#Deal with it/lh

[melodythebunny]

@no-name-blu (tagged bc you've helped me with her costume XD)

reboot au belongs to @bloodrediscream

Alt in the undercut

[cosmic-nia]

🎉 [ @weregonnaneedabiggerboat ] 🎉

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIBII!!🩷💕🎉 here’s a lil doodle for you!^^ ive always wanted to draw your oc HER DESIGN IS SO CUTE UGHHH

hope you have a great birthday!!

[crispycreambacon]

Welcome to the Puppet History fandom! Wanna ship the main character? These are your only two options. Choose wisely.

[mary34blog]

Out of all the AveMuji girlies I was always most invested in wtf Umiri's deal was out of them cause like... I had legit no idea what direction they end up taking with her.

With the others you could make a pretty decent guess about where it goes: Like Mutsumi DID surprise was unexpected to be sure, (mostly because I didn't think they would actually put that in a Bandori season) but even with her I had a decent image of her character trajectory. (Some of which I ended up guessing correctly.) And lord knows the entire creative team likes to hype the hell out of the incoming Uika Twist so I knew going in that whatever happens with her it's gonna be A Doozy in some way.

And then. There is this fuck ass bassist right here. She's in thirty gods damned bands. Thirty. What. Even if most of them barely active or dies quickly mfer that's still a lotta work. She's calm and proffesional. She's a snarky jester who likes to annoy Taki. She's making Higurashi faces in the OP for some reason. She looks like a terrified mouse in one shot of the same OP. While everyone and their grandma was busy watching Uika Misumi with baited breath I was obsessing over this funky little idiot. Sasaki Rico told us there was a bomb under the table but I only cared about why the guy stage right to the table is Like That.

And then. AND THEN. This episode is like: Umiri Yahata is like that because she's still upset about her first band she was in (that judging by their appearance in the flashback was founded in elementary school/early middle school at best) ditched her on the day of their performance. Also she goes on retail therapy after her last girlband ex refuses to text her back and dumps her tragic backstory on her ex coworker. She also leaves the bill to said coworker btw. And know is trying to get the band together while using their former rhythm guitarist's alter for her own ends all the while being framed like a sinister supervillain, right after we spent half an episode establishing her as the ultimate failgirl. Which somehow makes her look an even bigger failgirl/complimentary /affectionate. Also she sustains herself on a diet of protein supplements and vending machine drinks.

And. I. Love. Every. Second. of this fuckery. So so much. Umiri Yahata you are the woman of all time, I hope you get worse/affectionate

[buubonita]

Can you guys please stop making Horror and Killer make fun of Dust's schizophrenia,,, is not cool.

[cconcerned]

Guys, what if after Queenie's abstraction, the others were so scared of Kinger abstracting as well that they avoided him, which made him have to deal with his grief on his own and that's why he's so mentally unstable.

He never coped with her death properly.

[poisoned-pearls]

Bleached

Word count: 3.2k

Nami Ashengrotto is having a hard time admitting when she needs help. Enzi just wants her to feel better.

(aka Enzi helping Nami after her overblot, + their first kiss, and a piano)

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“Nami, you can’t keep pushing yourself like this,” Enzi crouched down next to where Nami was currently collapsed on the floor, helping her back up. 

She looked up at her, eyebrows furrowed as the hyena’s hands hoisted her up. “I can walk, you know.”

“Right now? I don’t think you can,” Enzi sighed, struggling to keep Nami in a comfortable position as she moved her to the kitchen’s barstool seats, “why don’t you use the wheelchair the doctor gave you?”

She narrowed her eyes at the thing currently sat near their front door, unmoved since she arrived back home, “look at it! I can’t even move in it, I don’t want someone forcing me to go anywhere!” Its wheels were tiny, hospital greys of the seat fabric in contrast with the warm whites and blues of their home. The moment they’d sat her in it on her way home her future had flashed before her eyes. Calling her dads for every minor moment she needed to move. To use the restroom, to wash her face, to grab a snack, to even just have the sun on her face for a moment. 

And she dreaded it.

“Nams, you know the only people pushing you would be me or your dads, we aren’t gonna make you go anywhere you didn’t tell us to go,” Enzis ears flattened as she leaned on the counter, arms crossed on pristine marble, “‘sides, can’t your dad just buy you a different one? It’s not like money’s an issue for you.”

“… can we just… drop it, okay?” She looked at her with those eyes Enzi’s never been able to say no to, and she caved. 

“Okay, but still. If you don’t want to use a wheelchair, let’s get you… something, at least. Your dad still uses a cane, right?” Nami nodded, and Enzi started to head towards the room Mr. Jamil had pointed out as Azul’s office.

Nami went to her hair, gently running her hands through the ivory white locks. She hated it. Her legs ached with every step, her overworked muscles screaming with pain. She could barely get her arms above her shoulders without it feeling like her bones were cracking, and Seven forbid if she turned her head too quickly. Her muscles seemed to protest everything she even thought about doing.

