks his head to the side, tone light, like he's discussing which restaurant he wants to go to and he's not the perpetrator of a goddamn hostage situation. Morty has been so quiet, eyes trained on Rick. It unnerves him, the genuine panic on his grandson's face. He needs to focus.

Rick's been doing some mental math, trying to figure out how to get through the zip ties and the gun out of this big idiots hand before he pulls the trigger. He can see the safety is on, but he'd recognize a Fentel 16 anywhere, and you can bypass the safety by pressing down the trigger and holding for three seconds. Kinda always struck Rick as defeating the purpose of the safety, but the Fentel series is pretty much exclusively used by criminals, so the company only put a safety on the thing in the first place to get past Galactic Federation manufacturing guidelines. He's not sure he can get to Morty in 3 seconds from here. He needs to think of something, fast. "Listen muscle man, I'm telling you I'm not giving you or your little gang my portal tech. I don't care how righteous you think your cause is, there's a billion other warmongering douchebags in this star system alone who think the exact same thing. I'm not contributing to that." The guys fucking built. Rick isn't short by any means, a cool 6'4" un-slouched, but this guy has at least a foot or so on him. Plus he's pretty sure the dudes forearm is at least the size of his thigh; side note again: Drool. Anyway, he's not sure he can take him in a wrestling match for that gun, especially considering the two extra arms. If Morty reacted quick enough maybe, but the kids little wrists are bound like Ricks are, and he looks scared enough to be nauseous. Rick can't count on him on this one.

"I've been following you a long time, I can tell when you're stalling." Rick can talk a fish out of water on good days, but revolutionary types are a notoriously stubborn breed. He'd know, he was one. Still is, though its been a while since he's been in a fight over anything but his own self-interest. That thought stings just a little. Don't have time for that one, Back in the vault it goes. Rick can see Morty trembling, and can see his chest stuttering when he holds his breath to stop the shakes. It makes Rick's chest hurt a little, like something in there was knocked loose the same time his augmentations were. Rick stops looking at him. "Morty's a shit bargaining chip by the way, Broh. I've got a coupon for a new one from the citadel in my back pocket right now." Rick bares his teeth, smells his own blood on his breath. "Besides, I've been to your pitiful little planet shit for brains, I know your species has a thing about killing kids. You're all too sentimental." Their captor laughs, two of his four eyes squeezed shut in mirth, the other two still diligently trained on Rick "For The Rick Sanchez? I'm willing to make an exception." He grins, double canines glittering blue-white as he switches the safety off and the gun comes alive with a mechanical hum, neon purple lights flicking on incrementally, indicating the charge.

Fuck, there go his three seconds.

[dogmatik]

The bus creaks under its own weight, mechanical and heaving like some great metallic animal. The windows rattle as it rolls along the road, pavement scored with jagged cracks. There's an empty coke can on the floor, the sound of it bumping tinnily lost amongst the bus's much louder rumble. You're headed to work, eyes flitting from the can to the piece of grayish-pink gum stuck to the back of the seat in-front of you.

The bus glides to a stop, surprisingly smooth considering the decrepit old thing, and people step in from the hot summer. Someone smells like stale beer and sweat, cloying and strangely sweet.

Warm.

Your stomach flips dangerously while your mouth fills with spit. Strange how your body can crave so strongly something that's almost killed you.

It's been about a month since you last had a drink. [about, as if the exact date, time and even location isn't engraved into the base of your skull on the inside] and it always seems like it's getting easier until you're presented with the sensory-memory of it.

You look out the window to watch the scraggly yellow grass sluggishly move past and try not to imagine the carbonation fizzling in the back of your throat.

[dogmatik]

shizaya date night! They still are terrible to each other tho lol. plus some notes at the end about how I'd continue this if i got the inspiration.

Word count 1,188

Izaya and Shizuo sit in a booth by the window of a bar, having just finished their meal. Izaya hadn't talked much through it, and naturally neither did his companion. The raven broke the silence with a question, “Have you thought about what I said? The offer does still stand, you know.” he asks, as if what he was suggesting was as easy as talking about the weather. Shizuo looked through the window across the street, watching cars pass on the rainy road, their taillights glittering red against it. He was irritated, and he tried to ignore the way his eye twitched with the feeling.

