#I need to reenact these paintings

[kath-artic]

i need to go to hobby lobby and Borrow some things. hopefully my roommate is free to go wednesday bc im itching to craft

[milkywayan]

tfw you see some stupid post that paints medieval peasants eating just plain grey porridge and acting as if cheese, butter or meat was too exotic or expensive for them, and have to use all your inner strength to not just reblog it with an angry rant and throwing hands with people. so i will just post the angry rant here

no, medieval people did not only eat grey porridge with no herbs or spices, they had a great variety of vegetables we dont even have anymore, grains and dairy products, not to mention fruits and meats, all seasonal and changing with the time of the year. no, medieval food was not just tasteless, maybe this will surprise some of you but you can make tasty food without excessive spice use, and can use a variety of good tasting herbs. if you'd ever tried to cook some medieval recipes you would know that. medieval people needed a lot of energy for their work, if they would only eat fucking porridge all of the time they would get scurvy and die before they could even built a civilisation. they had something called 'pottage' which was called that because it was cooked in one pot. you could leave the pot on the fire and go about your day, doing stuff and come back to a cooked meal. they put in what was available that time of the year, together with grains, peas, herbs, meat etc etc. again, if you would try to make it, like i have with my reenactment friends, it can actually be really good and diverse.

dont confuse medieval peasants with poor people in victorian england. dont think that TV shows what it was really like. dont think that dirty grey dressed people covered in filth were how the people looked like.

they made use of everything. too poor to buy proper meat? buy a sheeps head and cook it. they ate nettle and other plants we consider weeds now. they foraged and made use of what they found. hell, there are medieval cook books!

most rural people had animals, they had chickens (eggs), goats (milk and dairy), cows (milk and dairy), sheep (milk and dairy) and pigs (meat machine), and after butchering they used ALL THE PARTS of the animal. you know how much meat you can get out of a pig, even the smaller medieval breeds? the answer is a lot

if you had the space you always had a vegetable garden. there are ways to make sure you have something growing there every time of the year. as i said they had a variety of vegetables (edit: yes onions are vegetables, for those who dont seem to know) we dont have anymore due to how farming evolved. you smoked pork in the chimney, stored apples in the dry places in your house, had a grain chest. people could go to the market to buy fish and meat, both fresh and dried/smoked. they had ale, beer and wine, that was not a luxury that was a staple part of their diet.

this post ended once again up being longer than i planned, but please for the love of the gods, just actually educate yourself on this stuff and dont just say stupid wrong shit, takk

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FOR PLAYFUL AFFECTION *  adjust as necessary, send 'reverse' for the reversal of action prompts

DIALOGUE PROMPTS

wait. are you ticklish?

get back here! i'm not finished with you yet!

you've got something on your face... right here!

ohh, you are so dead!

last one there's a rotten egg!

looks like i've got the upper hand now!

stop! i surrender! i surrender!

i'm not letting you beat me this time!

that was really cute. do it again.

can i paint your nails?

did you just smear that on my face?

who hit me with a snowball?

i love it when you play with my hair.

okay, now let's take a silly picture this time.

i've never heard your laugh before. i love it.

i'm going to do everything in my power to make you laugh.

we said that at the same time.

i've never had a real pillowfight before!

tag! you're it!

i like it when you play with my fingers.

ready or not, here i come!

get back here you!

wanna arm wrestle?

was that your foot?

stop running! just let me love you!

that's not fair! you cheated!

can i braid your hair?

did you just put a flower in my hair?

will you share that with me?

look! i painted a picture of you!

if you sit on the swings, i'll push you.

on three, we jump into that pile of leaves. ready?

did you just make that noise? that was adorable.

i love how your eyes crinkle when you smile.

can i play with your hair?

you have the most wonderful smile.

let's go down the slide together.

you beat me! how did you beat me?

we don't need music to dance!

this made me think of you when i saw it.

ACTION PROMPTS

[ sneak ] sender sneaks up behind receiver and puts their hands over their eyes to surprise them

[ tickle ] sender tickles receiver

[ chase ] sender playfully chases receiver until they're both tired

[ dance ] sender and receiver perform a silly dance together

[ snowball ] sender and receiver have an epic snowball fight

[ whipped ] sender smears a bit of whipped cream on receiver's face

[ cake ] sender smushes a piece of cake into receiver's face

[ pie ] sender smushes a pie into receiver's face

[ playground ] sender and receiver climb around on a playground together

[ swings ] sender and receiver sit on a swingset together

[ push ] sender pushes receiver on a swingset

[ smile ] sender uses their fingers to turn receiver's frown into a smile

[ win ] sender and receiver play a board game together, and sender secretly lets receiver win

[ pat ] sender playfully pats receiver's butt

[ hoist ] sender hoists receiver onto their shoulders and carries them around

[ footsie ] sender and receiver play a game of footsie under the table

[ mime ] across a crowded room, sender mimes a comical scene at receiver to try and make them laugh

[ pretend ] sender pretends to dramatically fall asleep ontop of receiver, holding in their laughter as they do so

[ rock ] sender and receiver hug, and sender rocks them side to side

[ handshake ] sender and receiver reenact their secret handshake

[ share ] sender and receiver share something from the menu at a restaurant

[readychilledwine]

hi, i’ve recently found your blog + wow, you’re writing is amazing! i have an idea for i would like to request, i hope that’s okay.

reader has just came home from book club w nesta, gwen and emerie at the house of wind. reader is mated to az - they’re been mated for about a few years. still reader has met nesta, reader almost always has her nose in a book - smutty book to be exact. reader is kinda embarrassed by this bc she wasn’t one to read smutty books before meeting nesta. az is starting to question why reader is always so invested in a book or why he has hardly seen reader for the last couple of weeks. az picks up the book reader is currently reading behind reader’s back & starts to get a little jealous maybe? az may confront reader about the book? i’m not to sure about the ending, but i do know az would do something like asking reader what their favorite scene & they could reenact it or something of that nature. i could totally see az teasing reader just a little bit as well.

i love for you to put your own spin on this. thank you 🩷🩷🩷

Book Boyfriend

Summary - Azriel has gotten a little tired of your reading habits.

Warnings - Az is a kind of a dick

A/n - I went the spicy mad Az route, and don't worry. Per Liz tradition, it's open for another part.

Azriel could have burned the damn book in your hands. You hadn't set it down in 3 days.

3 fucking days of you and Nesta curled into each other, drinking Rhysand's expensive wine, reading that stupid thick book.

He knew you loved to read. Books and book related gifts had been his go-to gifts for you since the mating bond snapped 100 years ago. But the obsession since Ness was made was unbearable.

He never had to fight for your attention until now. He felt a shoulder brush his. "Ah, they're in the "We don't want Cassian to know we're reading smut," pose."

Azriel froze, feeling down the bond and trying to get to your end. You had it locked down, but there was a soft blush on your and Nesta's cheeks. "How do you know its smut?"

Cassian sighed. "It's all they read, Azzy. Have you not noticed?"

His shadows darkened. You had hardly kissed or touched him in 3 days in favor of a smut novel? He could show you things, do things, most authors would only think of in their sick dreams.

He felt himself paling under Cassian's gaze. Was he not pleasing you anymore? Was he not performing to your expectations? You always seemed content, spent, and overjoyed when you two had sex.

"I need a fucking drink." Azriel stormed away. Slamming the door to your shared chambers shut. He took on look at the crystal whiskey decanter and decided to drink until you came to the room.

