#I have never gone this feral for a post goddamn

[running-on-a-broken-record]

MadPat with Reader getting yelled at in the Pizzeria

Totally not based off my experiences with working at a pizzeria

Mad loves having you work with him. Even if it’s only part-time, every time you're at the pizzeria, he's in a noticeably better mood, and the other employees are grateful.

He sometimes just lingers around the area where you're stationed so he can watch you work.

He's in the kitchens, observing one of the new employees to make sure they're not messing up. It's his absolute least favorite part of owning the pizzeria, and he's definitely not pleased. All he wants is to go home and just spend time with you.

It's actually kind of surprising that he hears the commotion coming from the dining part of the pizzeria, because the kitchen is loud, but he does, and his attention is drawn to it.

He's mostly expecting it to be some child being scolded by its mother- god he hates those creatures- or some employee that dropped a pizza by accident.

But... he finds you, basically surrounded by three teenage boys.

They're yelling, and you're clearly not sure what to do, because your eyes dart between them and you're definitely scared.

"How hard is it to make a fucking pizza?" One of the kids, the one with the bad hair, yells directly at you.

He pulls you away from them quickly, now enraged that they would dare speak to you like that. It hurts him how you panic a little more at the feeling of being pulled away, but he hides you behind him, out of sight. You cling to him desperately.

"Is there a problem?" Mad says through gritted teeth, fighting each and every one of his demons to not murder the kids right there and then.

"We ordered a pizza ten minutes ago, where is it? It can't be that hard to make!"

"Did my employee warn you there would be a wait?"

"No!"

His eyes narrow. He's seen you work. You always let customers know about the wait for their food. So not only are these idiotic kids yelling at his best employee- his lover- but they've been ignoring you too. It's starting to look exponentially worse for them.

He wants to kick them out. The way you squeeze him a little tighter after the boy yells again only fuels that.

"Are we going to get our pizza or not?" Another one of the three teenagers says, frustrated for no reason at all, really.

He thinks for a second. "No. Get out."

"What?!" The teenagers all shout.

"You're banned from my pizzeria. Get. Out."

The boy with the bad hair scoffs. "Fine. Come on, guys."

The three boys and a fourth teen, a girl, leave. The girl, without the boys noticing, mouths an I'm sorry, and he nods slightly, turning to you to make sure you saw it too.

"Are you okay?" He asks as soon as they're gone, holding your shoulders.

You shaking from the encounter makes him furious, and once again he debates adding to the list of missing children in the pizzeria.

He doesn't even care when your shift ends, he's the owner of the place and he can do what he wants. He tells you to grab your stuff and clocks you out and takes you home.

He's literally so soft for the rest of the day, because seeing you being yelled at made him so angry and protective that he just wants to make sure you're okay :)

If you want to go back to work later that day, he'll probably let you, but he will keep a closer eye on you.

[sixx-sixx-sixx]

THE TRADER’S DAUGHTER — cooper “the ghoul” howard x female!oc

EDIT; FOLLOW @bonafideyapper FOR FUTURE PARTS

warnings(?): dbf!cooper, female!oc, oc is described as brown eyed (but feel free to picture whatever you want), proofread to the best of my ability (correcting capitalization is not my priority on my phone, this is hard enough to format as is), this series will have smut at some point but let me work up to writing that (meaning, let me smoke this joint and see where the wind takes me), there’s allusion to smut in this towards the end but it’s nothing wild

(this is part one of some) - part 2

Daisy hadn’t seen Cooper for a very, very long time. She’d never forgotten the charismatic cowboy that told her stories of the old world and of his encounters with creatures in the wasteland. The ghoul that would bring her little trinkets from his travels, gifting her a pearl necklace for her 10th birthday. A single pearl on a dainty silver chain that she would wear every day until it wore out. She was 13 when that happened, and was utterly devastated. Thankfully, she had charmed a local boy for a new chain, sneaking behind her dad’s back to go on a few dates with the kid. She’s continue to flirt with men and make empty promises to them to replace the chain each time it broke.

Cooper had gotten himself into some thick shit, spending a good time locked up by some raiders and other bullshit that got him sidetracked. On the other side of the goddamn wasteland, on the fucking east coast. How did he even get to the fucking east coast? By the time he made it back to the trading post, over a decade had passed, and it showed in the size of the once-familiar settlement. More gambling, more fighting in the streets, whole lotta bad shit that he didn’t have time to get involved with. He made his way through the town, his gaze trained on the old trading post at the center of town. He took careful notice of how men sneered at him as he passed by them, mumbling some racist bullshit about his ghoulishness.

Fuck them, he thought as he stepped up to the door of the trading post. He opened the door to hear the old bell jingle to alert his presence, watching as a young woman walked out from the back room with a routine “Welcome to Jo’s Shack, what can I get you?” leaving her pretty pink lips.

Daisy was almost in shock, seeing the ghoul standing in her doorway. She had assumed the worst over the years, as his visits had become less and less until they were not at all. She figured he was dead, shriveled up and baking in the sun. Or worse, she worried he had gone feral, which was always going to be inevitable in his case. Either way, she would keep extra chems stocked for the day he returned.

Cooper strolled towards the counter and looked at the girl, recognizing those big brown eyes from a mile away. “Hey, little flower. Your daddy around?” He asked her, his eyes flickering down to look at the pearl around her neck. Huh, he didn’t know she’d have kept it all those years. Pretty things were hard to keep around these parts.

Daisy’s face broke out into a grin and she gave him a little nod, leaning forward to get a good look at him. “Sure is, I’ll go get him for you. he’s not gonna believe this.” She had to fight to maintain her composure and keep her excitement at bay, going through the back room and up the stairs to the second floor of the shack to where her father was sleeping. In the ghoul’s absence, Daisy had grown to be a respectable trader, taking over the face of her father’s shop after growing up learning from the best. Although the population was tougher, she was just as tough, and nobody dared to fuck with Jo’s Shack or the woman running the place.

She stepped back out to the main room and leaned against the newly-reinforced counter, a bright smile on her face as she gazed up at him. He was just as handsome as she remembered, though she was never truly able to capture how his eyes lit up at the sight of her.

“Flower, you are just as pretty as a peach.” Cooper flashed her a wide grin, unashamedly flirting with the girl who he had essentially watched grow up. And whew, did she grow up good. He couldn’t help himself as he let his sunken eyes roam over the smooth, exposed skin of her chest, the tank top she wore under her unzipped jacket left little to the imagination.

Daisy thought his southern drawl was absolutely intoxicating as she slid a little box of chem vials across the counter to him, “Thank you, Coop. Don’t tell dad I gave these to you.” She winked and leaned back as her dad came out to greet his old friend, letting the two men greet each other like they hadn’t spent any time apart.

“Cooper Howard, you son of a bitch! I hope you brought me that Brahmin you still owe me.” Josiah grinned as he pulled the ghoul in for a hug, giving him shit over some long-forgotten wager on a card game. Coop patted him on the back with a shit-eating grin, “Yessir, why, yo’ momma’s waitin’ outside!”

Daisy watched Cooper closely as she stood beside her dad, taking in the way his skin had started to redden in places she didn’t remember being scarred over before. She had spent her whole adolescence infatuated with him, playing it off as a silly little girl crush on a big strong man (who had killed for her, but that’s a story for another day.) Her pulse quickened as she overhead her father invite the ghoul inside for a drink and to rest, watching him come around the counter to push through the curtains leading to the back.

It was fucked up, Cooper knew that. He knew it was fucked up to already be thinking about the woman behind him. Thinking about how sweet she sounded when she said his name, thinking about that little pearl necklace dangling in his face as she skillfully sat atop his—

He really needed that drink, and maybe a puff of his inhaler before he went feral at the thought of something as soft and pretty as his Daisy having anything to do with something as scarred and distorted as him.

a/n: okay yall what do we think about part one? I got to the app to post it and immediately rewrote the ending because I hated the original, so I hope this was good!

taglist: @savanahc @one-of-thewalkingdead @silverose365 @neverendingdumptser

[halfmoth-halfman]

y'all know what time it is! it's monthly fic rec time!!!

i decided to move this to the first so i wouldn't miss any fics that might be posted on the last day of each month!!

& a small, kinda sad update:

usually this is where i'd link to my fic-recs blog, but i hit the character limit on my filter page where i have my recs organized and when i made a new page it saved over the first one.

all of my filters and recs on that page are now gone and have to be manually re-done. you can still find my recs by scrolling through the blog, but the filter page is going to be under construction until i can get everything fixed and re-added!!

Alex Keller

❀ click click boom - @writeforfandoms

i don't see a lot of alex fics, so this was already a fav as soon as i saw it, but then i read it and ???? hello???? this was so good??? the characterization of alex alone was amazing, and the rest was like the cherry on top!!

❀ convallaria majalis - @nightingale-ghost-writer

19.2k words of absolute perfection. a fic i have been looking forward to and now that it's out, i just can't get enough of it! did i have to take breaks while reading so i could twirl my hair and kick my feet? yes. was it worth every second? yes.

Arthur Morgan

❀ the fire in your eyes || part VII: horseshoe overlook iii | part VIII: horseshoe overlook iv | part IX: horseshoe overlook v - @cowboydisaster

if there's one character i love more than anything in the world, it's arthur morgan and this series has only made my love for him that much stronger. so beautifully written, i couldn't stop reading-the whole time with a smile on my face. the entire bar scene in part vii??? i was crying with laughter. this is def one of my fav series i've ever read and i am on the edge of my seat waiting for more!

Carlos Oliveira

❀ the way we let it stay - @uselsshuman

this is a fair warning right now that most of the resident evil fics on this list are going to be from em. she has single-handedly ignited my hyperfixation for RE and all of her fics are incredible. including this one!

❀ old wounds new loves - @uselsshuman

i love little cute domestic fics, and carlos is so real for not liking cereal. “Waking up and eating a bowl of cold soggy food? No, thank you.” i feel that on such a spiritual level. also protective!carlos is just the best!!

Javier Peña

❀ arepas - @mvtthewmurdvck

i know i already went feral over this fic, but i'm going to do it again because i love this fic so goddamn much!! this fic is incredible, the way everything feels so natural between javi and reader, the teasing, the friends to lovers trope, everything about this is just so beautiful!!

❀ a broken sight - @mvtthewmurdvck

i don't understand how you can write a character so perfectly. i will never not be amazed by the way you write javi. and the angst??? ugh "He’s here. Like you needed him to be." don't mind the noise that's just me sobbing in the corner.

❀ the dreams we made - @mvtthewmurdvck

there's nothing like a good ol' helping of jo angst. this hurt in all the right ways, completely ripped my heart out and shattered it only to put all the pieces back together again and fill the cracks in with gold.

❀ nowhere to run || file room + accusations | sunshine yellow | a new day - @mvtthewmurdvck

the series that got me into narcos, i actually started watching the show just so i could read the perfection that is this series!! am i potentially spoiling things for myself a little bit? yes, but it's absolutely worth it because this series has me by the throat.

Joel Miller

❀ want. - @mvtthewmurdvck

literal poetry best described by this gif:

John "Soap" MacTavish

❀ none lacking sins - @halcyone-of-the-sea

listen, i like soap. he's not my fav, but he's a really good character. this fic though? it's moved soap up to my top five favorite characters. this made me want to read nothing but soap. i must've read this a dozen times, i was immediately sent into a soap hyperfixation. every aspect of this fic is just amazing. stunning. perfect.

❀ the hanging tree - @writeforfandoms

had me on the edge of my damn seat trying to figure out what was going. the worry and the tension built up so wonderfully i was dying to know what was about to happen and omg i was not disappointed. and the way jen writes soap is just *chef's kiss*

❀ i will wait - @mvtthewmurdvck

this fic had me realize how much i crave soft!soap and just fluff with soap in general. the tender moments warm my heart up something fierce and make me all giddy. like waking up to the perfect sunrise.

John Price

❀ puppy love || one | two | three | four - @writeforfandoms

puppies and price? what more could someone ask for? these two are so cute together and with the added cuteness of the puppies (and gaz lol) it's just an overload of cuteness in the best possible way!

❀ scratches in the surface - @halcyone-of-the-sea

was not expecting a part two to one of my favorite price fics, but damn if this wasn't a fantastic surprise. the angst is top-tier here and as much as it hurt, i couldn't stop reading and will probably read it again a million more times.

❀ neon medusa || part 1: static in the airways | part 2: warning signs - @yeyinde

CYBERPUNK!AU????? WITH PRICE????? WRITTEN BY YEYINDE???? SIGN ME TF UP!!! i am feral, consumed by how excited i am for this series and how utterly fantastic it's been so far. i will never get tired of lev's fics, and how gorgeous her writing is.

❀ untitled - @lunarvicar

okay this was adorable. the way price drops everything to get to her apartment, immediately ready to protect her is just sooo perfect. and her being freaked out by ghost adventures?? asdasljlsjd relatable.

❀ untitled - @yeyinde

i live for domestic bliss, and this fic just scratched that itch so well. there's something so comforting and homey about this fic, just the quiet intimacy between price and reader, the cute back and forth, this line: “Gaz said I looked like an Edwardian lord—” an absolute comfort fic if i've ever read one.

❀ comforts of home - @halcyone-of-the-sea

this fic had me weak, literally struggling to read cause i was too busy looking like this at my phone

❀ barking dog - @yeyinde

jealous!price is not something i see often, but damn if i don't want to see more of it after reading this. i am obsessed with the way lev writes price, how real and natural and captivating he is in her fics.

❀ wicked pyre - @yeyinde

you can't just give me dragon!price and expect me not to love it. i am so feral for monster!au's and this is saldkjaslda i can't be normal after reading this, i am feral, so enraptured by this fic and the entire concept of dragon!price.

❀ origami boats - @halcyone-of-the-sea

a sequel to the best price fic of all time???? say less. this fic was in my top three before i even started reading, i just knew it was going to be good. well, it wasn't just good, it was great. stunning. heart-breaking in a way that gives you the best kind of hurt.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

❀ high hopes - @writeforfandoms

gaz my sweet mans. as one of my favorite characters, i tend to be picky with my gaz fics, but this fic right here? loved it. adored it. read it six times with a bigger smile on my face each time.

❀ cult of vagabonds || prologue | landless gull | snail & thrush - @halcyone-of-the-sea

not only is this a gaz series, but it's one written by halcyone who can never write a bad fic. this is immaculate. i can't even describe how much i love this series so far and how much i can't wait to see where it goes!

❀ boom - @sleepiexx

ok but like this was so good?? the tension, the desperation, the way gaz was so ready to die with her. i'm shook. and that ending???? i’m giggling, i’m blushing, i’m re-reading this fic a million more times.

Leon Kennedy

❀ leon kennedy masterlist - @uselsshuman

i'm gonna be real here for a second, this entire section was 99% made up of em's leon fics. i couldn't choose which ones to add, which ones were my favorite, because i loved them all. so i'm just putting a link to her leon masterlist, because every single one of those fics deserves to be seen and read and given all of the love that they deserve.

❀ enough || one | two | three | final - @uhlunaro

i have one word for this series: wow. just wow. i have never been more thankful to find a series after it was already done because i would've gone crazy waiting to see what happened next! which part was my favorite? all of them. every single one. the hurt, the dialogue, just the way leon is written. i'm speechless.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

❀ exit row || exit row, part iii | exit row, part iv- @lunarvicar

the phrase "post-dick flashback" will live rent free in my head until the day i die, i was wheezing. i'm convinced there isn't a character nat can't make me love, because her portrayal of ghost here?? 🔥🔥🔥

❀ happiness || diamond ring | fearless | - @lethalchiralium

more of my favorite family man!simon series!!!!!! yesssss!!!!! i swear with every new addition, i just love this series more and more. i am so stressed reading it, but i love every second of it.

❀ the effect you have - @mvtthewmurdvck

screaming, crying, throwing up. how do you do it, jo? how do manage to make me hurt and heal my heart so beautifully in every single fic? how dare you, but also thank you so much.

❀ the captain || part 6 | part 7 | thunder - @as-is-above-so-below

omg i can't. y'all can't just keep giving a+ quality family man!ghost fics and expect me to be normal. you can't just give me cute shit like:

“Gaz frug.”

and not expect me to be like:

also, i am absolutely in love with freyja. the way her relationship is written with ghost and the kids is so lovely and has me kicking my feet and twirling my hair.

❀ ghost at the beginning of your relationship - @angelltheninth

cute. adorable. sweet. i love me some good fluff and even more so soft!ghost and this was the perfect combination of both of them! and simon having "guard dog energy" is so funny and so correct.

❀ ménage || refuge | resolution - @lilywastaken

my new go-to for simon fics. the relationship between simon and reader and between simon and the 141 are both so great. and oh my god that wild ride of emotions i went during part five had me stressed tf out i couldn't stop reading! such a great and fun series.

❀ making progress - @constantcrisis19

"dragged into the CoD fandom kicking and screaming" and still delivering an absolutely amazing fic. the teasing, the small talk, the faint smile?? incredible. the entire conversation about powerful music?? fantastic.

[theblackestvalkyrie]

#3 - Captain America - Oneshot (Pipe Game Series)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Frustrated with your new position at S.H.I.E.L.D, you need Steve to dick you down but run into an irritating problem.

Warning: Smut, I guess? Oh, and Steve being a bitch but that’s my lil goofy baby and I love him. There is a description of y/n because she’s black, her nipples are brown. NO BETA WE DIE LIKE LITERALLY ANY MARVEL CHARACTER EVER

A/N: I'm tryna clean out my drafts y'all!

Pipe Game: 8/10

PG Chapters: Tony // Hulk //

Based on this post. 

How much trouble would you get in for killing your supervisor?

This was supposed to be the day you got promoted from some grunt agent toiling in the field on the worst assignments to the bitch calling the shots. Long gone would be the days of eating shit takeout in a rented room and getting your as beat by d-list sups, or as S.H.I.E.L.D liked to say “enhanced individuals”.