“You're pretty when you think too hard.” Izaya remarks almost dreamily. Shizuo's eyes snap from the window to the man across the small table, narrowing angrily. The warm light somewhere above and off to the side of them softening Izaya’s sharp features to something almost serene. Izaya is leaning on the table, chin resting on his palm. “It's weird that you invite me out just to criticize me.” Shizuo says, his eyes dropping to the half empty glass of milk in front of him. “Don't avoid the question, Shizu-chan.” Shizuo is startled when a waitress comes by to give Izaya the check, but narrowly avoids jumping. She chats idly but happily with the dark haired man for a moment.

Once they're alone again, Shizuo huffs. “I’m not letting you pay shit for me. I know how it’ll go, I don't want to owe you anything.” There's heat behind his words, like the very thought of being indebted to Izaya makes him want to vomit. Izaya thinks it's a fair reaction, but he's never been one to let well-enough be. “Oh come on, can't you believe I just want to spoil my boyfriend?” He purrs, and Shizuo chokes on the milk he just sipped. Izaya waits patiently while Shizuo hacks up the liquid in his lungs. “Your what?” he demands, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Izaya just tilts his head ever so slightly, feigning confusion. “What? Are you not my boyfriend? We are currently on a date, you know. Or did you think I was just being friendly last night when I-” Izaya's inappropriate rambling was sharply cut off by a hand over his mouth, the bleach blondes cheeks reddening obviously even in the low light.

“God, what is wrong with you?” He asks indignantly, barely keeping the question below a shout. “I know we’re on a date, okay?” Shizuo retracts his hand once he's certain Izaya won't continue with his thought, and has to fight the urge to fiddle with his tie. “I just. You’ve never.” He pauses. Made it official, he wants to say. Called me that before, would be the next best thing, but he settles on: “I mean you don't do relationships, right? That's what you said, before.” Izaya almost cackles at the bashful way Shizuo's eyes won't meet his own, he doesn't, but it's a near thing. “Well not usually, no. But our relationship is rather unusual, wouldn’t you agree?” Izaya leans forward. Shizuo is reminded of a cat, or more closely a snake, by the smirk flashing Izaya’s almost too sharp teeth.

“But I do think of you that way, and I want to help.” Izaya says. “I don't need help.” Is Shizuo's reply, his tone is softened by the thought of Izaya really calling him his boyfriend, maybe even when he talks to his friends. Then Shizuo frowns, because he sure as hell hopes Izaya doesn't talk to any of his 'friends’ about him, where the fuck did that come from? Besides, he knows very well that Izaya doesn't have any friends save for Shinra. “And you’ve left me again. You know I really would love to get a peak at that brain of yours, Shizu-chan.” Izaya says, leaning back and draping a thin arm over the back of the booth. He takes a drink of the black coffee in front of him. Shizuo's frown deepens, wondering how he drinks the sludge, and why at 7pm.

“I know how loans work, I work for a collections agency, remember? I’m not doing it.” Izaya’s mood seems to dip just slightly with that comment, growing impatient, the smirk he had losing a bit of its sincerity and his shoulders almost imperceptibly tensing. “Please, I know you couldn't pay me back, look at where you live.” Shizuo bristles, grip tightening around the glass in his hand. “I just want to be generous, is all. Besides, the less you work the more time I’ll have with you.” “What’s wrong with where I live?” Shizuo snaps. Izaya laughs and Shizuo gets the sense he's said exactly what Izaya wanted him to, and that thought just makes him more irritated. “Oh nothing.” Izaya starts smugly. “I actually think it's endearing that you're comfortable living somewhere so shabby. It makes you seem humble.” The look on Izaya’s face is the last straw, his smile mean and eyes glimmering with that all too familiar superiority.

There's a ‘pop’ and Shizuo can feel the little pieces of glass in his palm from the crushed cup in between his fingers before he actually looks at it. The milk he can feel dripping onto his leg off the side of the table makes him even angrier and he fights the urge to yell. Shizuo has just enough restraint to avoid punching the table in half, and instead stalks out of the bar past some very concerned patrons who scramble out of his way. He’s breathing hard through his nose when he pushes through the door. He walks to the left, unbothered by the rain or the fact he doesn't know this area of Shibuya. He doesn't get far before he hears Izaya call after him, but he tries his darndest to ignore it.