But she wanted to move. She wanted to be done, to be back at school where no one knew about her overblot and she could go back to working at the lounge instead of laying around her house doing nothing.

She despised doing nothing. 

(For she had always been doing everything, you see.)

Doing nothing when nothing needed to be done was a reward. This nothing was not that. There were many things that needed to be done, but she was unable to do them. That’s where her issue lied.

Because if she didn’t do them, who would? Nobody. Or even worse, somebody.

If she didn’t win her violin competitions, somebody better would. Which meant another thing she’d failed. If she didn’t run the lounge, nobody else would. Which would mean she’d fail. 

Lately all she felt like she could do was fail.

And that damned wheelchair kept staring at her. She didn’t want to touch it at all, much less use it. She didn’t need help. She doesn’t want help. Nami Ashengrotto is perfectly capable of doing things herself. She can study herself, sing herself, and most definitely move herself. She didn’t need anyone’s help, anyone’s aid, or their favors. 

And she most definitely didn’t need help to do something as simple as walking.

(Walking, in fact, was not simple to her. It was an intricate dance of limbs she never quite figured out. If you paid close attention to her gait, you’d notice the ever so slightly inhuman movements, small moments where her knees or ankles bent more than what was normally possible. Her legs were an illusion after all, each leg a twist of four tentacles hiding in magic to make her appear fully human. Her legs lacked bones, relying on pure muscle to hold the rest of her body upright. Of course, she’d spent her entire life correcting the little inhuman quirks in her steps, so you’d never really notice unless you were staring for far too long. She was proud of her walk.)

The soft pitter-pat of Enzis steps down the hallway snapped her out of her own thoughts, head perking up as quickly as it could with her injuries.

“Here, hopefully your pops won’t mind my digging around his room, I couldn’t find it for a hot minute.” Enzi came around towards her, placing the cane on her lap. she tucked nami’s hair behind her ear, “want me to put it up? It won’t be as nice as when your dad does it, but…”

“Yes, please,” she sighs out, leaning into Enzis touch against her face, “a braid?” 

Enzi stared at her for a moment before leaning in and kissing her forehead, “yeah, I can try that.” 

“Try? Should I worry?” Nami’s head turned to the side, eyebrow raising ever so slightly at the other.

“Not at all!” Another kiss on her cheek, “don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”

…

“Enzi…” she turned her head in the mirror, inspecting the lopsided braid currently holding her hair. 

“I said good hands, not skilled ones,” Enzi somewhat laughed out, hands falling on her hips. Her head fell to the side, “I can remake it, if you’d like. Can’t promise it’ll look any better though.”

Nami sighed, voice low, “it’s alright, not like I’m going anywhere. It does the job just fine, no point in being caught up in aesthetics.”   

Enzis lips pursed, eyes seeming to hold a thousand different thoughts at once. 

Nami’s eyes looked hollow. Gone was the spark of superiority and slyness she always seemed to hold, leaving only an echo of what once was. Bags weighed under her eyes, something Enzi had never once seen her with before. Sorrow seemed to creep in every corner of her being, a constant underlying emotion dragging her down. Nami was always caught up in aesthetics, she caught her staring at her appearance every spare second she had.

Enzi glanced around the room, looking for something, anything, that could bring a smile to her face. Hell, she’d settle for that little half smile she does when she’s making fun of something. Her eyes landed on the piano off to the side in their living room.

“Hey, come on, why don’t I play you a song?” She nudged the white haired girl with her shoulder, grinning at her.

“You… play for me?” She smiled slightly at that, laughing softly in the middle of her phrase.

“Mhm! Come on, you play for everybody, might as well return the favor,” she said, holding out her arms for Nami to fall into.

She does, and her grip around the hyena is tight and she helps her get her footing, while keeping her weight off of her legs.

Although difficult because of nami’s staggering height over her, through Enzi’s help and the cane, they’re able to make their way over to the living room. Nami unceremoniously plops down on the couch closest to the piano, leaning against the armrest as she watches Enzi settle onto the bench.

Enzi flexed her fingers for a moment. In truth, she really couldn’t play the piano, but she knew one song. It was… exceedingly simple, and she’s sure Nami probably came out of the womb (or…egg? As she had heard?) able to execute it perfectly, but it was something. Something that had a chance of making Nami smile. Or laugh, she wouldn’t mind making a fool of herself to hear her laugh.

She pressed down the first few notes, eyes locked on the keys in front of her. She cringed as she accidentally pressed the wrong key, chord ringing out a cacophony of bad sounds. Moving her finger, she gets it correct and begins to play through the song.

It was a childhood nursery rhyme, something she’d learned on a daycare toy piano. She’d been so proud of herself when she got it right she’d never been able to forget since.

Nami listened intently, eyes drifting shut as she played. Enzi glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, and felt as pride swelled in her as her eyes landed on a serene smile across her face. She slowly began to get some life back into her, head rocking ever so slightly back and forth to the beat.