S.H.I.E.L.D liked to say a lot of things. Apparently, that included telling you that the promotion that would raise you out of the gutter and into respected territory was yours. Yet it had been almost a year and you still hadn’t received the coveted raise they had been dangling over your department. That didn’t stop you from trying to show you were capable. You would often volunteer for extra duty; cover shifts and take on missions’ way above your pay grade in the hopes that they would see your strength and elevate you.

Yet here you were still in the same place as when you first started. Your boss was still trying to convince you of the promotion that would never come and frankly you were sick of it. After a particularly shitty mission involving a  REDACTED.

*This section has been redacted by S.H.I.E.L.D. Thank you for your cooperation.*

You were on your last straw and sick of the false promises.

After storming your boss’s office for answers, he tried to give you the runaround and it was taking everything in you not to jam the nearest pencil in his left carotid artery and let the fucker bleed out.

Instead, you left work early and headed to the gym to beat the boxing bag to death. God forbid some rookie or other poor soul was in the gym because then you would really get to take out your anger on them. After changing into your gym fit and quite literally killing the bag (you unsurprisingly split 2 bags in half), you still had a burning anger in your chest.

Stomping off to your shared room with Steve, who was propped up in the entertainment area flipping through a newspaper on his S.H.I.E.L.D provided tablet, some of that anger lessened when he met your deep frown with a warm smile of his own.

“Hey honey, how was work?”

You crossed the room and threw yourself into his lap meeting his surprised lips with your own the tablet tossed on top of the rounded sofa. Lips locked and tongues dancing in an intimate dance, Steve was the first to pull away. Cheeks rosy and flushed his eyes met your own.

“I can’t say this isn’t my favorite greeting but you never answered my question.” He said breathlessly.

Grinding your plump ass on his slowly hardening cock to distract him you tried to kiss him again but he pulled back still searching for an answer as he stilled your hips from their distracting movements.

“Baby please don’t make me go through the absolutely shitty day I had when all I want is for you to fuck me through the goddamn couch right now.”

He blushed even harder and if it was possible for Steve to turn an even deeper shade of red, he would have at your frank words. It was cute in the beginning of your relationship when Steve would adorably get flustered at your graphic words and actions and it had taken even longer to initiate a physical relationship with him.

But now it was annoying when you just wanted him to fuck you like an animal.

An animal completely lost to their feral sexual needs…...and there go your hips grinding again.

Steve ran a hand up and down your back lovingly and cupped your face in a gesture that any other time you would appreciate for how gentle it is.

“You know I’m here for you right if you need to talk?” His breath hitched as your hips started circling faster feigning innocence at his words.

“You’re really gonna make me beg you to fuck me hard, aren’t you?”

Annoyance colored your tone and you sighed getting ready to get up and say fuck it to the entire thing and take care of yourself but one of his thick muscular arms circled around your waist in an effort to keep you there.

“I just wanna make sure my best girl is okay.” You nodded, half to shut him up and half in honesty, and kissed him again.

“I’m fine but if you don’t wanna fuck I can always find Bucky.” The lie slipped from your moth easily even though you both knew you would never cheat on him, especially with his brother best friend.

“I don’t think so!”

With ease, Steve stood and moved you into a bridal carry in one fluid motion making you giggle as he rushed to the bedroom. He gently tossed you onto the bed and began to strip as you bounced gently. You took off your own sweaty gym clothes starting with the open-back crop top, one of your favorite pieces.

Your breasts spilled out immediately without the cupping support of the top and your brown nipples started to harden once exposed to the cool air. It never you too long to get wet for him and today was no exception.

“Steve, I need you so bad baby”

“Yeah?”

Looming over your half naked figure he lowered himself to his knees at the side of the king-sized bed and pulled your leggings and panties down together, spreading your thick thighs like a man on a mission.

“Ugh…fuck!”

You moaned loudly as his flattened tongue traveled from one end of your vagina to the other making sure to swirl around your clit a few times. One of the things you were surprised about when you first started dating Steve was the fact that he actually wanted to go down on you and cared if you came from it. It was one of his favorite things right up there with the 1940’s lingerie you had specially ordered for his birthday and wore for him. That was the night he went down on you for what seemed like hours.

“I want you to come on my face doll can you do that?” He released your clit with a loud smack of his lips before he went back to his meal like a man starved, dipping two of his fingers into your opening and lazily pumping with two fingers.

“Harder baby, please.”

His fingers start pumping at a moderately fast pace now, not exactly fast but not slow enough for you to complain. But you needed his cock now. You needed his super serum strength to pound you through the mattress and right through to the Earth’s core and straight to the magma center.

You weren’t anywhere near release yet because you still needed it hard and fast and Steve seemed to sense this and focused his concentration on your clit for a few more seconds before letting go with a long suck as he made his way back up your body.

“Let me take care of you doll. I got you.”

The kiss you were met with was sloppy and sensual, the kind that made your toes curl in pleasure and anticipation. His thick cock sprang up eagerly from the waist band of his boxers and bounced against his chiseled lower stomach. Even in the sexual haze you were in, you could see how shiny his cock head was, how much precum was already leaking from the slit and it made your mouth water. But there was time to worship his cock later, right now all you needed was hard and fast.

Steve pressed a kiss to your temple before taking hold of his hard length and surging forward. Immediately you could feel that familiar burn as he slowly pressed forward until he was snug against your cervix just an inch or two of his length remained. Steve let you get adjusted for a few seconds before he started a steady rhythm. Again, it was nice… but you wanted it hard goddamn it!

“Steve baby go faster.”

Without missing a beat, he slowed down grinding you against the mattress and running his nose against the pulse points of your throat and nipping there, although a bite would be better.

“I know you want it hard baby but you need it soft and slow right now.”

His hips circled a few times and started up a strong pace, the squelching of your combined juices echoed the room lewdly. He was rubbing up against your walls and stretching them out delightfully making your eyes roll back.

“No….n-no I need it hard.” Your breathless moans and wants made little difference to Steve as his hips never faltered.

“I don’t want to hurt you sweetheart.” He bit back a moan at the sight or your shaking figure ignoring the inner animal inside of him that demanded he give you what you want.

You could count on one hand how many times Steve had been a bit too rough on you during your passionate sessions but the aftercare he provided more than made up for it.

The pace he fucked you at was constant and steady at complete odds with the wild haphazard sex you first had in mind. That bastard was using his strength just to keep the same speed. In the back of your lust filled mind, you made a mental note to pay him back for this later.

You could feel that familiar orgasm building up. The kind that was long and drawn up and made your legs shake. You tried to hold it off as long as you could still holding out for that angry fuck.

But Steve knew what you needed instead and pressed his chiseled body into yours pressing you deeper into the mattress, hooking the backs of your knees with his thick biceps keeping you spread open and vulnerable.

He could tell just by the tears forming in your eyes that you were holding back and he let out a short breathy laugh.

“You know I can keep fucking you all day right sweetheart? I don’t need a break.”

Your clit scraped against his bush of pubic hair deliciously and as if to prove his point you came eyes rolling and legs shaking as your cunt clenched around his girth.

“There you go dove.” He fucked you through it releasing his own cum deep inside you with a moan of his own.

All the fight had left you with your orgasm and you let out a tired chuckle at the realization as Steve kissed you softly.

“All better doll?”

“All better love.”

[intermundia]

I posted 6,839 times in 2022

That's 524 more posts than 2021!

824 posts created (12%)

6,015 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@infected

@intermundia

@unspuncreature

@cithaerons

@bladling

I tagged 3,435 of my posts in 2022

Only 50% of my posts had no tags

#sw - 1,652 posts

#obi-wan kenobi - 914 posts

#anakin skywalker - 818 posts

#obikin - 449 posts

#fanfic stuff - 282 posts

#kenobi show - 244 posts

#darth vader - 199 posts

#kenobi spoilers - 163 posts

#the team - 139 posts

#the boys - 122 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#im really honored that you consider my fics safe 💙 thanks for being in the community it’s nice to hear from you and i’m glad you’re here

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

fellas is it gay to hallucinate the distant figure of your beloved, fallen apprentice as you walk beside his daughter who asks if she's your daughter and the answer is no and the answer is you could have been, and you can see him, but he's not really there, he never was, and vader's coming, the force is murmuring, whispering, warning, that you can't escape him, obi-wan, except it's ben now, obi-wan's gone, because anakin's gone, and vader's all that's left, and you can see him, just over there, standing across the field, his arms folded across his chest in that commanding way he used to have, his gaze piercing from all that distance and across all those years, his handsome face like it's carved from marble, his daughter pulling on your arm to wake you up. he's there, he's gone, you can't escape him, obi-wan.

2,443 notes - Posted June 1, 2022

#4

fellas is it gay to bury your weapons together in a shared coffin box entombing the lives you shared while wielding those blades as complementary halves of a single warrior

2,646 notes - Posted May 26, 2022

#3

nobody looks unhinged quite like hayden, like he’s so pretty but his kubrick stare is terrifying. he’s got the face of an angel and when his expression contorts with pure vicious loathing, it’s awful. the casting for anakin was so perfect it makes me feel feral. every time he loses his goddamn mind on camera i feel such glee. nobody could’ve done it better imho

2,706 notes - Posted January 19, 2022

#2

"I found it quite hard," McGregor, now 50, admits of the reaction to the prequels. "For it to come out and get knocked so hard was personally quite difficult to deal with. And also, it was quite early in my career. I didn't really know how to deal with that. I'd been involved with things that just didn't make much of a ripple, but that's different from making something that makes a negative ripple." Simultaneously dealing with sudden fame and criticism, the now-40-year-old Christensen also couldn't help but experience a measure of emotional whiplash over the prequels. "When the films came out and the critics were very critical, of course that was a difficult thing — because you care so much about this thing that you've invested so much of yourself into. So, for sure, that's challenging."

"Now I meet the people who we made those films for, who were the kids of the time," says McGregor. "And our Star Wars films are their Star Wars films. In the way that Carrie Fisher and Alec Guinness and Mark Hamill and Harrison Ford's films were ours, we're theirs. And that's beautiful that they were important to the kids who we made them for. It's just so nice to finally get that wave of positivity about them." (x)

guys stop making want to cry

6,526 notes - Posted March 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

friend texted me this and im dying. why on earth would the global south play as those fighting back against imperialism?? and the global north enjoy playing out imperialist fantasies?? i’m sure there’s no implications to this whatsoever

11,466 notes - Posted September 28, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[steter-bang]

Woo-hoo! 🥳 Time for a weekend full of Steter fics from previous Steter Bangs! 😎

Eager To Tear Apart The Stars Author: NacreousGore Collection: Steter Bang 2021 Art: Here by Smalls2233 Rating: E Words: 19,571 Summary: "Hellbent on acquiring something of immense personal gain from the latest beast in the woods of Beacon Hills, Peter coerces a protesting Stiles into accompanying him - using him as bait for his own intentions, and ultimately his gratification too."

As Cold as the Winter is Author: esoterica Collection: Steter Big Bang (2015) Rating: M Words: 20,037 Summary: "In a post-apocalyptic world, Stiles makes a deal with Peter Hale to save the world - or his dad and Beacon Hills, at least. Somewhere along the way, the terms of that deal change."

I Know That All Beneath The Moon Decays Author: gemjam Collection: 14K Steter Reverse Bang (2018) Art: Here by redcrate Rating: E Words: 16,335 Summary: "Peter has all but given up on existing outside of his niece and nephew when he meets someone who the world has hurt in such similar ways they can't help being drawn to one another."

My Soul Is Gone Author: Mysenia Collection: 14K Steter Reverse Bang (2018) Rating: M Words: 14,030 Summary: "Stiles is slowly losing his soul to the nogitsune, tired after fighting it for more than six years. He is about to give up fighting when Scott gets bitten by a rogue alpha werewolf. As that is just unacceptable, Stiles sets out to figure out who thought it would be okay to try and take his best friend from him, and then rend them limb from limb. It does not quite go the way he plans."

Blazing Sun Author: HyperLittleNori Collection: Steter Reverse Bang (2019) Art: Embedded by Firebull Rating: E Words: 27,167 Summary: "If he closed his eyes he knew he’d see them again, see their clawed fingers reaching for him through the door that had never closed. Through the void. The darkness was connected to him still through a wound that wasn’t healing, that should never have been there in the first place.  Stiles and the Nogitsune were connected too strongly when Kira stabbed him with her sword. Now Stiles is left with a magical wound that only grows bigger as time passes..."

Something Powerful Between Your Thighs Author: Bunnywest Collection: Steter Reverse Bang (2019) Art: Embedded by Platypusesrneat Rating: E Words: 18,594 Summary: "Someone’s actually replied. Fuck. I’ll give you what you need, pretty boy. And you can call me Sir. The hairs on the back of Stiles’s neck prickle at that, and his dick throbs. He clicks on the profile and the picture that pops up is UN-FUCKING-FAIR. Jesus Christ on a bicycle, nobody should look like that. The man’s staring into the camera, a smile that’s almost a sneer on his face. And what a face it is. Intense blue eyes, cheekbones like cut glass, and a strong jawline covered in the perfect amount of stubble. His neck, what Stiles can see of it, is thickly muscled, and Stiles can see the beginnings of a tattoo that travels down. There’s the tiniest scattering of grey at his temples, and Stiles breathes out, “Oh yes, Sir,” as he drinks in the details on the profile."

I'd Give It All For You Author: Tahlruil Collection: Steter Reverse Bang (2019) Art: Embedded by CinnamonLily Rating: T Words: 12,356 Summary: "Peter was damn near ready to pull his hair out. That scent, that fucking scent, was still haunting him. It was all over the campus and it should have been child's play to find the source. Instead he was chasing his own tail more than anything, going 'round in circles and never finding what should have been a goddamn two-by-four in a pile of sand. It left him frustrated and half-feral, always a hairs-breadth from losing what had once been impeccable control. He hid that as best he could - a werewolf without a pack couldn't afford any real slip-ups - but he'd sent more than one co-ed fleeing from smiles that were more snarl than anything else."

[hotdamnhunnam]

The Gavel Corrupts

A/N: Here goes – one of the premises from my Imagine Ideas post! In which Jax fucks you for the first time since becoming President... and shit hits different. (Note: This starts off with a short scene framing the title quote, followed by a flashback to the smutty episode!)

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, dom!Jax, rough sex (like really fucking rough, hair pulling, choking, slapping, biting, all that good stuff!) (but also fluff, because this savage is a baby who deserves all of the love 💖)

Word Count: ~2.4k

He knows that he fucked up. Knows that he’s gone too far, and he can feel how terrified you are. By now he’s lost count of the bullets, all the shots taken without a second thought. The scariest part is he doesn’t even give a shit.

He knows he’s changed, more than his heart wants to admit, but still you’re here to talk him through it. Always have been. You’re his queen, and he will always be your king. In spite of everything. For all your life, you’ve had to fight for him. Together you can fight off anything.

Standing beside him in the meeting room, the two of you alone, you look down lovingly upon him, seated in his loveless throne. Your small hands cradling his big strong frame, seeking in vain to ease the pain that cuts him to the bone.

Jax reaches slowly toward the gavel on the Reaper table, runs his thumb along the wooden handle. Wishing he could blame this thing, this empty toy, for all the times that he’s fucked up. The little boy inside him does. “The gavel corrupts.”

You shift from where you’re standing, take a seat across from him, so you can look him squarely in the eye. His words are one thing, but those blue eyes never lie.

He meets your gaze, his guiding light amidst the mayhem and the madness. Knows you can hear, can taste, the bitterness in every word he says. “You can’t sit in this chair without being a savage.”

All too true. There are days’ worth of shit that you two have to talk through. Don’t even know how. But right now... there is something else you’d rather do. 

You reach out toward his vest, the presidential badge that weighs so heavy on his chest. “Sometimes being a savage... can be an advantage,” you tell him as you run your fingers wistfully along the tattered edge. “Remember the first time you fucked me, with this little patch?”

If there’s one thing that sets a spark within the darker side of Jax, that thing is sex. With you. The thought of how it feels between your legs, the way he makes you beg, for all the things that only he can do. Your words just now have started melting through the ice in which he hides, igniting heat that he can’t fight. The heat that only you can manage. This has always been the healing that he needs, when he’s most damaged. 

Of course Jax remembers the first time he fucked you as President. Neither of you could forget. But the way he describes it is different, a devilish smirk on his lips as he adds on to what you just said. “Not just fucked... fucking ravaged.”

***************

So it’s finally happened, you think. Walking into the room where your man sits as king. After every damn thing—all the shit that he’s done, all the battles he’s won—all the wars that you’ve lost... no, you can’t bear to think of the cost—it amounts to just...

This. Just a seat at a table, a hand on a gavel, a patch on his vest. This is all it is. All it will ever be. His fucking destiny, this curse he shoulders so heavily, rests on a symbol so small that it fits in his fist.

God, you fucking hate it. All the hatred you wish you could feel toward him, toward the king, you end up channeling into this stupid thing.

You silently reach down to pick it up. Just at the touch, something inside of you already feels corrupt.

And then he speaks. His voice is... strong, but in a way that feels so wrong. A way that makes you feel so weak. “Who said you could touch that.”

His tone is low. Cold. Fucking flat. Doesn’t even lift into a question. You know shit is bad when that happens, yet wouldn’t dare show him you’re frightened. You can’t.

“What?” you snap at him. “Jax, it’s a damn wooden stick. It’s not even that big.”

He reaches up without a word, and wraps his hand around your wrist. So hard it hurts. As if he wants to fucking choke it in his fist.

You bite your lip and fight to keep the gavel in your grip.

So Jax tightens his grasp, till you gasp, and it finally slips. Letting go of your hand, takes the gavel in his. Towering over you as he stands.

Makes you cower beneath him now just ‘cause he can. “Y/N. Do you know what this thing—this position I’m in—being king... do you know what it gives me?”

On instinct, your gaze drops. Ends up at his crotch as it so often does, and your heart stops. A hard-on, apparently.

“Clarity,” he then goes on to say, setting the gavel down to place both hands around your face. The hands that command you in every damn way. “Turns out that looking at you now, all I can see are all the times you ever lied, and let me down. I always let it slide. You knew I’d come around. Because I fucking love you, babe. You make me... soft.”