Azriel woke up to soft footsteps and the feeling of a blanket getting laid across him. He heard you sigh, falling into bed, then that faint creak of an unbroken in book spine opening.

Meaning you had a new book. A new smut novel to ignore him with. A new fake boyfriend to imagine between your thighs.

Azriel stood on shaking legs, and he went to bed. Watching as you snapped to book shut and set it on your nightstand title down. "Did I wake you?"

"Yup." He curled into the bed facing away from you. It was childish, but if you weren't happy, you could have just told him instead of replacing him.

When he woke up, raging headache and all, you were gone. But the book wasn't. He reached over and grabbed it, cracking the spine out of spite. 55 chapters in, and Azriel was bored. If he tried to fuck you on a table covered in paint, you'd glare at him about the mess. About getting paint 1000 places you shouldn't.

So why the hell were you reading a book about it?

It was late into the evening when you returned. Azriel had finished the book, marking specific things he wanted to confront you about. He didn't stand as the door opened, didn't greet you as you came in with a few bags. You were all smiles, dolled up in a pretty dress. Your hair was loosely curled, and makeup was done.

"Where the fuck have you been?" It came out as harsh as he expected it to. "I take a week off and you have hardly spent time with me."

He watched you jump, eyes going wide as you took a few steps back. "Nesta wanted to go into town. We lost track of time. I-"

"Lost track of time? Aren't you the female who taught Rhysand how to properly track the stars and sun?" He stalked toward you, book in hand. "Did you two go to find more vitriol like this?" He held it up, watching as your cheeks flushed and you went to reach for it.

"Azriel-"

He lifted it above his head. "You haven't touched me in weeks. You've kissed me maybe once. Hell, yesterday you were content to leave me on the damn couch. I can see why though, you're sitting here getting your needs met by some fictional fae lord instead of me. If you aren't happy anymore just tell me."

Shock hit your face slowly, mind whirling and emotions pouring into him from the bond. "Azriel, it's a book. Not another male."

That wasn't enough for him. "And how many times have you pleasured yourself to this book? Thinking about the main character between your thighs?"

You sighed. "To that one? Not a single time. I haven't gotten to read it and you already damaged the spine." The sadness in your voice made him pause, lowering the book until you could grab it.

You were always so gentle with your books, caring for them and placing them somewhere safe. Bookmarks never sat in them for too long out of fear of damage. He watched you stroke the spine, going to the bookshelf and placing it in the spot it would belong in to match your color based organization.

"Is this really about a book, or is something else going on?" You wouldn't look at him, wouldn't say his name. He could hear the soft tremble. "I'm sorry I made a friend. I'm sorry I've been spending time with Nesta instead of you. But she gets it. She gets how feeling like you don't belong in this family feels," a stab to his chest. "She gets how feeling out of place among you all feels," the stab turning into a gapping wound that had him leaning against the couch. "She gets what it's like to have a mate that is busy and expects you to be here waiting."

You had ripped his heart out. In 100 years, this had never come up. There had never been signs. "Y/n-"

He watched in silence as you held a hand up, moving to grab some clothes and a hair brush. "I'm going to sleep in a guest room tonight. This could have been turned into something beautiful, Az. We could have used these books to inspire fun in our bedroom," your hand ran along that damaged book. "Instead, you disrespected my belongings, accused me of an unthinkable act, and made this about your fragile ego."

You left the room, silence falling in the wake. Azriel stared at the book he had damaged. It was a first edition. A soft shade of blue with swirls of darkness. He walked to it, head hung in shame.

It was an escape. A way for you to cope with your feelings. No different than him training, and he had ruined it.

And now, he checked his calendar, he had 4 days to make it up to you before he, Cassian, and Nesta were gone for a month.

Leaving you alone all over again with nothing but an empty house and a book boyfriend.

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

💕 As always, comment or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist💕

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Synopsis - They say home is where the heart is. Your heart belongs to four guys you call your best friends. Also known as - four important times the boys told you they loved you.

Pairing - Frankie Morales, Will Miller, Santiago Garcia, Benny Miller x Female Reader.

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5k

Author's Note - is it weird that I have sort of compared each boy to a room in the house? maybe! but we're rolling with it, because it worked in my head. this is the first of a few fics like this, much like Tethered, Time and Tranquility - I have a few different TF boy comparison ideas. love these babies so much. <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You follow the laughter floating down the hallway into your backyard. Standing against the doorframe, you watch as the boys double over in amusement while Benny reenacts the time Frankie fell in your pool. Their faces are illuminated by the golden glow of the fairy lights adorning your deck, moonlight shining down.

"And none of you helped me! Hermosa had to come and rescue me! At least I know who loves me the most," Frankie chuckles, tilting back in his chair to catch your eyes.

You make your way over and kiss him on the cheek, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I don't think there was ever any debating that. You've always been my favourite," you coo, ruffling his hair gently.

"Give us a break," Benny teases. "We all know I'm your favourite, sweetheart."

Santiago scoffs and jabs Ben in the ribs, yelping when the younger man elbows him in retaliation.

"Cariño, put them out of their misery. Tell them I'm your favourite."

You catch eyes with Will, who's grinning at you across the table. He doesn't even have to say anything. He raises his eyebrows and winks at you, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. You can't help but smile back.

"I mean, Will is currently very high on the list, because he built this table for me today."

Everyone groans as you and Will laugh, knocking on the table to check his handiwork.

"You did a good job," Frankie praises, kicking at a leg to see if it holds.

"I built your couch!"

"You can't build a couch, Ben."

"He did! It needed assembling!"

Benny blows you a kiss, thanking you for the assist.

"I did most of the painting," Santiago chimes in.

"Until your weak ass knees gave in," Frankie laughs.

Santi shoots daggers at him, both of them chuckling.

"Me and Hermosa tiled her bathroom. That took fucking forever."

"Frankie, I told you that I'd call a guy for that, and you told me you were the guy."

"You can't tell me those tiles aren't gorgeous."

You shrug, squeezing him tight.

"You're right. They are. I admire them everytime I shower."

"Ooo, tell us more," Benny teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"Pervert," you and Will say in unison, both shaking your heads.

You settle into the chair next to Frankie, popping the cap off your beer.

"I honestly don't think I'd have any furniture without you guys. This house wouldn't be a home if it wasn't for you."

All of their attention is on you, focusing as if you're the only girl in the world. You feel like it sometimes, when you're all together.

"I can't believe you've been moved in for an entire year," Santi muses. "Feels like only yesterday we were helping you unpack all those boxes."

"Time flies when you're having fun," you beam at him.

As the evening settles and the sun begins its descent, you start to think about just how many parts of the boys live in your house. The furniture, the paint, the lights. At least one of them helped you with basically every single element. You think of all the memories filled with happiness and laughter that have happened here over the last year, and your eyes well with tears. You meant what you said, earlier. Your house wouldn't be a home without them.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Living Room. Benny.

You're tangled with Ben on your newly assembled couch, a cheesy romcom acting as background noise. We have to test it out, he'd said. Just in case.

So here you are, nestled into his side, strong arm slung over your shoulder to pull you closer. You sip your drink, paying virtually no mind to the movie. You're making a mental list of all of the things you still need to do for the house - tile the bathroom, buy a lawnmower, paint literally every room. But the couch is a start.

"I can hear the cogs turning in that brain of yours," he laughs, pinching your side. "We're supposed to be relaxing. You know, really getting a feel for the couch."

"Right, right. Sorry," you chuckle, nudging him with your shoulder in retaliation. "Just thinking about all of the shit I've gotta do."