“Shizu-chan! Don't go throwing a tantrum without me, you know I get lonely!” Izaya taunts, following the taller man further into the rainy night.

(end of chase scene, outside of izayas apartment. “ahh i missed that! things were getting a little boring, dont you think shizuchan?” shizuo was tired, but this sorta reignites his anger. “is that what that was about? you insulted me because you were fucking bored?” “of course not! dont be silly. im just too good at getting under your skin sometimes.” “unbelievable.” he begins to stalk off, exasperated. Izaya whines to him not to leave.)

The Van Gang sit on a park table, munching on gas station hot dogs and chatting. their breaths create little clouds around their faces, the cold air and subtle rain making them shiver. Erika wears her signature hat and a much thicker jacket. She perks up suddenly, having remembered a particularly exciting piece of city gossip. “Hey, I heard someone saw Shizu-chan going into Izaya-kun’s apartment last night~” she says, remorselessly interrupting Kyouhei’s talk about his day. The latter huffs and rolls his eyes. “That guys apartment is probably trashed then, good.” Saburo replies. Erika smiles dreamily “What do you guys think they were doing?” she rests her chin in her hands, swinging her feet under the table.

[dogmatik]

under a readmore bc its long and pretty boring, just a unfinished day in the life type thing with billy and stu. cannot for the Life of me find the fic that inspired stus weird dead-shit photography, but ill keep looking and link it when i do.

There’s a polaroid of a squirrel on Stus messy desk. The thing looks pretty much the same as it would any other time, except its laying on the asphalt with all its little legs spread wide. There's a smear of red next to its nose, but other than that, it looks like the little creature could hop up a tree any second. Billy picks up the picture, finding another underneath. Same squirrel, different angle, same sleeping-with-its-eyes-open look. Billy remembers when he first saw Stu’s weird photography. They’d been around 12, Stu’s parents got him a polaroid for his birthday, and he took pictures of everything. There were some of his family, friends at school, trees at the park, but there were some others too. Stu had this dumb Transformers binder full of images. There were a lot stuffed in the back pocket, and Billy has never been very concerned with the privacy of others.

Stu had come back to his room with some goldfish to find Billy in the middle of his bedroom floor, surrounded by square pictures of dead raccoons and dried up little birds. “You’re such a freak.” Billy had said, eyes trained on an especially unfortunate cat.

“Wanna do Leprechaun 2?” Billy hears Stu ask behind him, the sound of VHS boxes being shuffled. “We’ve watched that like 4 times this week.” “Still got it for a couple days.” more shuffling, Billy sets down the photograph of the squirrel and plops into the chair at Stus desk, watching the other boy rearrange his collection of tapes. “Is that Brainscan?” Stu pauses, tracks Billy's eyes. He holds up the tape. “Yeah, you wanna watch it?” “I thought that was a rental too.” “Nah, bought it. Randy came over to watch it like, fifteen times. Kid loves this movie!” Billy rolls his eyes. “He would.” Stu sets it firmly in the “No” pile, and keeps shuffling. “April Fool's?” Billy thinks for a second. “Sure, I’ll go make popcorn.” Stu starts switching tapes. “Coulda done that while I looked!” Billy doesn't acknowledge him, just heads down the stairs to Stu’s kitchen. The house is quiet, empty but for the two boys. Stu’s parents are always on some trip, or business thing, or generally anywhere but home. Stu doesn't complain much, being so used to it. Billy appreciates it, always good to have a place without somebody's parents around that isn't the mall or school. Stu’s pantry is always full, popcorn and soda and junk, what you’d expect leaving a 17 year old alone with two weeks of grocery money. Billy snags some jiffy pop, sets the stove on and wanders the kitchen. He’s been coming to the Macher’s since grade school, knows where they keep the big popcorn bowls and butter.