Hard where it counts, you want to say. But not out loud. You know to shut your mouth, for now. Fuck how the sea inside those damn blue eyes is deep enough to drown...

“So fucking soft,” he repeats, feeding off of your heat, grazing his lower lip with his pearly white teeth. In a ravenous snarl that’s not soft at all. All his tenderness toward you just suddenly fades to give way to the beast that’s beneath. “But not today. Today I’ve had enough. Today you’re gonna pay.”

Well, shit. You fucking want this, more than anything. To give yourself completely to your king. But you’ll be damned before you let yourself admit it, in a moment such as this one. You can’t let him know he’s won. “Ugh, come on, Jax—all the things I’ve done—we’ve both done wrong, but gotten past all that...”

“Maybe you did,” he cuts you off. Sharp and abrupt, like it’s his job to shut you up. The gavel really does corrupt. In every way. “But I’m still dealing with that shit. Every damn day.”

“Then we should talk, babe—”

“Talk?” he scoffs, spitting the word back in your face like it’s a curse. You almost wish you didn’t like the way it hurts. “What’s there to say? The only thing that mouth is good for now is sucking cock.”

Oh fuck. You’ve practically just died. “Jax, I...”

He leans in close, shifting one hand down to your throat, the other drifting low to reach between your thighs. High on his own hunger as mirrored in your eyes. The way your breathing comes in heated moans and sighs. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

While your cunt pretty much erupts, you can’t resist spluttering out the only obvious reply. “Make me.”

He smiles, slick and sly, taking the open invitation that you know he won’t deny. Lips curving up into that smirk that never fails to drive you crazy. “Oh, you asking for it, baby?”

“Begging. Please.”

“Then get down on your fucking knees.”

Jax doesn’t have to say it twice. He never does. Because he knows that he’s the boss. Pushes you down until your face is in the space between his thighs. One of his hands rests masterfully upon your head, the other making quick work of his belt. Your desperate hands reach up to help; he slaps them off, sudden and rough, dead set on doing every fucking thing himself.

His massive cock is unleashed soon enough. Hard as a rock as it springs free. And God, the sight of it is slaying you already. Even after all these years you’ve been together—so damn many—still it shocks you every time to see something so fucking powerful yet so insanely pretty.

He doesn’t give you time to gawk. Your job right now is just to swallow his entire goddamn cock.

Taking a fistful of your hair in his firm grip, he shoves the wet pink tip forcefully past your panting lips. “Suck. Suck this dick till you choke on it, bitch.”

Jax knows that words like this completely scratch your every itch. You open up and do as told. Like you were put on earth solely to fill this role. Your face is nothing but his filthy little fuckhole. And he proves it now, shows you exactly how he owns your mouth. Feeding you so full of this dick that you can’t fucking live without. With each pump of his hips, the back of your head bumps against the blunt edge of the table that’s behind it, hard wood banging on your skull, bruising you up in ways that make you feel so broken yet so whole. In ways that satisfy the slut inside your soul.

Though you are aching now to swallow down his load, you know it’s not meant for your throat. No, not today. He’s gonna fuck you in another hole to make you really pay.

All of a sudden, with a feral grunt, Jax pulls his cock out of your mouth and hoists you up, swiveling you around to bend over the Reaper table facedown, yanking down your pants in one swift motion, brutally exposing your bare ass and soaking cunt. You’ve never felt more like a total fucking whore, more at the mercy of the man you love. The fucking President. It’s not as if Jax Teller never fucked you hard before—he knows how much you like it rough—but this is just... God, it’s just different. And you cannot get enough.

He deals your ass a ruthless smack, then twines his fingers in your hair to pull your head violently back. Latches his mouth around your gasping neck. Licking and biting hard, scratching you up with savage marks to last this week into the next, the battle scars of this intensely epic sex. As he teases his throbbing cock against the desperate burning heat between your legs, you know Jax wants to hear you beg.

You cry out in excruciating bliss as his nails dig into the soft flesh of your tits, your sides, your hips, scratching lines all across your back. “God, fuck me, Jax...”

He wraps one hand around your neck, just as the other slaps your ass again. “That what you want, Y/N?”

“Fuck—yes...” you whimper as he rubs his raging cock against your cunt, slicking it up with all your juices; you can hear him groaning out in satisfaction at the feeling of your wetness, just before he plunges deep inside and fucks you dry, till it feels like you’ve literally died. “Just... please, Jax, fucking fuck me up...”

And that’s exactly what he does. Thick cock slamming inside you to the core in just one thrust. He clamps his hand over your mouth to stifle all your wild screams as he fulfills your wildest dreams. Your senses blur into a mess of pain and pleasure, worn out leather scraping up against your skin, as you and your king drown together in a sea of shameless sin, as he pumps in and out and then—fuck, even deeper in—hitting spots so deep inside you no one’s ever fucking been, not even him. He’s never done such fucking damage. Never been so fucking savage.

In a matter of seconds, you end up cumming just about a hundred times harder than your body can even fucking manage. You are ruined, in ways you could never have imagined. Unable to fathom what just fucking happened. Utterly and absolutely fucking ravaged.

Jax keeps his cock buried inside you long after you both are done. Because you never are, with one another. No matter how many battles you both have fought, and lost, between each other, and against the world... this is the only war that counts. The war for dominance, the struggle over who is fucking right, through all the wrongs you’ve done, the fight for pride that threatens every day to drag you down. At least until you fuck it out at night. The war that rages in your hearts, vying in vain to tear the two of you apart. The war you’ve both won, time and time again. For what feels like forever. Together.

He holds you near and murmurs in your ear, the words you always know before you hear. “I love you, Y/N.”

Still gives you butterflies, every damn time. “And I love you, Jax Fucking Teller,” you wholeheartedly reply. “Or should I call you Mr. President?”

A soft laugh whispers past his lips, resting against your cheek in an extended kiss, where his big strong body is still slumped over yours in post-orgasmic bliss. “Guess that depends. I think this patch is fucking poison. Babe, I know you never wanted this to happen—honestly, if you just say the word, right now, I’ll leave this all behind and...”

“Oh, shut up,” you interrupt. “Now’s not the time to talk like that, you fucking idiot. Whatever that patch is, I’m just—I’m addicted. You completely fucked me up, and I’m still riding high on feeling so... God, I don’t even know the word for it... corrupt?”

Your eyes randomly flicker toward the gavel on the table, as you say it. Damn, what is it with that thing...?

Jax follows the shift in your gaze, subtle though it was, able to tell where you’re looking, as always. “What is it, darlin’—got some kind of gavel kink? I thought you said it ain’t even that big...”

You smile at that as he kisses your cheek again. “That’s cause it isn’t. Nothing is, compared to your big fucking dick, Mr. President. You are my one and only kink. My one true king.”

“Mmm, well thank God for that, sweetheart...” he growls suggestively, desire stirring up within the both of you again, despite how recently you came—your body is so fucking ready, for this man to fucking ravage you again. And Jax can tell just what you want now as he finishes his sentence, set on ripping you apart. “...‘cause the President’s big dick is still inside you and already getting hard.”

***************

... Continued in Part 2!

Masterlist

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@itsme-autumn​ @rebelwrites​ @happyhenners @band--psycho @witching-hour @est11​

[noitsbecky127]

rebecca watches tos: amok time

I’ve never seen this ep but ik it’s the fuck or die one

chapel is bringing spock soup, give it up chapel, ily but the man is gay

I bet it’s good soup though

oh ok so pon farr just straight up makes vulcans go feral and throw soup at walls

just let him go to vulcan jimothy

oh this intro is a little different! guess they changed it for season 2

“play servant to a man that is not hers” spock it’s the 23rd century she was just trying to do a nice thing for you

man idk if we’ve ever seen spock showing this much emotion in his voice, save for naked time ofc

spock, what are you holding behind your back

oh here’s chekov! I knew he existed in TOS but I wasn’t sure when he was gonna show up

guess you’re gonna miss the inauguration, bc spock’s choices are fuck or die and I don’t think anyone wants the latter

jim do not make him postpone this

ah ok spock took matters into his own hands

man how badly does pon farr fuck you up that spock could have diverted course and then forgotten about it

spock really just went “I’ve arrived in sickbay and now I will leave sickbay ✌️”

“I think I’m going to get spacesick” ok I’ve decided I like chekov

“he’ll DIE, jim” *dramatic music* *closeup on william shatner’s face* *commercial break*

spock: yes i know why i’m dying, no i won’t tell you, we exist

who tf is spock looking at

“consider that an order” I feel like using your authority to get your best friend to explain something personal to you is an abuse of power but what do I know

man how heavily guarded is this if spock’s willing to disobey a direct order in order to not explain it

oh right, biology. the biology of vulcans. the biology specifically belonging to vulcans. vulcan biology. that biology.

god spock’s so embarrassed I just want to reach through the screen and hug him

“the birds and the bees are not vulcans” yeah, it’s a metaphor, spock

jim you can’t tell me you’ve never wondered how vulcans choose their mates, given that you’re obviously in love with one

chekov and sulu have a wonderful dynamic I can already tell

spock ik the federation is a post-scarcity society and all that but that doesn’t mean you can just destroy your computer

chapel don’t just watch him sleep, that’s weird

oh ok he’s fully awake now

spock don’t come on to her

spock you’re gay

oh ok she has a first name

spock’s taking his emotional support humans down to vulcans huh

spock: she is t’pring…my wife jim, who was like 90% certain they’d been flirting for the past six months: beg pardon

did they beam down at sunset or is the vulcan sky just straight-up red

t’pring is so pretty

alright now spock’s gone full feral

“become the property of the victor” christ this is dated

I knew she was gonna pick jim but why’d she do that anyway, she definitely doesn’t want to marry him so what is it

really t’pau? insulting his heritage? fucking rude

I see jingle bells is a way of life for vulcans

ah so jim wants to make a good impression on his (however spock is related to t’pau)-in-law

spock: (holding a big axe) jim: scared_and_horny.gif

jim did not dodge that swing. spock could have sliced him in half. ripping open his shirt and exposing his titties was a deliberate decision. in this essay i will

it really says a lot about how lost in the sauce spock is that he’s attacking jim so viciously, bc he would never do that under normal circumstances

jim. jim your titties. they are bleeding.

this is the most homoerotic fighting I’ve ever seen

obv jim isn’t dead but he sure does look dead

even though ik jim is fine spock is still breaking my heart rn :(

t’pring’s logic certainly does check out

“live long and prosper, spock” “i shall do neither” :,(

spock smiling gives me so much serotonin

bones is a goddamn treasure i swear, where would the enterprise be without him

so rolling in the sand with jim and choking him broke spock out of the blood fever huh, funny how that works

“in a pig’s eye” I love Bones

good episode, always good to see something that sparked many many fanfics, and if I wasn’t already fully down for spirk this ep would probably change my mind

[archadianskies]

wingspan

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs Monday Day 1: Post-Apocalypse •  Sacrifice; Hank Anderson/Rose Chapman TLOU AU

“Alice needs medicine.” It’s said in a whispered hush, paired with nervous glances over at the feverish child labouring in bed. “Her coughs are wet and her chest sounds congested.”

“Adam’s still about a week out from being able to drive back here,” Rose chews her lip, shaking her head. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Hank shrugs, “I’ll make the exchange by myself.”

“No!” Her voice is stern, her gaze even moreso but she knows it won’t dissuade him. They both know this has to be done.

“Make the call. Luther can help me load up the truck and I’ll go.”

“Hank-” Kara, sweet Kara with anguish on her face weighing her down, wearier and wearier with a sick child already. 

“I’ll get it done, for your little girl,” he pats her hand and there’s conflict mixed with her gratitude. “Luther will keep everyone safe here while I’m gone.”

*  

They’re easing into winter and they all know if he doesn’t go now, there won’t be a chance later when the roads are covered in snow. Doesn’t mean Rose is any more comfortable with the plan, not when the world isn’t what it was and every single day they’re out here they know they’re all on a knife’s edge.

“The cold slows them down,” Hank tries to placate and she raises one brow and he drops that line and goes for another. “I’ll be careful.”

“You better,” Rose says firmly and eases the beanie on his head. “North’s making the drop this time.”

“Doubly, extra triple careful then,” he mutters. North’s tempestuous at the best of times, so Hank knows there won’t be any casual banter or interesting snippets of news exchanged with the goods. 

Usually Josh is the one he meets with, sometimes Simon, and on that one occasion which he still is half-convinced never happened- Markus himself turned up. Jericho is one of the largest communities flourishing in the aftermath and has a functioning hospital, and the Chapman farm has, well, fresh vegetables and poultry. It’s a good relationship in this hellscape, one that gives him hope for a future.    

 *  

“Truck’s all loaded,” Luther thumps the hatch as Hank makes his way over. “If you leave now you’ll make it back before nightfall. I’ll keep an eye on the house, I promise.”

Hank claps his shoulder. “Thanks Luther, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

“Thank you,” the man murmurs, his voice more like a deep rumble in that broad chest. “Thank you for doing this for us.”

“Hey, I’d do anything for her,” it’s the goddamn truth and he isn’t too proud to admit it. “I’d do anything for any of you.”

“Be safe,” Luther squeezes his arm. “It’s your turn to read to Alice tonight, remember?”

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

*  

He pulls out of the driveway, sparing Luther one last glance in the rearview mirror before it’s just him and the road and all the thoughts he tries so desperately to keep at bay. It’s been ten years since the outbreak, ten whole years since that cursed day he held Cole as his son bled out in his arms. It’s been nearly five years since Rose Chapman found him, half mad with grief and nearly feral with hunger yet too stubborn to die. 

He doesn’t really remember the years between Cole’s death and him wandering onto the outskirts of Rose’s farm. She’d saved him, continues to save him day in and day out because he has a purpose here, he matters here, and there are people here he’d kill to protect. 

Once the initial wave was over, once the violence cannibalised itself, people did what people do best- they come together, they rebuild, they reconcile, they strive forward. It doesn’t mean it’s completely safe, it doesn’t mean it’s all smooth sailing, but Hank can see a future now where he couldn’t see one before. 

 *~*  

There’s three kids walking along the tree line; it’s a blink and miss situation, but he definitely didn’t miss it. Three kids, all alone, heading somewhere but nowhere close enough they’ll make it by nightfall. Ah shit. Hank pulls over and the kids are smart enough to dart for cover.

“You kids alright?” He takes out his gun and sweeps his gaze around, trying to spot any infected who might be lurking nearby. 

“We’re alright!” One of them calls out.

“Shut up Connor!” One of them hushes the one named Connor.

“It’s only a couple of hours until sundown and there’s no camp you can reach safely on foot in time,” Hank approaches slowly, keeping his voice low. He sees them now, all three of them, skinny boys in ill fitting clothing with backpacks too big for them. 

One of them has a bandaid stuck to an old crusted wound right in the middle of his forehead. The other has a bandage wrapped around his forearm, brown with age. And the last one is pointing a gun at him.

“We said we are alright.” The one holding a gun says icily. He can’t be more than ten, yet the look in his eyes says everything; the boy has been through things a ten year old shouldn’t have, but then the same could be said about most children in this hellscape.

“Two of you are hurt. I’m going to Jericho and-”

“Jericho?” The one named Connor perks up. “We’re going to Jericho!”

“Shut up Connor!” The other says exasperatedly, and Hank can see they’re identical twins with the only difference to be found in their expressions.   

“I can take you there. Plenty of room in the truck.”

“What will it cost us?” The one with the gun demands, and Hank shakes his head.

“Nothin’. I just don’t want you boys out here all alone, especially once it gets dark and the temperature plummets,” he tries to reason with them, but can’t fault them for their caution. 

“We managed to make camp just fine,” one of the twins says stubbornly but Hank can see it, can see that small hopeful expression he’s trying so desperately to mask.

“I’m sure you did, and I’m sure you can tonight. You just shouldn’t have to, that’s all,” he gestures at his truck. “This way’s pretty deserted but Jericho’s much safer and the truck’s much faster than going on foot. What do you say?”

“If you try something funny, Ronan will shoot you,” the stubborn twin threatens, and Hank nods.

“Alright.”

 * 

It’s a tight squeeze but three boys under ten are about the size of one grown man so it spares Hank the effort of rearranging the produce on the back. There’s a blanket Kara crocheted on one of the seats, and he tucks it over them and doesn’t miss the way they snuggle closer, huddling for warmth. 

“Is Jericho nice? How long have you lived there?” Connor asks after a while.

“Jericho is very nice. It’s big and safe and there’s other kids in there too,” Hank explains, “but I don’t live there. I live on a farm down the other way, and we supply vegetables and chickens to them in exchange for meds and materials and shi- stuff.”

“You’re making an exchange now?” The one named Ronan asks quietly, the gun still held tightly in his hands now resting on his lap.

“Yeah, uh, Alice, a little girl about your age, she’s sick,” Hank spares them a glance. “Her cough’s getting pretty bad so we’re hoping to get some meds to help.”

“Maybe they’ll have something for me there?” Connor says so softly Hank barely hears him.

“Are you sick? What do you think you need? I’m sure they’ll have it there.”

“You’re not sick!” The other twin hisses, and Connor huffs stubbornly.

“That’s the problem Sean, and maybe that’s why I need help!”

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” Hank looks over at them and both boys click their jaws shut and refuse to meet his gaze. 

“It’s fine,” Ronan says, the ice back in his tone. “We just need to get to Jericho.”

*   

They spend the rest of the drive in silence, and Hank’s glad when the large gates loom up on the horizon. He doesn’t drive up to the main entrance, but takes a side road and stops the truck by a clearing where there’s another car waiting.

“Hey Hank,” the redhead greets with a lazy wave, leaning against the trunk.

“Hey North,” he nods respectfully as he kills the engine and hops out.

“Oh,” she blinks in surprise, “new survivors?”

“Yeah I picked ‘em up on the way,” Hank gestures over at them before busying himself with removing the tarp over the cargo. “They were headed this way so I thought I’d get ‘em here safely.”