"Hey, we've got plenty of time. And you've got four guys ready to do whatever needs to be done. There's no rush."

Exhaling loudly, you realise he's right. There is no rush. Yes, you may have a never ending list of things you need to get done, but there's no time limit. You can take each job as it comes.

You turn your attention back to the movie, discovering that it's actually half decent. By the time you're an hour into it, you and Benny are laughing along. It's a sweet coming of age story, two teenagers falling in love for the first time.

You watch as the two characters share a kiss, all clumsy hands and unsure touches. You smile, and start to think.

"This bringing back memories, Ben?" you tease.

"Oh yeah. First time I ever made out with a girl, I couldn't get her bra undone. I was trying to give her a hickey at the same time, and I snapped the clasp against her so hard I made her bleed. Safe to say, we didn't make out again."

Both of you are crying with laughter, vibrating the couch with it.

"I can see the image so clearly. Teenage Ben with his frosted tips and his puka shell necklace. Bet you broke some hearts, huh?"

"Shut up," he chuckles. "I got tonnes of girls back then."

"I'm sure you did," you joke, pinching his cheeks.

He pinches your thigh and pulls you closer, settling back into the cushions.

"You know, I've never had one," you say after a while.

"Had what?"

"A hickey."

Ben pulls away and turns to face you, looking at you incredulously.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Never got one as a teenager. Now I'm a grown ass adult, I always warn my partners not to leave marks. Guess I just missed out on the whole hickey thing."

Ben smiles at you, mischief rife in his eyes.

"You want one?"

You quirk your brow and turn your body towards him, putting some distance between you to look at him properly.

"What game are you playing, Benny Miller?"

He laughs, and the sound makes you smile so wide it's blinding.

"No games, baby."

"No?"

"I believe getting a hickey as a teenager and having to figure out how to cover it up in embarrassment is a rite of passage. And I'm weirdly sad you missed out on it. So, I'm offering to give you that experience."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Exactly. Because I am a kind, selfless, giving guy."

You pause for a moment, watching his face carefully.

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you laugh. "Show me what you've got, makeout king."

He chuckles at the nickname, but grabs your thighs to pull you closer. Benny plants a knee between your legs and leans over you, using a strong hand to hold onto your jaw. You tilt your head to the side, and brace yourself for his lips.

Instead, he takes his time. He noses up your neck, and then traces the path with the tip of his tongue. He blows onto your heated skin, making you shiver. Humming at your reaction, he leans in again, and connects his lips to the spot underneath your ear, kissing it softly.

"Benny," you breathe. "Don't tease."

"Whatever you want, baby."

Benny picks a spot on the side of your neck and sucks. When he's satisfied, he grazes his teeth over the mark, and uses his tongue to soothe the sting. Your eyes roll back, and you cant your hips into his knee between your legs.

You both lose yourself in the moment, chests heaving and breath panting. You separate yourselves to look at one another for a moment, neither of you breaking the gaze.

Suddenly, you burst into a fit of laughter, unable to stop it escaping. Within seconds, Benny joins you. Before you know it, you're both crying tears of joy, sides hurting and abs aching.

"Oh shit," you choke out between giggles. "How the fuck am I gonna cover this up?"

"That's half the fun, baby!"

"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking his side. "You're the worst."

"I love you too," he grins. "You're the best."

And when the rest of the guys ask what happened the next day, you and Benny discover that you make good improv partners. No one questions your elaborate story involving the couch and a runaway screwdriver. Benny winks at you cheekily, and you can't help but smile.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bathroom. Frankie.

Repeated knocking at your front door breaks you out of your reality TV induced haze. You check your phone for the time. 8:34pm.

You swing it open to be met with the sight of Francisco Morales. He has Ava perched on his hip, fluffy pink backpack held in his other hand.

"Hey, you guys. You okay?"

"Hermosa, I'm so sorry for just dropping in with no warning. I have a favour to ask."

"Anything."

"Can I bathe Ava here? We're having some sort of plumbing emergency in our bathroom, and we can't get a guy out until tomorrow. I want her to have clean hair for when I take her back to her Mom's."

You wink at Ava, who sticks her tongue out at you cheekily. You mimic her and smile, glancing back to her Dad, who looks like the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders.

"Of course you can," you assure, reaching over to grab Ava from Frankie's arms. "Come on, baby girl. Let's get you clean!"

Frankie exhales a sigh of relief, and follows the two of you upstairs, locking the door behind him.

"Frank, did you bring shampoo and stuff, or shall we just use mine?"

He unzips the backpack and pulls out a couple of bottles.

"I have shampoo, and conditioner, but no body wash or anything."

You root around in your cabinet, finding a bottle with a label that contains words like sensitive and hypoallergenic.

"Vanilla and chamomile. Is that satisfactory for you, my princess?" you tease, grinning when Ava beams at you at the nickname.

You turn the water on and start to run the bath, trying to ignore the way you can feel Frankie's eyes on you as you bend over the tub.

"Bubbles, or no bubbles?" you ask, already knowing the answer. "Right. Stupid question."

"These tiles are hideous," Frankie says from behind you.

"Thank you, Frank. Appreciate it," you tease. "I'm gonna call a guy about getting it all retiled."

"What?"

"What?"

"Don't call a guy!"

"Why not?"

"I'll do it."

You look at him in confusion, before realising he's very serious.

"Do you... know how?"

"Hermosa, it's not rocket science. We can figure it out together."

You deliberate for a moment, looking at him carefully.

"Okay. As long as you don't mind?"

"Of course I don't."

You smile at him before leaving and disappearing downstairs for a minute, trusting Frankie to watch the water.

"Where did you go?" he asks on your return.

"I just put a towel in the dryer, so it's warm when she gets out of the tub."

Frankie steps over to you and cradles your face in his hands, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. He's always been good at that - saying so much without saying a word.

"Princesa, you need help?" you ask, laughing as she struggles, head stuck in her shirt.

Soon enough, Ava's sat happily in all the bubbles, splashing around in the warm water. You and Frankie sit on the floor next to the tub, legs tangled and bodies pressed together. You lean in and rest your head on his shoulder as he throws an arm around you.

"Thank you for this. Seriously. I don't know what we'd do without you."

"It's no problem, Frankie. I love seeing her. Wish I saw her more."

"Me too," he says quietly.

You look up at him, and grab his chin so he meets your eyes.

"You're a damn good Dad, Francisco Morales."

He goes to protest, but you cut him off.

"You are. You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You're doing a good job. I mean, look at her. She's happy, she's healthy, she loves you so much. What more could you ask for?"

Frankie stares at you for a moment.

"You're right."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Shut up," he laughs, dipping his hand into the bath water to splash you. You splash him back, and before you know it, the three of you are completely soaked. Completely happy.

You eventually get around to cleaning Ava's hair, shampooing and conditioning as carefully as you can. She loves the fact she gets to use your body wash, and slathers herself in it, making you both smile.

You wrap her in the dryer warm towel and sit her in your lap on the floor, rocking gently as she snuggles into your chest. Frankie pulls you both against him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. The three of you sit for a while, peaceful and content.

"I know I don't tell you enough," Frankie murmurs. "But I love you."

"You tell me everyday, Frankie."

"I do?"

"You don't always have to say it out loud, but I know. The way you smile at me across a room, the way you always have one eye on me when we're in public, the way you trust me with Ava. You tell me you love me in a million different ways, every single day."

"I love you," he says again, surer this time.

"I love you. Both of you. So much."