He knows where the knives are too, and not for the first time this week, hell not for the first time tonight he wonders what Stu’s face would look like if he came upstairs with a knife instead of snacks. He’d think he was joking, probably. Make some dumb joke about teenagers being left alone making bad choices. He wonders how fast Stu would catch on, how long it’d take for that ever-present grin to slip. Would he fight him? He’d probably try to take the knife, and he just might be able to. He hasn't wrestled Stu in years now, but he's always been bigger. Clumsy maybe, but that wingspan might just be enough to compensate. He thinks that makes it better, more exciting if there's a fight. He’s never drawn blood from a person before, even in scraps with the neighbors’ kids over who’s turn it was to do whatever they spent their afternoons doing. Or jokes about his mom he took too seriously. He’s pretty sure Stu would put up a good fight, the thought makes his pulse quick. Billy realizes he's spent too much time fantasizing about blades and chokeholds when he smells something burning. He whips around to find the popcorn billowing dark smoke, goes to grab the handle just as the fire alarm starts its shril ring. Over it he can hear “Billy?” from up stairs, followed by lots of thumping. The handle sends a white hot pain through his palm, and he has just enough time to throw it into the sink. “What the hell man!” Stu sounds angry, but mostly just looks surprised. “Get the fucking alarm will you?” Billy snaps, and even after Stu clambers onto a chair and turns the damn thing off, Billy can still hear it in his skull. He’s turned on the tap, the fire sputtering and hissing under the spray. “Why'd you burn the popcorn?” “Like I did it on purpose?” Billy leans against the counter, looks at his palm. There’s a streak of white across it, the skin turned bright pink at the edges. “You okay?” Stu asks, softer than Billy thinks he’s ever heard him. Sorta like when he’s talking in the library, but calmer. Stu’s never been able to sit still, never been able to keep quiet. Billy remembers being annoyed by it, but mostly jealous. Jealous because even when he did laugh too loud in the library, or thump into some fragile shelf, people mostly just laughed. They gave him an endeared head shake and sent him off to expend his energy elsewhere. Billy never got to let go like that, always one too many grimaces or scoffs away from being sent to detention or his fucking room.

Billy looks up, watches as Stu’s bright blue eyes shift from his face to his palm. “We should get some ice for that.” Stu pulls open the freezer, pushing aside french fries and nuggets to get to the ice packs at the bottom. “It’s fine, doesn't even hurt.” Billy says, but takes the ice pack once it's wrapped in a dish towel. “Seriously man, what gives. You been like, super spacey.” There’s a popcorn kernel on the floor, half popped, blending into the light tiles. He’s pretty sure he can smell singed skin, but maybe that's just him being morbid again. Billy’s pulled roughly from his thoughts by Stu snapping in his face “Earth to Bill!” He says, and Billy slaps his hand away “Fuck off Macher, I just forgot about it. There wasn't an actual fire, was there? I’ll open the windows and it’ll be like nothing happened”. “Man, that's not the point! You been weird all day. Not even the fun weird. You okay?”

Billy hates that. Such a stupid waste of time question. When's he ever been able to answer honestly?. People like him can't, not unless they wanna get locked up in some padded hole somewhere. “I don't know. Probably.” Billy answered, more honest than he meant. Stu looks at him like he gets it, this serious expression on his face, like the one he gets when he's real focused on landing a trick on his skateboard. Then he grins, all teeth, and turns to leave the kitchen. “I got an idea! C’mon kid!” Stu yells from the garage door, and Billy’s stunned enough to follow.

Stu’s parents are some of the few people on the planet who actually have useful junk in their garage. All power tools and fishing equipment and snow gear. Billy thinks about the rubbermaid bins in his parents shed out back, baby clothes they're never gonna touch again and tchotchkes pushed on them by a dead relative. Billy’s fiddling with a golf club when Stu emerges from further in the garage, some hard case in his hand. “Check it out! My mom got me this for Christmas. Not time yet, but what she don't know won't hurt her.”

[dogmatik]

Isreal Hands has loved Edward Teach for years, ever since they met in school. He's stared into those big dark eyes and fallen in love more times then he can count over the years. "Can't believe you'd even suggest that" Edward says, and all of the love Izzy has doesn't stop him from wanting nothing more in this moment then to kick the bastard in the balls. "Edward, he's a slob, he can't keep a job, and he's constantly bringing strangers into the house, he's an awful fucking roommate anyway!" Izzy yells back, can feel the headache beginning behind his eyes from this conversation. "Iz, he's our friend, we can't just throw him out cause he's had a bad go of it, what does that say about us?" "That we're smart, Edward, smart enough to know when to set some fucking boundaries. Lord knows you need them." Edward narrows his eyes at that, eyebrow twitching upward. "Yeah, cause you'd know all about the boundaries I keep, huh?". Izzy doesn't get to respond, Jack Rackham shambling in through the front door of their shared two-bedroom with his arms full of walmart bags. "'Mornin' ladies, sounds like I just missed a fight." Edward looks at Jack, Izzy stares at Edward when he says "You'll have a job by Friday or you'll find somewhere else to be." Ed snaps his attention back, angry. Jack scoffs. "Good thing I already got one. You think I wasn't looking?"