Each note filled her ears, the sound crisp and clean. They had to keep this piano in pristine condition, with regular cleanings and tunings, because she’d yet to hear even a modicum of error in it. It made sense, of course, with two experienced pianists and an excess of money in the household, but still.

During the final moments of the song, Nami’s hum of the melody filled her ears, perking up at the sound of her voice.

“That was very nice,” she whispered, eyes creasing with her smile. Before Enzi could mutter out an excuse about how it was really nothing, Nami’s arms began to shift as she lifted herself up.

Nami placed the cane underneath her, leaning all of her body weight against it as she slowly made her way to the piano. Enzi shot out her arms, helping guide her (and potentially catch her should she fall) to the bench she currently sat on. 

“N-nami?” She stuttered out in confusion as Nami plopped down next to her, motioning for her to scoot over. She did as she was told (or well, nudged) giving her enough room to sit. 

“Can you grab that book next to you? The one with the tabs?” She turned and asked, seeming to not hear her previous call of her name.

“Oh- uh- yeah,” she leaned over, now noticing the basket nestled in between the window and piano, holding tens of books that all appeared to hold sheet music.

She took the book from enzis grasp carefully, setting it on the proper stand before flipping it open to a particular page.

At the top it read something about oceanic symphony no. 2, the name continued on to dribble into random words and letters that surely meant something to the other girl but absolute nonsense to Enzi.

She turned to the other girl, sun illuminating her face and giving her skin a glow she’d not seen in months. Her hand came up to move the braid over her shoulder, before tapping on the keys with her nail for a few moments.

Then, after she tapped for a while, she spread her fingers over the keys and began to play.

It was majestic. The symphony of notes that filled her ears was the most beautiful piece she’d ever listened to. Nami’s face was the picture of peacefulness, as if she entered another world while playing. Her eyes barely even glanced at the music.

Enzi leaned over, gently placing her head on the others shoulders, being careful to not let her ears get in the way of her sight. Her eyes followed the others intense movements.

Her manicured hands swept over the keys, playing the finishing notes of the song. She stilled as the music lingered in the air, fading into the silence as she let out a sigh.

“That was beautiful, Nams,” Enzis hand came up to tuck her hair back as she turned towards the girl beside her. “You play like an angel.”

“It’s nothing really, I’ve played far better before,” she sighed, flipping through her sheet music, “my nails are done, so my postures off, and…” she began to flip through her music, but Enzi reached out and pushed it closed.

“Sounded perfect to me,” she shrugged, “sides, even if you messed up,”she put air quotes around the words messed up, “I liked your version better anyways.”

Nami sighed, but smiled at the other. She ran her hand over Enzis thigh in a comforting manner. She’d pet her hair if she could manage to get her hands that high up.

A hand closed around Nami’s, gently cradling it as Enzi nuzzled her head into the other’s neck. Enzi always enjoyed being close to her, Nami’s warmth wrapping around her, embracing her. She smelled nice too, jasmine, sea salt, and driftwood mixing into a refreshing blend. 

She buried her head deeper into the crevice of her skin, delighting in the way Nami’s breath hitched, hand turning and squeezing the one Enzi had placed on top of it. Nami’s skin was impossibly soft, something she’d learned took meticulous work to keep up over her time spent here the last week.

She felt Nami’s eyes land on her, watching intently. Enzi turned her head up a bit before finally lifting it off of her shoulder. Nami gave her another gentle smile, voice almost a whisper when she said “I can play for you again, if you’d like.”

Enzi cocked her head to the side, smiling as she softly said, “I’d like that,” in response. 

They stayed like that, faces only a few inches apart as their breaths slowly synced with one another’s. It was the most relaxed she’d seen Nami since she’d arrived. With the mid morning sun illuminating her from behind, she looked angelic. 

Her eyes fell to the others lips, all of a sudden all too aware of their proximity to one another. Her hand slowly came up to her face, tentatively cradling the other's face.

Nami seemed to melt into Enzi’s touch, letting out a deep breath. Her eyes fluttered shut, carrying a deep exhaustion in them. Her overblot had a deep effect on her, but it’d never been clearer to Enzi in that moment. Her face gave away every amount of sleep she’d lost, pain she felt as clear as day. 

Her thumb absentmindedly reached out to rub against her bottom lip, memorizing the soft plump feeling she had against her skin. Nami peered at her from underneath her eyelashes, waiting for the others' attention before giving her the smallest nod of approval.

Enzi closed the distance between their lips slowly, savoring every second she got to kiss the other girl. Nami’s lips were exactly like her, soft and pampered to an extreme. They felt as if they’d been perfectly moisturized her entire life, and for a moment, she’d honestly believe it if it was true. 