“Doc will want to check them over,” North looks at the boys and Connor is the only one who offers a wave. “It’s just protocol of course.”

“They’ll need her help anyway- Sean has that wound on his forehead and Connor has the bandage on his arm,” Hank looks over his shoulder at the boys. “Blood looks old but it can’t hurt to give it a once over and a dressing change.”

“And the other one who looks ready to murder me?”

“That’s Ronan. He’s holding a gun.”

“Clever boy,” North smirks, coming around to the driver’s side and peeking in through the open door. “You boys want to come stay here with us, you have to get checked by the Doc first okay?”

“Okay,” they chorus obediently and Hank finds himself grinning helplessly. 

“Got the meds and some honest to god wool yarn for Kara,” North informs him as she loads up a crate onto the back. “Otto farm about six hours away made the exchange and I kept a couple of skeins for her.”

“She’ll love that, thanks North,” he pats the crate happily. “And we all profit it from it, so…”

“It’s more an investment than a gift,” she grins before beckoning to the brothers. “Alright kiddos let’s go. Come in and grab a coffee Hank, while the guys unload the rest and refuel.”

“You’re a saint, thanks.”

 *~*  

Jericho is a nice place. It’s a really really nice place. It’s full of life and learning and healing. No matter how hard others try to take this place for themselves, no matter how much violence they try and inflict, the sheer resilience of its people keeps the place running. That, and well, having nearly an entire SWAT team complete with a Captain in residence can’t hurt. 

Far better, kinder, saner team than the rabid FBI team led by Prickins from a few years back who tried to destroy Jericho and take it for themselves. The whole debacle saw over half of Jericho burned to the ground and dozens slaughtered. 

It’s when he and Rose took in Kara and her family, because the sheer trauma was too much for Alice to process and she could never return. Adam stayed on as a nurse and found his calling. It feels like a lifetime ago too.

*   

He takes his coffee over to the little clinic at the side entrance where newcomers are screened because he wants to make sure the boys are alright.

“This is a burn,” Adam frowns as he inspects the wound on Sean’s forehead. “How did you get this?” 

The boy doesn’t answer, looking over nervously as doctor Anthea unwraps the bandage from Connor’s arm.

“Oh my god-”

“Fuck!” The expletive leaves his mouth before he can stop himself.

“It’s three weeks old we swear!” Connor cries, nursing his arm to his chest, tears in his eyes. “It’s three weeks old!”

Before Hank can comment any further he’s being slammed to the wall, North placing a gun under his jaw. “You brought a fucking kid with a bite into Jericho and expected to leave him here?!”

“I didn’t-”

“He didn’t know!” Ronan shouts, clenching his trembling hands into fists. “We didn’t tell him in case he left us behind!”

“He should’ve left you behind!” North growls.

“It’s old,” Anthea raises her voice. “The teeth indentations have healed over. This is new scar tissue right here.” She’s gently tracing the mark on Connor’s arm, the boy’s bottom lip trembling as tears spill down his cheeks.

“How the fuck is that possible?” North steps away and lowers her gun, too shocked to be angry now it seems. “Everyone who’s ever been bitten turns after eight hours at the most.”

“He must be immune, then,” Anthea smiles in disbelief as she smooths Connor’s hair away from his face. “You are one of a kind, Connor.”

“We keep him in holding overnight,” North declares, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just to be sure.”

“No, you keep us together!” Sean spits, fuming at the mere suggestion of separation.

“I don’t have time for that, I have to get back to Alice!” Hank argues and North cocks her brow.

“No one’s asking you to stay, Hank, you can go.”

“Bullshit! I’m not letting you lock up these kids outside of Jericho’s walls!”

“You can go, you got us to Jericho, you don’t need to do anything else!” Ronan adds and oh Hank can see it, Hank can see the fear of being left alone in those big grey eyes. 

“I’ll go, I know the way,” Adam offers, holding his hand out for the keys. “It’s my home, after all. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“I’ll spend the night in holding, then,” Hank nods as he hands over the keys to the truck. “Tell Alice I’m sorry I’ll miss storytime.”

“You spend the night in holding,” North orders as takes his gun from the table and presses it back into his hand, “and you put him down yourself if he turns.”

“And then us too,” Ronan says in a voice so steady, so resigned for a child. “If you shoot him, you have to shoot us too.”

“It won’t come to that,” Hank says firmly.

“For everyone’s sake, I hope you’re right,” Anthea runs her fingers over the bite on Connor’s arm again before gently thumbing away his tears. “I guess we shall see in the morning, hm?”

* 

The holding area must have been a security control room at some point. It’s now been caged by wire completely, with a chained and padlocked gate. He must be losing what little sanity he has left, but at least he’s not losing his compassion. No way in hell he’s about to abandon three boys to an uncertain fate, no matter how brave they’re trying to be.

“You could’ve gone back to the farm,” Ronan points out as Connor curls up on the lumpy mattress under the covers with his twin.

“Yeah I know,” Hank shrugs, nursing his coffee mug. Simon had left them with provisions to last the night, including a large thermos of coffee because he’s an angel in this apocalyptic hellscape. 

“What if we’re lying and Connor turns and kills you?” Sean demands, though it’s not so effective given Connor’s clinging to him tiredly. 

“Then I’d die,” Hank offers them the soup thermos. “Alice is still getting her medicine tonight, so that’s perfectly fine.”

“Don’t you have family at the farm?” Ronan accepts the thermos and pours out a cupful, handing it straight to Connor. 

“Losing me won’t be that big a loss for them.”

“That’s a lie! Everyone has someone who’d miss them!” Connor shouts, nearly spilling the soup in his outburst. Hank admits defeat there. Rose would miss him, he thinks, because she’s all heart and soul. 

She took him in when he was a husk of a man and together with Adam they toiled and tilled the land, took in every broken survivor and sent them on their way to Jericho with a full belly and provisions to spare. And Hank shot anyone who ever dared to raise their hand against Rose because people like that, greedy fuckers who want to take and take, have no place in this new world. 

“What happened to you boys out there? What happened three weeks ago?” It’s The Question and no one seems to want to answer it. 

“We wanted to go to the stream to see the fish,” Ronan eventually starts quietly. “We snuck out because Amanda didn’t give her permission.”

“It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have insisted,” Connor stares into the soup as if it could offer comfort. “I just really wanted to see them.”

“We didn’t see the infected one until it was too late and it bit Connor,” Ronan reaches over to hold his hand. “We tried to hide it but it was bleeding a lot and Amanda heard us in the bathroom getting the first aid kit.”

There’s a pause and Hank realises Sean hasn’t said a single word, resolutely avoiding everyone’s gaze. 

“She dragged Connor out the back and-” Ronan falters, pressing his lips into a tight line as he darts a look at Sean. “She gave Sean a gun and told him to shoot Connor as punishment for sneaking out.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hank swears, recoiling in horror and it makes sense now; the small burn mark on his forehead is from the shell casing hitting him.

“She made you do it, Sean, I don’t hate you!” 

“Well you should!” Sean yells. “You should because I pulled the trigger!”

“She made you do it!” His twin insists, squeezing his hand. “She made you and if you didn’t she would’ve killed you!”

“So I killed her,” Ronan says evenly, as if he’s simply stating the sky is indeed blue. “I took the gun from Sean after he missed, and I shot her in the chest and after she fell over I shot her in the head.” Ronan looks at him defiantly. “So we’re fine. We can look after ourselves, you don’t have to care about us.”

Hank slowly sinks to his knees, taking the cup of soup from Connor and setting it aside before gently gathering the boy into his arms and reaching for the other two. He’s a big guy, he has enough wingspan for all three, and he enfolds them in as tight a hug as he can manage and that’s it, that’s what sends the last of their defences tumbling down. They cry loudly, the trauma of it all finally being given a proper outlet and he holds them and he vows to himself that he’s never letting them go. There will be no more Amandas in their life, not now, not ever again. 

“Takes us with you,” Connor sobs. “Don’t leave us here.”

“We’re leaving once Adam gets back. All of us,” Hank promises. “I’m never letting you out of my sight.”

* 

He’s used to watching the dawn, used to getting up this early now to feed the chickens and collect the eggs. He’s even used to waking up with a child still fast asleep on him, now that Alice treats him like a grandfather. There’s something different about this moment, though, with all three boys snuggled against him. 

There’s something hopeful about this because it’s eight hours later and he’s still whole and alive and unbitten. And that means Connor is indeed immune. With Sean being an identical twin, that means he too could carry the natural immunity. The hope of the entire world, fast asleep in his arms. It’s a beautiful sentiment. 

“Good morning Hank,” greets a voice at the gate and there’s Mister Markus Manfred himself; Jericho’s saviour and leader. “It’s good to see you.”

“Is Adam here yet?”

“Not yet,” the man shakes his head. “But Simon made breakfast for you and the boys. They’ll have a room near the creche with the other children, and we can get them settled in afterward.”

“We’ll have breakfast, and then as soon as Adam gets back, we’re heading for the farm,” he meets Markus’ gaze steadily. “They’re not staying.”

“Hank, Dr Anthea told me Connor is immune. That means we could work towards developing a vaccine.”

“You still can,” he shrugs as best he can with three sleeping kids piled on him. “We can make the trip every weekend. But these boys are coming home with me.”

Markus looks at him, scrutinising him, and Hank can see both the leader and the saviour at work, weighing up the pros and cons and trying to find the common ground for the greater good. Hank would never want to be in his shoes, no sir, no thank you.

“Breakfast, then?” Markus smiles one of his charming presidential smiles as he unlocks the gate and gestures towards the entrance. “Simon made pancakes and we cut up some of the strawberries you brought over from the farm.”

“Pancakes?” Connor stirs sleepily, rubbing his eyes and there it is, there’s the bite on his arm, three weeks and one day older. 

“Yeah kiddo, pancakes for breakfast before we head home.”

“Home,” Ronan echoes with a soft smile. 

“We’ll be good, we’ll help out on the farm and work extra hard,” Sean whispers nervously, and Hank runs a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. 

“I know you will.”

* 

Connor and Sean Dechart are ten years old- very nearly almost eleven, Connor points out. Ronan Dechart turned nine two weeks ago, a birthday forgotten entirely in the struggle to survive so Hank makes note to bake a cake. Their parents had died in the initial outbreak, and Professor Amanda Stern had taken them in after finding them hiding at the nearby university where she taught. The story unfolds on the drive back to the farm and the more he learns about their time with Amanda the more he’s glad Ronan shot her and shot her again. 

Luther greets them on the driveway, Alice bundled up in a thick down jacket and blanket sitting on his arm. She waves enthusiastically, cheeks rosy and smile bright and Hank feels his heart squeeze in his chest at the sight. Rose is standing on the porch and she’s giving him A Look and he wants to say sorry reflexively but he’s not actually sorry for anything. 

Alice takes Connor’s hand and drags him inside, the boys trailing, and she announces loudly that she’s giving them the grand tour. Luther claps him on the shoulder before following Alice.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Rose sighs heavily as she pours him a generous mug of freshly brewed coffee. Her tone is reprimanding, but there’s something fond in her eyes as they take a seat at the dining table. 

“I couldn’t leave them,” he shakes his head. “Not out there on their own, and not even at Jericho. Not after all the shit they’ve been through.”

“Because you’re a parent, Hank,” she says it so softly, so gently and his breath hitches in his throat. “You’re a father. It’s just what you do. It’s just who you are.”

“They’ve been through hell, and they deserve better. They deserve a second chance.” His vision blurs as he raises his head and looks at you. “You taught me that.”

“I did, and now you’re teaching them that,” Rose is smiling, a big radiant smile and he can’t help but lean over to kiss that beautiful smile. As far as second chances go, he reckons this is about as perfect as it gets.

[sadoeuphemist]

YouTube Rewind 2028: Back From The Brink | #YouTubeRewind

unpossiblr 4 years ago

Is anyone else still out there? I figure I should post this here because, well, youtube’s still running, isn’t it? There’s got to be someone out there, the engineers or technicians or whatever, whoever you are who’s seeing this. This is crazy, all the lights on, all the videos still playing, and yet it’s so quiet. The trending bar’s on the fritz, I think. Videos with zero views surfacing over and over again, the last ones uploaded before the end. I haven’t watched any of them. I don’t want to. But I’m alive. I don’t know why I’m still alive but I am. And you’re alive too. Whoever’s reading this. Where are you? Please, just contact me somehow. I’ll be refreshing the comments on this video. If you’re out there just say something. I’m all alone. I’m scared.

unpossiblr 4 years ago 

hello? Is anyone else out there? Is anyone else seeing this? The servers have to be up, which means that there’s got to be someone maintaining them. I don’t know if you can see the screen, or if my comments here are just a blip of energy or a light going off or whatever, but you’ve got to see this. Anyone. Just a sign, anything. I’ve been exploring, and there’s no one, no one. I think we may be the only ones left.

unpossiblr 4 years ago

I’m still here.

unpossiblr 4 years ago

I’m still here, and you are too. Say something. Comment. Give me a goddamn like. Or dislike! Make the numbers change. Increment a counter somewhere. I’ve scavenged food. I have shelter. if we can meet up I can help you. Or if we can’t meet up, we can trade info, we can help each other.

We can not be so alone.

unpossiblr 3 years ago

I’m still here. I am leaving a mark. if anyone sees this in the future, contact me. I’m still listening.

unpossiblr 3 years ago

please

DOOMSDAY PREPPERS: 10 Urban Survival Hacks

unpossiblr 3 years ago

bookmarking for future use

A World Without People | Ahrman Dijkgraaf | TEDxKlagenfurt

unpossiblr 3 years ago

bookmark

POST-APOCALYPSE COOKING CHALLENGE |  Can we make something edible with canned CHEESE??

unpossiblr 3 years ago

bookmark

unpossiblr 3 years ago

fucking bullshit

ASMR MUKBANG with LEXIE | Spicy Noodle & Grilled Squid

unpossiblr 3 years ago

I guess I should be leaving comments on these videos, just in case someone else stumbles onto them? Leave a mark. This is a fucking terrible one to start on, but whatever. I haven’t seen anyone else in months, so what if I want to watch someone enjoying a goddamn meal? We eat together, me out of my cans and her in that nicely lit room with all the plates of food laid out so that i can almost smell them and her cute little chopsticks. What, you’re going to fucking judge me for that? Hell, bring it on. Judge me for it all you like, sure. It’ll be an icebreaker, at least.

North Tacoma County Instructional Video on Working with Energized Power Lines

unpossiblr 3 years ago 

I was here.

PTSD and Holistic Qi Gong Meditation Rituals for Recovery and Stress Reduction

unpossiblr 3 years ago

I was here.

The 10 Most Breathtaking Places In The World

unpossiblr 3 years ago

It’s here. It’s just all here. All the videos ever uploaded to youtube. Millions of them. Billions. Every place, every country in the world. All the people. No new videos, no new views but mine, and yet it’s all here, pristine, preserved, while everything else rots away. And as long as I can siphon enough gasoline to keep my generator running, it’s mine, all of it. Everything else has gone to shit. But not this. Not this.

Anti-War Hysteria EXPOSES Liberals’ Scorn For Human Resilience, They Don’t Think We Can Win

unpossiblr 3 years ago

you fucking piece of shit. How’d that chest-thumping go for you, huh? How’d you die? I hope you died scared shitless. I hope you watched all your family die before you, i hope you watched their skin melt away and while they were dying they knew it was your fault and that you couldn’t save them. Fuck you and every sub-literate hooting troglodyte fan of yours who took us right up to the brink and pushed us over

unpossiblr 3 years ago 

@catullus-rex fuck you

unpossiblr 3 years ago

@HorganWoosley how’d you die, huh? I hope it was painful. big guy, big tough guy. you weren’t immune to radiation, were you?

unpossiblr 3 years ago 

@ThatGuyWithTheTopHat did you remember making this comment when you died? Did it flash before your eyes? I hope it was the last thing you remembered, i hope it was all you could think about, what a miserable wrong idiot failure you were, how your entire life was a miserable example of humanity marching off a cliff

unpossiblr 3 years ago

@QD99419 go to hell

unpossiblr 3 years ago

@TheSkepticalGamer who’s alive now, huh? and you’re rotting. you’re dead. you’re meat. I hope you’re one of the bodies I had to drag out of the corridors with your eyeballs burned out like that. you’re stinking rotting meat

fuck you

fuck you all

Ruin Of The Stars - Part 127 | We Meet Our Maker (END)

unpossiblr 2 years ago

I’ve got to tell you man, I’ve watched maybe twenty different let’s plays of this by now, and you’re the only person I’ve ever seen to get the ‘apotheosis’ ending with Nadezhda. I didn’t even know it was possible. That’s the depth of this game, it’s such an underappreciated classic, that even in disintegrating systems of entropy it’s still possible to ‘save’ everyone, if only for a moment, if only in that split-second before you have to cut the tether and let go. That was some real emotion, man, and I’m glad I got to experience this with you. You should really check out wobbletuffet’s let’s play of this, it really diverges from yours, how she deals with the bush crawlers may surprise you!

PRO vs GRANDMA: Chicken Noodle Soup | The Yum Chums

unpossiblr 2 years ago

@jenny-garland lmao you’re right how’s anyone supposed to beat granny’s recipe!

unpossiblr 2 years ago 

@fobby-bray just like my nana used to make :)

Cozy Dinner for Two at an Italian Restaurant [ASMR]

unpossiblr 2 years ago 

My day was actually pretty good, thanks for asking. I found a new cache of canned goods, altho I had to fight off like a feral dog or something to get it. I don’t know what it was for sure, it’s hard to tell when their skin is sloughing off like that. Don’t know how they’re still alive, or how they survived when no one else did - Or maybe they’re not dogs at all, just something else ...

But sorry, yeah, I don’t want to get into work here. This place is lovely. The music, the atmosphere, the ... everything. I love it here. I love our date nights together. Mm. The food’s great. I love it here, just being with you.

unpossiblr 2 years ago

This is so stupid. I just keep coming back to this one video, to our date at Il Fresco, because I can see what’s happening. We’re running out of videos. There’s three more, and that’s it. That’s all you made. That’s all you ever uploaded when you were alive.