When Ava falls asleep in both of your arms, you convince them to stay the night. The next day, she can't stop telling everyone about the best sleepover ever, with her Dad and her best friend.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Kitchen. Santiago.

You're completely in your own world. An upbeat, catchy melody hums from the radio and radiates around the room as you slide across the tiles in your socks. You grab your mixing bowl from the cabinet, picking up the bottle of vanilla extract too.

Your hips are swaying, head nodding, feet tapping along to the beat. The sunlight is beaming through the kitchen window, keeping the room bright and warm. There's flour covering every possible surface, sugar sprinkled over the counters. An array of bowls, cups and spoons litter the worktops - a visual representation of your efforts. You've barely even began baking, only just having measured your ingredients. You've set yourself up for an entire day of preparation, ready for the exciting occasion.

You're humming away to yourself, completely oblivious, when two hands plant themselves on your hips from behind. You shriek and throw your elbow backwards, connecting with the person's ribs. You spin around to face your attacker, only to be met with the sight of Santiago Garcia hunched over.

"Fuck!" he groans, clutching at his side.

"Shit! Santi, fuck. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Welcome home to me, I guess," he laughs breathlessly.

"Are you okay? Fuck, I'm so sorry, Santi. I thought you were an intruder or something. You're not supposed to be back until tomorrow!"

He smirks slowly, before winking at you.

"Surprise."

You finally calm your rapid heartbeat down enough to register what's happening. You grin at him, before running and jumping into his arms, holding onto him as tight as possible.

"I missed you so much," he breathes into your hair. "Four months is too long."

"I've been counting down the days," you whisper into his neck. "We all have."

He finally puts you down to take a good look at you.

"You look good, cariño. This dress is real pretty."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

He knows what.

"Looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You're just full of questions today, aren't you?"

He laughs, twinkle in his eye. The sun has kissed his skin while he's been away. He looks tanned, glowy, alive.

"Last time you looked at me like that, we ended up naked in your hot tub."

"Good times, huh?"

"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking him on the arm.

Santi looks around, and takes in the scene before him. Ingredients scattered, bowls full, oven preheated.

"What are you making, cariño?"

You survey the kitchen quickly before answering.

"Nothing."

He smiles, Cheshire cat style.

"Nothing? You've measured everything out. The oven is on."

You're trying to figure out a way to cover this up, to make up a lie as fast as possible, but it's no use. He can see right through you. You might as well be transparent when it comes to the boys.

"I'm making you a cake," you mutter quickly under your breath.

"What was that? Hmm?"

You roll your eyes and scoff, but give him what he wants.

"I'm making you a cake."

He looks genuinely surprised, gentle smile gracing his face.

"You are?"

"Yeah. I wanted to do something special for you coming home. Tomorrow."

"Sorry, cariño. I didn't know I was coming back early. Thought I'd make the most of it and surprise you."

"Well, now your surprise cake and your surprise party aren't a surprise anymore."

"There's a party too?"

"Shit."

The two of you laugh as he slings an arm around your shoulder.

"Thank you, cariño. You didn't have to do all this for me."

"I wanted to. I'm so excited that you're back, Santi. There's so much I've missed doing with you."

"I made a list."

"Of?"

"Of things I wanted to do with you when I got back. It's what kept me going - thinking of going to that lunch spot with the sandwiches we like, our annual road trip to Cali. It kept me sane."

You turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You lean up and press your forehead to his, both of you exhaling. You stay tangled together for a long moment, enjoying each others long awaited company.

"You know what was on the top of my list, though?"

"What?"

"Painting your goddamn kitchen."

You laugh, pulling back to look at him incredulously.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly. This colour is fucking awful."

"It's not that bad."

"It's terrible."

"Fine, fine! Whatever you want, Santi. You can paint my kitchen if that's what your heart desires."

"It is," he grins. "I can think of nothing I want more. We'll do it this weekend."

"Okay," you smile. "Now, about this cake..."

"Can I help you?"

"I can think of nothing I want more."

"I love you," he tells you, stroking a thumb across your cheekbone.

"I love you too. So much, Santi."

The two of you spend the afternoon baking Santiago's cake, singing and dancing around the kitchen. You turn a blind eye to him licking the spoon and sticking his fingers in the icing. You're just glad to have him back, annoying you again.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bedroom. Will.

"Can you pass me that screwdriver please, honey?"

You would, but you can't take your eyes off the man currently kneeling on your bedroom floor. His chest is glistening with sweat, warm in the morning sun. The light illuminates the room in balmy hues of gold, shadows dancing across your faces.

You and Will agreed to dedicate today to building all of your flat pack furniture. You've been sleeping on the floor for weeks, and it's finally taken a toll on your back. So, Will showed up bright and early, ready to tackle your bed, dresser, nightstands, desk, and whatever else presented itself. You were barely awake, still in your pyjamas, sleep heavy in your veins. But the sight of Will, toolbox in hand and smile on his face? That's enough to motivate anyone to assemble furniture all day.

"Honey?"

"Shit, sorry. The green one?"

"Please."

He smirks at you like he's reading your dirty thoughts. He probably is, knowing him. If anyone you knew turned out to be telepathic, it'd be Will. You're convinced he was some sort of psychic in a past life.

"You okay over there?"

"Yeah, I'm good. You need a hand?"

"Come hold this up for me while I screw it in."

You shuffle over to sit next to him, leaning over to hold the piece he's gesturing towards. He's trying desperately not to look down your shirt, and you're trying desperately to ignore the way he smells like heaven.

"C'mere," he murmurs under his breath, scooting backwards so you can get closer to the bed frame. He grabs your hips and pulls you so you're sat between his legs, holding onto the wood steadily. He wraps his arms around you from behind and gets to drilling, placing the screws in perfect rows.

Every now and again, he stops to press a kiss into your hair, or onto your cheek. You smile every single time, heat creeping across your chest. He eventually changes his path, trailing the kisses down onto your neck, shoulders, back. You're breathing so heavily you wonder if you're about to pass out.

"I like this colour," he whispers into your ear.

It takes a moment for your mind to register what he said.

"...Hmm?"

"The colour on your walls. I like it."

"Oh," you murmur. "Santi helped me pick it. He was only gonna do the kitchen, but then we were on a roll, so we ended up painting every room in the house."

He chuckles, tightening his arms around you and encouraging you to relax. You lean back into him, resting your head on his firm shoulder.

"This place is really beautiful, you know," he says lowly. "It's so... you."

"Is that a good thing?"

"The best thing. Beautiful house for a beautiful girl."

"You're a smooth talker, Miller."

"I learned from the best."

The two of you sit intertwined for a while, reveling in the comfort the other person brings. After a while, Will speaks.

"Okay, strong girl, you wanna help me put the mattress onto it?"

You flex your biceps, making you both laugh.

"I mean, I could do it single handedly... but sure, I'll help you."

"That's my girl."

You both make light work of the mattress, picking it up and throwing it onto the frame effortlessly. Will helps you put on your sheets and pillows, standing back to admire his handiwork.

"We did a good job."

"You did a good job, Will. I just sat over there and stared at you the whole time."

"Thought I felt eyes on me," he laughs.

You don't know where it comes from, the sudden honesty. It creeps up your throat out of nowhere, clawing to escape.

"I'm always looking at you."

Will turns to look at you, confusion written across his face.

"No matter where we are, or what we're doing. The most interesting thing in the room is always you."

His features soften, gentle smile tugging at his lips. He strides towards you and cradles your face in his big hands.

"I love you," he tells you so sincerely it makes you want to cry.