She’d kissed many girls before Nami. Some quick, some slow, some experienced, some not. She’d… experimented a lot in the last two years since figuring out some stuff about herself. But Nami was different. from the moment they’d met those girls she’d known faded away from her memory, whether they’d been there for only a few moments, or a few months. Even before they were more serious, she found herself declining invitations to parties, pulling back from other girls she’d been talking to. It felt unfair, to be internally comparing them to Nami at every step. They couldn’t compete- not to Enzi. Nami was… perfection. She supposes that’s why Nami’s overblot had shaken her so much. She was supposed to be invincible, infallible, to think that even Nami thought she contained flaws…. It broke her heart. 

(Of course, Enzi knows that nobody is perfect. Nami has flaws, but Enzi would much rather prefer to call them quirks. Quirks that Nami could work through, or were so minor they didn’t really matter much at all. But Nami most definitely didn’t have anything wrong with her.)

So here she sat, despite all of that experience with turning girls into putty in her hands, lost as to what to do next. 

 Nami pushed against her lips a bit more, trying and failing to do something before she hurriedly panted out, “you can touch me you know. I won’t break.”

And if that didn’t light a fire in her.

She moved on instinct, hand on Nami’s cheek weaving its way through her hair, wrapping around the back of her head. The other went around her waist, pulling her closer by the small of her back. Nami let out a satisfied hum at her actions, which was a high Enzi firmly believed she’d be living on for the next few months. 

Their mouths slowly melded together, Enzi letting out a low purr Nami couldn’t help but smile at. She peeked an eye open, glancing at the tail currently wagging up a storm behind her. It was… flustering, to say the least, to have such tangible evidence of her enjoyment.

Nami had never kissed anyone before. Or well, at least not like this. (She’d kissed her family, but her family most definitely did not kiss her with an open mouth.) Enzis hands were a steady force guiding her and she fought through her body's aches. She couldn’t move her arms much, but she could hold the others hips, holding them loose but steady.

She tilted her head a bit more, mouth falling even more open until Nami froze up, shoving the girl down and away from her by her legs. Enzi looked at her frazzled until she saw the wide eyed stare currently looking behind her.

“Baba!” Nami’s voice squeaked out as Enzi felt all color drain from her face, a nervous smile spreading over her face in a silent plea, Arabic slipping out of her mouth, “when did you get here-?” 

She did not just get caught making out with his daughter. 

In front of him.

 oh she was dead. “Rest in peace, Enzi Bucchi,” she could hear her eulogy now, “at least she died doing what she loved.”  What could she even say? ‘Hey, thanks for keeping me here after showing up at an ungodly hour of the morning as a complete stranger, claiming to know your daughter, as thanks for your immense kindness and patience, I’ve stolen her first kiss. Sorry about that.’

Yeah. She was dead. Enzi just wants it to be fast, maybe a snap of her neck…

When she finally turned around to face the terrifying presence that was Nami’s father behind her, she paused for a moment. His face seemed… conflicted. Like he was fighting himself (and losing) in some great battle in his mind. 

His eyebrows furrowed for a moment at Enzi when his attention shifted to Nami, belatedly saying, “dear… your hair.”

Utterly confused, Nami turned to look at the braid across her shoulder. It was still a pale white, not unlike the white of dead coral. It’s only when Enzi, in her utter confusion since she’d completely missed the Arabic being exchanged, runs her hand from behind her neck down her braid that she sees it.

A wave of red fell down her hair.

It was only for a moment, but something seemed to click in Enzis head. Her hands went around Nami’s face, pressing their lips together for a few moments despite Nami’s (insanely overprotective and somewhat terrifying) father behind them.

She pulled away just as quickly as she’d kissed her, eyes intensely locked on her hair.

Another flash of red fell down her hair.

She was actually helping Nami get better.

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heyyyy…. So I’ve had this in my drafts for a while, but I’ve finally been able to finish it!! They’re so special to me guys you don’t understand…. Anyways. Thank you for reading down to here!! And if ur new- I’ve got a lot more stuff for these guys-!! I’ve got tags for their names that have all of the content I’ve made for them

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Nami’s Taglist

@ghostiidasponk @stormyscrapez @squishosaur @snowrinrin @inotonline

@mello-bee @thehollowwriter @meowbyul @lowcallyfruity @saneriddlefan67 

@driedupeyeballs @shadowy-skies @usurper-of-heavens

[httyd-art-requests]

Looking forward to your art every day! Could you also draw a smothering smokebreath? They're my favourite and I don't know why lol.

Smokebreaths are such funky little guys. Their design is so iconic to me, yet they barely get featured in any HTTYD media. I hope I did them justice :)

Dragon #70 - Smothering Smokebreath

[starry-sophrosyne]

THE NEWEST PARTY CRASHERS VID (mario kart wii) IS ACTUALLY SO PC SHIP CODED IM NOT EVEN KIDDING-

BRENT AND SOPHIST MOCKING EACH OTHER?? AND THEN BOTH NICK AND VERN TELL THEM TO SHUT UP?? literally "the most annoying thing in the world other than your own dysfunctional relationship is someone elses-" or something like that LMFAO-

[woolysstuff]

he has the power of god and anime on his side !!

