#... every GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING TIME I need to FUCKING use it

[cat-mermaid]

the second job i ever had: worked at this place that was a big old fuck off, once upon a time warehouse turned office space. Located in a downtown area that was once all industrial, but now a scary crackhead zone, right by the train tracks and everythang

but that doesn't matter, what matters is that a previous and very short lived company that did whatever moved out and left behind this motherfucker:

it was a Netherland Dwarf Rabbit and the bastard of the earth

it looked just like this:

and it was this big:

but this thing was a goddamn force of destruction

one day its owners were gone, its cage was the only thing left, wide open and empty. very soon we were finding power cords severed, boxes with huge holes chewed in the sides, electronics ruined, paper work shredded and more

the guy who ran things but wasn't necessarily our boss (but not a manager either??? he was like a really put upon IT guy) was losing his mind. Before this he was a reasonable, slightly dramatic dude but now he was foaming at the mouth and flailing around because this was costing us so much money and he was the one getting yelled at by our (never physically present) real boss that i think i met once

finally we figured out it was the fucking rabbit. Somehow it was still here and thriving, a whole month and a half after its owners had bounced

IT guy went out to the street and brought back a huge cinder block and was like I AM GOING TO SMASH THAT FUCKING THING and we were like NOOO THE BUNNY and he was like IT DESERVES TO FEEL EVERY KIND OF SUFFERING A RABBIT CAN FEEL and had to be talked out of buying glue traps and poison

we (specificcaly I) went out and got a live trap but this damn bun was too smart, it never went near the thing. What kept happening tho, was every now and then you'd walk by IT guy's desk while he was working and the fucking bun would be hunkered down right under his wheely chair. You'd be like ITS THERE ITS THERE and he was like, without even moving, i know shhhhhh i'm lulling it into a false sense of security so i can grab it

and it worked cos finally one day he nabbed it and was like HAHAHA YOU GOIN TO RABBIT JAIL (the SPCA) but then we all went on a christmas break and come back and theres the fucking old cage that got left behind, sitting under his desk and the rabbit is sitting on his lap all wrapped up in a blankie

and this guy was all no see this thing is really under socialized and needs to be reminded that its a domestic rabbit since its been on the loose for so long, otherwise its gonna keep getting adopted and returned by people who don't know any better because its being all shitty

and i was like, but you said it deserves to feel all the suffering and he goes a bunny can only suffer so much before it pops (whatever that means? maybe Buddha said that) and proceeded to spoil this thing for the next two months, carry it around like a baby, buy it a new bigger cage and then some

that damn rabbit was still there when i left that job and i'm pretty sure it never left ;)

[elaemae]

The premium version of human is here to wreck house, mfs.

[Twst x ObeyMe!AFAB!reader]

CHP. 7

Again, I thank y'all for the reblogs, likes and comments guys, it really helps me :)

CW: Blue pronouns or address for MC every time they get mistaken for a guy. Also, I'm a potty mouth so MC is too.

Inhale..

Exhale....

Inhale......

Exhale.......

Inhale.........

Ex-fucking-hale.......

You're about to have a stroke right now.

You should've just went back to the goddamn infirmary instead of checking in on these obnoxious, bitch-less, probably father-less, motherfuckers.

It's just cleaning windows!! How the hell can you mess up like this?! Why the fuck did the cafeteria chandelier get involved??

GODDAMNIT!! WHY IS YUU INVOLVED AS WELL?! AHHHH—!

*One eternity of screaming like a banshee later*

After sending those damn kids and cat away to get some sort of magical stone in some godforsaken mine, you wrangled with the headmaster for at least two hours to prevent him from writing up the expulsion papers of Yuu and that Blue-haired kid who was mostly innocent about the ordeal.

(Meanwhile, encouraging him to kick that Ace kid and the damn cat off the school. You ain't about to let audacity run free rn, mostly because you feel yourself start genuinely tweaking as you almost got possessed by the urge to sucker punch someone's soul out of their body.)

[Satan perked up, there it was again.

That distinctive spark of wrath that he can feel through your pact with him is both concerning and comforting.

On one hand, the anger he feels means that you're alive. And seeing that what he's feeling through the pact is mostly annoyance, then that must mean that nothing marginally bad or traumatizing had happened to you yet.

You're actually more pissed off in a 'someone-had-the-audacity-to-eat-my-snacks' kind of way more than anything else, meaning that you're safe for now.

But on the other hand, he doesn't know how long that temporary safety will last.

There's also the fact this is the fourth time he'd felt that spark of 'I-wanna-punt-someone-into-the-fuckin-sun' kind of anger from you, which is worrying because it hasn't even been 48 hours since you were kidnapped by some mf.

He shook his head, calling upon a subordinate (read: Devoted fan) to collect more and more books to learn what type of teleportation and sleeping magic was used in your kidnapping.

With the massive search party spanning all three realms that they'd called upon, they will find you sooner or later.

And once they do...

Well... You'll need to get used to being with someone at all hours of the day.]

*Passive-aggresively reminding Crowley that he can't kick out an innocent kid for something they didn't directly do as they had no way of stopping the events that transpired.*

["You don't want the word to get out that you let an innocent teen roam around in a foreign world with absolutely nothing to their name and nobody to protect them, right?"

"That is true, but I still can't just let this go unpunis–"

"Especially when it's the school's faulty equipment that took them so far away from all of their loved ones and belongings, right?"]

Needless to say, Yuu ended up being "fired" in the end, quite an unfortunate result because they will need to freeload off of you until the end of your stay in this world. (Poor them, they got fired before they knew that they had a job in the first place.)

Oh well, it's better than being kicked out from practically their only way back home right now...

Hays... That cruel crow..

Anygays, it's time to snoop around and hopefully make some connections to the residents of this school.

This is a well-known college, right? So there should be influential people here somewhere...

Hehe.. It's time you bring out your gaslight, gatekeep, gold-digging skills so that you can girlboss your way into stability inside this foreign world.

• • • • • •

Suddenly, more than a dozen individuals felt a strong shiver run up their spines.

Haha... Well that's ominous!

• • • • • •

Ortho deadpanned at his brother.

It seems that almost burning down their dorm room last night isn't enough to deter him from making his [Mr. L/n x reader] fanfiction complete with mandatory fan art for every single chapter.

Haaa....

But at least his brother isn't 'fanboying' about another fictional character again...

Hm... Now that he thinks about it..

Maybe his brother will be more inclined to make friends if it's Mr. L/n!

And thus begins Ortho's journey of being an unknowing wingman as he tries to get his introverted brother to make friends.

• • • • • •

You narrowed your eyes as you looked at the small gift on top of your temporary bed in the infirmary.

Dats suspicious....

Dats weird......

You turn your necklace into a staff and start poking the box, trying to see if it'll suddenly turn into a horrific eldritch monster and jump you. (Won't be the first time that happened.)

• • • • •

"It is done, ××× ×× ××××××" (This is too easy to guess😑)

• • • • •

Diavolo sighed for the tenth time that hour, lamenting how trying to focus on his paperwork is a really hard task when MC gets thrown into the situation.

'Maybe a small break will help clear my head?'

He might as well just go out for a walk in the garden to get some fresh... air...

Oh? what is this?

His eyes scanned the dark envelope he'd seen wedged under the 'To burn' stack of paperwork in his desk.

This envelope wasn't here yesterday...

After confirming that the piece of paper wasn't cursed or charmed, he opened it with apprehension.

...!

This..!

• • • • •

Barbatos appeared in the office, tense as he'd heard his lord call out his name with haste.

Reading the letter shoved in front of his face by the serious Diavolo, Barbatos made a mental note to get the dungeon chambers ready.

They've got themselves a lead.

← Pr.6 | Chapter List | Chp. 1.1 →

Just tell me if y'all wanna get added in the permanent taglist, even if I already tagged y'all here.

That's just so I'll know if you wanna get tagged in all the upcoming chapters of this fanfic.

@caprinaesprout

@iameliseposts

@leviathans-tail-scales

@twst-om-lover

@a-traveling-void-human

Reblog or I'll take your ankles😈 (Pls like and reblog, it really gives me motivation🥺)

Also, the next chap is the start of Arc 1: Satan but short.

[fettuccin-e]

Think About It

Kinktober Day 23: Dirty Talk

Tags: Santiago Garcia x Reader, talk of Frankie Morales x Reader x Santiago Garcia (ie. talk of threesome), unprotected piv (pls wrap it in real life I beg of you), dacryphilia, plenty of dirty talk like it's a lot, light degradation, breeding kink whoopsie, Santiago Garcia is a filthy motherfucker do Not blame me for this (w/c: 1.3K)

A/N: So this may have gotten out of hand a tad so do Not fucking look at me okay??? Santiago Garcia the man that you are I love you sm and also there are so many Frankie mentions in this fic so it could be a prelude to this fic I wrote earlier this month where they actually have a threesome (For Kinktober I have been using this list from flightlessangelwings!)

Santiago Garcia doesn’t get overwhelmed easily. He’s a soldier; he’s been conditioned to withstand the harshest conditions, brave horrible situations without breaking, without letting his hard exterior crack.

But fuck, when he’s with you like this, that exterior shatters like fragile glass, all over the floor in front of your shared bed.

You’re so fucking tight and wet around him as he keeps a hard grip on your hips, yanking you back on his cock, plunging himself as deep as he can fucking get.

“God damn it, baby, taking me so fucking good,” he grits, yanking your hips up further, your face pressed into the pillows as you scrabble at the sheets, clinging for purchase against Santi’s onslaught. “This pussy’s so goddamn wet, she’s fucking leaking around my cock, baby. Making a goddamn mess.”

“Santi,” you whine, “You can’t just-”

He lands a swift smack to your ass, watching as your skin recoils against him. It’s hypnotizing, makes him want to fuck you into these sheets for hours, just to watch your gorgeous body react to him over and over.

“What, baby?” He growls, leaning close and fucking into you hard enough that the headboard smacks against the wall. “Can’t what? Can’t tell you how fucking tight your little pussy is? Can’t tell you that she’s fucking sucking my cock in like you can’t get enough?”

You whine, loud and high-pitched, burying your face in the pillows. Santi snarls in return, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail and yanking your head up until you’re gasping air into your lungs. He fucks you harder, slamming into you violent and fucking reckless. His careful control has burned to ashes before him, lost in the heat of your body.

“Look at you, fucking desperate slut just sobbing on my cock. It’s spreading you so wide, honey, ‘s gonna split you apart,” he snarls, and you hiccup over your moans. “Think this is enough for you baby? This needy pussy just needs more and more and more.”

Your hips will probably bruise under the strength of his grip, but God, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think you do either, with the way you moan, high and wonton every time he buries himself so deep.

“Should get Frankie, fill you up even more, get you all fucked and loose on two cocks,” he grits, and Christ, the way your cunt clenches around him has him biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from busting inside of you right fucking now.

He chuckles darkly, and you squeak softly when he leans close to you, covering your back with his warm body. “Oh, you like that idea, don’t you?” he grins, and you shiver beneath him.

“Fuck, I don’t- I don’t know,” you whine, pushing yourself back and fucking yourself on Santi’s cock. 

“I do, baby. I know you want it,” he growls, leaning back up again to fuck into you hard enough that you scream. “Could get Fish and we could both fuck you so good, hermosa. Get him buried in this sweet little pussy while I,” he pulls your asscheeks apart to expose that little hole buried between. You jerk and moan when he brushes a finger over it. “I could take this sweet little ass.”

You sob into the sheets, humping involuntarily back into Santi’s harsh thrusts into your heaving body. Tears are dripping down your face and landing on the pillow below you.

Santi groans, fucking lost to it, rambling as he fucks into you like a man possessed.

He leans over you again, wrapping his strong arms around your body and pulling you up until you’re only pressed against him, your tits exposed to the air while he humps up into your cunt.

“I could eat your pretty cunt while Frankie fucks this mouth, show him what a good little cocksucker you are,” he murmurs into your ear, and you gasp his name.

He pulls his arms tighter around you, holding you so fucking tight as he gets so deep into your hot cunt. You’re dripping all over his thighs, his thrusts making lewd snapping noises when his thighs stick to yours every time he shoves his hips in, in, in.

“We talk about you, baby, me n' Frankie,” he mutters, and you can’t do anything but let your mouth gape open as he forces little moans out of your mouth. “Talk about how pretty you look, how good you fucking taste. Frankie needs a taste baby, wants to bury his tongue in this sweet pussy still you’re fucking drowning him.”

“Jesus, Santi, fuck- ah, oh my God,” you slur between labored breaths, and you can feel Santi’s cocky grin against your neck, before he bites sharply into it.

“My gorgeous fucking girl, can’t believe you’re fucking mine,” he snarls snapping his hips up, up up. You dig your nails into his forearms as he breaks you apart, jamming the thick head of his cock up into that little spot that makes you cry so beautiful for him.

“Gonna knock you up, just like this, baby, wouldn’t you like that?” he says, and you hiccup a little yes that has him growling, one of his hands coming down to clutch over your stomach, pawing at your skin.

“I’ll pump this sweet pussy full of my cum, make sure it fucking takes.” You sob like you’re dying, blinking fat tears from your eyes. “And if it doesn’t,” he continues, “I’ll keep fucking you, over and over, flood this cunt till you’re dripping everywhere, leaking down your fucking thighs.”

“Santi, I can’t, I can’t, I’m gonna-”

Santi talks like he can’t hear you, maybe he fucking can’t, too lost in the heat and wetness and the need to hold back his own orgasm brewing deep in his bones. “I’ll fuck this pussy everywhere, I’ll make sure that you have a baby, watch you so round and goddamn beautiful baby, you’ll fucking glow, I just know it. Shit, I’ll fuck you in the kitchen, the goddamn shower, keep you nice and full of me no matter what. I’ll make you nice and loose so you can take my cock all the time, no matter what, just give me the word, sweet girl, and I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll see stars.”

You scream, wordless and overwhelmed, when you cum, your pussy gushing all over Santi’s thighs even as he ruts into you like a goddamn animal. He growls, littering your neck with kisses and bites and licks. The guys will give him shit when you see them next, but he can already picture it: the way Frankie will eye the marks, his pupils blown wide, and Santi will fucking know.

“Please cum, Santi, please fill me up, give me a baby,” you whimper as you shake through your orgasm, and who is Santi to refuse you?

He groans, shoving himself hard into you, as deep as he can get, and floods your cunt with his cum. He hopes the first time will take, that he’ll be able to see the way you get rounder and rounder, carrying your beautiful baby.

When you’re both finally wrung dry, he keeps you hugged tight to him as he lowers you both to your sides. He keeps himself buried deep inside, not wanting a drop to slip out.