"I love you, William Miller. My love for you is just so... overwhelming. Some days I just want to scream it from the rooftops. I don't know what else to do with it."

"Give it to me," he says without missing a beat.

"What?"

"All the love. Don't throw it into the abyss. Give it to me. I want it."

You grin at him, a bright, blinding thing. He reciprocates, before leaning down and smashing his lips to yours. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Your knees give out from the sheer love he's kissing you with, both of you tumbling to the floor.

You pull his shirt over his head, exposing his gorgeous, sun soaked skin. He's so broad it makes you clench your thighs together. He tugs your shirt off and throws it across the room, paying no mind to where it lands. The two of you don't separate your lips for more than a second.

He's rutting his hips into yours, the friction making you dizzy. You try and push his jeans down, fingers fumbling with the button. He takes pity on you and shoves them down himself, adding them to the pile of clothes scattered across the room.

Will wastes no time, throwing his boxers behind him and pulling your underwear down your legs. He pushes into you with effortless ease, both of you ready and eager. You unanimously groan in relief, panting rapidly. You claw at his shoulders, leaning up to connect your lips.

"I love you," he whispers against your mouth, hips gliding into yours.

"I love you," you gasp, resting your forehead against his. "I love you I love you I love you."

Will slides a hand down your body to rub quick circles between your legs, dipping his tongue into your mouth as he does it. He's swallowing your moans, licking the whines from your lips. He can't get over how sweet they taste.

"Come for me, honey. Give it to me, good girl. That's it. Atta girl."

You back arches off the floor, nails scratching down his back. Your vision goes white, stars clouding your view. Will groans, deep and low, spilling into you. You both ride out your highs while Will murmurs sweet sentiments into your ear, against your skin, into your mouth.

He collapses onto you, smothering you with his weight. You don't mind. Every part of your body is touching a part of his, and it still isn't close enough. It'll never be close enough. You could sew yourself into his ribcage, and you'd still want to be closer to his heart.

The only sounds that can be heard are two sets of heaving lungs. When you've snapped back to reality, you thread your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails across his scalp and smiling when he leans into your touch.

"Will?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Why did you just build me a bed, and then fuck me on the floor?"

He takes a moment to register what you've said, before breaking out into contagious laughter. He's vibrating against you, both of you high on each others company.

"I didn't even think," he wheezes. "Fuck, we're idiots."

"You can say that again," you chuckle. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Will rolls off and lies next to you, linking his fingers with yours.

"You ready to keep building?"

As much as you'd happily stay where you are forever, it would be nice to have actual furniture in your bedroom.

"Let's do it," you say as you sit up.

You scramble around for your clothes, both of you beaming at each other as you get dressed. You walk over and wrap your arms around his neck, looking up at him.

"I can't wait for you to move in."

He grins at you, pecking your lips.

"I can't wait either. Two more months and my lease is up. Then you're stuck with me forever, honey."

"I wouldn't say stuck. More like the luckiest girl in the world."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Shut up," you laugh, grabbing the toolbox. "Let's build our furniture, shall we?"

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"You've made this place really beautiful, you guys."

"Beautiful house for a beautiful girl," Will grins at you across the table.

"Ugh, I hate when they do that," Benny complains.

"Do what?"

"Look at each other like that. It's like they're communicating through their minds, or something."

"We're silently talking about you, dipshit," Will teases, jabbing his brother in the side.

"Before the Millers kill each other, we bought you a present, hermosa. Think of it as a one year housewarming gift."

Frankie hands you a large rectangular parcel, wrapped carefully. You rip open the paper, discovering a large, ornate picture frame. In it, is your favourite picture in the world.

You and Will's first dance.

Frankie had taken the picture, unbeknownst to the two of you. You're both swaying to the music, arms wrapped around your husband's neck, completely lost in each other. Around you, the lights twinkle as your closest friends and family look on in awe.

"Frankie," you breathe. "Thank you. All of you. I love it so much."

"We thought you could hang it above your fireplace," Santiago offers. "In that big empty space."

"It's perfect," Will agrees.

"It's like the final piece of the puzzle," you whisper. "Now our home feels complete."

You trace your fingers over the frame, overwhelmed with adoration for the four boys staring back at you.

"I love you all," you tell them, glancing around the table. "So much."

"Love you, hermosa."

"Love you too, cariño."

"Love ya, baby!"

"I love you, honey."

The chorus makes you beam so bright, you're convinced your smile can be seen from space.

@kmc1989 @modernperplexity @sia2raw @pimosworld

[jolapeno]

need to see you

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader summary: Things aren't as easy when you both get back to base. Especially trying to keep a professional distance, worsened when you get hurt. an: can be read as a standalone, but does follow had to see you really freaking well :) word count: 4.7k

simon ghost riley masterlist

Keep your distance. 

That’s what you keep telling yourself. Reminding yourself. More so because your eyes keep landing on him—Ghost.

But then, how could you not? How could you even be expected not to?

This secret. The one forged through sweat, sex and showers has to be guarded and protected—even in the moments when every fibre of your being desperately screams out for him. Each time he raises his hand to adjust his gloves, you’re sure you clench your thighs—the same way you do each time he gives you a look. A certain kind of look. One so reminiscent of a time when you’d said you couldn’t come again, and he told you that you could.

Good girl.

Keeping your distance was best.

Even if you want nothing more than to reenact the time when his fist was in your hair. Even if you craved getting new friction burns on your elbows and knees, with him making you come so hard you forget you’re even a soldier.

There’s also the times when your frustration has risen to new heights and you feel less than whole. When you need comfort and kindness and a moment away from orders, killing and fucking sand. 

You decide you should really keep your distance then.

Not because you don’t want him and not because you don’t care for him. But, because he’s your lieutenant. He has a job, a role—as do you.

It’s why you treasure the moments when he’s the one who surrenders. When he finds you. 

You have no idea what you fuckin’ do to me, Rain. 

You try not to think about it—the effect you have on him. But you see it in the moments when he pulls you into dark corners where the two of you steal milliseconds. His hands grasping, you able to steal a rushed kiss and he leaves bruising touches—as if needing to remind himself your real and very much alive.

“Be safe.”  “Always am.”  “No. You’re fuckin’ not." “I try, I promise.”

His words pressed into your shoulders, collarbone and sternum. Your smirk stolen when his hand slid between the two of you when, teasingly spreading you with two fingers as his body pins yours in place.

If your mind ever tried to scrub him from it—you know your body would never forget him.

It hums and fucking sings for him. It aches for his touch. Thankful he never makes you miss him too much, not letting your body forget how delicious it is when he fills you, stretching you when his hips meet yours.

“Lemme hear you. I need to hear you.”

And you hum, chant and fucking sing his name.

“That’s my girl. Fuck—that’s my girl.”

Ensuring his eyes stare into you as he brings you close, your orgasm pending, so close to pushing you over the edge—teasing you, breath dancing over your lips. 

Ghost enjoys making you wait. Torturing you. Ridiculously enjoying the fact that you want his mouth on yours, but won’t surrender, instead choosing to directly sear himself into your soul, as you whimper his name, until it paints itself on the walls of whatever room you two find yourself in.

Between these times—when he orders you to his room or turns up at your door—you could convince yourself it’s a dream. If not for the fact you have one of his t-shirts amongst your stuff, you could have been persuaded you’d made it all up.

But, it’s real. It’s real because of the soft moments between all the others. The innocent things, the soft looks, the nods.

He tries to be near you, making it impossibly difficult to touch him. His body shielding you from the others, unknowingly being protective—more so than he ever was.