[askchilchuck]

Hey there👋 i dont really have a question but! I got ya this *habds him a bottle of wine*

You'll definitely need it after all those weird ass questions you've been getting.

Cheers, man *hold up their own beer* have a good one

Thanks, it’s been a rough past couple of days. I really needed this.

[normal-enderman]

everyone's jumping the gun on giving Troy scars. You gotta save space on his face and body for when he has an injury so deeply traumatic that it causes a paradigm shift in his character and changes the course of the narrative for good. we're only on episode four you gotta save some space guys come on

[seventh-district]

Dying Star

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

- - - - - - -

Sam’s words have been weighing heavy on your mind ever since you discussed your shared future and the various forms it could take. You didn’t realize just how heavy they were until it all came spilling out of your tired mind on a late night spent together beneath the stars.

Pairing: Sam x Darlin' / Reader

Word Count: 4,053

Contains: [angst] [a dash of humor] [a hint of chubby!Sam bc i like 'em strong and soft] [crying] [cuddling (dub-con cuddles with Quinn in the past & consensual ones with Sam in the present)] [emotional hurt/comfort] [implied/referenced dub-con sex (nothing graphic) (in the past between Darlin' and Quinn to be specific) (refer to my Ao3 notes for further explanation)] [mentioned Quinn] [not quite Dissociation i guess but Darlin' does zone-out/get lost in thought more than once] [pet names (Darlin' (obvs.) and honey)] [Reader is Darlin'] [Sam wears a cowboy hat bc i said so] [some passive suicidality from Sam if you squint (hell, maybe you don't even have to squint)]

A/Ns: Well, well, well, here I am, the person who said they wouldn't write any Redactedverse fanfic. I recently felt a mighty need to expand upon the blurb I wrote in this post, and I'm braving my fandom anxiety by sharing it here. pls be nice 2 me abt it

Timeline-wise, this fic takes place sometime after the ‘Talking About the Future With Your Vampire Mate’ audio but sometime before their presumed eventual departure from the house that William gave Sam, given that they've already had the 'turning' discussion but are still on the same roof in this fic.

This is a songfic, inspired by and quoting verses from 3 songs. Those being:

‘Dying Star’ by Ashnikko feat. Ethel Cain

‘Fix What You Didn’t Break’ by Nate Smith

‘No Plan’ by Hozier

The roof of Sam’s house is far from a ‘cushy’ place to relax. But as you lie here next to him under the stars, a knowledge settles within you that you wouldn’t trade the rough shingles beneath you for the softest mattress in the world. Not if it meant there’d be anyone other than him lying next to you.

Some people might counter that it’s an easy thing for you to say, given the number of nights you’ve thrown a balled-up shirt onto one end of a worn-out couch and called it a bed. But some people don’t know you as well as they think they do.

You’ve known luxury. Quinn might’ve been just as content taking his fill on a seedy motel bed as he was wrapped in silks at a Hilton, but he knew how to play up the luxe when it served him to do so. And in the early days as he worked to lure you in, it did. Plush sheets and expensive drinks helped to soften the preordained blows and dull the imminent pain that your nights with him held.

Once you’d latched onto the bait though, he let the act drop one piece at a time, like props collapsing on a stage. After all, what was the point in all of those frivolities when you both knew what you really came to him for? It wasn’t to be wined and dined, it wasn’t to be dressed up and shown off, and it wasn’t even to be slowly stripped of it all, laid out across the rolling clouds of a pillowy mattress.

It was to be used. Tranced. Restrained. Bitten. Drank from. Choked. Hit. Edged. Denied. Made to writhe and whine and bleed and plead. Plead for more, for less, for nothing, for anything. Anything to quiet your mind and fill the ever-expanding void inside you where you suspect love was supposed to live.

That’s what you both really wanted.

At least, that’s what you told him you wanted.

That’s what you told yourself.

You only got what you asked for.

To your right, Sam stirs, stretching gently with a yawn. The soft noise he releases as he does so reminds you of where you are, and you trace back through your thoughts to find how you got so lost.

…Right. Luxury.

While your relationship with Quinn certainly changed over time, you never forgot what it felt like in the beginning. 

You remember nights laid next to him, body sore, mind quiet. Quinn’s idea of aftercare was lacking to say the least, but you had nothing better to compare it to at the time, and you’d take what you could get. At least your head felt empty, and the bed was soft. Exhaustion would pull you under soon enough.

The mattress, sheets, and pillows enveloping you were likely worth more than you even made that past month. ...Or several. You found that display of luxury hard to be impressed by though, when it wasn’t the type of comfort you’d been seeking.

As Quinn shifted in his presumed sleep, pulling you in tighter, you didn’t fight it. You found yourself unwilling to fight anything he did, like his mere presence was enough to drain the fight right out of you. You told yourself that you were okay with that. Because you wanted it.