“Fucking Christ, Santi,” you mutter, running your hands over his forearms as he buries his face into your hair. He groans, but stays mostly quiet. “Gonna blow your knees out if you keep fucking me like that,” you giggle.

“Worth it,” he mutters, and grins into your hair. “But if I do, we can always call in Fish to keep you satisfied.”

“Shut up,” you chuckle, but Santi doesn’t miss the way you clench around his soft cock at the prospect.

He files the thought away for later.

[autisticlancemcclain]

“No.”

Lance groans loudly, forgoing smacking his face in his hands and going straight for banging his head repeatedly against the elevator doors, which Keith thinks is a touch dramatic. But regardless he crosses his arms over his chest and stubbornly refuses to budge from his position.

“Keith. For the love of God.”

“God is dead and I’m not climbing out of a goddamn ten thousand foot elevator hatch with you.”

Keith admittedly puts a tad too much emphasis on the ‘with you’ part of the sentence. It’s obvious in the way Lance stops and lifts his head up and glares at Keith so icily he doesn’t need to squint to make out Lance’s expression in the low emergency lights; his eyes practically burn a hole through Keith’s forehead. Keith winces but doesn’t say anything.

“You have gone toe to toe with a goddamn zombie dictator,” Lance grinds out, “but you’re too much of a pussy to climb an elevator shaft?”

Keith stiffens. “I’m not — shut up!”

Smirking, now, visibly delighted that he’s managed to press Keith’s buttons (God Keith wants to punch him), Lance leans against the elevator wall, hip cocked, feigning nonchalance.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he says, inspecting his nails like it doesn’t matter. “I just never would have thought that the best pilot out of the Garrison and literal pilot of the Red Lion is, you know, a chicken.”

Keith clenches his fists. Lance is frustrated and bored and pushing Keith’s buttons because there’s fuck else to do. He is. Keith knows this.

But he is so goddamn good at it.

“I’m not a fucking chicken, Cargo Pilot.”

‘Cargo Pilot’ is usually a hole-in-one insult that’s guaranteed to make Lance bristle, sure to make him bare his teeth and go bright red and generally lose his absolute shit. Keith is even sparing in his use of the term, careful not to let it lose its potency.

But because the universe hates him and also Lance is the most annoying motherfucker alive, his smirk only widens, and he flexes his fingers, still fucking casual, still not even bothering to look up in Keith’s direction.

I hate you, Keith thinks, with feeling.

“Sure,” Lance says, without. He shrugs. “Prove it.”

For a second Keith thinks he’s so mad that he might. But then he imagines it fully, pictures his bare back pressed against Lance’s, feet planted on the slippery castle walls, lights probably still out, struggling to put one foot in front of the other and drag each other upright. He thinks of how much effort that would take and how easily he would start to sweat, how easily every shift of their muscles would loosen the friction-borne grip between them, how easily his foot could slip. He thinks of how long a ten thousand foot drop would take, how long he would have to accept that he’s going to die before he splats on the pristine floor.

His stomach turns. His face goes green.

Lance’s jaw drops.

“Oh my God, you’re afraid of heights!”

“I am not!” Keith snaps, because he isn’t, he just has a fucking brain. “It’s just — it’s ten thousand fucking feet, Lance!”

“A pilot!” Lance screeches. “A pilot afraid of heights!”

“You are so goddamn extra!” Keith cries.

Lance makes more vague screeching noises. He gestures furiously at Keith, then pauses, then makes a sound in the back of his throat akin to a loudly dying whale, then gestures back at Keith, then at the ceiling, then at the elevator as a whole. Then he lets out one loud, long, final yell, completely wordless and directed at what Keith can only assume is the heavens, and stops, closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and very calmly crawls onto the floor, belly first, and lays perfectly flat with his face pressed to the tiles.

“I hate it here,” he says serenely. He pauses for a minute, thoughtful. “Also, I hate you.”

“Ditto,” Keith mutters, finally giving up and joining him on the floor. He tips his head back until it thumps on the elevator wall and sighs, loud and long, wondering vaguely if this is punishment for the hundreds of times he mocked Shiro for his fear of squirrels. He truly thinks it might be.

All he wanted was twenty goddamn minutes in the pool. That’s all. He’d have even taken ten. He just wanted to swim a few laps, maybe float for a bit, and pretend he was in a lake somewhere without pressing problems such as saving the universe and the fate of every single soul in it.

Eight minutes, really. Seven.

The lights flicker back on. Lance lifts his head, hopeful, then stretches out one ridiculously long leg (seriously what is the deal with that he’s basically a giraffe, it’s too much, Keith should talk to someone about it because since when were legs allowed to be that — long and shapely, or whatever, it’s weird) and presses the closest button with his toe.

It does nothing. Lance stares at it for a few minutes, as if attempting to bring the elevator alive by manifestation alone, but no life is forthcoming. Lance huffs sadly and returns his face to the floor.

“That’s really disgusting,” Keith says, although he has his fair share of Floor Time. “People walk on this floor all the time.”

Lance doesn’t bother looking up, groaning loudly for several minutes before simply rolling away to the opposite side of the elevator.

“Shut up,” he says finally, after so long Keith almost forgets his original comment. “You just —”

Abruptly he straightens up, pulling the towel off his neck and crawling forward to place it in the middle of the elevator. Keith rolls his eyes so hard it actually hurts, a little.

“You and your commentary stay on the loser stinky mullet half of the elevator,” Lance says. “The pretty half that’s not infected with your rancid vibes belongs to me.”

“Were you trained to be this annoying?” Keith ponders, half out of genuine curiosity. “Like, do you do this on purpose?”

“Ignoring you now,” Lance says primly.

Keith scowls. He’s not — Keith isn’t the one who’s too irritating to be around without going insane.

“I’m ignoring you, asshole.”

Lance doesn’t respond. Keith closes one eye and holds up his thumb and forefinger to the approximate shape of Lance’s face, pretending he’s squishing his head. It brings him great peace.

After a while, though, he starts to get restless. His legs starts bouncing, up and down so fast it’s blurry, and then his fingers start to tap, but the feeling of rustling under his skin only gets worse, spinning faster and faster and coil tightening more and more in his stomach until he just — implodes, really, until his brain goes boom and says if you don’t get moving right this second, and Keith says in response to it, believe me I’m on it. He’s scrambling to his feet before he has the conscious thought to do so, hands moving before he tells them to and pushing him upright, bare feet padding rapidly on the floor as he paces, three steps until he hits the wall then pivot then three steps then pivot then three steps again. Over and over and over. His fingers stop tapping but his shoulders get twitchy; itchy under his skin and on it, sweaty because there’s no airflow and this goddamn elevator is sweltering. Or he’s just hot. He usually runs hot. He’s not sure and he doesn’t care to know, because the pool would have been refreshing but instead he’s stuck in a ten by ten by ten cube stuck somewhere on a ten thousand foot tube and to his right his rival-slash-teammate keeps huffing and rubbing his hands on his arms and muttering to himself.

“Could you maybe cut that out,” Keith snaps, which is entirely unfair because his pacing isn’t quiet, but Keith is three seconds away from attempting to climb the walls and it’s Lance, anyway, when are they not arguing, so it doesn’t matter.

Maybe when you’re having a crisis-brought bonding moment, says a voice in his brain. Stuck elevators are kind of a crisis.

Shut up or I’m going to give myself a concussion, Keith responds to it.

“Not my fault it’s goddamn freezing in here,” Lance snaps.

Keith pauses. He looks down at Lance. He frowns.

“Your lips are blue,” he observes, bewildered.

“Eat shit,” Lance responds, predictably. He’s fucking — he’s shivering.

Keith is made astutely aware of the cooling sweat on his back and grimaces.

“Lance,” he says slowly, “it is not cold in here.”

Lance blows out a breath like the goddamn weight of the world is on his shoulders. He flicks his eyes up to meet Keith’s, who is standing behind his head and leaning down, and somehow manages to seem like the more put-together person between them, which is bonkers.

“I’m anaemic, stupid.”

Keith blinks. Suddenly the air feels very solemn, and he shifts uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

“I didn’t know you had an eating disorder,” he manages eventually.

Lance’s faces scrunches up in confusion for seven whole seconds before it clears, and he looks at Keith like he is the dumbest man alive and then bursts out laughing.

“That’s — anorexic, you idiot! I don’t have enough blood!”

“Oh,” Keith says, face heating. He scowls as Lance continues to laugh way harder than what was called for, clutching his stomach with tears rolling down his face. He pokes Lance aggressively with his toe, and by that he means his kicks him. “Will you stop — it’s not that funny, dickhead!”

“It really is,” Lance wheezes.

Keith scowls harder. His face is as red as his shorts and the flush is starting to spread down his chest and Lance notices and it only makes him laugh more, because he’s a shithead of the worst kind. “I hope you choke.”

Keith flicks his towel over his head and yanks, embarrassed, stomping to the other side of the elevator as if that will somehow make Lance shut up faster. It doesn’t, obviously, and he hears Lance laugh for several minutes until he finally winds down to giggling, then eventually nothing.

Keith harrumphs quietly to himself. He resolves to sticking in his corner like he should have from the very beginning, until the elevator starts moving again or someone on the team comes to save them. At this point he’s so done he wouldn’t even care if it was Shiro, wouldn’t even care if Shiro gloated about it for eternity (Keith saved his ass from government experimentation, anyway, so he wins by default for the rest of time). He faces his corner and pulls his knees to his chest and starts picking at a loose thread in the seam of his shorts to amuse himself.

Several minutes later, he hears Lance shifting. He ignores it. He pulls at the thread until it comes loose, then busies himself with tying the thread into the most complicated and random knot he can.

A few more minutes later, and there’s the sound of fabric rustling and draping, then quiet cursing. Keith untangles and retangles his knot for the fourth time.

After what must be a half hour, Keith hears the sound of teeth chattering.

He sighs. He looks forlornly at his knot.

“I could just ignore him,” he mutters to himself. “He probably won’t die.”

He thinks of how short Lance’s shorts are. He pinches his own towel in his fingertips, so thin he can practically feel his fingerprints. He remembers blue lips and a clenched jaw and raised gooseflesh.

He sighs loudly, more of a groan, and flicks his ball of thread away.

It takes Lance a few seconds to respond to Keith looming over him, which is worrying. But eventually he cracks open one brown eye and flares up at Keith.

“What,” he mutters. His teeth are chattering so bad it sounds like two words.

“You’re freezing,” Keith says. His voice is softer than he expected it to be.

Lance huffs, closing his eye again and curling further into himself. “No shit.”

Keith frowns. “I’m not.”

“Well, rub it in, why dontcha.”

Keith frowns. “You’re not understanding.”

Lance ignores him. Keith has a sudden and vivid memory of the year Shiro and Adam drove him up to Seattle in the winter so he could be more cultured, or whatever (or less of a desert menace, Adam had argued, and perhaps more inclined to stop biting people), and spent the whole car ride lecturing him about hypothermia.

“It doesn’t take very long to set in,” Shiro had said.

“And once you have it you need to warm up or your heart can stop,” Adam had finished, very serious.

Suddenly Keith starts to feel very panicked.

Lukewarm tea, warm blankets, skin to skin contact with someone who’s warm, were Shiro’s instructions. And then possibly hospital.

Well. Keith has one of those things.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he wraps a gentle hand around Lance’s shoulder, tugging him upright, then pulls him forward so his cradled hands are pressed against Keith’s chest and his head is tucked into the junction of Keith’s neck.

Worryingly, it takes Lance almost thirty seconds to start complaining.

“You smell like mullet,” he whines. But he doesn’t move away. In fact, he burrows closer.

Keith swallows down his worry. “Mullets don’t smell like anything, dumbass.” He brings his hands up to press against Lance’s back. Lance groans, curling deeper into Keith’s hold. His nose is icy and burns a trail across Keith’s shoulder, down his collarbone. Keith’s flush from earlier makes an enthusiastic return, because nothing good still exists in the world.

“I still think you’re annoying,” Lance mumbles. Every move of his lip brushes against Keith’s skin.

“Shut up and focus on not freezing to death,” Keith snaps.

Lance snorts. “I’m not gonna freeze to death, doofus. It’s just a dead elevator. Once I fell asleep on the Garrison rooftop in January and only had to spend three days in urgent care, so basically I can withstand anything.”

Keith pauses. He tries to reconcile the Lance who just said that to the Lance who came up with a life saving plan in thirty seconds on the Balmera to the Lance who threatened to stick Keith in a wormhole to the Lance who smiled and said they made a good team before passing out in Keith’s arms.

“You are a very confusing person,” he says when all the reconciling does absolutely nothing.

“Thank you,” Lance says, sounding pleased.

Keith snorts and tightens his hold. Lance sighs and sags a little. Slowly his fingers stop feeling so much like ice blocks, and his breathing doesn’t sound so erratic. Keith doesn’t know how long it’s been. He stopped trying to count somewhere between when Lance’s cheek squished against his chest and his fingers started tracing featherlight patterns across his skin.

Lance yawns. Keith tries to fight his but ends up yawning anyway.

“Is it bad to let a person with hypothermia sleep?” he mumbles, half-slurring his words.

Lance hums. “‘M not hypothermic.”

“Dunno. Could be.”

He sighs again, a puff of air against Keith’s neck, and spreads his palms against Keith’s chest, flat. “‘M not. You’re too warm.” He pauses. “Freak.”

His tone is fond. The corners of Keith’s lips quirk up. “Weirdo.”

“Mhm.”

He falls asleep trying to count Lance’s breaths. It’s — groundbreaking, somehow.

———

(“Oh, my God.”

Keith cracks open bleary eyes, lifting a hand to rub his face. Lance groans from his place on Keith’s chest — in a puddle of drool, why is that not nearly as revolting as it should be — and snatches Keith’s wrist way faster than he should be able to as groggy as he is, placing it back around his waist.

“Oh, my God,” the voice repeats, gleeful.

“Shut up, Shiro,” Keith mutters. “Fuck.”

It takes him a minute.

His eyes fly open at the same time as Lance’s, and they look at each other, and then Keith is being shoved and kicked at the same time somehow and Lance is scrambling backwards at the speed of light, screeching. A loud bang makes Keith look over and he discovers his brother, who is dead to him, collapsed on the floor, laughing so loud Zarkon can probably hear him.

“What — Shiro — go — stop fucking laughing, you piece of shit!”

Lance continues to screech. Keith whips a towel at him.

“You gay pining loser!” Shiro shrieks. “I’m going to tell literally everyone!”

Keith puts his head in his hands and wishes he’d fallen down the goddamn elevator shaft.)