And - that’s it. I know you’re dead, I know everyone’s dead. And I could just start again, if I wanted, rewind to the beginning or pick and choose, relive those moments that have faded in my mind, because really they’re preserved forever now. They’re immortal. And I thought - there are millions of videos on youtube. Billions. More than I could ever watch in a lifetime. It’s a world, of which I could only ever experience the smallest part of it. And if I run out of someone’s uploads, well - people die. People die in real life. They are dead in real life. And all I can do is know them, the smallest part of them, for a little while. While they’re here. While it lasts. And I thought - it’s all the videos on youtube. More than I could ever watch. And I really thought I’d be all right.

But there are three videos left, Lexie. And I keep looking at them, the last three, the last three there’ll ever be. And I’m terrified you’re going to die, Lexie. And i don’t know what to do.

Spa Date! [ASMR]

unpossiblr 2 years ago

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I did this. Lexie, you’re dead. And you could have lived forever, all of you, preserved together somehow in this beautiful hall of mirrors that never dies or fades, but I kept watching. It’s the last video you ever made. Will ever make. And you’re dead for real now. Dead for good. Never coming back. I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m sorry Lexie. RIP. Rest in peace. Rest in peace. Rest in peace.

this is the END OF THE WORLD as in Revelations pray for us pray for all humanity

unpossiblr 1 year ago

god why did i watch this. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.

Are We In Hell? // Ask a Satanist

unpossiblr 11 months ago

bookmark

Awww - So Adorable! ♡ Fun and Happy Cutest Baby Animal Compilations of 2028 ♡ | Cute Baby Animals #3

unpossiblr 8 months ago

bookmark

Radiation Poisoning: Symptoms, Causes, Diagnosis, Treatment

unpossiblr 5 months ago

oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck ohfuckohfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

fuck me

fuck

Parents and Children React(TM) to Make-A-Wish (Kids with life-threatening illnesses)

unpossiblr 5 months ago

it’ll be okay

it’s just one moment of carelessness, all these fucking years alone and I fuck up once, but it’ll be okay

look how stupid this is and ludicrous and beautiful. it’s a miracle. that everything else died and Youtube, Youtube of all things survived. inexplicably. for no reason. just like me.

and now I’m dying and this is humanity, you know? Youtube. All of it. all that’s left. millions, billions of videos, maybe longer than the lifetime of human civilization, all stacked end to end. more than I could see. more than I could have ever seen. and now I’m throwing up on myself constantly and i can’t eat and my teeth are falling out and i’m going to die and be the worms in the earth, and there’ll just be all these stupid beautiful ludicrous videos playing forever, as a monument to humanity.

it’s okay. we survived. it’s a fucking miracle, but here we are

here we are. all of us. yes.

lofi hip hop radio - beats to sleep/relax to

unpossiblr 5 months ago

can’t even get out of bed anymore. vision’s blurring. it’s okay. it’s okay. just go to sleep and never wake up.

it’s fine, you know that? it’s fine. they’re all immortal, all of them, lexie and maximillian beers and goofyfruit and the yum chums and bombadour and the kids and their parents and grandma with her chicken noodle soup and all of them, everyone i ever loved, all the videos flickering cheerily through their windowed screens

it’s like the world never ended. and i mean that. it almost is. i can loll my neck around and look at the shadows creeping up on the wall and pretend im in my room with my computer and outside the room everything’s going on as normal, has been, for these past four years. they’re still making asmr videos and eating korean bbq and playing video games and building new machines and cooking and having kids and moving to their new studios and living their lives, and i was around for a little while to witness it

the world never ended, you know? it’s just me all alone in here as it gets dark, and everyone, everywhere else.

👍 1

[galahadwilder]

Next to Me

MLB Secret Santa

for @obliviousblondesunite, as part of the @mlsecretsanta exchange.

Blondes shared this prompt back in October, completely unrelated to MLB Secret Santa:

Aged up, post reveal, post hawkmoth, established relationship AU inspired by the song “Next to Me” by Imagine Dragons. Adrien is depressed and thinks little of himself sometimes, as Chat and Adrien. Marinette continues to help him through his troubles.

*

It’s been a while since Adrien’s been out of the apartment in people clothes instead of cat ones. A little over a month, actually. He hasn’t been able to look at himself in the mirror; hasn’t been able to sleep. He keeps staring at the ceiling, wondering, if everyone was right, if he could’ve known, if... if he could’ve done something earlier.

The only reason he’s out today is that they’re running out of food. Marinette did that on purpose; after the fourth night in a row where he woke her up with the sound of his sobbing, he knew he couldn’t keep hurting her like this—she has so much patience, so much love, and he can’t bear to keep testing it. He asked her to stop coddling him, to stop letting him wallow. So she let the pantry and the fridge run dry, and gave him two options: either he did the grocery shopping, or she was going to take him to a restaurant.

Restaurant meant more people. Restaurant meant paparazzi. Restaurant meant sitting in public where anyone could see him, unable to leave, unable to duck out, while reporters bombarded him and his girlfriend with questions and camera flashes and accusations and it’s an easy decision.

He holds the shopping basket hooked around his forearms like Dorothy with her basket full of yappy dog and the linoleum aisles are yellow brick road. Plagg is hugging his chest and purring quietly, helping keep him calm, as he walks down the starch aisle.

“Hey...”

Adrien’s hand freezes, hovering over the box of rice. The fluorescent lights burn overhead, a ripping noise in his ears. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it—

“Aren’t you Adrien Agreste?”

He squeezes his eyes shut as his breath goes cold in his throat, and he clutches his jacket closer around his body with shaking hands. The problem with having his face plastered all over the city for five years: it’s impossible to go anywhere without at least one person recognizing him, no matter how much he wants to just fade away.

“Please,” he whimpers. “I’m just trying to do my grocery shopping.”

The woman in the red wool jacket tilts her head, looking at him with concern in her eyes. “Monsieur Agreste, I’m so sorry about—”

He hears the name again—that man’s name—and his basket slips from his fingers. His ears are assaulted by the crash of plastic striking the floor, and everything is too much, too bright and too loud and too—he has to get out. He has to get out.

“Monsieur Agreste?”

Unthinking, he bolts.

The part of his brain that’s not operating on pure panic regrets it immediately. The grocery store is too large to escape and yet simultaneously too small—the shelves are crushing in on him, squeezing on his lungs, and everyone is staring now at the wild man sprinting toward the exit. But that part of his brain isn’t in control. He’s gone feral, a cornered animal, a shampooed cat launching itself from its owner’s arms. He stumbles into the checkout line, bowling over a patron, and nearly slams into the exit door before it slides open—too slow, too slow.

He barely makes it out of the front door of the supermarket without falling, stumbling around the corner toward the dumpster. He collapses against the side of it with a plastic smack, reaching into his jacket’s inside pocket. Fumbling fingers rip open the cigarette box. He jams it between his lips, desperate, trembling, then snags a match. Scrapes it against the brickwork.

Too slow. No flame.

“Kid, breathe,” Plagg says from inside his pocket.

He wants to. He wants to breathe in hot smoke, he wants to sear his lungs, he wants to feel something that isn’t shame or fear. But the match isn’t lighting.

“Come on,” Plagg says, poking his head out, his disproportionate emerald eyes slow blinking in Adrien’s direction. “What does Tikki always say? Count all the blue things you see.”

Adrien twists his head, looking away from the Kwami. He—he doesn’t—this panic, it feels right, he doesn’t want to stop. He deserves this, he needs this—

“Monsieur,” the security guard looming over him says. “I’m going to need you to come with me.”

Adrien drops his head and cries.

*

They hold him in the security office for over an hour before they realize that they can’t prove he’s stolen anything. He spends the whole time curled up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, unable to speak and waiting for his heartbeat to calm. Desperate for nicotine, but every time he tries to reach for his cigarettes someone glares at him and he freezes.

Without words, he can’t explain what had happened—can’t tell them why he’d run, can’t ask for forgiveness. When they ban him from the market and throw him out, it almost comes as a relief.

Almost, because... what is he going to tell Marinette?

He’d gone out—gone through everything—and he’d failed. Hadn’t managed to get a single euro worth of food. They’re either going to go hungry tonight... or he’s going to have to brave a restaurant. He’s going to have to brave an entire evening of people glaring at him, and spitting on him, and screaming at him for things his father did. And he can bear that, he can, but Marinette deserves better—better than both of those options.

Marinette deserves better than him.

*

He touches down on the balcony of the apartment he’d bought for them before everything went down, back when the Agreste name opened doors instead of closing them, and lets the transformation release, leather ripping green from his skin.

“Adrien—” Plagg says, concern in his voice.

“Don’t,” Adrien croaks, stumbling through the sliding door. He collapses into the couch cushions, burying his face in the pillow. “Don’t wanna hear it.” He hugs it close, pressing the pillow to his eyes, trying to hide his tears.

He hears Plagg breathe in as if he’s about to say something, but then he stops. There’s a rustle, and Adrien starts as the blanket begins to move up his body, tugged upward by the tiny cat Kwami.

“Thanks,” Adrien mumbles.

Plagg grunts, and Adrien feels the minuscule weight of the Kwami’s tiny body settle onto his back, where he begins to purr. Adrien calms, letting the vibrations of the god of destruction rumble through his body, forcing back the molten fire from his nerves.

“Still want a cigarette?” Plagg says.

Adrien scrapes his face against the pillow, feeling the prickle of his unshaven face against the velvet covering. “No, I—I think I’m okay,” he says.

“Good,” Plagg responds, standing up and stretching his paws along Adrien’s back, his tail whipping restlessly up and down Adrien’s eighth vertebra. “Destruction may make you Cancer-resistant, but that doesn’t mean cancer-proof, and tumors taste like...” He shudders. “Smarties.”

“When have you ever eaten Smarties?” Adrien mumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Never. That’s not the point,” Plagg says.

“Hmm,” Adrien responds, then yanks the blanket over his head, ending the conversation.

*

Adrien wakes up he’s not quite sure how long later to the feeling of tiny claws poking his cheek.

He groans. “There’s cheese in the fridge,” he says, trying to swat Plagg away. He’d made sure of that—even if there’s nothing else in the house, Plagg has his goddamn cheese.

“No cheese,” Plagg says, poking him again. “Heads up. I smell Tikki.”

Adrien’s eyes shoot open. “Shit,” he hisses.

“Yeah,” Plagg says, narrowing his eyes at his charge. “Shit is right.”

The door begins to creak open, and Adrien smells it too—cinnamon and passionfruit, Marinette’s soap and shampoo, mingling with human sweat (stress sweat specifically, he can taste that particular hormone’s cloying meatiness in the air thanks to senses bleedover), and the warm, chocolatey undertones of the Ladybug Kwami inside her purse. Adrien jerks upward on the couch, bending his spine, as his gaze locks onto the burning blue of Marinette’s eyes.

“Hey, Kitty,” she says. “I’m home.”

The cat in him wants to run to her, to tackle her, to curl up around her feet and trip her into him and tangle up in her and laugh and purr and feel her fingers on his scalp. The other cat in him wants to bolt, to hide in the back corner of the linen closet buried under the towels where it’s dark and quiet and her disappointed eyes can’t reach.

He’s not feeling very human today.

“Did you get dinner?” she says, unslinging her purse from her shoulder and dumping it gracelessly on the front table. Even after all these years, his Lady is a messy disaster of a person, her brain too occupied with the miracles she makes with charcoal and thread to remember that things have places they are supposed to go. It’s okay—he’s found he enjoys cleaning, so he’s always happy to pick up after his messy genius.

Except lately he hasn’t been. He... can’t.

Marinette turns to him, and her eyes soften. “Adrien,” she says, kneeling down next to him, “you promised me you’d go out today.”

He buries his face in the pillow—can’t bear to meet her eyes. “I did,” he mumbles. “Got to the grocery store, and—and...”

“Somebody recognized you.”

“Mmhmm.”

Marinette wraps her fingers around his palm, slowly enough for him to pull away if he needs to. He doesn’t. He whimpers at her touch, at the way she still makes everything burn and shine and it’s blinding, he can’t bear her love, her forgiveness.

“Pity or blame?” she says.

“Pity,” he says, his fingers brushing the back of her hand as they twitch nervously.

“I’m sorry,” she says. He hears her shift a bit. “Tikki? Can you grab Littlebug please? Adrien needs to cuddle.”

“Of course,” Tikki chirps, and Adrien hears the zip of air breaking around the Kwami’s body as she rockets into the bedroom.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get dinner,” Adrien says, turning his face, letting the rough material of the pillow drag across his cheek. “I guess...” He breathed in, then out. “I guess we’ve got to go out?”

Marinette purses her lips and nods. “Yeah,” she says. “But we don’t have to go somewhere public.”

*

When Ladybug and Chat Noir alight on the balcony of Marinette’s childhood bedroom, Sabine Cheng is waiting for them, lounging on the old sunbathing chairs. “Bonsoir, pumpkin!” she says up with a lazy wave, then beams at Chat. “Hello, Adrien dear,” she says.

Chat’s chest contracts. He doesn’t deserve that look in her eyes, the affection she’s directing at him.

“Bonsoir, Maman!” Ladybug responds, kneeling down to hug her mother. “Sorry again for the late call.”

“Oh, you know your father and I are always happy to have you two,” she says. Then she stands up and reaches for a plate on the small table, piled high with cookies and cheese. “You should get comfortable,” she says. “I got food for your... Kami?”

“Kwami,” Ladybug corrects. “Tikki, spots off!”

Light zips up her body, Tikki spiraling out of her earrings.

“Nyí heó, Zen nyiúzý!” Tikki says.

Sabine bows to the tiny god. “Nyí heó, Thi mò,” she says. “You are welcome in my home.”

Tikki snorts. “Thank you!” she says. “You don’t have to be so formal.” And then, as if to prove he point, she shoves an entire chocolate chip cookie into her mouth.

Sabine stares at Tikki for a moment with something like reverence, then turns to Chat. “I have some cheese for the little cat,” she says. “You said he likes Camembert?”

Chat swallows.

And, bless her, Marinette catches his hand in her own. “You don’t have to,” she says. “Who do you want to be right now?”

He doesn’t want to be anyone right now, is the truth. He wants to take a break from being Adrien, from being Chat, from being. But he doesn’t want her to hear that.

“Yours,” he croaks. “I want to be yours.”

She smiles. “Always,” she says, flicking his bell. “No matter which face you’re wearing.”

Sabine melts.

*

Dinner is more than a little awkward. Adrien doesn’t really want to talk; he deflects any questions directed his way with grunts and noncommittal answers. Sabine, Marinette, and Tikki are starting to look at him in confusion and worry, while Tom keeps talking—blabbering, really—trying to fill the silence. (Plagg, meanwhile, is trying to pretend like all he cares about is gorging himself on the cheese spread in the middle of the table, but Adrien’s known him for long enough to tell that the Kwami is worried about him.)

“Adrien, sweetie,” Sabine says, “are you all right? You’ve hardly touched your food.”

Adrien despondently pushes the peas around his plate with his fork. “Yeah, I’m... fine,” he says. “Actually... I, uh, I’ll be right back. Kinda... need a smoke.”

“Use the balcony,” Marinette says, averting her eyes.

Adrien nods. He stands up, walks upstairs toward Marinette’s bedroom.

“He’s smoking now?” Sabine whispers as he presses open the trapdoor.

He stops. He shouldn’t have been able to hear her—if he’d been anyone else, he wouldn’t have. But being Chat Noir for six years had altered his physiology in more than one way; sensitive ears mean he can hear things no normal human should be able to.

“Maman, he just lost his entire family,” Marinette responds. “He needs time—”

“I was a wreck for a month when we cut Papa out of our lives,” Tom adds. “Remember?”

Adrien shakes his head and continues up to the balcony. He doesn’t want to hear the rest of this.

The cigarette lights easily this time, and he sucks in the burning smoke, searing his lungs as he looks out across the Seine toward the lights of the Eiffel Tower. It feels like the whole city is arrayed before him, and he remembers similar views—the city underwater, drowning; the hordes of kissing zombies filling the streets; the inferno, every building in the Paris wrapped in ghostly cerulean flames; the moon plummeting, crashing downward as Pegase frantically tried to evacuate the city—the way Viperion collapsed afterward, after three times as long as Aspik’s worst Second Chance experience.

All Gabriel. All Adrien. This was his family, his father, his fault. He could’ve stopped this if he’d known. If he’d bothered to look.

He doesn’t deserve Marinette. He doesn’t deserve Ladybug, or Plagg, or Tom and Sabine. He doesn’t deserve their love, their forgiveness.

He looks down to the street below, considering.

Then the trapdoor opens behind him, and he hears the familiar footfalls of his princess.

“Kitty?” she says, soft. “You okay?”

Adrien has no idea what to say.

Marinette steps forward, hugs him from behind. “Talk to me,” she says.

Adrien breathes in, staring away. “I just...” He wipes his eyes. This burden... she deserves better. He’s not sure where to start. “This is your family,” he says. That’s good. That’s safe. “I never had that.” He looks up, bathing his face in the starlight. “Even when I had Mère, she wasn’t...” He swallows. “This isn’t... I’m an intruder, you know? No matter how much your family welcomes me, I’m not a Dupain-Cheng.”

He feels Marinette inhale. “Well,” she says, rubbing her cheek against his back. “That’s easy enough to fix.”

“What?” Adrien says, weakly, barely noticing that she’s already let go of his stomach. He turns to find her on one knee, holding up a black velvet box.

She flips it open, and inside is a rose gold ring—a perfect replica of her version of the Cat Miraculous.

Adrien’s entire body locks into place.

“Adrien Graham de Vanily,” Marinette says. “You are... the kindest, most giving person I have ever known. Since the day we met, you have been by my side through the worst that the world can throw at us.” She’s smiling. She’s—she’s smiling. “It has been my honor, and my privilege, to grow alongside you, and to see you go from a brash, lonely boy into the brave and loving man you are today.” She swallows, looks away. “You are... you’re the person I trust more than...” She shakes her head. “I’m... rambling.”