Lying there with your head on his bare chest, you took a deep breath and told yourself that you liked the stench of cheap cologne, poorly masking the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. You silently told yourself that you liked everything. You liked the pain that he chased with hints of pleasure. You liked the loss of power, the way you couldn’t fight back if you wanted to once he looked you in the eyes. You liked all the things he said, no matter how much the truth might hurt.

He was right, you supposed. Your desires, the things you craved, the depravity that you so enjoyed, wasn’t normal. It was uncommon, unusual, and in the eyes of some, unfathomable. To possess such dark desires, there must be something truly broken inside you.

How lucky you were, to have found someone willing to indulge you. Someone that could give you everything you wanted, and be so kind as to keep it a secret too. He promised that word of the things he did to you, the things you let him do, would never get out. You remember the way he held your hand as he told you, falling for the guise of sincerity in his eyes. You remember his warm smile, and his razor sharp teeth.

You remember seeing that exact same smile on his face through one-way glass as he sat across from Sam and told him everything.

You stood in that room and thought back to those nights of luxury. To the feeling of his nails ghosting over the freshly healed punctures in your neck. To the way he held you against him. You remember laying there, lifeless, feeling like prey playing dead. Afraid to move, afraid to disturb him. But why? He hadn’t threatened you. He never told you that you had to stay. He never said that you couldn’t move, or pull away. So why did you feel that way?

As you stood, helplessly witnessing hours of his slander in that interrogation room, you understood. Your rose-tinted glasses had long since shattered, and you saw that smile for what it was. It was the smile of a man playing a dangerous game, brimming with satisfaction, thinking he’d won.

The radio near you begins to crackle, static obscuring the hosts voice as they announce the upcoming song. Sam doesn’t even open his eyes, just raises a hand and reaches out, blindly adjusting the antenna of the old device.

You’ve teased him for holding onto it for so long, as he is wont to do with damn near all of his possessions. But as you watch him deftly extend and angle the antenna with practiced care, the response he once gave you proves itself true once again.

“I don’t wanna replace it, Darlin’. It’s not broken. It just needs someone who knows how to make it sing again.”

The static clears, and music flows through the radio’s old speakers once more.

You watch Sam return his hand to its prior position beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow of his own. The way he’s lying has his hat pushed forward, and it’d be doing a damn good job of shielding his face from the sun if it weren’t somewhere around midnight at the moment. Still, it suits him somehow, despite its lack of any practicality. All he’s missing is a stalk of wheat between his teeth and a tree to lean against and he’d be the spitting image of the cowboy he swears he isn’t.

His other hand rests on the soft curve of his stomach, rising and falling again as he breathes. He’s the image of peace in moments like these, and you’re drawn to it like a moth to flame. Maybe one of these days you’ll find some of your own, but for now you’re more than content to bask in his.

As you admire him, he takes a slow, deep breath and you mirror it on instinct. The grounding practice helps you leave your mind and return to your body, if just for a moment. In doing so, you realize just how tense your ruminations have made you.

You relax your hands, releasing the blanket beneath you from your iron grip. You brush your palms over it, worried that you’ve torn the fabric once you realize that your nails had halfway shifted to claws. You don’t fret much over damage to your own possessions, but this blanket is Sam’s and you’d hate to ruin it. Though, you suppose he doesn’t prize it too much or he wouldn’t have laid it out here across the roof in the first place.

“If I buy somethin’ it’s because I wanna use it. Now quit frettin’ and get over here.” You recall what he told you earlier as he patted the blanket next to him in invitation, and you smile.

Doing a small stretch of your own, you release the tension in your shoulders, turning your attention back to the stars above you. For a while, you let the soft music wash over your tired mind.

“I asked him not to kill me politely. He drained my magic core, bottled up at the source. I washed up on the sea glass shores. I’m nobody's captive.”

In spite of your best efforts to relax, you’re still subconsciously futzing with the loose threads of the old blanket beneath you.

You’re made aware of it when Sam reaches a hand down, gently laying it over yours and effectively stilling your anxious motion.

“Burning like a dying star, invasive weeds rooted in my heart, set in a crooked trajectory. The journey here was hard, I was almost pulled apart. Trying to leave his orbit took what’s left of me.”

You flip your hand over beneath his so you can hold it properly, lacing your fingers together.

For reasons beyond your understanding, emotion tightens your throat, the threat of tears pooling in your eyes.

…You must be more tired than you thought.

As minutes pass and one song fades into another, your gaze dances across the blurry, scattered points of light in the dark sky.

“You were the star in the pitch black, shine the way on the way back. Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers.”

Sam’s always been so much better at identifying stars and finding constellations. But as the music plays, you begin to see one of your own.

“Picked up the towel that I threw in, took in a heart that was ruined. Showed me the past ain’t a tattoo, loved me even when you didn’t have to.”