[rpstartersinc]

* 𝐇𝐁𝐎'𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓  𝐎𝐅  𝐔𝐒  𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝟏.

feel free to change pronouns / wording!

“ i presume the prospect of a viral pandemic keeps you up at night as well? ”

“ you like saying no. ”  

“ i was gonna make you birthday pancakes. ”  

“ how old are you again? ”    

“ you’re still alive, you old fucker. ”  

“ i was getting worried. ”  

“ you locked the door for once, good job. ”

“ i put the change back because i’m an honest thief. ”

“ help me. ”  

“ you killed her. ”  

“ we’re gonna be brave, and we’re gonna get outta this. ”

“ i got you. ”  

“ hey! no one told you to move. ”  

“ are you alone? ”  

“ well, the more you shoot people, the harder it is to sleep, i guess. ”

“ it’s easy to make a mistake in the dark. ”  

“ you gonna keep me here? kill me? ”  

“ i’d like to go home and drink ‘til my face stops hurting. ”

“ people are gonna come looking for me. ”  

“ there are worse things than infected out there. ”

“ i got jumped by a couple guys. ”  

“ it’s a miracle you’re alive. ”  

“ i need you to take a breath. ”  

“ rebellion takes time. ”  

“ keep it quiet. ”  

“ you were safe there until you decided to sneak out. ”

“ i wasn’t expecting it. ”  

“ you can’t be stupid like this. ”  

“ it’s our business to know things. ”  

“ your watch is broken. ”  

“ you mumble in your sleep. ”  

“ look how dark it is. ”  

“ i’m not sick! ”  

“ i’m not infected. ”  

“ i think what really impressed them was the fact that i didn’t turn into a fucking monster. ”

“ better them than us. ”  

“ i’m gonna talk to you like you’re an adult. ”  

“ can i have a gun? ”  

“ people like to tell stories. ”  

“ you try climbing ten fucking floors with our knees, see how you feel. ”

“ no more questions about me. ”  

“ was it hard? like, knowing they were people once. ”

“ you’re not immune from being ripped apart. ”

“ from this point forward, we are silent. ”  

“ well, i didn’t shit my pants, so... ”  

“ save who you can save. ”  

“ nobody made you go along with this plan. ”

“ don’t blame me for something that isn’t my fault. ”

“ you ask a lot of goddamn questions. ”

“ if you have to get bit to be infected, then who bit the first person? ”

“ there’s stuff up there you shouldn’t see. ”

“ well now i have to see. ”

“ i thought about lying for some reason, but the reason didn’t come. ”

“ if i feed you, then every bum you talk to about it is gonna show up here looking for a free lunch. ”

“ you already know i’m bad at lying. ”

“ everything tastes good when you’re starving. ”

“ paying attention to things, it’s how we show love. ”

“ there are no friends to be had. ”

“ i was never afraid before you showed up. ”

“ we have a job to do, and god help any motherfuckers who stand in our way. ”

“ you do what i say when i say it. ”

“ it doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope, it’ll still be stationary. ”

“ what did the mermaid wear to her math class? an algae bra. ”

“ i stayed up all night wondering where the sun went, and then it dawned on me. ”

“ if you don’t think there’s hope for the world, why bother going on? ”

“ you think i won’t do it? ”

“ i didn’t hear that guy coming. ”

“ i know what it’s like, the first time that you hurt someone like that. ”

“ you shouldn’t have had to, and i’m sorry. ”

“ it wasn’t my first time. ”

“ where would you be without me, huh? ”

“ how did you know it was an ambush? ”

“ we did what we needed to survive. ”

“ did you know diarrhoea is hereditary? yeah, it runs in your jeans. ”

“ i’ve been watching them, i know their patterns. ”  

“ i’m gonna trust you. ”  

“ never killed anyone. ”  

“ pointing an unloaded gun at you was the closest i’ve ever come to being violent. ”

“ i am the bad guy because i did a bad guy thing. ”  

“ have you been back to the room you grew up in? ”  

“ this is what happens when you fuck with fate. ”  

“ are you ever scared? ”   

“ i’m scared of ending up alone. ”  

“ stay awake with me. ”  

“ holy shit, are you dying? ”  

“ just a reminder that if you’re dead, i’m fucked. ”

“ you don’t know how to whistle? ”  

“ does it sound like i know how to whistle? ”  

“ you should teach me how to hunt. ”  

“ a bad reputation doesn’t mean you’re bad. ”  

“ thanks for still giving a shit about me. ”  

“ i did those things to keep us alive. ”  

“ we murdered people, and i don’t judge your for it. ”

“ be careful who you put your faith in. the only people who can betray us are the ones we trust. ”

“ you’re the only one i trust. ”  

“ is this really all they had to worry about? boys, movies, deciding which shirt goes with which skirt… it’s bizarre. ”

“ what are you so afraid of? ”  

“ you have no idea what loss is. ”  

“ everybody i have cared for has either died, or left me. ”

“ don’t tell me that i would be safer with somebody else because the truth is, i would just be more scared! ”

“ i am not flinching. the rifle just sucks. ”

“ they’re not following us, i think we’re safe. ”

“ what the fuck is wrong with you, sneaking up on me like that? ”

“ was that the first dead body you ever saw? ”

“ as much as i love arguing with your stubborn ass, we’re on a mission here. ” 

“ are you gonna kill me? this seems like the perfect place to do it. ”

“ what did the frustrated cannibal do? he threw up his hands. ”

“ what did the triangle say to the circle? you’re so pointless. ”

“ how does a computer get drunk? it takes screenshots. ”

“ you don’t know what it was like to have a family, to belong. ”

“ goddamn it, i wanna punch you so bad. ”

“ we can just be all poetic and shit and lose our minds together. ”

“ i sensed doubt in there. ”  

“ i need to know you’re with me. ”  

“ any sudden moves, i put one right between your eyes. ”

“ it’s hard to trust strangers. ”  

“ luck? there’s no such thing as luck. ”  

“ i believe everything happens for a reason. ”  

“ i can protect you. ”  

“ do not fall asleep. ”  

“ i started worrying you wouldn’t wake up. ”  

“ i’m afraid of you. ”  

“ you’re a dangerous person, you’ve certainly proven that. ”

“ you can’t survive on your own, no one can. ”  

“ you remind me of me. ”  

“ you have a violent heart. ”  

“ it’s okay, baby girl. i got you. ”  

“ it’s not your fault. ”  

“ you want to learn how to play guitar? ”  

“ you kinda seem extra quiet today. ”  

“ when i went to pull the trigger i flinched. ”  

“ so time heals all wounds, i guess. ”  

“ people are making apocalypse jokes like there’s no tomorrow. too soon? ”

“ moon rocks taste better than earth rocks. why? because they’re meteor. ”

“ what did the green grape say to the purple grape? breathe, you idiot. ”

“ you got hit pretty hard. ”  

“ that’s not on you. ”  

“ sometimes things don’t work out the way we hope. ”  

“ if you just keep going, you find something new to fight for. ”

[cas-is-queer]

A few months ago I did a post about my thoughts on Doctor Who characters genders and sexualities. I've since finished the show, so this is a sort of part two with characters from 13th era onwards. Link to part one, which is 9 - 12 and all companions along the way: X

I've been working on this for so long 😭 plz enjoy

13th Doctor: Oh ho ho pansexual as fuck, but so severely traumatized she couldn't even consider a relationship. She should've been allowed to kiss women. Practically canonically transfem, depending on how you look at it lol. I think she's still unsure about her pronouns, this being her first female regeneration, but she uses she/her for the most part. Completely asexual, I'm sorry. She'll have sex, and isn't sex-repulsed, but honestly doesn't give a shit. Probably the most demiaro Doctor ever; literally only interested in Yaz and the Master, but he doesn't really count because she's known that bitch forever. Polyam af.

Yasmin Khan: Oh this is tricky. I'm gonna say sapphic. I'd say lesbian, but there was a little spice in her interactions with the Master, sue me. And what if I said transfem. What then. Cause I think I'm right. Fight me. Also polyam, again, fight me.

Ryan Sinclair: What's more bisexual: being bisexual, or whatever the fuck Ryan SInclair has going on? Idk man, the vibes are there. I think him and Yaz are little queer besties, and I love that for them.

Graham O'Brian: Um. Idk. He didn't seem all that upset when Jack flirted with him. That's all I have to say.

Dan Lewis: That is a transgender man if I have ever seen one. Idk what his sexuality is, and neither does he, but I don't think it's anywhere near the top of his priorities right now. He's busy putting up with The Horrors.

Dhawan!Master: What a freak. What a fucking freak (simultaneously both derogatory and positive). That bitch is a he/they pansexual. Polyam. However, none of that matters. What matters, is that this bitch needs psychological help.

14th Doctor: I resist the urge to squeal every time I think about him. He/they, with a small preference for they/them. Panromantic and asexual. Demiromantic. That bitch is so soft they could 100% domesticate the Master the way he does in all those saxteen fics.

Rose Noble: Canon transfem, obvi. Bisexual queen. Also just a queen in general. Honestly I would die for her.

15th Doctor: He lost the asexuality in the divorce (bigeneration). 14 kept it all, I'm sorry. That is an Omni motherfucker if I've ever seen one; preference for men. Should be allowed to kiss men more often, once was not enough.

Ruby Sunday: Bisexual because I said so. Another in a series of: companions that I don't have enough evidence for but just know are some type of queer.

Rogue: That is a gay man. I don't make the rules. That bitch is so down bad that he was willing to sacrifice himself for the Doctor after knowing him for only a few hours. I love that for him, honestly. And what if I said trans man. What now.

UNIT gang because I forgot about them:

Kate Lethbridge Stewart: Aha! What a lesbian. I stan a lesbian in power, and she deserves literally the entire world and more. I love her more than there are words for.

Petronela Osgood: You could consider this about either of them, but I'm mostly thinking about the human Osgood from before all that zygon stuff. They are 100% nonbinary and a lesbian. And also married to Kate. Just by the way.

Shirley: (I don't remember her last name, I'm so sorry) That is a bisexual. Sorry, I don't make the rules. Her banter could match the Doctor, and that's saying something. I literally love her so goddamn much.

And also Ashildr/Me because I forgot about them earlier: She is the ultimate pan; pangender and pansexual. He is so 'immortal character not made for immortality loses all sense of self including gender and becomes a weird Thing,' which is a personal favorite trope

I would also like to add trans man to my Rory Williams entry in the original post; I know it doesn't really work because he and Amy had River, but I honestly don't give a shit. I'd also like to add transmasc to Jack Harkness because I said so, and if no one else is gonna do it I will.

Whelp, that's all for now folks! I'll add on to this when season 15 comes out (in a little less than a month)!!!

[sunkiss3dlily]

to you, i'm just a man (to me, you're all i am) part four | joel miller x reader

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5916

Summary: Time is running out for you in the fight against David. Joel comes to your rescue.

Note(s): Okay, so now it's become five parts. I should just never set a goal for how many chapters I'm writing because I always exceed it hahahaha but at least Joel and reader are reunited!! I'm not gonna lie this took so long to write because I hated writing for David. He is so creepy and I felt so gross. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed, and I promise this time, the next chapter will be the last haha! Thank you for all the love I'm so grateful! And as always feedback is appreciated, but please be respectful! Please give me any (detailed, please!) requests in my inbox or comments if you have any, I would love to hear them! Thank you so much for reading! ♡

Taglist: @wonwoosthetic @paleidiot @orcasoul @slut4mascss @paqerings @missladym1981 @oscarisaac2099 @stilllivindue2spite @aspecialgreenie @amyispxnk @caitlynsixxx

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

The bitter cold stole your every sense of direction in the relentless blizzard, pushing you to stumble aimlessly through the thick snow, much like you had the day before, only this time you were no longer the hunter but the prey.

All around, the storm howled, and your every step was one of desperation in the search for any sign of David and James' group.

"Stay alert, everybody; if this man's not already dead, he's dangerous." David's voice calling out from the other end of the street had you bolting to hide behind a fence, your rifle clutched steadily in your hand. "And the woman too; she can’t be fully trusted, either."

Clutching your rifle, you took a shaky breath, straining your hearing to catch the next set of orders.

“What about the little girl?” James' voice cut through the harsh wind, and a surge of protectiveness swelled within you at the mention of Ellie. You silently vowed not to let any of them get near her—not one step.

“We bring her back with us." David responds. "Her, and the woman.”

"Try it, motherfucker," you muttered, biding your time as they started advancing down your end of the street, where you remained safely hidden, at least for the moment. There was no need to risk wasting bullets and missing a shot; you had to be smart about this.

A loud scoff cuts through the air, and a voice that you haven't heard before rings out: "That woman will kill us all in our goddamn sleep if we let her stay with us."

"Yeah, I agree," James cuts in soon after. "I don't mean to question your sense of mercy, David, but we can kill the man and the woman and just let the little girl go. If we bring that little girl back with us, she's just another mouth to feed."

You peek out, taking your aim and squeezing one eye shut.

"If we leave either of them out here, they'll die," David chastises, still seemingly set on having you and Ellie come back with him.

As if you'd let that happen.

James scoffed, and as the group approached, you could now count their numbers.

Five.

You watched as James bitterly shook his head, and almost instinctively, you raised your rifle, focusing on the moving target. "Maybe that's God's will."

David's head snapped to look at his taller friend, but before he could speak, your first shot rang out.

James practically folded in on himself, the bullet finding its mark right between his eyes. Genuine shock registered on David's face before a darker expression replaced it just as swiftly. The other four members of the group looked around in utter bewilderment, raising their weapons and expressing a mix of fear, anger, and shock.

"Holy shit!"

"What the fuck do we do, David?!"

"They killed James!"

Too preoccupied reloading your rifle, you didn't notice David's eyes settling on the neck of your gun, which was slightly peeking out from behind the fence.

"Split up. Find the house they're staying in and get that little girl back to me alive. I'll take care of the woman."

As the three scatter in different directions, you finally look up, and that's when you notice David approaching the fence, his own gun at the ready, aimed and dangerous.

You feel it before you hear it—the burning sensation as the bullet rips through your coat and shirt, sinking into the skin of your shoulder. The sickening whoosh of the bullet through the air is only heard after. Had your senses been more in tune, perhaps you would have dodged it. Instead, a muffled cry of pain escapes your lips as you slam them together, forcing yourself into a standing yet crouched position. Running along the back of the fence, you do your best to ignore both the pain and the sensation of your blood coating your fingers, compressing the wound as you move, the rifle held limply in the hand of your injured arm.

"Get back here!"