If anything, he's closer, but more verbally distant. Only making jokes and normal retorts when you've worn him down, convincing him it's okay.

It's as though he's worried if he doesn't, everyone will know he spent his time off fucking you senseless. That he sought you out when danger knocked.

That he feels something for you. 

“You know, I held your hand after drinks in the mess—and Soap didn’t realise. I think we’re good.” “That’s because you tricked him into doing two shots to your every one. “Exactly. Not the smartest cookies we work with.”

Some days you take the distance better than others. You’ll stand, stiff spine and chin raised, fighting it reaching out. Knowing he needs it.

But, on harder days—like today—your fingers clench and pinch your skin through your trousers so you don’t speak, to afraid you’ll cry. Whispering his name under your breath when he’s pulling you to evac.

His hand lowering from his chest, as if he’s been grasping it, eyes on you as your form begins to crack.

“Can we just… stop for a second… it hurts….“

But, he won't. Even if you're pleading, just needing him. Not even to stroke your cheek or call you sweetheart, to just tell you it'll be okay.

Not speaking, not stopping, until he can lean you against the truck, Soap quickly wrapping an arm around you—stopping you from falling.

“You’re good, Rain. Alright?”

You’re not.

He knows it too.

Having frozen when he saw your arm in natural light, having ripped your t-shirt with his knife to see what he's dealing with. And since then, he's kept his distance like a complete fucking bastard.

“Johnny, put her arm back in.”

Soap’s head almost cracking with how quick he spins towards him, his arm already holding you up. “Lt, maybe we should wait—“

“Put her arm back in. Now.”

You blame your tears on your arm, not on his coldness. It’s not that you expected him to put it back in himself, but… something, anything.

“Please, Soap… please. Can we wait? It really feels like we should,” you whimper, leaning against the truck.

Pleading and pleading, hearing him whisper, “Sorry, Lass.”

Even if you want to wait, wanting to—

Your scream rips through you.

It burns. It pierces. Your eyes clenching shut, wanting him—needing him. Even something, a look, a touch.

But, when your eyes open, he’s not there. Not even close.

You should get checked out when you return.

Darting out of the truck before any of them can say anything to you.

Instead, you forego food and painting a smile on your face, needing to be alone. Needing to lick your figurative and physical wounds without forcing a front. 

Embarrassment having woven in amongst the anger; the cracks deep within you widening, all of your own demons flowing out.

So you find solace in the shower block. Letting the sound of the running shower drown your hiss and groans as you strip with difficulty, your hand gripping the counter as you pull your top over your head, staring at the various colours of the developing bruises and the swollen nature of your shoulder. 

It’s everything when you step into the burning hot water.

It’s scolding and numbing all at once, a welcomed feeling compared to the dull, constant, throbbing ache due to the dislocation. 

Each action you try to do worsens it, biting your lip until it bleeds as you try to wash your hair—wash the pain, sand and dirt from your skin. You try to wash his ignorance from you too, craving him, needing him.

Realising how wrong that was.

You knew who he was. Knew all he could give you.

It didn’t stop it all from hurting. All of it. Loving him. The missions. Missing him. The last few weeks of chasing phantoms. 

Fuck.

You love him.

It bubbles inside of you, strangling you. Reaching up from deep inside of you, knotting everything as you try to keep a handle on it all.

But it’s too much. And so you sob. 

Silently at first. Body shaking, hand clutching your mouth. And then it ripples through you.

You love him. You love him. You love him.

It makes your chest rise and fall quicker, and quicker. It vibrates through you, your grip on the body wash bottle slipping as it clatters and your spine crashes into the wall. 

As each tear spills, the shower does its best to hide them. Tries to bury them. Keep your secrets as if they’re its own. 

It’s not until the last sud slides down the drain do you begin to replay it.

Your positioned compromised, your feet rushing to the stairs, being thrown off your feet, hand clutching your gun as the dust blocks your vision. You can hear him scream into your radio; it almost sounding like care and panic.

Almost. I have no where to go. Find a way. Copy. Rain? You can do this.

Your body fighting it’s way through. Reading between the lines, Find a way back to me.

So you have to. You have to do something. Get out. To him. Whatever your motivation, you fought. Knife in hand. Gun poised. Clearing each level, glad for the explosion and the dust, working in your favour as you moved silently.

Each turn, you hoped you’d see one of you—needing it.

Almost there. So close. So fucking close until you see them. The one you’re after. His picture burnt into your mind from the amount of briefings you’ve had about it.

So you don’t think. Not as you slam your body into him, knife clattering away from you and him. Your gun swinging back around. Their body made of stone as you both land, their reaction quicker, flipping you, hands around your throat. Your nails scratching, pushing your leg up, something they preempt, before tightening and tightening as your shoulder screams, and your throat hisses for air—

Then, all of a sudden, he’s ripped from on top of you. Blinking, trying to breathe as you clutch your throat. Hearing someone shouting to someone—British, gruff.

Your eyes opening, finding him—Ghost. Simon. His eyes full of fury, wildfire and brimstone—scanning over you, checking you.

You’re not sure what you expect, but him being calm isn’t it.

“You hurt?” “Shoulder. Dislocated, I think.” His hand outstretched, pulling you up by your good one as you wheeze. “I found a way, like you said.” “Fuckin’ Jesus, Rain.”

You’d known it would be hard. The two of you.

But that tone. The way he hissed it at you, it made something knot inside of you.

Knowing deep down the only reason his indifference hurts is because you wanted to bury your head into his chest. You wanted a stolen moment. But you couldn’t, not without letting them all know. The secret festering inside of you, making things horrid and bitter—half-wondering if you can handle much more of this.

Missing him, while knowing why it has to be this way.

It’s why you stay in the shower. No one expects anything from you in here. You can enjoy the sound of nothingness. The emptiness. Fall apart in the complete fucking silence—no one doing anything about it.

Away from him, your brain can’t conjuring what ifs and what could have been. A moments peace from pain as the water scolds to the point it numbs, the silence soothing the rest of the anxious adrenaline.

And then, it’s ruined.

Jumping, heart lurching out your throat when the shower-block door flies open, the sound of two boots shattering it all before the discernable sound of a lock is turned.

You know that gait. Know those boots. 

The gruff voice calling out, “Rain,” confirming it. “Rain?”

Still, the way he says your call name almost makes you smile. It’s laced in worry, in care, hearing his boots stop outside where you are.

Seeing the shadow of him through the curtain. That burly, thick, tall god of a man. The one whose hand dwarfs yours and whose body can shield you from the sun. 

You should speak, almost willing yourself to as you swallow. Running the back of your hand against your face, before turning the water off—removing the background noise and replying without any words that your conscious.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbles, dark and gruff—if only to himself. 

You hear a shuffle before a gloved hand darts through the cream curtain with a towel balled in his grip, “Here.” 

You consider being difficult. 

Forcing him to say whatever he has to communicate through the curtain and not do it with your eyes on him. Because he likes that. He said as much in one of the many times he tried to snap you in half. 

Your eyes are fuckin’ everything, sweetheart. 

You take it from him all the same. Ensuring you don’t touch him as you do. Wrapping it around yourself, not bothering to run it over your hair, not bothering to really dry yourself. Protect, shield, hide. That’s your focus, your only focus—as you open the curtain, the sound of plastic and metal grating as you unveil yourself. 

You’re not sure what you expect, but his mask half-lifted, exposing his lips and lower cheeks, and leaning against the tiles wasn’t it. You expected stiff shoulders, a menacing glare, and a rigid body. 