“Sam.” You squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Hm?”

“I want you to look at something.” You swallow back the emotion that tries to seep into your voice, but it catches his attention all the same.

He leans up and lifts his hat from his head, setting it aside near the radio. He then reaches to turn a dial back, lowering the music’s volume to give you his full attention.

You release his hand, raising yours up as he turns back to face you. You don’t say anything at first, nearly too lost in your own mind to realize you need to actually voice your developing thoughts.

"What—what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Your hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in your line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above you. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow your less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', your pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along your exposed wrist where your sleeve had slipped back, he takes your hand in his again and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." You say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." You nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting you. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

You scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh. "No—no I mean—like... what's another name for it... Oh, it's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but you cut him off before he can start. "But no. No, this isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in your overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Your frown is audible in your voice as you latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at your over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, honey, I promise."

You huff, but begrudgingly shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention.”

Sam’s brow furrows as you continue to explain, realization setting in that you really are being serious.

“I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...And there you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places and people that I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, at Wonderworld, surrounded by the ghost of him. Your warmth, your presence, your aura—even with all of your walls up, you outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me home."

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand squeezes yours tight, his urgent tone pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

You look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, faint shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

You reach out, pulling him down into you. He falters for a moment at the sudden proximity, but quickly embraces you in turn. Burying your face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear your words, muffled against the thick flannel, but his hearing catches them just fine.

"Don't burn out too quickly. Please. I still need you here. I don't—I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

The words feel like a weight being lifted from your shoulders, but with it comes a flood of emotion they’d been holding back. You cry harder into him, and as much as it pains Sam to witness, he lets you feel it, for as long as you need.

Your fear of losing him manifests itself physically, nails curling and sharpening again. When he feels them prick his skin through the fabric of his shirt, he calls your name but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans further down into you, letting his weight ground you. “Darlin’, I am right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As you eventually cry yourself out, enough wherewithal returns to you to realize that you should probably release the poor man from your grasp, and the awkward position you pulled him into. When he pulls away enough to see your face, you notice a string of snot running from your nose to his shirt collar. Quickly batting it away out of embarrassment, you cringe, voice thick as you apologize. “Eugh, gross. Uh… sorry. About that.”

He shakes his head, laughing good-naturedly as you wipe at your nose with your jacket sleeve. “It’s completely fine, honey. After all, I’ve been covered in plenty of your, uh… various fluids before. When you come from my line of work, this is child’s play.”

He leans to his right, reaching back and pulling—of all things—a handkerchief from his jeans’ left back pocket. You laugh at his words, and at the sight, but with how congested you are it turns into more of a hacking cough than anything. Accepting his offering, you blow your nose into the black patterned fabric.

As soon as you can speak somewhat clearly, you can’t stop the teasing remark that slips out of you, gesturing with the wad of fabric in your hand. “You know, you really aren’t beating the cowboy allegations with stuff like this.”

He rolls his eyes but his soft smile remains. “It’s a practical thing to have on me, ‘allegations’ be damned.”

You shake your head with a smile of your own, but don’t disagree. As you’re visibly unsure what to do with the dirtied fabric, he takes it from you, setting it aside. “I’ll toss it in the wash when we go back inside. Along with my shirt, and…” He eyes you for a moment. “…that jacket of yours too, given how long you’ve probably been wearin’ it.”

Normally you’d argue that it hasn’t been that long, but come to think of it, you actually can’t recall when you last washed the thing.

Reaching up and rubbing your temples, you already regret your crying fit as a headache begins to set in. “Fuck, Sam... I’m sorry for… whatever that just was. I don’t know what came over me.”

His expression falls into something serious again. “You never need to apologize for feeling. And it certainly seems like… you needed to feel that.”

You nod quietly, but don’t elaborate, prompting him to question you gently. “Darlin’. What was that about? The—the askin’ me not to leave. Are you… afraid that I’m gonna leave you?”

You close your eyes, weighing out your response. “…Not in the sense that you’ll break up with me or something, no.”

His gaze narrows and his head tilts as he rolls your answer over in his mind. “If it ain’t that, then—” He remembers how you mentioned ‘forever’ and cuts himself off as the puzzle pieces start coming together. “Oh. …Oh, Darlin’, no.”

You open your eyes to watch as he shifts from leaning next to you, moving to sit up beside you. “Is this about what I told you, when we sat up here and had our uh… turning discussion?”

You hate to admit it, but you nod in confirmation. “…It’s your choice, Sam, and I never want to take that away from you. I shouldn’t have said what I just did, I—I don’t want to make you feel guilty, or like you have to stick around for my sake. But I’d be lying to you if I said it hasn’t been playing on my mind. The thought of you… leaving. Like that.”

He reaches up, running a hand through his hair. “I… think I maybe should’ve been a bit more clear, when I said that. Because I wasn’t talking about any time soon. I didn’t want to give you the false impression that I plan on sticking around for centuries, but… I also wasn’t trying to imply that I’ve got plans to do it next week either.”