Your legs turn to jelly as you sprint through the snow, heading straight for one of the houses. Despite the intensifying pain in your shoulder, you strive to keep your cool. Bullets whiz dangerously close to your tattered boots, narrowly missing as you move just a fraction too quickly for David's shooting ability.

“It doesn’t have to be this hard!”

Gasping for breath, you reach cover at the side of a nearby house, pressing your back against the cold exterior. The bitter wind bites at your exposed skin as you take a moment to assess the wound on your shoulder, your fingers coming away stained with blood. You reach back, whimpering to yourself as you feel the unmistakable hole in your shirt and coat, realising that, for one small mercy, the bullet has gone straight through.

"I didn't want to hurt you." David's voice echoes chillingly close, urging you to retreat to the back of the house. As you hastily assess for an entry point, he adds with a sinister tone, "You forced my hand."

Despite the searing pain in your shoulder and the fear gnawing at your senses, a twisted sense of relief settles in as you reach the back of the house. The knowledge that it's you who David is pursuing, and not Joel or Ellie, somehow grants you a twisted comfort.

“There’s no need to keep fighting me like this. It’s pointless.”

With trembling hands, you fumble to open the door, your mind racing faster than your jittery heartbeat.

The wooden door creaks open, revealing the dim interior of the house. Staggering under the weight of pain and panic, you stumble inside, the world spinning as you navigate the all-too-familiar surroundings from when you were desperately searching for any first aid for Joel the day prior, so you already know there is nothing here that is going to help you. The urgency of your situation intensifies, and you quickly slam the door behind you closed.

The house offers a brief respite from the relentless blizzard and the immediate threat of David's pursuit. As you move deeper into the residence, your unsteady footsteps echo against the worn floorboards. The muted sounds of the storm outside contrast with the thunderous beating of your heart.

A narrow staircase comes into view, and with each step, your legs feel heavier, like lead. The ascent is a gruelling task, with your battered body protesting with every movement. As you reach the top, you catch your breath, realising the vulnerability of your situation. You're wounded and isolated, and you're at the mercy of your surroundings and David.

Summoning the last reserves of your strength, you push forward, weaving through the upper floor. The pain in your shoulder becomes an unbearable companion, gnawing at your resolve, and your vision blurs. A distant bedroom beckons, and you stumble towards it, guided more by instinct than conscious thought.

With each step, the world becomes more of a blurry haze. You push the bedroom door open with a light swing, revealing your final refuge from the chaos. Collapsing against the far wall, behind a double bed, you sink to the floor, your breaths ragged and laboured. The room spins around you as you succumb to the exhaustion, your body finally finding a momentary sanctuary amid the turmoil.

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

The unmistakable echo of a gunshot reached Joel's ears, shattering the relative silence of the basement and snapping him out of the uneasy rest he had slipped into.

It felt like just moments ago that he had watched you leave, resolute in facing danger to protect him and Ellie. The mental image of you willingly sacrificing yourself for their safety wound around his heart like barbed wire, each beat accentuating his feelings of pain and helplessness. Staring at the closed door, he had been consumed by profound desperation, silently yearning for you to turn around and come back to them, to him. But, as the seconds ticked away, it became clear you weren't coming back.

Ellie's eyes had met his, her dark pools of pleading tears watching him as the weight of sleep threatened to pull him under.

"Joel! Wake the fuck up! We have to go!"

Suddenly, Ellie was gripping his shirt, the surge of adrenaline from the shock of it all combatting the heaviness of his slumber. The gunshot's resonance wasn't just a haunting echo of his nightmares about Sarah; it was the stark reality now centred around you. Whether you were the shooter or the one being shot at, Joel couldn't allow himself to stand, or rather lay, by while you faced danger, even in his weakened state.

"Joel!" Ellie repeated, shaking him just as furiously as before. "Fuck, wait a second."

She disappeared from his sight for a moment, peripherals included, and for some twisted reason inside of him, the thought of her leaving too made him even more scared. He couldn't lose both of you.

"Ellie," he called hoarsely.

She was back within a few moments, seemingly fueled by the sound of his voice as she kneeled beside him, syringe and medicine bottle in hand. "Yeah, I'm here. Just give me a minute. I've never done this before."

He held still, barely breathing as the needle pricked his wound once more, not wanting to freak the kid out any more than she already was.

"Ellie," he repeated. Her eyes fell to his as she continued to plunge the syringe slowly, just as she had watched you do so many times. Her dark eyes were still watery and held so much fear that she attempted to hide with her otherwise stoic expression, barring the slight trembling of her lips. "It's...it's gonna be okay."

"Yeah," she nodded, though her gaze fell away from him as if she didn't believe him. "I know."

Silence settled between them, a void that you typically filled. As Ellie withdrew the syringe, returning it along with the medicine to her bag, the echo of a second gunshot pierced the air, prompting them to exchange uneasy glances.

The heavy footsteps from above spurred Joel into action, breaking the inertia that had held him for days. He staggered to his feet, his unsteady legs protesting disuse, and gently guided Ellie into the corner beneath the stairs. Pressing his rifle into her hands, he saw the horror in her eyes. A shake of his head preceded his retrieval of her knife from the bag.

"If anything goes wrong, you shoot and run, alright?" Her mouth opened, but he silenced any objections, his tone unwavering. "No. No questions, no smart remarks. You run."

Joel's voice carried a resolute authority, his eyes revealing a blend of concern and determination. Ellie nodded, her grip tightening on the rifle as she comprehended the gravity of the situation.

The clamour above intensified, muffled voices now accompanied by the crash of furniture in front of the basement door. 

Time seemed to stretch as they waited, breaths suspended in anticipation. As the footsteps finally seemed to reach the top of the stairs and the door opened, Joel whispered one final directive, his voice barely audible. 

"Face the wall."

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

A tender touch, brushing hair away from your forehead, coaxes you back to awareness. Initially feeling numb, the haze lifts as you blink away blurriness, and the searing pain in your wound snaps into focus. A cry escapes your lips, and instinctively, you reach to cover the injury, as if the pressure could quell the pain. Surprisingly, a make-shift bandage is wrapped around the bare skin of your shoulder, and as you withdraw your hand, you find no fresh blood, only the remnants of dried staining from before.

A fleeting sense of relief washes over you when you suddenly realise someone is taking care of you; you've been saved.

"You were lucky; I'll give you that."

Anticipating Joel's deep, somewhat soothing tone, the sudden and chilling sound of David's higher voice jolted you. Startled, you looked up and blinked rapidly, only to find the devil himself kneeling in front of you, his hand resting on your cheek.

"Getting the jump on us like that. It was smart." He chuckled slightly, unsettling you further, prompting an instinctive flex of your fingers to search for your rifle. It must have been moved, and you think you can see the handle just behind him on the bed. The sheet on top of the mattress appears to be torn, evidently being what was used to conceal your wound. "I won't say it'll earn you many brownie points with the folks back home, but I understand. I understand why you did it."

You draw in a shaky breath, attempting to breathe through the pain and panic, while desperately searching your mind for any semblance of a plan.

David withdraws his hand from your cheek, replacing it with two fingers on your neck's pulse point, holding them there for a moment. "You know, I was worried you weren't going to wake up at all."

You make your best attempt to shrug him off, disliking the sensation of his cold fingertips on your skin. Despite your weakness, you glare up at him and retort, "You should be more worried than I was."

He smiles with a glint of amusement in his eyes, and you despise the gut-wrenching feeling of vulnerability blooming in your chest at the notion of being stuck in this man's presence. A chuckle escapes him, and he sucks his teeth before raising his hand, causing your head to snap to the side as the back of his hand connects with your cheek, a ring on his finger slashing your cheek upon impact.

Stunned to silence, you manage only a few heavy breaths as blood dribbles down your cheek. Eventually, you compose yourself enough to meet his gaze once more.

David releases a heavy sigh, observing you with a gaze that combines pity and satisfaction as he sits back on his knees.

“I like you. I do."

You glare back at him, biting back a snide comment.

He smiles, releasing a soft chuckle. “You’re so much different from the women back in my village. They’re so docile, complacent, and scared of their own shadows. You, on the other hand, are feral. Violent. A murderer.”

You swallow uncomfortably, unsettled by the excited glint in his eyes as he gazes at you.

“I like that. It’s realistic. A woman who does what she has to do to get what she wants. It’s the only way to survive, right?” David smiles, reaching out to clasp your limp hand that sits on your lap. “We’re very similar in that way. We do what we have to do to provide for the people who rely on us. No matter what, right?”

You fight the urge to snap his fingers in your palm, feeling his thumb stroking roughly over your skin, a poor imitation of Joel's comforting touch from only hours ago.

“You see, I’m not your enemy here.” He whispers in an attempt at a soothing tone. “I never have been. In fact, I am your equal, and in being that, I believe you would make the perfect addition to stand by my side in leading our people through the darkness that this winter has brought.”

You shake your head, but he raises a hand and emits a shushing noise.

“I know. It’s a hard concept to grasp when you’re in this fight-or-flight headspace. I’m sure you feel you won’t be accepted by them for all your sins and for all the heartache you’ve brought to our community, but they, as well as you, will come to understand, in good time, that reformation is indeed possible.” He squeezes your hand tight—so tight that it becomes uncomfortable very quickly. You breathe your way through the pain. “And if you can’t, then you can provide for our community in another way.” He lifts his other hand to lift your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “My people are hungry, you see. I wouldn’t be a good leader if I didn't do what I needed to provide for them, despite sacrificing what would be the closest thing I have to my equal. You understand the necessity of that, right?”

A sickening feeling churns in your stomach. Whatever he has in mind for you is likely nothing you want to endure. You bite your tongue, resolved to maintain composure and conceal your fear.

“And then, I suppose, your daughter will be the one to take your place beside me.”

Your entire body tenses, and he seems to notice the fire blazing in your eyes at the mention of Ellie, a light smirk settling on his lips.

Quick to wipe it off, you wrap your palm around his middle finger and tug it back with all the strength you can muster, causing a sickening crack as it breaks, ricocheting around you. He lets out an anguished cry of pain, filling you with relentless satisfaction. As he releases your hand entirely, you shove him backward and use the wall to guide you to your feet.

Rushing for your rifle, your movements are short-lived as you feel his hand wrap around your ankle, grabbing hold of you. Swinging your arm around to hit him, he tugs you forcefully via your arm, causing you to flop face down on the floor beside him.

Releasing angry pants, he flips you over onto your back and uses his free hand to press down on your wound, keeping you down and eliciting a cry of unbearable pain from your lips.

“There it is. There’s that fight in you I like so much.”

You spit at him, aiming directly for his face, and raise your knee to strike him in the crotch. He releases your wound, and you take a sharp intake of breath, readying your hand to deliver a strike to his face. But he's too quick, grabbing your wrist and yanking it hard, exerting so much force that you feel your arm being ripped out of its socket.

A blinding wave of pain overwhelms you, bringing all your struggles to an instant halt. Your pain threshold has been entirely depleted. You're done fighting. It's all too much.

He clears his throat as he shifts to hold himself above you, his gaze a mix of satisfaction and disappointment as he looks down at you.

“Is that all you’ve got in you?” He laughed breathlessly. “I’m disappointed. Underneath all that strong facade, you’re just the same as every other woman. Weak. I should’ve known you’d end up just the same: under my mercy."

Your strength waned, unable to conceal the overwhelming fear as his weight bore down on you, and instead, you opened your mouth, releasing a gut-wrenching scream.

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

It was guttural—the scream that tore through the streets—and it sent a shiver down Joel's spine. Ellie was huddled at his side, his arm protectively encircling her, marking the first substantial contact between them. The moment he tensed, he felt her reaction mirror his own.

Joel held tight to Callus' reins in his other hand. Although logic dictated that he and Ellie should be riding towards your safety, the events in the basement lingered in Joel's mind. Forcing two out of three men to reveal your whereabouts, even with Ellie upstairs and out of direct earshot, it had been a traumatic ordeal for the both of them. Joel couldn't deny Ellie the comfort of being close to him after such a harrowing experience. Contrary to his initial fears, it became evident that Ellie wasn't terrified of him; in fact, the very opposite seemed true.

'"That's her," Ellie said through chattering teeth as the biting winds whipped around them. "We have to help her."

Joel nodded, his gaze firm and determined, tugging Callus along once more. "We will. We'll get to her."

Once again, your scream, fraught with fear and desperation, reverberated through the desolate streets. The chilling sound momentarily froze time, leaving Joel feeling utterly helpless about where to go or how to reach you. The haunting silence that followed became almost unbearable, casting an oppressive weight on Joel's chest, which he tried to ignore with every stride he took, Ellie in tow.

Abruptly, just as it had ceased, your screaming resumed, and Joel couldn't summon the strength to look down, yet he could feel Ellie's tears soaking his shirt. Each agonising note sliced through the air, and this time, it seemed to pierce Joel even more deeply than before. The raw, visceral sound of your distress clawed at his heart, dismantling any remaining walls that held back his emotions towards you. He despised that sound—the sound of you in pain, the sound of you scared, the sound of you broken—and silently vowed to do whatever it took to never hear it again.

However, amidst the torment, there existed a perverse sense of gratitude. Your screams served as a guiding force, leading Joel, Ellie, and Callus through the relentless blizzard in pursuit of you. A steely resolve tightened Joel's jaw, determination etched across his weathered face as you fell silent once more, only to start screaming again seconds later. The idea of you enduring suffering was unbearable, and an urgency to reach you surged through Joel's veins, propelling their movements forward through the biting cold.

Reaching the front of the house from which your screams echoed, Joel gently pulled away from Ellie's trembling frame. He tried to ignore the way she instinctively sought to move closer, holding her by the shoulders. "I need you to listen to me, Ellie."

Her face was pale, tear-stricken, and concerned, lacking the strength to argue. She nodded in response.

"I need you to ride Callus to the furthest house away, to the very last one in this neighbourhood, okay? Not one sooner. The very last one."

Her lips parted, wobbling, but your scream from above tore every word from the tip of her tongue. She made her way to Callus, placing one foot in the stirrup before Joel helped launch her onto the horse completely. He held back a wince as his wound ached with every movement, and raised his rifle for her to take.

"I'll come and find you as soon as we're out. You don't leave for anything. You stay right there, hidden, until we come back. Got it?"

Ellie took the rifle, slugging it onto shoulder, before gripping Callus' reins and nodding. "Got it."

"Good." He hummed, stroking Callus' side before meeting Ellie's eyes. "Go on."

She simply sniffled, murmuring, "Let's go," to the horse before she and Callus thundered off down the street.

Joel watched as Ellie rode away, his rifle slung over her shoulder, and as he turned back towards the house, it took him about a second to realise you were no longer making any noise, and it only took half of that time to send him into utter panic.