[dogmatik]

Jesus knew, and yet he loved judas anyways, allowed him to follow, washed his feet and held him close. He knew judas would betray him, knew he would die, sick with guilt. but what was betrayal to a kiss? what was suffering, when first you could have love? Jesus wanted, and knew it was inevitable anyway, so gulped down the sweet taste of judas, savoring every drop. and isnt that profound? that love, in all its awesome and devastating power, could paint even the most devoted martyr selfish?

[dogmatik]

Kiss me, pull me flush, flesh to flesh, take me into your mouth and bite down.

Press your fingers into my side, slip your nails underneath my skin, pry a place between my ribs.

Judas? Are you listening? I think your fingers will fit in my palm, through it.

Do you want to try? Can you? Would you?

[dogmatik]

modern au in which ed convinces iz to go to Vegas for booze n gamblin(theyre both very good at it), they get married trashed as hell(i know you cant actually legally get married drunk, suspension of disbelief pls). Neither one remembers but izzy finds a blurry video in his camera roll taken by a witness. He does not tell ed, because it's embarrassing and also stupid. fast forward 3 yrs ed and stede are madly in love, turns out they're BOTH legally married still(neither one knew this about the other, ed was entirely clueless). This causes a bit of strain, edward bein like "you have a fucking wife, and Two Children, and you didnt feel like that was important information to share BEFORE we started fucking???" to which stede responds along the lines of "well i asked you if you and izzy had something together, suppose that was a lie?" etc. they get through it eventually. cue Mary and Izzy meeting upon their respective divorces, bonding over dumb men in their lives and wine(izzy will not admit he enjoys wine, but he does finish one of her fancier bottles of white wines on his own). Anyway shenanigans in which Marys children now have 3 dads and an "uncle"(?) izzy. Their family dinners are a fucking mess Every Time, especially since stede insists upon inviting all of his rando queer friends. Lucius has still somehow managed to be dubbed the "gay uncle" by the bonnet children and he is Ecstatic.

[dogmatik]

Bad end ed+izzy. They fight about ed being cruel to the crew, izzy knows theyre on the brink of mutiny. Ed doesnt give a shit, and izzy threatens to leave. Ed is afraid of being alone, being abandoned Again and that fear turns instantly into rage. He questions izzys loyalty, throws the whole "selling him out to the english" thing in his face. Izzy tells him he wasn't even supposed to be on the fuckin ship. Then ed says something along the lines of "yeah, we see how well you can make your own decisions." which, fair. so ed brings up all the times izzys plans have blown up in his face, and asks him "so what're you gonna do when you leave? you think anyone will take you on as a first mate if blackbeard fired you? You gonna be your OWN captain? dont make me fucking laugh". and that's terrible, because edward KNOWS his power means protection to izzy, means safety. but hes scared and hes hurt and on some level he knows izzys right, that without some kind of change the crew will mutiny against him and he'll be all alone, and izzys been desperately working to pick up the scraps in the krakens wake. so he tells izzy he can't possibly live without him, and izzy believes him. He knows edward is a genius, and if he says izzy couldnt hack it, well who the fuck is he to argue with a legend?

Isreal Hands is in love, and it is both the only reason he's alive and the worst thing thats ever happened to him.

[dogmatik]

Judas kissed Him, and it had damned them both. One to sacrifice, one to suicide. And He knew, understood the implications, understood the consequence. Before it ever happened, before they even met. So He tilted His head gentle, hair stuck to sweaty forehead, and accepted this betrayal. This damnation, this target marked upon him.

This kiss.

He accepted it, at the same time He'd uttered "I forgive you, dear Judas, I've already forgiven you" and knew it would mean nothing. Judas looked confused, then frightful, as they were torn apart by hands grasping all at once the Son of God.

[dogmatik]

Blog containing writing that is either too embarrassing or not polished enough to put anywhere else, but that i really want to talk about/share.

Feel free to poke me about stuff! I like to chat about things that make my brain go brr.

mooost of this stuff is WIPs tbh