You bolt upright, voice cracking. “Next week?! I sure as shit hope not!” You grab your head, pain flaring and suddenly dizzy from the quick shift in position.

He places a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “I’m not, honey, I’m not. Did you catch the rest of my sentence? I’ve got no plans to leave this world any time soon. I promise.”

You groan, head pounding. “I heard you, I did, I just—fuck, I don’t even wanna think about you leaving so soon. Here I am, stressing, thinking I’ve only got—I don’t know—some odd years left with you, and…” You sigh, trailing off.

Sam stays quiet for a minute, letting the crickets sing.

Eventually, he interrupts their chorus. “…Can I get closer to you?”

You nod. “…Please.”

He closes the gap between you, carefully wrapping a strong arm around your curled shoulders. “You’ve got way more than a couple years. I promise you that.” Your tension begins to ease a bit as he clarifies. “You… you’ve helped me find a life that I actually feel like livin’ again, for the first time in a long time. And I want to experience it with you for as long as I can.”

“…Really?” Your voice sounds so small, so unsure, so… unlike you when you question him that he wants to kick himself in his own ass for the role he unintentionally played in making you feel this way.

“Yes. Really. I mean—” His voice takes on an edge of humor. “If you decide to set your sights on the year 3,000…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. But as far as the 21st century is concerned? …I think I’d like to see it through. For as long as you’re there to see it with me.”

His words cause fresh tears to well up in your eyes, and you sniff in an attempt to hold them back. The sound catches his attention, and he leans forward, thumbing across your warm cheek. “…I’m makin’ you cry again…”

You shake your head, clearing your throat. “No—No, it’s okay. It’s good. They’re… they’re good. It’s… relief.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh of his own. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah.”

As you rest against each other, breathing in the cool night air, you nudge him with your shoulder. “Can we… lay back? For a bit?”

He squeezes your arm in gentle confirmation. “Of course.”

He twists and reaches back to straighten the wrinkled blanket beneath you, before laying out across it himself. The radio crackles as he turns the volume back up a bit. Watching him with tired eyes, you smile at the sight of him patting his chest in habitual invitation.

“Sit in and watch the sunlight fade. Honey, enjoy, it’s gettin’ late. There’s no plan. There’s no hand on the reign. As Mack explained, there will be darkness again.”

Curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest, you release a heavy sigh when his hand comes up to rest on your shoulder. As his fingers press rhythmically into the tense muscle beneath them, you breathe in his scent. Black coffee and wildflower honey… he smells like home.

“Your secret is safe with me, and if secrets were like seeds, when I’m lyin’ under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made.”

You reach your hand out across his broad chest, slipping beneath his open flannel and sliding down to rest on his waist. He sighs, relaxing further beneath your touch.

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. That’s how I know now that you understand.”

Yeah, you’ll take this over ‘luxury’ any damn day.

“There’s no plan. There’s no race to be run.”

Laying there with him, listening to the low hum of the radio, the moment grows so comfortable that you almost hesitate to break it.

“The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the song.”

“…Sam?” You whisper into the night.

His hand sweeps across your back before returning to your shoulder. “I’m here, Darlin’.”

“There’s no plan. There’s no kingdom to come.”

You smile. “I… I’d like to be there, to be here, to see it through with you, too.”

It takes him a moment to recall exactly what you’re referring to, but when it hits him he hums a low understanding tone, clearly pleased. “Then let’s see where it takes us, yeah?”

“But I’ll be your man if you got love to get done.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve got plenty a’ time.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my extensive notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. My Sam & Darlin' Playlist My Sam Playlist My Darlin' Playlist My Sam & Darlin' Moodboard My Sam Moodboard My Darlin' Moodboard Header Image Credit: Gage Smith on Unsplash

[ask-papa-perpetua]

Mmm Papa Perpetuaaaaa~

Now I am curious how big your pp is, but also you sound lowkey disgusting..? But then again, my standards are low ngl

I have a god cock. Come experience it if you so wish, my friend.

[rufpup47]

Random explanation time for my (one of many- 💀) self-indulgent design choices (/lh) yipeeee

I feel like the reason why Khan and Nori would be the only married drones to have an actual wedding band (and of course because that is a human tradition) is cause Nori (obviously) has been around humans for most of her life, and I like to think that (since she is a HUGE nerdy dork) she would definitely try to "research" stuff about them and find out about "cool stuff" (also she definitely would have gotten hyperfixated on the topic and started info dumping about humans to Khan lol-)

Basically what I'm trying to say here is that when Nori found out about the common human tradition of a married couple both wearing a ring, she wanted to do that kinda thing with Khan. And Khan just rolled with it because he loves her so much and would do anything to make her smile. (He loves his kooky wife <33)

[formulaoneisajoke]

Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris being interviewed ahead of the British Grand Prix Weekend