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

The carpet beneath your fingernails was the only sensation you registered as David's hand coiled around your throat, tightening its grip and stifling any more attempts at screaming.

You weren't fighting back anymore. You couldn't. You'd lost it all the moment David had you pinned down and injured. The likelihood of Joel succumbing to the brutality of David's men gnawed at your conscience. Imagining Ellie, now alone and convinced you were lost too, fighting desperately to escape their clutches added another layer of anguish to your already shattered resolve. You didn't want to risk that becoming a truth, and so you just lay there.

Time seemed to stretch with each agonising blink, your eyes lingering shut for longer intervals. As David's suffocating grip on your throat gradually released, you struggled to focus through the haze. His lips moved, likely weaving a twisted soliloquy, but the only sound that reached you was the persistent thud of blood coursing through your veins. Each breath you managed to draw felt like a desperate attempt to refill your lungs, your chest heaving with the effort.

His vice-like grip on your neck finally released, and as you dared to steal a glance downward, all you saw was his hand moving towards his zipper.

You clutched at the carpet, fingers digging in, and drew in a wheezy breath, steeling yourself for whatever might come next.

David's face and body loomed over you, paralysing you with fear. Just as you thought it was all over, the sudden impact of your rifle against the side of his head sent his looming figure crashing to the floor beside you. Through the haze of your vision, you could vaguely make out a blurry figure in a brown coat gripping your rifle and ruthlessly slamming it down repeatedly onto what appeared to be David's body.

Unable to discern many words, you could only catch snippets of angry and pained sounds. Fear gripped you, but in a moment of reprieve, you managed to turn on your side. For perhaps the first time since you woke up, you felt a semblance of relief, as if you could finally afford to breathe again.

Your body ached, and your lungs burned with each precious breath of fresh air, reminiscent of a dog lapping up water on a scorching day. Curled into a foetal position, the only sounds that reached your ears were the haunting echoes of sniffles and whimpering. It didn't take long for you to grasp the painful realisation that those anguished sounds were escaping your own lips.

A hand gripping your ankle jolts you into immediate action, fearing the worst. A distressed wail escapes your lips as you kick out, refusing to glance at the person who has a hold of you. Slowly crawling away, you use your uninjured arm to support yourself, doing your best to fight the searing pain flowing through you.

The hand lets up, and then it moves to land delicately on your back. Gentle and light, it hovers, assuring you of his presence.

Everything seems to move once more in slow motion as you continue to kick out, eventually flipping onto your side and meeting your would-be assailant's eyes once more.

Except it's not David.

It's Joel.

His lips are parted, and he is speaking to you softly. His face is taut with concern, distress, and fear.

"..'s me; it's just me. It's me."

The sound of relief escaping you doesn't come close to the immense relief flooding your insides.

As Joel senses the realisation dawning in your eyes, his expression eases slightly, a fraction of his concern dissipating.

You can't help but avert your gaze, your eyes falling upon David's battered body lying a short distance away. The butt of your rifle, stained with his blood, rests by his side. It's evident that Joel has discarded it and hurried to your aid.

His touch on your cheek is gentle, coaxing you to meet his gaze once more.

"Look at me," he urges, his voice a comforting murmur. "You're okay. You're with me. Just keep your eyes on me. Keep focusing on me."

Your lip trembles. "J-Joel...he…he…”

"I know," he murmurs softly, his face etched with pain as he gently covers your hand with his own on the floor. The gesture makes you flinch involuntarily, and memories of David flood your mind. "I know, honey. I know."

Honey.

The term is uttered with such tenderness, so delicately, that it catches you off guard. His eyes glisten with unshed tears as he regards you with the utmost care, as if he can hardly believe he's reached you in time.

Tears stream down your cheeks, unnoticed, until you feel his arms enveloping you. It's surprising the sheer gentleness emanating from a man hardened by years of violence, his fists having shed blood from countless adversaries. Yet here he is, cradling you as though you're the most precious gift, as if it's the most natural thing for him to do, as though he was born to love and protect you, no matter the time it took for him to realise it.

His hand finds solace in your matted hair, anchoring you to him as you weep against his chest. For a long while, he remains silent, allowing your sorrow to seep into him as if, by some miracle, it might alleviate your pain. You feel a shift in his posture, and then his chapped lips brush gently against your forehead.

Drawing back slightly from the comfort of his embrace, you meet his gaze.

"You're... you're alive," you breathe out softly.

The corners of his lips twitch up a little, and he nods gently down at you. "Your stubborn ass saved me, remember?"

"I... I had to. I couldn't... couldn't lose you," you respond, still teary-eyed. Your gaze darts around frantically for a moment. "E—Ellie? Where's Ellie? Did they get Ellie?"

Joel shakes his head quickly. "We... I got 'em, I swear. They didn't touch her. She's safe."

"They... they were really bad people, Joel," you whisper, a slight desperation in your voice, as if you need him to believe you, though you have no idea why you feel the need to justify it. "Really bad. They... they... the things he wanted to do."

Your gaze starts to drift back to David's body, but Joel gently redirects your focus to him with a tender touch on your cheek, his thumb wiping away the blood from where David's ring had cut your skin. "No, no. Don't look at him, alright? Just keep looking at me and listening, okay? Focus right here on me and me only."

You nod, your attention fixed on him.

“You did good, sweetheart. You did so good. You saved me and Ellie, and…and you’re still here with us. It was always going to be your life over any of theirs. You did what you had to do.”

Weakly, you nod and rest your trembling hand on his arm.

He glances down at your hand, resting his own atop it, and takes a breath. Using the next few moments to assess your condition, he notices the blood-soaked sheet wrapped around your shoulder, his face paling considerably. Then, his gaze falls on the swollen part of your arm where David has torn it from its socket.

He releases your hand and rises to his feet, prompting a soft cry of his name from you, as if he might leave you in that state.

"I'm right here. You're okay," he assures you, reaching down to cup your cheek. "I just need to... I need to help you. You're hurt, sweetheart. Just keep your eyes on me. I'm not going anywhere; I just need to..."

Glancing over to the bed, where the ripped sheet lies, he reluctantly lets go of you and strides over to retrieve it. Returning to your side, he offers reassurance. "See? I'm still here."

You watch him carefully as he tears the fabric apart with his bare hands, studying his every move.

"Joel," you say softly at first, catching his attention only when you repeat his name with a bit more urgency.

"Yeah, what's up?" He responds, turning to you.

"I'm... I'm glad you're here."

His worried expression softens, though concern still lingers in his gentle brown eyes. After a moment's pause, he replies, "Me too, honey." Taking a breath, he continues, "Now, I'm gonna ask you to do something for me, okay?"

You weakly nod your agreement.

"Just stay still while I see what I can do about your arm, alright?" he instructs.

He shakily reaches over to lightly press your swollen, deformed-looking arm, retracting his hand almost immediately when you cry out in pain. The anguish in his eyes mirrors your own hurt, and once the wave of pain has passed, you grasp his coat with your uninjured hand, murmuring your apologies.

"It's okay, it's okay," he reassures you softly, cupping your cheek and meeting your gaze with his intense one. "I need you to trust me for a second, okay? This is going to hurt, but you are going to be just fine, I promise. Everything's going to be okay."

Tears brim in your eyes, but you nod. "I trust you, Joel."

He smiles softly at you, leaning forward to press a kiss on your head before he reaches out and takes your injured arm's hand in his own. With a shaky breath, he asks, "Can you feel that?"

You nod with a sniffle.

"Good. That's good." He squeezes your hand gently. "And you feel that?"

Again, you nod.

He squeezes once more, meeting your eyes. "Still with me?"

Another nod.

Taking a breath, he squeezes for the third time, a nervous expression clouding his face.

It takes you a moment to process his confession as pain overwhelms you. But when you realise what he has said, everything stops hurting for a moment, and a relieved tear slips down your cheek.

He smiles weakly back at you.

And then he tugs.

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

"Almost there, sweetheart," Joel murmurs, his hand light on your back as he guides you through the blizzard, mindful of your delicate state. "I've got you."

Your injured arm is cradled in a makeshift sling, and a fresh bandage, fashioned from the same sheet, is carefully tied over your bullet wound. Despite the lingering pain, being with Joel feels like a balm to your soul, as if you're walking on air. The thought of being reunited with Ellie soon fills you with hope, giving you the strength to keep moving forward, despite the weariness weighing down your legs.

Every little noise puts you on edge, whether it's the howl of the wind or the thud of snow against a roof. But Joel is there, a reassuring presence, whispering words of comfort each time you tense up, trying to reach for a weapon and inadvertently causing yourself more pain.

"Hey, hey, it’s okay," Joel assures as you come to reach the last few houses on the road, the sight of horse prints visible in the snow-covered ground. "Look behind us; look around. There is no one here but us. No one is going to hurt you, I promise."

You look around nervously, seeing that he is right. You are simply overwhelmed by paranoia right now.

“No one is going to hurt you,” Joel repeats gently, a change from his usual tone but a welcome one. You've never felt safer.

You nod, scooting closer to him all the same.

The horse tracks lead up to the final house on the road, and Joel is grateful that Ellie followed his instructions this time.

He shuffles as slowly as you need up the short distance of the porch steps, and when you both reach the top and you begin to lose your ability to keep moving forward, he wraps your uninjured arm around his neck and keeps you moving. “I’ve got you. You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re just tired, that’s all. You’re going to rest as soon as we get inside, alright? Talk to me; let me know you’re still in there.”

“Still here..." you assure quietly, though your vision is beginning to blur and darkness is beginning to form in your peripherals.

“Atta girl, stay with me.” He presses a gentle hand over your ear and pushes the other to rest against his chest. He raises his voice, though muffled to you, as he kicks the front door as he has no hands free. “Ellie! Open up! It’s us!”

By the time the door opens, you are halfway through succumbing to the darkness.

©️sunkiss3dlily, 2024.

[casanovawrites]

random sentence prompts  ━ from various tv shows, part 14

you’re still speaking in the present tense.

you barely know us.

i’m your best friend? you’ve known me for like four weeks.  

i was seeing someone and i fucked it up. i fucked it up because i’m fucked up.

you’re a fucking creep, i’m a fucking catch.

i’m charming as shit.

all i want is for people to like me, but i just keep hurting people instead.

that’s just what we do. we look out for each other.

my nightmares don’t usually serve breakfast.

you’re pretty much a pain in my ass. and most days, you suck.

delusions make me happy.

we can’t play defense forever.

i think i like you better than anyone i know.

nothing that i’ve been through is possible. i feel like my mind is breaking.

i know it’s dangerous here.

i’m sorry, are you invested in the happiness of someone else?

things change. here, it’s usually bad.

i hesitate to tell you this, because you’re pathologically overconfident, but you’re cute.

you’re a good person with all your bad qualities.

hope is what makes you willing to suffer.

i want to feel that full-blown compliment.

buddy, fuck off, okay?

fuck you, you really hurt my feelings, and i hope an air conditioner falls on you.

my heart’s belonged to you since the moment i met you.

when the fuck are we not at risk?

hot. you’re hot.

i don’t want to be like this. it’s terrifying.

you’re not fucked up. you’re like the most together person i know. 

all i am is a dumb motherfucker who keeps getting people killed.

my mom adores you.

great, you’re yelling at me again.

i think the only way you can be happy is if you’re yourself.

is it just physically impossible for you not to be an asshole for longer than 10 minutes?

i like you a lot better when you’re not yelling at me.

it’s real, and i’m fucking terrified.

i have done things i can’t undo.

i just feel like all i’ve been doing lately is hurting people.

you do not just get to come in here, dump a load of shit like that, and then walk away.

i don’t want to let this place decide when we get to be happy.

i promise i won’t cry on you if you sit next to me.

you are my home, and i would really like to be yours.

you look how i feel.

i don’t give a shit about your word.

i know their type. everything’s a personal attack, a goddamn battle.

you know it’s okay to tell people to fuck off every once in a while, including your friends.

she looked good. i mean, hateful. but good.

it’s poor form to blame the dead.

i’m bothered by people who don’t know how good they have it.

you’re trapped with me. in a fun way.

this place is haunted. everywhere i look, i see somewhere you lied to me.

i don’t feel better off. i just feel left.

i made my choices. so did you.

broken people don’t survive here.

i am exiting our one-sided relationship.

one failed marriage, who hasn’t been there?

i just need to know you’ve got your shit together.

i don’t need a pep talk. i just need to know that you’re back.

mostly everybody here’s depressed.

rule number one: never trust the love interest.

now i know how to take care of my problems.

i can’t uproot my life just to make you happy.

i was never rooting for you to be unhappy. i just wanted you to have more.

stop saying that everything’s going to be okay.

you are not some hopeless screw up.

no one listens to me. no one.

i’m not a problem for you. i’ve never been a problem for you.

there are no mistakes. just choices. and you chose what was right for you.

if someone came up to you right now and said, ‘do this one bad thing and everyone gets to go home,’ would you do it?

i don’t want to know the answer.

when we’re together, i feel a lot. and mostly, it’s good.

we don’t have time to be delicate.

actually, you might be the best thing in my life.

i don’t know what to do, and that really freaks me out.

i’m not gonna stand here and pretend it was a good day.

there are always gonna be monsters in the world. it doesn’t matter where you are. but i promised myself i would never let them scare the life out of me.

i don’t give a shit what you are.

i’m doing this for you. i’m doing it for all of us.

if this shit goes sideways, you have to be ready to step up.

i need you to do me a favor. cut yourself some slack.

you trust me to decide the rest of your life?

you have a sense of direction. 

when did life become this big monster we have to just constantly feed?

we don’t have to live like the sky is always falling.

i’m not afraid of the dark.

you think i’m a monster?

what’s happening to us?

what part of this is okay?

that was death, and it’s coming… right now.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

alright. had to take a short break to process whatever the fuck ep four was. BACK. with ep FIVE of watchin the outsiders show!!

guys I know you're sick of me sayin it. but unfortunately intro still fucks.

why is pony??? buildin a bridge??

THEYRE CANONICALLY RELIGIOUS?? you cannot look me in my eyes n make me beleive ANY of these boys are willingly goin to church

good lord. literally what is wrong with these cops. I mean accurate. but like its just some guys mindin there business n a cop comes up n knocks there shit out their hands

lovin the pony n tim friendship here. also tim workin on the car n then pony hoppin up to sit on the hood. my baby.

pony lendin tim the money for gas. awaough. hmm. my son. he's just such a good kid. I love him.