Adrien can’t speak. His heart is slamming against his sternum like it’s trying to tear itself out of his chest, his hands are frozen to the table.

“Your old family was crap,” she says. “But... I want to build a new one. With you.”

He swallows, blinking away tears.

She hiccups. “Adrien Graham de Vanily,” she whispers, holding up the ring. “Will you marry me?”

Adrien breaks. “Why?” he chokes out.

Marinette’s eyes go wide, horror writing across her face. “Kitty?”

“Why do you still love me?” he sobs. “Marinette, I’m—I’m a mess!” He waves a hand, frantic. “I—I’ve barely left the apartment in weeks, I can’t sleep, I can’t get out of bed, I...” He drops to his knees, taking her hands between his. “You—you have dreams, Mari, and—and being with me will ruin them.”

She’s staring at him, horror in her eyes.

“Marinette,” he says, caressing her cheek. “Princess. You—” He chokes. “You deserve better than to have to take care of—”

“I spent six years taking care of Paris,” she interrupts. “After Hawkmoth? Looking after one self-destructive kitty cat is practically a vacation. Besides,” she says, reaching up and scritching her nails across his scalp, “you spent all those years taking care of me when I needed it.” She smiles. “That’s what you do when you’re in love.”

His breath catches in his throat. “What if—what if I never get better?” he gasps.

“You will,” Marinette says, cupping his cheeks and pressing her forehead to his. “You’re strong. You survived eighteen years living with the worst parent I’ve ever seen and you still came out kind.” She brushes his bangs out of his face. “It’s okay if you can’t believe in yourself right now—but Adrien, My Prince, I believe in you.”

Adrien collapses into Marinette’s shoulder, sobbing. “Yes,” he says. “My answer is yes.”

[blockofbones]

What’s the trend about DSMP cc posts? I am curious and want to know your takes. Also, I think you’re really cool! Hope you have a great day!!

Ah! I have no idea when this was, so if it wasn't just sent to me I apologize, anon! Thank you for the kind comment!

Under a cut because I ramble

I won't write out the whole thing right now, but the gist of my thing with DSMP cc posts is related to George's absence. And yes, part of it is my bias to George, and part of it is that some people just don’t watch George, but it's also just frankly a legitimate thing. I have seen posts discuss DSMP characters and have this long long list that includes people who haven't logged on in months, or have legitimately no real lore, but wave away George's lore because they like the sleeping meme, or pretend that when George phases in and out of lore it doesn't count, even though he has some of the most consistent lore that has probably the best continuity from beginning to end and managed to make his absences fit within lore.

Seriously, if I never see the 'george was sleeping' joke again, I'll be happy. Mostly because it's old and tired, and I find it funny that multiple people have slept through things now but it's never mentioned. George turned that shit into a story arc.

And on a cc front, I just tend to see him absent from most posts discussing DSMP creators, like you'll have 2/3 dream team and everyone else under the sun, but George is just absent. And again, part of that is my George bias, but it's also just a general trend to exclude George. Also to exclude his contribution and importance to the literal existence of the DSMP, his personality, his relationships, his intelligence, his acting ability when he tries, his damn minecraft ability even. He was the first person in the DSMP. He has a closer relationship to some of the people on there than Dream does, but people consistently undersell his friendship or break him down to just the feral boys.

Also special shoutout to Ponk, who is consistently erased or written off in a truly astounding number of DSMP posts, and whose amazing lore is ALWAYS WAVED AWAY and it pisses me off to no end every time Tubbo says ‘no one is on the server is dead’ or people say theres no lore. PONK HAS NUANCED AND AMAZING LORE AND IS ON ALMOST EVERY DAY. He and Sam and Foolish have this slow burn love triangle.

I am so tired of this fandom discounting lore because it’s not from Wilbur, and doesn’t star the bench trio. Look, I like Wilbur. I like the bench trio (in smaller doses). But they are not the goddamn be all and end all of this server. It was there prior to them and there are so many story arcs that have gone on outside of them, and I loathe how their fans discredit that lore. I hate how the creators, however unintentionally, belittle the lore. Ranboo says no one is available but there are multiple people on that server on the daily. Puffy is literally on it every time she streams on her main.

Look, just. At the end of the day: Give some damn credit where it’s due, stop downplaying contributions by other creators, and stop diminishing them.

tl;dr: I’m old and annoyed and I just like my faves and want them to have recognition.

[coffeebeannate]

thoughts on the old guard characters? (a long one I know lol)

HO BOY.

I LOVE long asks when I have the braincells! *He says, as if he ever has braincells*

ANYWAY.

I’m going to go with just the movie for now, since I’ve only read the first volume of the comics yet and there’s definitely some changes.

This post is long, so I put all my brain rambles beneath the cut.

I also cheated and only did the Guard themselves for some brevity, if you want extensions with Copley, etc. I’ll do a part two :)

Andy/ Andromache the Scythian

ANDY. ANDY. ANDY ANDYYYYYYYYYYY.

I love her. I love her SO MUCH. I regret that I never really explore her as much as I want to. Because there is just SO MUCH THERE. There is so much to work with, to explore to understand and to see. I adore her. She’s jaded, but she’s also clearly somewhat passionate in her own way. Something has kept her going this long. She loves her family. She is at her most open and honest and vulnerable with her family! 

The world gets a facade, her calm, collective glance of ‘I don’t give a fuck but I actually do give a fuck but letting you know I give a fuck makes things complicated’. But when she’s with Nicky and Joe, (and Booker), she’s laughing, she’s enjoying their company. She looks so happy and instantly relaxes and I JUST!!

I love that she’s not some 19 year old (possible ageism). I love that they let a 45 year old actress play a character who is clearly over 30 and very much badass. The whole ‘only young women or very old women in movies’ trope is so old, so overdone. (And I’m still salty about this person who said it’s bullshit to see ‘grandma Charlize beating up men twice her size’, as if Liam Nesson doesn’t do just that in his seventies BUT ANYWAY).

Andy is SO multilayered. She’s clearly struggling, and she’s angry and cynical and OH so fucking tired, but she’s still VERY LOVING. She cares about Nile, she cares about her family, she CARES. She’s allowed to be upset! She’s allowed to be ugly emotionally (as they might say it in Hollywood, ffs), she’s allowed to be angry and happy and sweet and she has agency and vulnerability and I JUST LOVE THAT.\

She can also step on me I mean what.

ANYWAY.

Nile Freeman

NILE. NILE MADAM. 

Nile is just a MARVEL. She’s sweet. She’s caring. She has ALL the heart and takes NONE of the shit!! There’s so much to her. She’s devoted (I really love that she’s religious, and that the movie doesn’t take this away from her, regardless of things that happen). I love how utterly devoted she is. I love that she’s able to retain so much of her own personal autonomy, AND that she’s both scared and confused, but also SECURE. 

Nile doesn’t know WTF is happening. First kill in the Marines, very sudden death, you have a brand new family? Oh, you also can’t see your family again? Your mother and brother? Oh and this lady with the bizarre name has effectively kidnapped you so you can’t be shipped to a lab in Germany? THE FUCK.

Kiki does such a MAGNIFICENT job too! Like the amount of emotions she conveys!! All of Nile’s confusion, anger, upset. Hurt. How throughout all this, she’s shown as street smart! Clever! ADPATABLE.

Nile  becomes something ‘new’ but retains her original personality entirely. And I LOVE that. She is young, but she isn’t babied. She’s allowed to be guided without being considered infantile. She’s allowed to be here whole self and it’s SO GOOD.

Also, you wake up in a Humvee in the desert and your first instinct is to kick the back end out and roll away? And then stab your kidnapper?? AMAZING.

I love that she’s an art nerd. I love her enthusiasm, I love her heart. I love her cleverness. I love how she can be a bit “wtf’ but also flat out doesn’t take ANYONE’S bullshit EVER.

“We’re not going to Paris” HELL MA’AM GUESS WE ARE NOT. 

Sebastien Le Livre/ Booker

(Rucka once again I ask you, was that name only for the punning? Because I love puns to but cmon)

So..Booker.

I’m..I’m not neutral, but I tend to not think about him much beyond what is necessary. I think I’d feel that my thoughts on him are ‘complicated’ so I’ll keep his section short. I WILL say that his character is VERY well written. Booker cannot be called a flat character. And maybe I’m naive, but my first time watching the movie? Yeah, totally goddamned BLINDSIDED. And I give the movie a LOT of credit for that. 

Maybe smarter people saw it coming, but I sure didn’t. So hey, kudos.

I understand him. I understand his motivations. And for a person suffering from that kind of depression, the toxic sabotaging kind, yeah. It’s well done. His motives are..his motives. I’ll probably not ever know what it feels like to outlive your children. But lots of my family members did. I get how it destroys you.

However, Booker needs help. And it’s on Booker, IMO, to get that help, outside of his family. Because he hurt them. He hurt them badly. It’s not the kind of thing you just come back from.

Consider my attitude..curious.

Joe/Yusuf Al-Kaysani

I can’t make this too long I can’t make this too long I can’t-

JOE. Is a MARVELOUS MAN. He’s soft. He’s artistic. He’s strong and sweet and his entire face lights up like the actual honest to god sun that he IS. I love how much he loves. I love how compassionate he is. I love his passion. His soft voice. His kind caring attitude.

BUT AS A FLIP SIDE.

I love how badass he is. I go slightly feral from the bullet spitting ‘very pissed off’. DARLING, NO KIDDING. I love how he’s just got this kinda hidden swag element. He is so clearly the life source of every room he enters. Show stealer. He’s the one that makes people feel comfortable immediately. With charm and boastfulness. With just such great WARMTH. Joe feels like a fireplace. You just want to curl up with him.

He cares so much about the world. His husband. His family.

THE SPEECH??

Imagine someone LOOKING AT YOU THAT WAY. No wonder Nicky is downright wavering on us. I’D FAINT.

Joe seems to love the world around him so much. And yeah, okay, he holds out with  justified anger. (I SUPPORT THIS ANGER), but he’s also clearly affectionate. He’s open with his love. Joe literally wears his heart on his sleeve. You KNOW how Joe is feeling at all times. Because Joe can’t hide it. And if you have his love and friendship, you have it forever.

Joe could do audiobooks. Joe could paint museums full of paintings. 

And those curls? Best. Incredible.

Marwan made Joe into such an incredible character I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOUR SIR I LOVE HIM.

Nicky/ Nicolò di Genova

Ahhh Joe’s other half. Man of few words, but when those words come out they cut and say so DAMNED MUCH. And what isn’t said vocally is always said with a look, a smile. MICRO EXPRESSIONS THAT SPEAK THE WORLD.

Nicky seems like such an aware character. Nicky is the type that makes very conscious decisions every single day. Be kind. Daily. This is not the type of man who does anything lightly. I feel like Nicky is a calculated sort, but with EVERYTHING. Because he KNOWS that your presence in this world makes an impact. He knows how important being self-aware is. He feels so lucky and grateful to be with Joe and his family at all times.

I LOVE HIS SNIPING. I love his outfits! I love how intense and sweet and compassionate he is. I feel like he has some little shit energy. Doing something slightly devious? Probably. Having ideas just because? Damned right! I can only imagine how much dry teasing Joe has endured over the centuries. Because Nicky is just so raw and clever. You can never be entirely sure what he’s thinking, perhaps. Joe can read him like a book, but I think anyone else might be finding themselves looking a touch harder. Just in case.

I love Luca’s accent! I love how competent Nicky is! He loves Joe just as openly too, and I adore it??

“The love of my life was the people I’ve been taught to hate” THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE! AND THAT TINY SMILE! THE SMILE OF A THOUSAND WORDS.

Quynh

Boss. I want more immediately. I NEED MORE.

Lykon

RIP we barely knew ya.

Final Thoughts:

I LOVE THESE CHARACTERS SO MUCH.

I love that we got ALL THIS.

In TWO DAMNED HOURS.

I love the thoughts the actors put forth. I love how dedicated everyone was to this movie. I love how there’s so much from what could have gone so wrong.

I LOVE THEM!!

[halfabreath]

After Sex Kisses and Holsom?

from the types of kisses kisses prompts! i wanted to practice writing smut differently than I usually do but then i went absolutely goddamn feral for tender post-coital smoochin 

holsom, 2,500+ words, some pretty honest sex stuff, misuse of commas

The truth is - 

Holster's fucked people he's loved, but he's never fucked someone who loved him back. It sounds worse than it is. Holster's the one running around falling in love left and right. It's a part of him, written into his muscles and healed into his scars and simmering under his skin. He's never been able to keep sex and love from tangling together, the thin threads biting into his skin as he picks at the tiny knots with his big, clumsy hands. 

The truth is - Holster is all sharp edges. He's loud, and rough, and clumsy, and reckless, but only with himself. 

When Ransom kisses him, he's so gentle Holster thinks he must be confused. Holster doesn't get kissed like this, not ever. He knows he should pull away, make a joke, remind Ransom who he's actually dealing with like he had the last time they kissed (Freshman Year Ransom had been all tongue and Holster had been all teeth and whatever wasn't tongue and teeth was made up of bottom shelf tequila. Ransom, Holster had said, wiping the excess spit off his lips with his sweatshirt sleeve. Rans, it's me. Ransom had looked up, blinked, and they somehow burst into laughter at the exact same glorious moment. Holy fuck, Ransom said through honest-to-God giggles. Holtzy, it's you! Holster laughed so hard he threw up and that made Ransom laugh so hard he almost threw up and Holster's last memory of that night is chugging half a Gatorade before handing it off to Ransom and falling asleep curled up together on the green couch.)

Senior Year Ransom isn’t all tongue. He's soft kisses, smooth and silky against Holster's face and neck and chest and stomach and thighs and ass. He's cool fingers trying to warm up lube despite his terrible circulation. He’s breathless laughter fanning over Holster’s cheeks, his neck, his chin. He’s wide eyes and a scrunched nose and lips that drink down Holster’s moans like sweet, fresh water. 

Ransom kisses him, after. He kisses Holster while he's still inside him, lips so, so gentle as he sweeps his hands up and down Holster's sides. Ransom's palms press into his hips, thumbs settling into grooves of muscle and bone. Ransom tucks his face against Holster's neck, just like he does every time they crowd into the bottom bunk when the ghosts are acting up, and accidentally presses in deeper. It's too much too soon after Holster's orgasm but he doesn't care. Everything's a little too hot, a little too bright, a little too much. Ransom's burned into his skin, his bones, a silvery glow beneath his eyelids that shines straight through the darkness. Holster's staring into the sun. His come is still warm on his stomach, hips still tilted up, chest still heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Ransom kisses him as he pulls back, drinks in Holster's low, broken groan when he slowly pushes back in.

The truth is - Holster's known a lot about what Ransom likes in bed long before he even considered what it would be like to be in that bed himself. They've shared countless deets over the years. He knows all about how Ransom feels about lace, and how having his hips kissed and how he can finger someone forever without getting bored. But he didn’t know what Ransom’s face would look like when he came, or how he’d sound, or how he’d curl into Holster right before and whisper Fuck, Holtzy, I'm - Holster, please, just - you're so - fuck, Adam. Holster knew Ransom liked to linger after he comes, how he liked to press close and deep but he never thought Ransom would call him Adam and he never thought it would make him press his knees into Ransom's sides, dig his nails in, throw his head back, twist his hips and come. 

"Rans," Holster mumbles, the precious syllable muffled by Ransom's lips. He knows Ransom's body almost as well as he knows his own, on and off the ice, but he's never known him like this, with his hands framing Ransom's gorgeous face, thumbs brushing along his sharp cheekbones with his thighs tucked up around his ribs. 

Ransom drops his head against Holster's shoulder and grinds in deep. Holster's body arches before he can process anything other than the perfect painpleasure from the blunt head of Ransom's cock pressing against his prostate. Ransom groans, mumbles his name. His hands sweep up Holster's sides to grasp his twisting hips and hold him in place. When Holster opens his eyes, all he can see is the deep, deep ochre of Ransom's skin. All he can smell is Ransom's sweat and cum and lube and the detergent they bought almost year ago and somehow haven’t stopped using yet. When he breathes in the air is heavy and hot. Their skin sticks together when Ransom slowly pulls out, pushes back in, pulls out, pushes back in, pulls, pushes, pulls. 

Holster's never really liked this before - the whole close sex thing. Maybe because no one's wanted it - wanted him - like that. He tried it a few times, with Esther, but having his entire body weight pressing down on her made her claustrophobic. I like you, Adam, She'd said, chin propped up on his chest. There's just an awful lot of you. She'd pinched his nipple to make him laugh then swept her fingertips up his neck and tapped on his chin until his smile showed all his teeth. (I like you, She'd said when they broke up. You're just - you're a lot. You and your friends.) They tried it the other way, after she started topping, but neither of them knew where to position his legs or how to hold him in place so more often than not he ended up on his hands and knees, face pressed into the pillow to muffle his moans. 

The truth is - Holster's a lot. Most people can only take so much, and he usually couldn’t give a single, solitary fuck about what they think of him. He'll laugh as loudly as he wants in the library and sing under his breath in the weight room to control his breathing. The glances and glares roll off his shoulders; he hardly registers them at all these days. But when he's with someone, when he gets to hold them, and kiss them, and make them feel good, Holster doesn't want to be too much. He wants to be just enough, to fit into their hollowed out parts perfectly. 

But there's an awful lot of him. Holster's dropped parts of himself on too many bedroom floors, piled underneath his shirts and jeans and socks. He whittles those sharp edges of himself down until he fits, until he's just right. So he keeps his distance, only ducking in to kiss them when they want him close or pressing them into the sheets instead of asking to be pressed down himself or fucking them up against a wall because he's strong enough to do it. That’s why they’re with him, aren’t they? For easy kisses, for strong hands, for stupid jokes after he holds them however they want to be held. Holster knows not to ask for too much, not anymore. (Not after Juniors and draft day and the endless hours of hoping that somehow his name would be called when everyone told him it wouldn’t be. They were right.) So Holster doesn’t ask, and it’s not like it matters. Getting other people off gets Holster off, it always has, so he makes them come as many times as they want before finishing and then he's dressed and out the door before they have to ask him to leave.