“I’m not fucking you if that’s why you’ve locked the door,” you say quickly, ensuring your gaze is as sharp as his. 

“I’ve not—bloody hell, Rain. S’not why I’m here.” 

Stepping out, your wet toes against dry tiles make goosebumps dance up your legs. Your eyes focusing on the mirrors above the sink, feeling water dripping down your skin. It falls from your hair to your shoulders, raising your good arm to use your palm to wipe condensation from the mirror—not wanting to look at him directly. 

He’s not moved any of your clothes. Not even the ones you‘ve taken off, the ones covered in blood or the ones you need to put on. Except for your tags. 

Your eyes linger on the one with the clear thumb mark having been brushed over it. Too smooth to not be a gloved thumb, the condensation having been removed, leaving it almost dry and exposing your name to the world. 

Eyes connecting with his, watching him dip his as he sighs.

You’re betting he’d hoped you wouldn’t notice.

Forgetting who you are. How you always notice the smaller things—it’s why you’re good, why you’re needed. It’s also why you’re better on roofs than hand-to-hand—it’s why your shoulder dislocated when you rugby tackled the enemy to the ground. That and the man you took down being double your size. You barely make Ghost move during sparring.

“Rain, c’mon.”

The lump in your throat forms as he says your name again. Finding it quickly fills too much space—cutting off any reply, and almost hindering your breathing.

But, he’s shifted, leaning sideways now to watch you, your eyes lifting from the sink to the mirror and back again. 

I had to see you.

Sighing, you stare at him, softer, more forgiving than you’d have mustered earlier. 

“You’re a piece of shit.” He rolls his lips, looking at you, as if imploring you to continue. “I needed you—“

“—I know—“

“—and you… you passed me to Soap? Like you’re not… like we’re not. Why? I don’t even ask you for anything—but, I needed you, Simon. I tried to spear a man twice my size into the ground and you couldn’t even look at me!”

He stands, and you shake your head, hiding your eyes as you look down at your clothes, hands gripping the counter.

“Deserve better than me, sweetheart.”  “Better than what? You’ve not even asked me what I want.”  “What d’you want?”  “You.” “Dirty girl.” “Ha. Ha. I want all of you. Not just your cock. I want, when you’re ready, all of you. Nothing more. Nothing less. I don’t need a label. I don’t want special treatment. But, if you want me, and only me, then I’m yours. No games. No hiding and running away. It’s us. Until one of us decides it isn’t.” “Yeah?”  “Yes, Simon. Warts and all. Skeletons and masks.”

You understand, on some level. Aware it’s even a little selfish of you to call him out on something you know the reasoning behind.

Because if they find out, it changes things.

Your guard will go down. The two of you fumbling, risking it getting out of the base and onto enemies radars.

And he’s lost so much. Too much, truthfully.

It’s why you both made the stupid promises amongst bedsheets and sweat-slicked bodies that nothing would change when you were here—at work. 

And, he must be replaying the same conversation. His eyes glazed, ever so slightly before they land on you. They’re warmer and kinder.

As kind as Ghost’s eyes can ever be when behind his mask and surrounded by face paint. 

“I couldn’t, that’s why.”

“Because you’re afraid showing me a slither of kindness will tell them all you’re sleeping with me?” you snap.

His hand running over his jaw. “No—and we’re more than that. And y’know that.”

His voice tainted with hurt as you arch your brow.

And he sighs, rolling his jaw. “I couldn’t because I wanted to burn everyone in our path each time I looked at you. And then I couldn’t put your arm back in because I knew it would hurt, and I can’t fuckin’ hurt you, Rain.”

Your head turns, meeting him face on. Surprise falling across your features.

“I can put my finger in your wound, I can hold your head while you’re fuckin’ bleeding. But, sweetheart, your scream… fuck, I wanted to punch Johnny. I wanted to find Price and that fuckin’ man, and rip his head off. Fuck keepin’ him alive. And fuck, the fucking mission.”

It thunders, your pulse. Heart hammering so loud, you’re sure he must hear it.

“You have no idea what I wanted to do when I found you, when I saw where his hands had been,” he adds, his fist clenching at his side, eyes dropping to your neck.

Your ears buzzing from your quickened heart rate. It hammering, thick, heavy and pounding into your ribs and making the anger melt.

Turning back to the mirror, you let your shoulders relax, ever so slightly. Sliding a hand up, moving your hair as best as you can—trying to disguise your hiss and groan as you reach down to pick up your dog tags. 

And he hears it. Ghost hears your pained hiss.

He must have. His feet move, chest coming into contact with your towel-covered back in an instant. The mere knowledge he’s there makes you want to turn on the spot, and curl into him. Even if he stays rigid and doesn’t move.

Because it hurts. It hurts more than you thought it would. Knowing it’s all likely because you’re tired and drained of everything, of keeping a smile on your face, of fighting him and his apparent displeasure at you.

It’s only a dislocation. 

It’s not a bullet. It’s not a knife. You’ve literally survived worse. 

Still, you blink, tears begging to fall—fighting them with all you have. Only then feeling his fingers tap on your elbow, looking through the mirror to you for permission: can I touch you, can I help you?

You nod, tears falling as you whimper a “Please”. It coming out all strangled and strained, barely close to your normal voice. 

He’s gentle, oh so gentle.

Taking the chain from your hand, lifting it, letting the scent you’ve come to know as simply him mixing with the air. Smoke, sweat and wood. The metal chain teasing your skin and neck, gloved fingers tracing your skin.

Your throat thick, your body tense, having needed him close for the last hour—and yet you still hiss when the tags hit your breastbone, the click of it so loud in the built-up silence.

The same silence you expect to be interrupted again when he moves. Keeping your eyes closed, not wanting to watch him do so.

But, Ghost doesn’t move. 

One eye opening, finding him watching you.

Instead, his fingers slide from around the chain down the back of your neck. The fabric rough against your soft skin, watching them descend down, moving to your collarbones—to places he’s nipped and kissed. Your body almost flushes with warmth. Sheer will and determination are the only reason you haven’t let it. 

Something which is harder as his hands slide down the side of the towel, firm grip feeling the way you curve until they land at your waist. 

He’s stiff. Tense. It takes you a second, but you’re sure he’s hugging you. His version of it, anyway. 

Tight and rigid, until his shoulders defriend his ears, and his muscles realise you’re not going to pull away. Not realising you never would. That you’ve wanted this, needed it—and been too afraid to ask.

It’s all you’d wanted since he pulled you up off the ground, your other arm hanging limply. You’d just wanted to be pressed against him, whether it be like this where he kept your spine to his chest or where your chest was to his. 

And from the way he’s holding you, you’re not sure this is just for you. That maybe, like you, you’re sure he wants to be around you. Unprepared—same as you—to delve deeply into the churning emotions which have begun peppering his heart. All of it a confusing array of emotions too complex to be unpacked here, tomorrow or next week. 

Your lips almost whisper thank you, but he silences it with the way he looks at you.

Don’t fucking thank me, Rain. I know I shoulda done this earlier.

His chin comes to rest on the top of your head, affirming the thought you’re sure you can hear, his eyes pinning it in place in your mind. Not wanting you to forget there’s a part of him—the one which had been in your home, in your bed—that is softer and kinder than the man he has been earlier. 

Even if the steam is misting over the parts your fingers brushed away, his eyes prevail. Persevering through condensation and steam.

The look slowly pecking its way through you, the walls you’ve thrown up, the shield you’ve put in place whenever he has to do his job when he has to show no mercy and treat you like the subordinate you are.