??? why won't pony just tell Darry he lended his money to tim. that's darrys husband at this point. I don't think he'd care.

what is soda doin in the background with the salt. he's like flippin it. like a bartender.

tim came in with those beers n pony got the vilest nastiest look on his face. very younger brother. he said OH. so no money for gas but money for beer. AH. the face of a man about to throw all his 'I don't wanna say who it was' shit STRAIGHT out the window

tim bringin pony a snack tho aw

I do not understand the nature of this job pony works

godDAMN. motherfucker can NOT catch a break!! homie just fell off a bridge!! well not ALL the way off. but like. off.

tim n his fuck ass sunglasses

the way ponys voice cracks. I love that boy. my baby.

good lord. he fell off a bridge. got into an argument with Darry. n then got taken hostage by a escaped convict. someone give this boy a moments rest.

pony soppin wet n shiverin my poor baby. the way he draws his shoulders all the way up to his ears n his hair all drippin in his eyes. my son.

(summarizin) 'how can somethin be right n wrong at the same time?' 'like lendin that money to that guy' *whiniest poutiest face you've ever seen* 'noooo' that's literally my son. like. I know you guys are sick of hearin it. but that's my boy.

do these boys own anythin but flannels n jeans. if they do I have yet to see it

soda gigglin at his own prank n then gettin up n BOOKIN it n darry chasin him. look. shows got so so many flaws. but if you watch it solely for how often they let these kids just be brothers it is well worth the watch

pony is so insane. he's robbin his own house. to give it to some guy. darry is gonna kill him.

Jay Ferguson as Pony is the most important pony ever. I love that stupid kid.

'I USED TO THINK PEOPLE DESERVED THE TROUBLE THEY GOT. BUT THEN I SAW DARRY HAVIN TO WORK SO HARD' aoughhh. ough. aough.

the way darry n pony fight actually. aough. it's not even fightin. like. darry is just scoldin him. n every 10 seconds he's like just TALK to me. I just wanna understand. aough. hmm. my babies. also honorable mention for soda just followin em around to make sure they don't start fightin

what the hell is goin on. what is this music. what is tim goin on about.

pony packin to run away (this man learned NOTHIN from that week in the church NOTHIN) but as he's packin sodas goin hey that's my shirt ur takin. brothers ever perhaps.

pony is so WHINY. he is my baby. his my son. he's such a youngest siblin. like. he is so completely someone's kid brother. in the everythin about him. I'd be shocked if I looked it up n the actor was an only child.

SODA??? DID THAT GUY FUCKIN SHOOT SODA? HE DID. JESUS CHRIST. MY BABY. they are all behavin way too cool for this.

two bein like 'look! nurse aide hirin! pony u need a job!' n Steve poutily kickin the chair n goin 'I'll kill you. I'll kill them' I love these boys

PONY!! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!! 'hey!! you don't know it was them!!' pony you are the worst secret keeper known to man

darry is servin insane fuckin looks right now. like insane. why is he goin so incredibly hard. not is NOT the time.

DO U SEE WHAT I MEAN??

'now who but a con would help another con' 'that's cop logic' HA. now that's funny. read him for FILTH darry

pony is GAGGED that an escaped conviction lied to him. pony. I love ya so much. kid. please THINK.

PONY. YOU DO NOT BRING A LEAD PIPE TO A GUN FIGHT. U KNUCKLEHEAD. HON!

'hey darry!!! what's shakin!!!!' 'soda got shot.' 😀 -> 😐 fastest I've ever seen

ohh darry. the man you are. motherfucker does NOT play about his brothers. he said I dont give a FUCK who you are to me. you fuck around with my siblings n ill WACK your ass.

darry knocked out in the hospital n pony showin up to see him in the middle of the night. apugh. oughhhh. agh. this whole scene. goddamn. my kids. I'm losin my mind.

pony rollin up to the convict again with darry in tow. he said FUCK that shit I'm bringin BACKUP. n the backup is a DEEPLY pissed off older brother.

cherry n tim is such an odd crossover. I never ever would have put those two together. but go crazy.

tim bringin soda magazines in the hospital?? tim sayin he'd like to go beat the hell outta the guy that shot soda himself?? sayin they should go out together??

darry is just always so cool about everythin. every time a cop is buggin him he chooses that moment to serve some insane looks. also. darry servin n pony standin behind him shiverin n shakin. I love these boys.

DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN????

the way pony keeps lookin up darry AOUGH. my baby. my son. that's my kid.

the cop just havin to walk off cause he's got no evidence HA. yeah. spin back. n fuck off.

'kitchen must be a mess with u n darry doin all the cookin!' 'you'll be back soon enough!! save me from darrys flapjacks!' THE BROTHERS EVER ACTUALLY

'I thought losin our folks would have been the very worst thing that could happened to us. but I came so close to losin a brother' OHHH. ok. yeah. ouch ok. ough. my baby. 'u n me were a phone call away from losin a brother' OHHH. APUGH. my baby.

'I guess I'm always thinkin with my heart instead of my head' pony. I love you. you stupid. stupid. kid.

[itsallmouthwashing]

Tulpar Band AU- Character descriptions/some lore PART 2

Uh okay fellas- I had to use piccrew since I'm bad at art (good thing @living-stain is keeping me fed WOOF) and I'll include some more facts about them! This is part 2 of the Tulpar Band AU character descriptions! (Part 1)

(MAYBE I NEED TO CLARIFY MAYBE NOT BUT THE ART IS DONE MY @living-stain!!!!!!! Please show him some love!!)

JIMMY ZARE- Scream Vocals and Guitar

Learned guitar pretty early in life. His parents would often drop him at the local YMCA and he took an instant interest to making music. One of the instructors there also taught him how to write songs and write music!

That instructor also listened to a lot of metal music! Little Jimmy was fascinated with it and demanded the instructor teach him how to do the monster voice thing. (Instructor learned how, just for him) (Jimmy ate up every bit and even made notes in his journal!)

Has perfect pitch! It drives him crazy sometimes when he hears a sound- any sound- and can immediately know what note it is. Although, sometimes the crew will 'test' him. They'll make random noises and ask to identify it

Music was a great outlet for him, so all of his songwriting is very personal to him and exposing himself was something he had to come to terms with if he wanted to start a band and use his songs

he starts a journal of songs and notes about making music and carries it with him almost everywhere. It's where all of his lyrics are stored, where all of his feelings are stored. They have no place in his heart, so they must be put somewhere else

Started smoking cigarettes at age 9 when he snuck one out of his parent's stash. They caught him, but just gave him his own pack and lighter in response (shitty Jimmy parents that I created, when I get you- Jimmy's parents when I get you-)

Becomes a dealer at the high school but low-key only sells to people he trusts (aka people he knows for sure are stoners and don't want to ruin the one plug that will sell to them)

Curly gets him to stop when they form Tulpar, but Jimmy still gets supplies for the two of them (he doesn't know WHERE Daisuke heard about him still selling, but it leads to Tulpar's full formation so whatever)

Smashed some motherfucker's guitar on their first day of high school. Yes, Jimmy was bragging about having perfect pitch, but he didn't expect so many goddamn kids to want him to tune their guitars for class. So when this kid with too blond hair and a grating fucking accent, he finally had enough, and all the annoyance and impatience came out in a violent swing to the ground with that kid's guitar in hand

GRANT CURLY- Main Vocals and Guitar

Picked up guitar the summer before he moved to America. His freshman year of high school is when he was able to commit the most of his time to practice and learned how to play through school

First day of school had his guitar smashed. He brought his own from home not knowing there would be instruments provided, and the kid who smashed it had to pay Curly and his family himself to replace it (Curly parents could replace it no problem, it wasn't a financial thing. And Curly feels bad about this fact for 0.2 seconds before he's searching for new guitars on the internet)

Always had a knack for singing. His dad was actually in a band when Curly was growing up, and while his dad played drums he loved to sit in on practice and sing along.

Karaoke? What was that blond blur just now? That was Curly getting first in line

Develops an alt style thanks to Jimmy, molds it to a more 'classy' look by wearing button-downs and suit pieces (someone said he looked great in a button-down and he decided it was the only thing he would wear ever)

Jimmy got him hooked on cigarettes during their freshman year of high school. He literally cannot got thirty minuets without a cigarette. He's insecure about the smell that lingers on him, so he also carries a bottle of cologne with him almost everywhere

DAISUKE JUAREZ - Drums and Synth/Keyboard

Had an interest in piano when he was younger and kept up with it as he learned drums at 12

Between piano lessons and school, he played baseball at his after-school care program. He really enjoyed it, playing baseball through middle and high school and eventually getting a scholarship based on his skill! he has to juggle Tulpar and his college baseball career, so sometimes they need to schedule around Daisuke

His parents are stupid rich and have lots of connections in production. Both parents work in Hollywood (as what? Beats me him!)

Daisuke is sent to a new high school when he turns 18 (which is junior year. his parents let him finish the year but send him to a state of his choosing to finish high school and experience life on his own) (yes they spy on him through Swansea)

Clicks with Anya instantly when he find out they both just moved to the state the same year. Quickly finds out she's a little bit of a goody-two-shoes (he changes his)

ANYA MUSUME

Picked up bass when she was 13 when she started listening to music. Honestly, she felt bass was a super underrated instrument (and that it was harder to pick up than other instruments). Her dad bought her first bass!

It's been Anya and her father for as long as she could remember. Her mom stayed behind in their home country (I'll figure it out) as they all planned to move to America, but she never made it to them. She suddenly became ill and passed away. This all happened when Anya was very young, so she has little memory of it. But her father does break down when she names her bass after her mom :)

Her and her father moved to a different state during her senior year of high school for reasons unknown to her. Sometimes she overheard hushed phone calls in the kitchen, or notices his shifting eyes in public spaces.

She meets Daisuke in a business studies class and the two take on the first few weeks of school together! It's not until Daisuke tells her that there's someone on campus that sells the good shit and they agree to meet at the dealer's spot that they meet Jimmy and Curly!

Curly and Daisuke have Gym at the same time, so that interaction was nice ("Word?" "Word." "I didn't know you were chill like that.")

The four of them hang out plenty after that!

SWANSEA (LASTNAME?)- Manager (I COULDNT FIND A GOOD PICCREW IM SORRY :(

Part of Pony Express Record's staff of managers. They refuse to hire more, so usually managers are looking after two or more bands at a time. This is also true for Swansea!

Daisuke's parents call in a favor he's owed them for some time, and of course it's for their precious baby boy. And of course he can't say no

He oversee's Tulpar's progress as a unit, coaches them individually on what industry standards are for musicians and then as a group for synergy, blending, and other factors that could risk their signing.

No matter how many times Swansea tells Jimmy his shit wont fly at P.E Records, Jimmy writes what he wants anyways. And the band rallies behind him. And somehow it fucking works

On top of being Tulpar's manager, he also kinda becomes Daisuke's babysitter (on his parents wishes. "Well, you're going to be over there anyways! I don't see the big deal in reporting back to us about what he's- how he's doing :)")

[ohwormwood]

i've lost my goddamn mind: rambling on parallels in isat and frankenstein

i need to write this down so i can try and defend my ass because it sounds crazy until you read the goddamn book and suddenly IT ALL MAKES FUCKING SENSE.

[woe, spoilers be upon ye! for both isat and frankenstein of course]

for context: i am a gender studies minor. i write on queer theory for funsies. and sometimes i like to let my hyperfixations melt together like cheese. this is the result.

Siffrin and victor. it's the fucking rampant mental illness for me. i cannot stress how many times i stopped mid-chapter and went "theyre the same fucking picture". it's fucking uncanny at times. The absolute extent of their self loathing is so in tandem that it's kind of scary. Both of them, despite not being directly involved, hold the weight of the deaths of their loved ones upon themselves (even if in Siffrin's case it was temporary, the point still stands). They both love their families so dearly???? like, to the point of self destruction and death. The absolute terror of losing your family to a force you cannot control, created by your own hand???

"I often suffered my mule to lag behind, and indulged in the misery of reflection. At other times I spurred on the animal before my companions, that I might forget them, the world, and, more of all, myself." (Shelley 67) Hello???? Siffrin???? is that you

So, as you probably guessed.... Loop is the creature in this case. The foil. The reflection. the absolute anguish of being denied humanity and comfort and love but having the capacity and inclination to love a family you cannot obtain. The simultaneous scorn yet codependence upon the other half they didn't get to choose, a need for revenge but also a profound and all-consuming self-hatred and remorse??? the self-denial of love???

"my heart yearned to be known and loved by these amiable creatures: to see their sweet looks turned towards me with affection" (Shelley 96) Head in fucking hands. loop watching the party. ough.

"if i cannot inspire love, i will cause fear" (Shelley 107) LIKE. MOTHERFUCKER. OUGHHH.

the fact that victor cannot fucking die for the vast majority of the story, spurned on by revenge and grief and self-loathing.... yeah act 5 siffrin...

I see this as like. the ISAT bad ending. Two Hats if loop had a lil chat with the king and went off the deep end. Or just loop, if they had no concept of their former self. if siffrin was a true frankenstein in that situation, i think that loop would definitely end up as a true version of the creature.

both siffrin and victor feeling undeserving of their family's love because of their actions

Oh here's the one that will send ppl over the edge: "or longed, with a devouring maladie du pays..." (Shelley 139) When i tell you I fucking almost yelled in the middle of work. I had to take a fucking pause. because the topic of homesickness and love for one's culture comes up a LOT in both of these. even if siffrin doesn't remember it.

Sidenote: i will forever and always hold in my heart that victor is ace. i am literally writing a fucking theoretical essay on this. I cannot explain here how much i have picked apart every allusion to this over the course of the text. it's genuinely a problem.

"You hate me; but your abhorrence cannot equal that with which I regard myself." (Shelley 170) i. i cannot say anything else about this but. Loop. yeah.

something something, fallen angel motifs in both the creature and loop

the creature's overseeing of the family in the cottage makes me think a lot about how loop would have seen their family interacting with who they could have been/used to be every fucking loop. but being unable to do anything about it. and then when they DO meet them. they do not recognize them and see them as inhuman. i simply fucking cry.

Anyways to end on a lighthearted note: isa is my walton. hopelessly gay. devoted to a fucking fault. secretly holds the braincells. the most loving man on gods green earth. Sympathizer 1000. Yeah.

did i need to do this? no. does it make any logical sense? absolutely fucking not. but am i going to be thinking about this for the next 3 weeks? yes. yes i am. thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 39 - Natalie Portman

Y'all need to get the fuck outta here.

On AO3.

Everything goes to shit. You don’t got more than a second to process Astarion with his knives before the short shit slaver swings at him. With a goddamn battle ax. How the fuck does somebody fight that?

You got no weapons. Lost your stick to a Hook Bitch and your knife to a fucking drow. So you do what you been doing, and try to stay outta the fucking way.