The truth is - no one's ever held him like Ransom does. His cool fingertips sweep over Holster's inner thigh and behind his calf before suddenly pushing one leg back until Holster’s knee is pressed against his chest and the stretch burns but Holster digs his short nails into Ransom's back and pulls him closer, closer, closer.

Ransom is kind, and gentle, and sweet, and brilliant, and he says things like You're so good, and I've got you, just breathe, and I think I've wanted this since freshman year when we fell asleep on the couch with you in Faber and I woke up hard but you didn't call me out on it and all I wanted to do was kiss you but I wasn’t brave enough and Come on, Holtzy, I can't hear you and That's it, you're so good, you're so good. He says, Sorry, baby when he finally pulls out and smooths his fingertips over Holster's brow when he winces and kisses him until the feeling of emptyemptyempty is gone. Holster's sticky with lube and spit and Ransom and all he can think about is those four soft syllables that fell onto his cheeks and chin like the final raindrops of a spring thunderstorm.

Sorry, baby.

The sky is clearing. 

Sorry, baby.

Ransom tips to the side, rolls onto his back. He settles into Holster's bed like he belongs there, one hand tucked behind his head, the other sweeping up and down Holster's thigh. There isn't enough room on the bed for them both to comfortably lay on their backs, Holster knows that from experience, so he twists to settle on his side. He curls up and shifts back to give Ransom room to breathe (I like you, there's just an awful lot of you) until he's almost teetering off the edge of the mattress and for a moment he swears he's back in his little bed in his billet house in Iowa. He was too big for that bed and house and team and Holster doesn't know what he'll do if he's too big for this, too. 

The truth is - Holster doesn't deserve this.  "You're quiet," Ransom murmurs. His eyes are still closed. When he reaches out for Holster his hand falls on the mattress between them. His thick eyebrows furrow and then he's looking over at Holster with those gorgeous, expressive eyes and Holster knows Ransom's analyzing him like one of his beloved biology journals. He can feel Ransom breaking him down into manageable data points but it's not a bad feeling. It's new, but it's not bad. 

The truth is - it feels like Ransom's the first person to ever really see him. Everyone hears him, because he's so loud they can’t ignore him, but people don't see.  

"I'm never quiet." Holster jokes, but it's not really a joke at all. Ransom's hand drifts into his vision. It's an awkward angle but the way Ransom's knuckles brush over his cheek makes something in Holster’s chest start doing backflips. Holster tilts his head to lean into the touch before he can help it. 

"You are now." Ransom says as he sweeps his fingertips back up Holster's cheek, thumb smoothing down his eyebrow before cradling his jaw. Holster knows he's supposed to say something now. But Ransom is right; he is quiet.

Silence drapes over them, chasing the blanket Ransom tugs over their hips and legs. 

The truth is - Holster wants to say I love you, but he knows it'll be too much too soon, and there's already so much working against him he can't risk it. Holster keeps his mouth shut because he knows if he opens it he'll scare Ransom away.

Ransom's gaze snaps away for a half of a half of a second. 

It's tiny. Almost imperceptible. But Holster knows the attic, so he knows Ransom just looked at the door. Holster knows Ransom, so he knows he's feeling anxious. Holster knows Ransom's anxiety, so he knows he always searches for the exits right before he's about to panic. Holster knows Ransom's panic, so he knows he goes quiet and still instead of loud and frantic. Holster knows himself, so he knows he won't let that happen. 

The truth is - Holster doesn't even have to think about it. Not even a little bit. He’s across the mattress in half a second flat. The blankets tangle up around their legs as Holster pulls himself on top of Ransom, crowding in as close as he can. He kisses Ransom hard, again and again. When he pulls back he doesn’t go far. He puts just enough space between their noses for Ransom to see his eyes when he says I love you, I think I’ve always loved you. He lets Ransom pull him this way and that, angling his chin until their lips slot together perfectly. He whines against Ransom’s lips, holds him a little too tight. Pull my hair? He asks, cheek to cheek with Ransom as he fights to catch his breath. Hold me tighter? Will you kiss my throat? Can you - more, Rans, I want more. I want, I want, I want. He asks for everything he can think of. He breaks all of his rules, one by one, until he’s asked for everything he wants and presses so close he swears he’s tasting himself on Ransom’s lips and tells Ransom he loves him as many times as he can. 

"Holtzy," Ransom gasps, long neck tilting back in an elegant column of muscle and sinew. Holster kisses up and down the delicate cartilage. Ransom must know the names of every little dip and ridge beneath his lips. 

"One more, just - " Holster mumbles into Ransom’s skin, scraping his teeth along his jaw before finally returning to his full lips. He kisses Ransom once, twice, before Ransom tips his head to the side. 

"We have time.” The words sound so sure coming from Ransom’s mouth. Warm, too. Coals that have been burning for hours but  have hours to go before they grow cold.

"We do?" Holster asks, and he hates how thick his voice is. Ransom smiles up at him, all warmth and love and a little bit of Really, Adam?

"Holster.” Ransom says, taking Holster’s face between his hands. He likes doing that, Holster notices. He didn’t know Ransom liked that. “If you love me, doesn't it makes sense that I love you, too?”

And the truth is - it does make sense. 

Holster reaches for his file, his knife, his tools. He finds his sharpest edges, fingertips pricked and bleeding as he fumbles for them in the darkness. He presses the blade to his skin, ready to carve away whatever pieces don’t fit in Ransom but before he can draw blood he shifts and - 

There’s room. 

It’s not a perfect fit, but there’s room for him between Ransom’s ribs. 

The truth is - there’s room to grow. There’s an awful lot of Holster, but there’s an awful lot of Ransom, too, and when Holster stretches out (just a little, he knows not to be greedy, knows to be careful) Ransom stretches with him. Holster realizes that if he rolls over, the only items on the attic floor will be their clothes and his textbooks and Ransom’s sweatshirts and the milk jug he fills with water to stay hydrated.

“We have time,” Holster echoes. Ransom smiles, bright and iridescent and it burns a little but Holster doesn’t look away.

“One more,” Ransom says, gaze flickering between Holster’s eyes and his lips. Holster laughs, sudden and bold and far too loud. Ransom presses their smiles together in a soft - well, it’s not technically a kiss, because it’s really just their teeth bumping together as they laugh into each other’s mouths. Ransom’s big hands frame Holster’s face.

The truth is - Holster could do this forever. The truth is - he probably will. 

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. vi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt vi: dark, and drenched in longing

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~4.7k

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Language, some “light” religious blasphemy (it’s Far Cry 5). Strong canon deviance from here on out. Mentions of blood/carnage, the frantic energy of people who both hate and are attracted to each other. Also, for this chapter in particular, the forced use of psychotropic drugs (also canon-typical?? I guess). John being himself. Per usual.

Notes: Hi! I'm going to keep these short and sweet because, basically, I have nothing to say for myself. I hope you guys enjoy! I mean it when I say every interaction makes my day. I swear I'm just as awkward in a real conversation as I sound in these notes and I'm not scary at all, so please feel free to come and say hi!

As always, thank you again to everyone who reads! I am so happy to be back in a writing groove with these two idiots again.

Theirs was a strange sort of allyship.

Tentative, to be sure, and certainly strained. But if four days ago you’d told John that he’d be sitting in a van with Junior Deputy Elliot Honeysett driving him straight to his brother, the man she'd slapped cuffs on and tried to arrest at the behest of a U.S. marshal, he’d have laughed in your face. The idea was ridiculous. Expansively, endlessly, incredibly ridiculous.

And yet, if John ignored the clink of the cuffs binding them together, and the knowledge that this van belonged to a strange, traveling band of cultists, he almost felt like he had been tricked into some kind of fucked-up romcom. As soon as they hit the highway, Elliot turned the radio on to the resistance’s repaired music channels, smoked her cigarette down, and leaned back against her seat as though she had not been viciously threatening to kill him just days ago.

Did she still think that? Did he care? John felt his brows furrow and he turned his head away, watching the treeline. He didn’t think he cared. He would say, so what if Elliot still wants to kill me? She needed him, and that was more than he’d gotten out of her in the whole time that she’d been under his thumb.

He didn’t care if she still wanted to kill him, and the thought that maybe she might did not thrill him, and he was not distracted by the stretch of her midriff when she shifted in her seat, and—

—And these were all things that he didn’t struggle with, certainly, because if asked, John would say that yes, he supposed that Elliot Honeysett could be considered conventionally attractive , but only when she wasn’t baring her teeth like a wild animal, only when she didn’t have a gun in her hands, only when she wasn’t making you say please to save the life of someone you didn’t even know the name of.

So, yes, he supposed, she was pretty: and John did not know why in particular he had to leap through those loops to get to that point silently, by himself, but, here he was.

“Oh, I love this song,” Elliot announced suddenly, turning the volume up and startling John out of the reverie he’d plunged himself into. His eyes narrowed when he recognized the song; the very typical back-water-town radio station playing Guns’N’Roses was not beyond his comprehension, and yet he found himself displeased nonetheless.

“Really, deputy?” John asked, staring at her across the console. “You love this song?”

Elliot dropped her glasses— my glasses, John reminded himself irritably—down the bridge of her nose so she could stare at him over the top of them. “It’s a classic, John.”

The radio blared the chorus of Welcome To The Jungle , and John said, “I cannot take you seriously with this music.”

She laughed, apparently pleased by his disdain, cranked the volume higher. Over the sound of aggressive guitar riffs sliding up and down and Boomer barking excitedly in the back, John shouted, “Why don’t we just alert everyone of where we are, hm?”

“Oh, you’re spoiling the fun.” She turned the volume back down, tsking her tongue, and John rolled his eyes. It was so very typical Elliot, to want to enjoy herself at the exact moment that he was trying to remind himself of all the reasons that he disliked her.

A period of silence stretched between them; tranquil, blissful, just for one moment, before John’s gaze slid back to her. She did look peaceful, at that moment, her ponytail smooth and adjusted, her brows relaxed, coughing occasionally into the crook of her elbow but otherwise breathing fine. Relaxed. At ease—with him, of all people. Wouldn't she be furious to know it?

John’s fingers itched. Soft, he thought, reminded of Joseph’s words; you have to love them, John. It wasn’t his style, not particularly, more suited to persuasion rather than fostering mercy as Joseph did. 

He kept his voice light and casual when he asked, “Where did you get your scars, deputy?”

He watched—and watched and watched —to catch her reaction. He couldn’t see her eyes through the reflective shades she wore, but he did see the way her fingers tightened on the wheel, saw the push and pull of her jaw muscle as her teeth worked in her mouth, grinding, perhaps crushing the words she wanted to say between them. He braced himself for the vitriol; it would certainly be something along the lines of, I got them from Go Fuck Yourself USA, John, I’m the goddamn mayor or any suitable string of expletives.

Instead, Elliot prompted, “Who’s asking?”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Pardon?”

“I said, who’s asking?” she reiterated, not once looking at him. “Is this John Seed, or John Duncan?” Hearing her say the name like this—as though John Duncan were at all comparable to the man that John Seed was—made his chest prickle, anger and disdain welling up inside of him.

“That’s not my name,” John bit out. “Don’t play games with me, deputy—”

“I know your fucking cult psycho-bombing tactics, Seed,” Elliot replied, her voice sharp and quick as a whip. John opened his mouth to protest, but she went on, “You might think you’re being clever, waiting until I crack a smile to ask me an invasive question, but you’re not. First, you ask me where my scars come from, and when I open up about my past traumas—”

“So it’s a trauma,” John insisted, but Elliot was already railroading on; any footing he felt he’d was gone.

“—then you say some stupid shit like, have you ever really felt at home with your family, Deputy Honeysett? I could give you a home, Deputy Honeysett, which you would say, because for some reason you don’t understand the concept of someone being a Junior Deputy or having a first name—”

“It was just a question, Elliot ,” John interrupted, effectively ending her barrage. “I was only trying to make small talk with you. I noticed them back at the ranch, and since we’re in a car for several hours together, I thought…”

Elliot’s lips pressed into a thin line. “There’s your first mistake, then. You tried to form a cohesive train of thought.” Her voice dripped with a honeyed, pitiful timbre, “I know how hard that is for you.”

“Alright, thank you for this stimulating conversation, you literal child,” John snipped out. “And you’re still wearing my fucking glasses, by the way.”

“Take them back, then.”

John stared at her. The idea of putting his hand close to Elliot’s face was not only a dangerous one because it was in close proximity to her teeth—proven by her many run-ins with his acolytes before to be suitable weapons in a pinch—but because he worried.

He worried that the willingness for soft contact would make him soft, the way it had felt when Elliot tucked herself against his chest to combat the chilly Montana evening. He worried that getting familiar and comfortable with a feral and untamed creature like Elliot Honeysett would change him, and to be changed by someone like her —

“Consider them a gift.” He kept his voice clipped. “From me to you. They’re Gucci, you know.”

“Oh, very generous of you, Herald. What, little old me, nobody Elliot from Hope County, Nowhere-Montana, with her first pair of Gucci shades? Why, I’d never .” A little bit of a sweet Southern-belle drawl slipped in there, and John didn’t know if it was because of the dramatics or if it was an accent she’d mostly lost and only occasionally regained.

But his stomach twisted a little when she used his title, the patronizing drip of her tone going straight to the headache blooming behind his eyes. “You know, deputy—”

Instinctively, he paused; he waited for her timely interjection, as she was so comfortable doing, but yet again the moment he anticipated it she remained silent. Elliot arched a dark-honey eyebrow and waited. John cleared his throat.

“I think I’ve never met a more troubled woman than you,” he continued casually. “To suspect me of such foul intentions when I only want to know my driving companion better, I’m genuinely wounded.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Elliot acquiesced, and for a moment—just one teeny-tiny moment—John thought she meant it; and then she said, “But I’d prefer we not get too friendly, as you were just considering drowning me in a river filled with drugs just a few days ago, and...”

The blonde’s words trailed off. The van rolled to a crawl, and when he looked forward, he saw the remains of the fire assault that they had just escaped a day ago; two Eden’s Gate trucks, and flimsy barricades that had been pushed off of the road. No bodies in sight.

It was almost a relief, if he was being honest—he wasn’t sure how many more flower-stuffed corpses he could see before he finally decided to rip his own eyeballs out.

Any playful heat had died out of Elliot’s expression. She was somber now, the lines of her expression harder than before. In the back of the van, Boomer whined, and John could hear the swishing of his tail against the floor.

“I don’t like that they took the bodies,” she said after a moment.

“Me either.”

The next thirty minutes of the drive passed in strange, awkward silence. Elliot looked like she wanted to say something and wouldn’t; he could feel her gaze dipping over to him on occasion, but each time he thought her mouth was opening to let out what was on her mind, she’d just exhale. By the time they’d cleared the field where the tracks from their last ride had dug in and left the barricade far behind them, dark, heavy storm clouds had rolled in; he rolled his window down and felt the heady pre-storm humidity like a slap in the face.

No good, John thought, a few drops hitting his hand before he rolled up the window. He felt the thunder rumble deep in the marrow of his bones. The rain went from a drizzle to a steady silver sheet, and then to a torrential downpour by the time they’d been driving for just under an hour, and eventually Elliot pulled to the side of the road.

“We have to pull in somewhere,” she announced. “This van is great for toting cults around, but it’s not great for avoiding hydroplaning off of the road.”

“Well, isn’t off-roading your specialty?” John quipped. She shot him a glare, pushing his sunglasses up onto her head and nestling them into her hair.

“Yes, actually, now that you mention it,” Elliot replied tartly, “but not when I can’t see where I’m fucking going.”

“We’re only an hour and a half or so away from Joseph,” John insisted. “You really don’t think you can make it there?”

Elliot heaved a sigh. Her fingers fluttered over her forehead and the bridge of her nose like she had a headache that was a twin to his own, and every time he spoke, he was exacerbating it. That was probably true—and John was happier for it because the times when Elliot had been most compliant were when she was the most genuinely inhibited.

“I don’t like not being able to see who’s behind us or coming around the corner,” she insisted after a moment. “It doesn’t matter how close or far Joseph is. What matters is that there’s a group of nutjobs out there who apparently have insurmountable resources to take over a whole county in a single day, and I will not —”

She stopped, as though to calm herself, and John waited; impatient, but silent.

“I will not,” Elliot finished, “get kidnapped by one more fucking cult, John Seed.”

Lightning crackled in the distance, and the rain pelted the windshield violently. Another rumble of thunder went spiraling above them; Boomer whined, his ears flat against his skull. John could see Elliot’s fingers gripping the steering wheel until they went bone-white, but each time her grip loosened to let the circulation back in through her fingers, they trembled.

“Fine,” John said. “Pull off into the trees up there, then. We’ll take a break and pick up again when the rain lets up.”

“Thank you,” Elliot said, pulling down from the side of the road and winding her way out of sight of any traffic that might be coming; no venom laced her voice, only relief, and there was no follow-up jab, either. Under the shelter of the trees, the rain felt less violent, and already John felt the tension fleeing his own shoulders.

As soon as Elliot turned the van off, the motor ticking absently, John rumbled, “I think that’s the nicest you’ve ever been to me, deputy.”

She got up out of the seat, shimmying her way past the console and into the back where Boomer had been enjoying the right, pulling hard enough to yank John’s arm and force him to shimmy back with her. The gesture was awkward, and he only complied because he didn’t want to be sitting in the front seat with their arms slung at the angle to allow her back there.

“It’s incredible what a little decency can get you,” she deadpanned. She opened the back door of the van to let Boomer out, the dog taking off happily into the brush. Stretching out her legs in the more spacious, empty back of the van, Elliot wiped some rain from her face and made herself comfortable. John settled against the wall of the car, absently pulling at the cuff still locked around his wrist.

“I can be plenty decent,” he replied, almost sly, a little grin ticking the corner of his mouth upward. “But you already knew that.”