That lasts about three seconds.

Something slams you low. Folds your knees and you crater down. Then another little bastard is on you. His own knife glints in the low glow. Like every other short shit fucker you’ve been pinned by in the last month, the fucker is strong.

“Darling?”

Astarion’s voice is tight. Slaver takes another swing, which he dodges.

“Sun-scum bitch!” the fucking ankle biter on you spits. Literally. Speckles your face in the process and some of it lands in your mouth.

“Uergh!” You make some garbled kind of outrage noise.

You don’t know how to actually use a knife that ain’t slashing wildly at a butthole, don’t know how to shoot a bow or even a .22. But you wrestled with other kids at the farmstead (before you was considered a girl and forced to do chores while the boys got to play). Part of you remembers how to shimmy and grab.

Ankle Biter leans in close with that knife. Oily hair falls in your mouth.

You also know how to bite.

You twist up and crunch into his ear. He screams. Tries to pull away, but you hold fast, teeth straining in your gums, and you get your hand around his knife wrist.

“Fuck!” he says. Finally tears free.

Flesh also tears. Hot metal washes over your tongue and you spit as he rips his own ear off getting away from you.

“You fucking bitch!” he says.

You got enough room now to get a leg up between y’all. Wedge a foot against his chest. The edge of the wall is right there, and you don’t even gotta think.

You kick. Ankle Biter flails back. Trips over the edge. Scrambles for a hand hold, but you kick at his hands. Miss them and crack him in the face.

He falls.

Astarion grunts. You look up. He can’t get close enough to Slaver with that mcfucking ax. Fucker’s too fast with it. He needs an opening. A distraction—

You look to your chest. To the severed ear oozing over your drow armor.

No time. You pluck it up, scramble to your knees to aim better, and throw.

It ain’t enough to do damage. You get nothing but an instinctive flinch from Slaver. But Astarion is a two-hundred-year-old vampire elf, and he don’t need any more than that. In a blur, he’s in Slaver’s range. Short fucker tries to back away, get his ax lifted up between them.

Too late.

Astarion grabs his arm with one hand, his face with the other, and darts in to rip out a chunk of throat. Follows Slaver down as he gulps down what he can.

He pops off with a gasp. Swipes his messy chin with a forearm, and gives you a bloody grin.

“I couldn’t let you be the only one having fun,” he says.

You want to grimace. Or scream. And some fucked up little goblin in your skull still kinda wants to kiss him. On, like, the cheek maybe (it’s on the mouth).

What actually comes out is a weird, wheezing snort.

Shouts down below. You catch some of the trilled Drowic. Bastards have caught up.

“Ladder,” Astarion says and points behind you.

“Hold on.”

“Darling—” he starts. Realizes you’re snatching up the saddle bags because you are motherfucking sick and motherfucking tired of losing all your shit.

“Ah, of course,” he says. “Retrieve your phallus. It’s not as if we’re begging to be shot up here.”

You sling the bag over your shoulder. “I was thinking potions. You’re the one who won’t shut up about the goddamn dildo.”

Then an arrow whistles past your ear, and you’re following him down that ladder as fast as you can.

Where fucking zombies shamble over to meet you.

“What the fuck!” you say.

Astarion just shoves you back and goes hog wild. Man’s moving faster than you ever seen him. You aren’t actually seeing him; he’s just a blur of silver hair and pale skin and the dark drow armor.

He cuts through them fuckers like a goddamn weed whacker.

Movement above. A drow drops from the walkway. Sort of spiderman skitters down on a net and drops the last ten feet. She don’t so much as glance at you.

She’s focused on that big, rickety gate.

“Shit. Astarion!”

You done spotted the dock. There’s a big boat, kinda like a catamaran. You can’t help the fight without emotional support grenades or a fucking stick. But you can’t just leave him, either. So you stand there and hover like a dumbass.

Until he takes the head off the last one. Turns to you as the gate groans like a set of old man lungs on the last stretch of pneumonia. He gives you a weird look you can’t parse, before his whole face furrows into a scowl.

“What are you waiting for?” he says and makes a sweeping gesture with his hands. “Go!”

The ground turns soft. Not sand, but finer than gravel. The two of you sprint across the beach, towards the dock. One hundred feet. Seventy. Fifty.

And something pops outta the ground. Long and skinny and dark. You veer to go around, but Astarion clamps a hand on your wrist and jerks you back so hard your feet damn near fly out.

More sticks sprout right where you was about to step. And then you notice the fletching. They ain’t weird mushrooms or sea grass. They’re arrows.

You look back. One drow on the wall. Three trotting out to flank y’all—two on the left and one on the right. And the gate wide open, so Bitch Queen and Shithouse can stride on through like rich people at some fancy-fuck costume party.

Shithouse spots Astarion first. Half his face is a fucked up smear of burned tissue. The other twists in an uglier sneer. “Traitor.”

…huh?

Astarion must sense the confusion across y’all’s brainworms. He murmurs over his shoulder, “It’s what they call surface elves. It’s quite derogatory.”

He sounds near giggle at that last part. Solidifies that impression by making a kissing noise at Shithouse.

“Hold,” Bitch Queen says without even turning her head. “You. Surrender, and we’ll kill you swiftly.”

Goddamnit. Goddamnit. You’re only a dozen feet from that dock. So fucking close.

You reach for the brainworm group chat. Tap into it like you hit a road closure on a long trip and you’re fumbling with your phone trying to find the right detour. You ain’t being subtle about the shitfuckshit in your brain, neither. Alarm zaps through the others and crashes back into you.

They’re closer than they’ve been. But still too far to help.

You look to Astarion again. Your scalp burns under phantom claws.

“Don’t let them take me again,” you say, low enough you hope the others don’t catch it. “Please.”

He’s still got hold of your wrist. Glances your way outta the corner of his eye, and gives you a tiny squeeze.

“Easy, darling,” he says. Out loud. And then drags you up as he takes a step back. His other arm snakes around your chest. A cold line presses into your throat.

“Ast…what?” you say.

“How about a renegotiation of those terms?” he says to the fucking drow. His voice coils through you.

“Astarion?”

“Do it, traitor,” Shithouse says. Takes two steps forward. “Our matron mother will simply peel the knowledge from the slave’s skull. After we’ve peeled off every inch of your skin.”

“Ooh, promises. Unfortunately, I’ve tasted that dish before, darling. You’ll have to be more creative. And if you were capable of doing all that, you’d have killed her at the beginning and saved yourselves all this trouble.”

Shithouse starts towards y’all again.

“I said hold.” Bitch Queen don’t raise her voice. Don’t change her tone. Sounds like she’s ordering coffee at a diner.

And Shithouse stops like he hit an invisible wall.

“What are your terms?” she says.

Astarion came back for you. He kissed you. He wouldn’t…would he?

“Safe passage for myself,” he says.

“And your companion?”

You can’t see his face. He’s an iron presence at your back. Your wrist twisted behind you, his grip tight. The other holding his fucking knife to your neck. But his cool breath puffs against your ear as he nuzzles in.

“Trust me,” he breathes.

Then a hot sting on your neck. He cut you. He cut you.

“An ally, once,” he says. And then licks your fucking temple. “But she’s served her purpose less than adequately. I’d rather continue on my own way, if it’s all the same to you.”

He came back. He lured a fucking birdshark after him to get you back. You ain’t sure what, exactly, he’s trying to accomplish here. But he asked you to trust him.

“No!” you say. “You motherfucker! I helped you!”

You thrash. Just a little. Enough the knife slices you again. It’s shallow, but you feel his chest hitch behind you.

You seen him use those knives enough to know man’s got control of them like they’re his own fingers. If he wanted to cut you, he would. And if he were any less dexterous, you’d have slit your own throat just then with that stunt.

But he modified it. Just enough. He’s putting on a show.

“And that was your mistake, my sweet,” he says. Louder,” Shall we? I leave her to you, you leave me to my business, and we all get what we want?”

“Fucking bitch,” you say and scrape a heal down his shin. He is wearing boots. That don’t rise that far.

“Ah! You little—” He lets go of your wrist to shake you. The world blurs, but your brain ain’t sloshing around in your skull. He’s way stronger than this.

Then he blasts into your mind with his brainworm and his outrage tastes like eggs with way too much pepper. That hurt.

But you needed to make it convincing.

Oh, he’d glare at you if he could. Drag you over to that lake and dump you in and let all your things sink to the bottom.

But the drow flanking y’all edge in.

“Ah, ah, ah!” he says. “None of that. This is a straightforward arrangement; let’s not ruin it for the both of us, hmm?”

Y’all haven’t moved any closer to the dock, even with your antics. So what’s he trying to accomplish?

His sheer, buttery smugness fills your mind and your ears pop. Except they don’t. He just tugs you into him, skating around the edges of his thoughts, so that his ears become yours. The cavern fills with the panting inhale of all the drow, their pounding pulses—one in particular fills his thoughts, and you try to edge closer to see what—

No, darling, not that. That.

A roiling shiver. A distant thrumming. Something big, something moving.

Something underground.

Oh. Oh-ho-ho.

His giddiness mingles with yours into a schadenfreude milkshake across y’all’s brainworms.

(Somewhere in the distance, Gale frowns at a wall and says, “A what?”)

“Make the deal,” Shithouse says. He leans close to Bitch Queen, and at first, you think he’s actually stupid enough to say that so loud. Until…nope, he ain’t being loud. His lips barely move. You should not be able to hear that man. You’re still riding shotgun in Astarion’s hearing and holy shit, that man hears everything.

A flash of his memory: staring up at the red canvas of his tent as guts gurgle and people snore and Karlach thrashes and…is Wyll humming in his sleep?

“Jesus,” you whisper.

“Once we have the thief, we hunt down the traitor and tan his skin to make our new house banner.”

Bitch Queen nods to Shithouse. Then to y’all, “Very well. We will accept your terms. Let our target go, and you may depart unmolested. On my word as first daughter of House Darnruel.”

She said depart unmolested.

Astarion’s amusement fizzes against you. He caught that, too. Poor thing thinks she’s being clever. She does look quite young, for a drow (she looks like she’s in her forties, what is he even talking about).

Astarion takes a step back, dragging you along. Bitch Queen somehow straightens even more.

Right against you, so close his breath tickles your ear (fine, so you shiver, it’s a normal response to being tickled), Astarion says, “And right about…now.”

Shithouse looks down. Squints through the ruined flesh of half his face. Bitch Queen goes all hard and harsh in what you think is alarm.

“Bulette!” one of the drow shouts.

“Get up the ladders!” Bitch Queen says.

Too late. Apparently, that birdshark was real pissed. Pissed enough to track y’all the whole way here.

The big bitch rockets straight outta the ground, right between the legs of the drow on the right. She tries to leap up and away, and almost makes it.

The hook of birdshark’s beak snips, almost tenderly, right through her crotch.

“I knew it!” Astarion says.

Chaos erupts. Bitch Queen says a word and her hands light on purple fire. She flings it at the birdshark, who whips around with a screech. The archer still above gets off about three shots. Which the birdshark seems to take personally, because it darts to the side, gator-like, and smashes into the half-rotted timbers bracing up that section of the wall.

The archer falls. Lands in a roll and don’t snap her femur like a carrot stick. So birdshark decides to be a dear and skitters forwards to crunch off her foot.

“Fucking called it,” you say.

“Time to go, darling,” Astarion responds.

Together, y’all bolt for the ship. Hit the dock, boots pounding on the wobbly planks. The boat is tethered by one, big rope the same thickness as your wrist. Astarion stoops with his knife still drawn.

“Do you know how to work one of these?” he says.

You been on a pontoon boat out on Tenkiller Lake, like, once.

“Uh,” you say.

“Get aboard. Try that part up there? That looks like a handle or something.”

Stairs lead to a kind of balcony on the back. You scramble on board. A railing rises towards the back, but the bitch is completely open on the front.

You start for the stairs. Stumble over what you think is a pack or cargo or something. Until it says, “Fuck off! Watch it!”

A duergar lifts himself up. Even a couple feet away now, little fucker reeks of alcohol.

“Who the hell’re you?” he says. Stumbles to his feet and reaches for what you assume at this point—because that is just what everybody fucking does here—is a knife in his belt.

Fuck it.

You lunge. Shove him, as hard as you can.

He lets out a startled squawk, his ass first, and then keeps on rolling backwards right off the edge and into the water.

“Ha!” Astarion crows. And saws at the apparently un-cuttable rope. “Why is this thing so thick?”

It’s gotta be the adrenaline. Or maybe your brains just flipped the bird and skipped off. Cause you open your mouth, “That’s what she said.”

You ain’t usually that kind of joker. You been told you got dry wit. College boy humor? Not so much.

Astarion stops to gawp at you. Blinks once. A woman on shore screams as the birdshark chomps out the front of her gut.

“You’re utterly deranged,” says the man with blood drying all down his chin.

Which you tell him.

“It wasn’t a complaint.” His grin is as sharp as his knife as he finally slices through the last of the fucking rope. He holds that grin as he vaults on board himself, and as he swoops in, wraps one arm around you, and drags you close enough to plant his lips on your cheek.

Half of you goes wibbly.

The other half swats at him and says, “Ew! Blood breath!”

He only cackles and all but flows up the stairs.

There ain’t no engine or, like, old-timey steering wheel. There is a rudder.

A drow—half of one, anyway—goes flying through the air to splash in the shallows nearby.

Y’all look at each other. At the empty deck below. The sails on either side folded like a bird’s wings. Or maybe bat wings.

Astarion grabs the rudder.

The entire boat shimmers. He gasps. Flinches. But grabs the rudder more tightly and his face goes all sharp.

Wood groans and canvas hisses. The wings on either side slide up, unfurling like a church lady’s fan. And the whole thing shudders. Shifts. Creaks forwards away from shore.

“Whoa,” you say.

“It’s enchanted,” Astarion breathes. Looks to his hand. Up to the extended sails.

The boat moves slow at first. But you have to lean in, just a little, as it starts to pick up speed. The dock floats behind y’all.

Holy shit. Holy shit, y’all fucking made it.

You glance back to shore, just to see (hoping to spot Bitch Queen lying in a pool of her own blood). Spot the birdshark on its back, unmoving.

And the bitch herself stands at the end of the dock, wreathed in purple. She utters the last syllable of her spell and thunder claps across the water.

You start to make a sound. Then it hits you. Phantom claws. No gentle brush, this time. No fucked up caress. They slide through your hair, pierce your skull, and shred.

You think you scream. Then your knees give out and you hit the deck.

[this-is-krikkit]

this pic and the groupchat of the snk vets in a roommates AU no one asked for (probably the same AU i wrote here actually), on a random thursday:

hange: *sends the pic with no message attached* *goes offline*

levi: four eyes NO and it's 1am where the fuck even are you

mike has reacted "♥️" to hange's shared media

mike: four eyes YES

nana: yikes don't call them that you weirdo only levi does (not that that isn't weird btw) (but no one's ready for that conversation 👀)

nana has reacted "♥️" to hange's shared media

mike: i had to for the joke you drama queen

levi: your joke wasn't funny. @ hange pick up your goddamn phone or i swear to god

mike: you all suck at least my bro @ erwin will back me up for sure

erwin: Actually Mike, i second Levi's review of your humor. But I concur with your and Nanaba's assessment on that table; we absolutely need it for the flat. Count me in as another heart shaped reaction if you will. Kind Regards, Erwin Smith

nana: remember when i said you text like my Dad? i take it back, even he knows how to react to other messages by now

mike: yeah @ erwin stop signing your texts challenge 2kWHEN???? istg i feel attacked every time you speak on here

erwin: If you feel attacked by my correct use of language, I think I have a better understanding of your English grades last semester. Erwin Smith

nana: SAVAGE ??? did that big noise come from your room, @ mike? you okay buddy?

mike: i'm never gonna be okay again with friends like you motherfuckers who even needs enemies

levi: @ hange i'm giving you one more chance to reply before i call moblit and tell him you've gone missing

hange: HEY GUYS NO WORIRES ANND NO NEED TO CALL MY ABBY BORTHER I AM VERRY WELL!! DONT XALL HIM PLZ!! V FUNNY MIKE BTW 😂😂😂

levi: where the fuck are you and why all caps

mike: @ hange i love you boo

hange: ONLY ONEE FTEE HAND OOP

levi: @ mike stop enabling them @ hange currently dialing mob

hange: don't!!! i'm fine see!!! just needed a sec!!

levi: WHERE are you?

hange: ... i will answer that IF someone can provide decent trunk space and strong arms to help mine out right now 😁😁

nana has reacted "💪" to hange's message

mike has reacted "🍉" to hange's message

levi has reacted "😤" to hange's message

erwin: Hurray! Nanaba and I and our combined arms will be right there in the minimal amount of time needed to reach your current location as soon as you've sent it on here. Excited Regards, Ermin Smith. PS: Levi, but as you well know, this is a democratic shared living agreement. You were outvoted on the matter. "Sorry, not sorry," as Nanaba insists I add.

hange has shared a location

levi: i accept it but i'm not going to help.

mike: and we respect that honey making space in the living room for the 🍉 table as we speak! sure hope i don't break anything fragile or make a mess in the process........

levi: i hate all of you, and @ mike i hate you the most.

hange has reacted "😂" to levi's message

nana has reacted "🫂" to levi's message

mike has reacted "😘" to levi's message

erwin has reacted "🍆" to levi's message

mike: ????????

levi: can someone tell @ mike to stop fucking pretending to faint every time he has Emotions neighbors gonna think we're getting robbed again with how heavy he falls each time

mike: i'm FLOORED leave me alone!! get it?

hange has reacted "😂" to mike's message

hange: fr tho, @ erwin wtf?

nana: (he's driving, couldn't help myself) on our way to you and our new table @ hange!

hange: yay!

mike: yay!

levi: fucking hell.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

My uncle was a pillar in his community so even though he just died this morning, the city has already published a memorial to him and his life and now I'm sobbing over this shitty powerpoint some public servant made of photos of my uncle through the years and remembering what a goofball he was, how many people loved him, how much he MATTERED to the world in ways people will never know.

He revolutionized archival medium transfers to and from microfiche, and for three generations in that town he ran a shop that would restore and replicate lost media for anyone who needed it. He saved people's memories from entropy and remade them for modern record keeping tech. My uncle's inventions never made him any money because even when they made a big splash he'd hand over his patents without a second thought or a penny exchanged if someone told him they would make sure the inventions he made would help people [hey fun fact, a USA car manufacturing company that shall go unnamed has been sitting on the blueprints for a truck engine with chronilogically equivalent power output that runs on amonia and produces nothing but water as a byproduct since the 1970s, and when you grow up on stories like that across a dozen different industries, you become anti-capitalist real fuckin fast]. Once the secret service showed up at his mother's house when he was a middle schooler and Marion's first response was "Ronald what the FUCK did you do" and according to the very stern looking men at her front door, what he had done was use her gelatine recipe and baking trays to rig up an improvised photocopy machine AND STARTED PRINTING HIS OWN FUCKING MONEY and they would really appreciate it if he did not keep doing this.

This was not the last time federal law enforcement called upon my great grandmother because of her son's shenanigans, but it IS one of the funnier ones.

This was a man who could make a story out of anything, who could make a stranger feel seen and loved, and who always had a smile and a laugh for you no matter what he was going through.

And on top of it all the man was a stone cold hottie, look at this snazzy lookin motherfucker

Ron was the only man in the family for a long time (and now he has two sons, so they're around and they're clones of him the same way all the women in my family are clones of their fucking moms) so when I started T I downloaded a shitload of photos of him and brought them to my HRT prescriber and was like "yeah no you have to understand the this man is the family model for testosterone dominant systems and then on the other hand this man's sister's (my grandma) nickname was Jackie O because she was apparently "maybe even prettier than the First Lady" and these two stone cold prohibition era hotties spawned my entirely family line, so I **know** I'm gonna like how this turns out but I need to you tell me WILL I BE ABLE TO TO GROW THE FUCKING MOUSTACHE????????"

Yesterday was the last day of my Uncle Ron's life and it was also his birthday. He spent it surrounded by loved ones and reminiscing with his friends.

It was also the first day I looked in the mirror and saw the man's glorious moustache starting to grow in on my lip. It was gorgeous, and I can see his face looking back at me in the mirror more and more every day, more even than my own father.

Happy Birthday Uncle Ron. We're all gonna miss you so goddamn much.

[lina-suniverse]

My subjektiwe and biased analyse of "seeng stars"

Disklaimer:

Wery clearly biased, anti Stoliz, pro Star and the moon (Loona x Octavia)

If you like Stoliz do not read it your not gonna like the post.

I was obsessively analyzing every shot of S2: Episode 2 of Helluva Boss, which resulted in this post. Read the disclaimer and enjoy

Oh, maybe the fact that she’s stressed and aggressive all the time has something to do with the fact that she’s a goddamn slave you adopted exclusively to be a secretary—but nah, I must just be a Blitz hater.

This phrase alone justifies all the bullying Moxxie got from Loona’s side. Fuck you DROP DEAD STAY BULLIED AND I'M GONNA CALL HIM FAT FROM NOW ON not because he is but because he deserwed to be bullied and pissed of all the time

How does a character who doesn't give a fuck (and doesn't even know Via) act, compared to a character

the show wants us to think gives a fuck and loves Via act

Moxxie couldn't care less about a teen they should rescue, Millie not being able to tell him no (and the joke is idiotic but is the best that we could possibly get in this series)

Loona has no business finding the teen she doesn't even know and telling Blitz off so cutely

"this is the teem work sweetie" blitz said as he forsed hes slave to do hes motherfucking work 💝💝💝💘💘💘 drop dead 😙😙😙

The whole line with Stoliz wasting time at the sitcom just shows that neither of them really gives a fuck about Via. First of all, Blitz has no weapons whatsoever? Cool—going into the human world with essentially your underpants down, to help the daughter of your abuser you really care about, and you end up spending the whole day surrounded by people that could be killed in a span of a minute. Whoah, Blitzo, keep it up. I'm sure your business sucks because Loona is a bad slave—OH, I MEAN WORKER. His whole work is supposed to revolve around going into the human world ALL THE TIME. How the FUCK does he not know what he's doing?

During the time they spend on the sitcome, Via could die 400 times, could be kidnapped 100 times, but ok whatewer hawe fun there. And only one single moment to note happens during the sequence—a part that tells us about Loona's childhood.

She spent it in a kennel, which essentially looks and feels like a prison (which needs a couple individual posts about it). And Blitzo, being the loving dad he is to his daughter that he cares about, chooses to adopt Loona because…because he needs a worker… and because she’s cute… A DAD TO DESIRE.

To analyse the next scene, we need to take note of Loona’s slave background. We see her just walking around like a normal young woman would—my love, 🥺💜 she actually got a chance to do this.

And then she needs to choose between completing her fucking boss’s duties and actually getting some fresh air. FUCK YOU, BLITZ, YOU COULD DIE. Loona—the one who cares again (the only one out of everyone).

just look how my sweetheart looks around in desperation... she is just a baby after all, blitz you know what you should do

Loona was the one to find Via because she was the only one who was searching for her. And the girls have a talk. Now, I think it's worth noting that Loona essentially just victim-blames Via into thinking that her father cares for her. But I don't think that was intentional.

Loona grew up in the kennel — everything we know about the kennel is that it's essentially something like a prison, just to then be put in another prison, to be a slave of the man that calls her his daughter. These are things that could NOT just pass by Loona's psycho health, and it shows.

Of course, to loona, Stolas is a good father because instead of displaying a clear case of abuse, he just don’t give a fuck. So for Loona, it's essentially the best thing that a father could ever be. She didn’t mean to victim-blame Via, she’s just too traumatised herself. She does her best to help, considering that Via is klearly still trying to reach up to her father.

To finish that off

Nothing that speshial just Via beeng protekted by badass woman she in love with 💘💘

Stoliz are trying to hard to not hawe to much fun when there are a teen in danger running around with Grimoire

😃👍

[ozimagines]

@thisisjacklynn

Miguel Alvarez Dating Tall!Plus!Sized!Reader Would Include…

Miguel was in mid sentence when he saw you.

You were auditioning for one of his plays, and he got all fumbly and dropped his clipboard.

You do that movie things where you both reach for it.

Miguel, to put it bluntly, is so motherfucking goddamn tired of life

So when something like you comes along and has his heart beating again, he has trouble getting it out of his mind.

It takes him a little before he gets up the courage tho

Like you’ll know he likes you by the time he makes for you and the little awkward conversations you have.

Makes you smile

“Hey, Y/N, right?” He asks with a gravel. You nod.

“I was wondering if you needed anyone to run lines with. Like, just to help you learn, I guess.” He offers.

You get the message.

“Sure, Miguel. Tonight, maybe, if you’re keen?”

He agrees and smiles ear to ear for the rest of the day, a glow on his face.

You meet at some sports bar and talk over drinks and food, Miguel having his stage managing book with all his little notes in the margins, and you take notice. You make a remark about them.

“Kinda didn’t give a shit about anything before. I’m tryna change that.” He gives you a warm smile, and walks you through his shorthand.

“What’s ‘before’?” You ask, and he fills you in on Oz. You sort of give an unenthusiastic “oh”.

He’s a little insecure about his past, mostly he says, because others make him feel that way.

You bond over people trying to make you insecure.

“I don’t give into it very often. You can’t. It’s just that everyone has an opinion. Some people say I’m too this or too that.” You tell him.

“Then some people are idiots.” He states resolutely. “‘Cause for me, you’re beautiful. Enough of anything and everything.”

You blush. He’s good at giving compliments, making you feel as special as you ever had.

“Thanks Miguel.”

“Anytime, baby, you know that.”

Damn, the blushes just kept coming.

“Are we gonna get to see each other again?” He asked towards the end.

“Try and stop us.” You responded with a giggle, and his heart felt so very full.

You change his name in your nine from “Theatre Miguel” to “Mr. McDreamy❤️🫶🔥” and show it to him.

He laughs for solid five minutes.

You’re in his phone as “Gorgeous” and while he pretends that’s what he changed it to, you were never in his phone as anything else.

You take long walks in the mornings, enjoying the world before everyone else is up.

He likes flying under the radar like that. You realize he’s a little more insecure than he lets on.

He just overthinks everything.

He overthinks compliments for you, trying to let you know how beautiful you are without fetishizing it. He knows from experience with racial pillow talk that there’s a difference between “I love your culture” and “I want to fuck the token Latino”, so he knows it’s similar for body size.

That said, he can’t stop himself from telling you. It’s like every time he has those thoughts, he just needs to get them out of his head, even if he looks vulnerable and embarrassed a second after.

He doesn’t think he’s smooth with it but he is

Knocks you on your ass a few times

“Hey. No, nothing’s wrong… I just saw you and… damn… it’s sinful. It’s sinful to be that beautiful and not let me hold you every second of every day.”

He likes being over at your place; it’s way more inviting than his.

You make a joke he might as well move in, but his eyes betray him and light up at the thought, before he turned away, embarrassed.

It’s not long after that you move in together. All those steps that felt like too much just feel easier with Miguel.

Miguel actually likes dating someone taller than he is. Something about your height makes him feel protected, like looking up at a caregiver when you’re young.

He doesn’t feel safe everywhere, so when he realizes that he can be vulnerable in front of you he nearly cries. He tries to be strong in front of you but it’s so hard sometimes. So hard trying to have it all together.

That’s the hardest part for him. He still feels like it’s his job to protect you and he’s never felt strong enough. Not to protect himself or anyone else.

You both work through these feelings together, agreeing that you’ll take turns protecting each other in whatever that means at the time.

You make friends with his mother, learning how to cook the things he liked and take care of him when he’s sick.

He likes putting his head on your chest and feeling your heartbeat. Calms him more than anything. Even does it standing up.

He’s probably a beast at oral, getting you into a comfortable position and then plunging down with all the skills he’d learned from past girlfriends.

He can tell when you’re feeling insecure. It isn’t all the time, but every now and then people get in your head.

He’s a German shepherd boyfriend, very militantly protective but he’ll also not leave your side to go kick someone’s ass. He’ll make sure you’re okay first, and then go kick the person’s ass, but you’ll never get lost in the shuffle.

Calls XL sizes Xtra Lovely and makes that same stupid joke every time you go shopping together.

You must laugh every time. 😂

Loves dancing with you. He’s just got that way of looking at you that makes your insides turn to jelly.

“C’mere. No, seriously, c’mere, you’re driving me nuts sitting all the way over there.”

When you’re sitting so close to him you’re practically in his lap, he’s finally satisfied.

He gets that goofy smile whenever you’re near. Like, his cheeks will get all dimply and his eyes will light up.

He loves winking at you from across the room when you’re doing mundane basic shit.

He’ll just catch your gaze and pop a wink and you’re suddenly having a hard time stringing two thoughts together.

It makes him chuckle every time.

He knows he’s a pretty boy but it always boosts his ego to be able to make you blush.

His chest just sort of swells and he struts the rest of the day.

You’re deliriously happy together. And you never feel like you’re too much of anything around Miguel.