Elliot groaned. “You’re still on about the fact that one time in a bar like, three years ago, you hit on me when I was drunk and you might have had a chance?”

“I think we both know there’s a little more to it than that.”

She rolled her eyes. She could not have, perhaps, been more dramatic than she was in that moment, although John reminded himself that he had often considered Elliot could not be more of many things—impatient, infuriating, prone to violence—than she already was, and she had proved him wrong many times before.

“All I’m saying is,” John continued, “somewhere, deep down in that teeny-tiny heart of yours, deputy—”

“One time,” Elliot interrupted, holding up a finger to accentuate the number. “One time, many moons ago, I thought a man named John in a bar was objectively attractive. This was before I knew what your personality was like.”

John laughed. “You don’t need to like someone’s personality to fuck them, deputy,” he said and basked in the way her expression scrunched up, as though a particularly sour flavor had just seeped into her mouth.

“I do,” Elliot replied, “and every day, I thank God that Joey Hudson had the good sense to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

“Amen.”

Her gaze flashed with something that might have been amusement. She coughed into her elbow, turning her face away from him to glance out the window at the trees, their branches and leaves swaying in the wind but becoming more and more still the deeper into the woods they went.

“So you think I’m attractive, then.”

“Please stop talking,” Elliot groaned, head lolling against the back of the driver’s seat. “John, if I tell you that I think you’re handsome when your mouth is closed, will you shut the fuck up?”

John’s mouth curved in a half-grin, his chest welling pleasantly at her words. It may have been more than a little petty, to like the words coming out of her mouth—Elliot Honeysett, who would probably strangle him to death with her bare hands if given the opportunity, admitting that he was handsome.

“I might be more inclined,” he offered, sly. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m closing my eyes,” she announced, kicking her legs out and nudging his foot out of the way.

Absolutely childish, John thought absently and without much fervor, compliantly moving his foot out of the way for her. “Just use your words, deputy.”

“Certainly, anything for you,” Elliot purred. “I want you to shut up.”

He flashed her a grin, leaning his head back against the window. Rain pattered against the glass, and somewhere out in the distance, he heard Boomer’s happy bark as he did whatever it was that dogs did in the woods; hunt smaller things, perhaps.

“It’s nice to want things, isn’t it?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot did not know how long she had been asleep when she finally woke up.

She knew that she had been allowed to sleep uninterrupted, which was the first red flag—there was no way that John would just let her sleep and sleep and let the day tick them by. As she slowly came to, through the corner of her eye she could see that he’d fallen asleep, too, shifting restlessly against the window.

The second thing she realized was that the rain hadn’t stopped, and the reason that she became immediately aware of it was that the back doors of the van were open. She hadn’t done it, obviously, and she couldn’t fathom why in the world John would leave the back doors of the van open, so then the question in her foggy mind persisted; who?

And then someone grabbed her ankle and pulled.

The back of her head hit the metal floor of the van with a heavy thud , the world spinning in her vision as she was pulled closer to the outside world, even as her legs kicked. Panic rose in her throat, violent and hot, and instantly her hand went to reach for John, his name spilling out of her mouth in a desperate attempt to wake him up.

His eyes fluttered open. Groggily, he said, “Elliot?” and as she was yanked violently down he got pulled, too, slammed forward face-first into the floor of the van, biting out a swear that only barely registered in her mind as she struggled to wake up.

She twisted to look at her attacker—a tall redhead with a nasty scar dragging his lip in a permanent sneer. Elliot recognized him as the same red-head that had been handling Faith for the woman from before, the same man who’d nearly rammed his van into hers on the road just a day ago.

His hand fisted in the front of her shirt; he drawled in his thick, round accent, “Go back to sleep, little one,” and slammed her head back against the floor with purpose, her vision going sticky, staticky black on the edges.

She felt the heavy pain blooming behind her eyes. The weight of it dragged her eyelids down; she swam in inky black, only vaguely aware of the sound of raised voices, the feeling of a damp cloth being draped over her mouth, the sensation of floating, as though she were drifting underwater with everyone else shouting above her; all of these things began to fade, slipping through her fingers like sand until there was nothing left except for the empty, hollow black filling her up.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Elliot?”

It was John’s voice, she thought, or maybe not; it was hard to tell. Hands pressed to the tops of her shoulders, the pressure a welcoming comfort. Her chin was tucked against her chest, and she lifted her head—not without significant effort—and opened her eyes.

The world pulsed around her, colors bleeding brightly and violently against her irises. She was in a field—

(I’m in a field? But the floor—)

—and John was kneeling in front of her, his hands coming up to take her face. There was no smugness, no venom in his expression; only concern.

“I was so worried,” John said. “I was so worried about you, Elliot.”

“John,” Elliot said, and when she said his name it felt like the letters were spilling out of her mouth, choking her on the way out. A warm breeze tickled the edges of her vision, and the sunlight hemorrhaged into the grass, into the ground, oscillating in time with her heartbeat. A strange, sticky feeling wound up inside of her.

John said her name again. When she looked at him, his eye sockets were blooming, beautiful purple blooms pouring out of them, brushing his cheekbones like eyelashes. The feeling in her chest deepened; grief, she thought, with desperation, agony, hollowing her out, dread , filling her back up again, nothing but a vessel for the deepest emotions to be carried in.

“I was so worried about you,” John said again. Soft petals tumbled out of his mouth when he spoke. He gripped the sides of her face and pressed their foreheads together, and she started to cry, shaking her head. “My Elliot,” he said, over the sound of her crying, his thumbs brushing the tears from her face, “my Elliot.”

She thought that her skin must be burning, from the inside out, everywhere his hands touched; sliding down her throat, along the slope of her collarbone, gripping her shoulders. Hungry, and burning, lighting her on fire as he murmured, “My Elliot.”

His hands skimmed her face. They felt different, then softer and more slender; she closed her eyes tightly, willing the horror of it to go away, for the clammy terror to slip off of her skin.

“Open your eyes, mor. Did the visions scare you? ” a soft voice asked, the words slinking across her skin, serpentine and cold. She did as she was told, even when she thought, I don’t want to open my eyes, her body operating obediently.

Soft, dark eyes. Wisps of dirty-blonde hair that curtained Elliot’s face. Her head was in the woman’s lap and the night sky stretched, cloudy and endless, above them. Ase smiled at her dreamily.

“I saw your color the minute I laid eyes on you,” Ase whispered. She said the words like they were meant to be treasured, kept between them, only them. Elliot’s eyes fluttered and she tried to will herself to move. Her body was non-compliant, heavy as lead, and the warmth of a tear moving haltingly down her cheek made her skin prickle with goosebumps.

With the touch of a doting mother, Ase wiped the tear from her cheek, the pad of her thumb sliding along the slope of Elliot’s cheekbone, and then brushed the hair from her face. Now, Elliot could see more clearly the way her pupils were blown wide, swallowing up the color of her irises, crushing it in the event horizon of her eyes. She murmured, reverently, “I saw your color, mor, I saw you. Have you ever felt seen? We waited for you, for so long.”

Elliot moaned, misery stinging in the sound. Her lip trembled. She thought, I don’t want to be seen, the way Ase reiterated it making her vulnerable. I don’t want to be seen, I don’t want this. But she couldn’t make the words come out, her jaw hanging slack when she opened her mouth, the knowledge that they had done something to her flickering only briefly through her mind before it was swallowed up by something else.

“I’ll let you go.” Ase’s voice remained silken, spinning around her, weaving a cocoon. “I’ll let you go, mor , but only because I know that you will always come back to us.” She skimmed her fingers lovingly across Elliot’s forehead and whispered into her skin, “Now go back to sleep.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

John found her curled up, her fingers sinking into the earth like she was afraid she was going to float away, and sobbing.

His head was pounding; he felt disoriented, and panicked, the same kind of strange, distant panic that happened when he fell asleep during the day and woke up to it being night. He could only remember the sound of Elliot saying his name jerking him out of his sleep in the van, the sensation of getting pulled forward violently, and the feeling of someone slamming his head into the side of the van.

And then, waking up in a field, in the dark, alone.

He had struggled to his feet when he awoke. He had thought, the handcuffs are off . He had thought, I have to find Elliot. And then he’d started walking, saying her name, until he heard the sound of her crying and found her.

“Elliot,” he said urgently. His mouth felt incredibly dry; he was worried that if he spoke too much, his skin would split. He reached for her when she turned to look at him, and when she saw him she moaned, the sound that came out of her the same kind of sound an animal with its leg caught in a trap would make.

A slur of protests came out of her. A line of no’s that all blurred together, but when brought her to a sitting position she only shrunk away from him a little. He took the sides of her face in his hands and searched her for any sign of wounds or harm that might have come to her: but there was nothing. She was, it appeared, physically untouched.

“Hey,” John managed out. “It’s me, Elliot. I’ve got you.”

She blinked blearily at him. Her face was flushed, puffy, and tears dotted and darkened her lower lashes. Her pupils nearly ate up the entirety of those baby blues; clearly, she’d been drugged. She said, “John?” and he nodded.

“Yes, Rook. It’s me.”

“They did something to me,” Elliot said, her voice rising in her distress. “John—”

“They’re gone,” he said, without confirming her fears. “We have to move, though. Can you stand?”

The blonde hesitated for a moment and then nodded—he supposed she would have to fight through the remains of whatever they had put in her. He stood, taking her hands and helping her as she wobbled to a stand as well. It was hard to figure out exactly where they were, with no road in sight, but the haze of his sleep—which he now thought must also be medically induced—was still weighing on him.

“We have to move,” he said again, Elliot’s fingers clutching his hands so tight it almost hurt. He scanned the horizon of the field, touching on the dip of a hill, a river, and then a treeline. His eyes strained. He thought he might have seen headlights through the dim of them, but it was hard to tell.

It was also all he had to go on.

“Come on,” John said, her hands still locked around his like he was anchoring her to the earth. Unable to guess what they’d drugged her with, he imagined it probably felt like that.

“John,” Elliot said, her voice impossibly small as they began to walk, her steps halting and uneasy, “They did something to me.”

His jaw tightened. He hated this; he hated Elliot like this, emotionally wounded and voice wobbling, because all of a sudden he thought that this was not the Elliot he knew, not his Elliot at all. Where was the venom? The steel? Where had she gone?

Buried, he supposed, under psychotropic drugs, of which he knew not the origin nor the duration.

The rain clouds had moved along; the earth smelled wet, and fresh, the scent of it welling up inside of them, and as they walked his mind felt clearer and clearer. With clarity came the knowledge that they had been trapped; the cultists had had them, and had chosen to leave them alive. For what?

“I know,” John said again, his voice rough with his forcefully-induced sleep. Elliot’s fingers dug into his arm where they clutched, the feverish pitch of her body heat seeping through his clothes from how close she lingered. “You’re fine, deputy, I’ve got you.”

He tried not to think too hard about the voice that echoed in his head, for now.

[themanicgalaxy]

SPN 5X3 Free to be You and Me

huh oh right they're split up

boy I'm curious to see what's gonna happen

huh open on Sam

like yes, protagonist, but

JESSICA

man she hasn't aged

boy it's nice she's remembered tho

poor Sam and the constant violation of his bodily autonomy

see it's shot like that one lucifer thing

Oh simple man, ok wow

O H CUT TO DEAN

I like this one

Great American Loneliness

Dean canonically knows about twilight

goDDAMN THIS IS GOOD THO

OH MY GOD SAME WAY OF DEALING WITH MUSIC AND THE RADIO OMG

Bedlund started it and they all just liked it so much

CAS!! CAS CAS CAS!!

WHEN DID THEY TALK ABOUT IT

SKSKS HE CALLED BOBBY

O H RAPHAEL

teenage mutant ninja angel

OHDFSAO OH MY GOD

“are you flirting with me” “I’m fucking trying to”

IT’S A TROPE IT’S LITERALLY A RELATIONSHIP TROPE

Cas and his complete sincerity vs. Dean and quips :)

K E I T H ?

o h world peace oof

Sam the Slightly Off kid is SO GOOD

CAS THATS NOT A PLAN

AW HE’S TELLING HIM HUMANS LIE AWWWW

HE FIXES HIS TIE

A W W W W W

the president quip also feels pointed at the times

cas *stares*

THE BADGE THING AWWWW

IT’S THE DEMONS- no no it’s not

aww their dynamic is so good I love it

actual humor just by virtue of people oh my god I love castiel

BOBBY YOU SARCASTIC FUCKER

I do like the dichotomy of like…Sam liked hunting the most but has to give it up(established in the office au) like he’s growing into it

he fucking LOOKS ethereal

“you do” jesus cas

“last night on earth” I’m going feral what the fuck was this

NO HE’S FLIRTING HE’S 100% FLIRTING

S H Y C A S

they’re so fucking funny oh my god I’m cackling

BERT AND ERNIE COMMENT W H Y WHAT WAS THE POINT W H Y

listen…I get it…but also…apocalypse

Sam b ru h

although to be entirely fair, he might be more of a liability

aw I like Lindsay although she’s gonna be…dead probably

CASTIEL OH MY G OD

THE GAY PANIC

HE HAS BLUESCREENED SO HARD

HE IS CHUGGING THE BEER

THE FEAR IN HIS FUCKING EYES OH MY G O D

THIS IS FUCKING HILARIOUS OH MY GOD

HE LOOKED HER DEAD IN THE EYE AND BROUGHT UP HER ABSENT FATHER AHAHA

oh we’ve got themes of world weary in one way vs naive in one way and also knowledgable of the Universe vs the whole GED thing that gets brought up in fic and AAA

“years” oh no Dean :(

I do like the wandering archetype for him actually tbh

Aw she’s three years sober

“come and get me you little bastard” damn I LOVE HIM

WHELP IT WORKED!

IMAGERY WAS SO COOL

Also Dean hunches over they’re about the same height now

he deflects so Cas is ok aw

THE COMPOSURE CRACK! THE COMPOSURE CRACK!!!!

“It was his idea” * B I T C H *

gOd iS dEaD anD we have kIllEd Him

ah there we got to the lindsay death :(

the ages old “what do when god is gone, would he let this happen”

oH VERY NICE ABANDONMENT ISSUES WITH DEAN

“just cuz shit’s fucked up doesn’t mean you make it more fucked up” VERY NICE

“godless universe” and yeah it be like that

post office sksks

ooo it being lucifer is a Nice Touch

it’s not true but still cool

MY LITTLE BITCH

WHAT HE SAID AHAHA

ah JEEZ HE GOT FORCEFED THE BLOOD N O

and he does hulk out but like…human hulk out

AW DEAN CHECKED ON CAS

MISSING FATHERSSSS AW

“you gotta do what you believe” AWW

“we’re not so different you and I” type beat AW

Dean being happy without Sam is Ouch but also

it’s different with not being responsible for someone

aw he’s happy

nO CAS COME BACK NOT THAT ALONE

PEOPLE CAN CHANGE IS IMPORTANT MESSAGE

Ah it’s luci

whelp that must have been violating

heh vessel bros

“and I’ll just bring you back” IS H O R R I F Y I N G, and worse, it’s set up

sincere villain is so interesting though damn

okok wrap:

1. straining against budget. listen it’s painfully clear that Supernatural wants to be more than it is. Like the fact that they burn through a lot of really popular songs(budget) at the beginning is like. there’s a vision, and it can’t be reached. Although in some cases that constraint ends up for the better(I think my fav example is Misha’s crazy hair), other times it ends up well. But the idea that it wants to be more than it is? I go Feral, I want to Eat Glass

No wonder this is like the Most Fanficced Show

2. simple man. I really liked the mirroring montage. They lean TOO heavily on the radio gag(have it be a tape, have it be SOMETHING else so it’s not the same thing two episodes in a row) but I thought it was a good time passing/show the dichotomy montage

actually speaking of

3. dichotomy!! like we know from the office ep/season 4 Sam is down to fight(always more like John, always more taken in by revenge and pain and power etc etc), and Dean has been reticent, wants a normal life, in both Yellow Fever and office ep, and they had to do the other things. And “Weirder” still, Dean is happy! like yeah Sam is Burdened, but Dean is happy to just…vibe for the first time in his life

ok see it’s different cuz a younger sibling is still responsibility, it isn’t technically equal, so Dean was never able to relax because John’s an absent father. the younger sibling thing

but their dichotomy here was very good, and I liked the simple man was highlighted. Once again, Sam being miserable in a normal life(like he always prolly would have been) but Dean finding himself way from his family.

3. Sam I REALLY liked the wandering archetype for Sam. Him actually going to figure shit out would be interesting, but they never actually have the time, or leave the time, for people to go through with it and it’s a shame! Weird Kid Sam would be so cool to see around in a story

also sidetone, but once you notice how little agency Sam has like…ever…like wow, this kid never had a choice thanks to destiny, and that SUCKS

slowly getting more on the Sam Hype Train tbh

4. Cas listen. Not only is Cas’s grapple with his absent father cool, he’s genuinely funny to be around! Like him and Dean have a fucking fantastic dynamic, he Acts Different than Humans(thanks Misha Collins holy hell) so it’s incredibly clear something’s off and it’s just

like it’s so good to have a character like that, he’s just so cool.

Also…Dean was flirting. that was flirting. THAT WAS LITERALL-

WHY BRING UP BERT AND ERNIE LIKE THAT UNPROMPTED

THE CONSTANT LOOKING AT HIM

See I thought people were exagerrating! Like even Merlin I can kinda see what they were going for sometimes!

WHAT WAS THIS!? IT WAS SO CLEAR OH MY GOD

5. absent fathers. Ok listen. Dean sympathizing with Cas because of trying to find an absent father(ties into the beginning of the show, dad’s on a hunting trip etc) and giving him hope to find him is SO CUTE! Like Dean giving Cas hope because of similar situations! Cas letting Dean finally relax! GOOD

Also I mentioned it, but their dichotomy of like…I think streetsmarts(Dean) and booksmarts(Ig universesmarts tho, he knows a lot of Weird Things) IS SO INTERESTING and COOL and AHH

ALLONS Y