“We good?” you ask, needing to.

The thought pecking and pecking.

He shifts his chin, allowing a twitch of his lips to show. “We’re good.”

You blink in relief, leaning back into him—letting him wrap his arms around you a little easier as you relax.

“Simon…”

You rarely say his name, and it forces his eyes up from wherever they’d fallen. Usually only letting yourself taste each letter of it when he tells you to when he’s buried so deep inside of you, and you’re not thinking. 

“It hurts… a lot.” 

He sighs, cool, against your wet hair as he wraps his arms around your front, holding you tighter on the one side of your body that isn’t screaming in agony. 

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

The parts of his face you can see, seem to be turning over something, eyes glancing over your shoulder, one hand lifting, almost ghosting over the developing bruises and inflamed skin. 

His lips part, as if to speak something else

And, then he turns you. Your feet move with ease until you’re face to face with him—lower back pressing against the sink counter. 

A tear falling down your cheek, one quickly followed by another.  

If you hadn't just spoken, you’re sure you could have easily excused it as water from your hair. But, from this position, it doesn’t blend. It stands out, sparkling and shining to the two of you—as he raises a hand to wipe it away with his thumb.

“I like you alive, too.” 

Your eyes meet his, taking a moment until you realise the call back to your words from your bed that first night: I care about you and… I like you alive, Simon.

He dips his head, making it easier to stare into his eyes as he nods. I mean it. I mean them. Believe me. 

Both of your shoulders sink, as if the rest of the unspoken words are heavy on both of you, adding a breath each to the air as he lifts his mask up to his forehead before you raise a hand to touch his lower cheek.

You brace for the flinch—before your hand touches him. The one he always does as soon as you brush his skin with any kindness. The demons inside of him making him think he’s not worth it, all the scars which your eyes cannot see, having made him that way. 

It’s why when your fingers make contact, you don’t change your expression at his wince, holding his stare, so he knows: It's okay, I’ve got you. 

“We good?” you whisper, too afraid to say it any louder.

Watching his eyes fix on you, feeling him curl his head slightly into your palm. “We’re good.”

His own hand beginning to draw the same shapes, as you are on his cheek, on your hip—his forehead slowly pressing against yours.   

And it’s intimate.

More intimate than the two of you have been in some time. A moment growing, blossoming. It stuffing out the silence and making something else in its place.

“Rain...”

“Ghost.” 

“…Sweetheart.”

You smile, not quick enough to retort a baby, darling or a dearest back, because he says your name.

The same one he stroked earlier. Your real one.

“Wh-what’s wrong?”

And it hits you. Silences you. Able to hear the thought. His thought. 

It screams and shouts. Having been stuffed down inside of him for weeks. It almost thrums in the air, having begun as a soft strum of a guitar or the soft lulls of a piano and is now reaching its climax—the part of the song where the key changes, the bridge, and everything shifts on its axis. 

He tears his eyes from you. 

The confirmation damning. 

“Oh, Simon…”

You watch his Adam's apple bob, his jaw tightening even as you try to stroke the tension away—pulling his focus back to you. 

Not saying it with words either, but responding with a similar look.

I do too. 

And you hope he can hear you too.

Hoping he’s in tune with your internal thoughts, as you are with his. That you’re both speaking the same language, even if you’re saying nothing out loud.  

The silence different than before. It’s comforting. Allowing the two of you to have as many milliseconds, seconds and minutes.

“C’mon, you need food.” 

Your eyes dip, rolling your lips together as he drops his hand from your hip, your hand falling from his. Looking up, watching his mask shift back into place 

“Ghost…” 

“Yea?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, sighing. “Could you… I know that it’s not usually what we do, but… could you help me… get dressed?” 

He nods. Brief. Direct. It almost making you laugh.

Unsure how the two of you are more embarrassed about that, than almost saying out loud that you love one another. 

“Lemme know if I hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

Eyes locking with yours, he blinks—once, twice—before his hand reaches past you, and you wonder if he’s smiling.

Wanting to find out, his face so close, but he moves as if reading you, returning to his position clutching your underwear.

You can’t help but watch as he slowly lowers down onto his knee, your hand leveraging your weight on the counter as you raise one leg.

He’s delicate, more than anyone would believe if you ever told this story. Not even looking up when you pull the towel up, even if you’re exposing your bottom half to him.

Ghost being so methodical, tapping your other foot as you slide it through the leg hole. You feel the knot in your stomach tighten as his hands pull the fabric up, moving it past your knees, your thighs and onto your hips. 

His eyes linger on your skin, before flicking to your eyes and then presses a single, masked kiss to the space just above where the bone of your hip is.

The action alone screams the same words he didn’t say earlier. Those three words. 

Ones you don’t require him to say, not needing to hear them. 

You know. 

Have known since he stood opposite you between your opened bedroom doorway. It rolled from him then, just as it is now. Thick, large waves, and you don’t mind if it pulls you under, wishing it would fill your lungs, drown you. 

Because you’re hoping to drown him too. Not even realising you’ve already pulled him under. Having done so months ago, before he’d even shown up at your door.

[ruvviks]

// wip day.

i'm working on a new project that is (for once) not connected to any of my bigger original universes, so i thought i'd share some of the writing i have for it! taglist down below, feel free to take this opportunity to share your own wips (in a separate post of course) if you have any!! the first part is a sort of introduction to the story, from the perspective of main character marshall! the second part is a snippet from a scene much further into the story, to kind of paint a picture (for both you and myself lol) of what the setting and the tone of the story is gonna be like. it's a bit different writing than what you're used to from me so please take a moment to read the warnings first!! warnings >> blood, cult, death, implied cannibalism, gore, religion, violence

God won't speak to me.

He spoke to my sister when we were eleven, her howls echoing through the backyard of our childhood home as the venom of a wasp spread quickly through her veins.

He spoke to my mother the day we buried her oldest son, the hem of her alcohol-stained dress torn where it had caught on the thorns of a blackberry bush she had blankly passed through.

He spoke to my father the day he put the barrel of a .44 in his mouth, reenacting what he had classified a sin for all the wrong reasons, his trembling finger on the trigger strong enough to rip apart the last tendon holding our family together yet not to finish the job.

I was eighteen, when I was found on the river bank near Overture, Louisiana, the sharp end of a jagged knife plunged deep within my side and my bloodied hands clutching the cross necklace of my brother, my breathing akin to the ice cold shallow water grazing at my ankles as I stared up at the star-spotted sky with glazed over eyes, blue chapped lips shaped in the final hum of a prayer.

A black abyss stared back, a strained vacuum without comfort, leaving me with a plea unheard and the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.

And God did not answer.

'Gotta dig… Just gotta dig. Gotta get 'em out of there… Gotta take 'em home…'

The physical distance between Marshall and the grave did not muffle the continuous mumbling, the shaky voice of the young priest clear as day like a whisper directly in his ear as the eerie silence looming over the church's cemetery left him with not much else to focus on. He knew he should turn around and leave, at that hour of the night— get back in his car and return to Posey in the motel, get some sleep while he still could— yet curiosity held him tight within its grasp, and each step he took pushed him closer into the wrong direction.

'Just the bones… Just the bones…'

The man was hunched over, back turned towards Marshall and partially obscured by the few last rows of gravestones stood between the two of them. His neck twitched— a sudden and unexpected movement at an angle Marshall did not hold for possible, yet it had happened entirely too fast for him to clearly see.

'Hey, is everything alright?' he called out; well against his better judgment, hairs on his forearms standing up straight as his feet carried him another few inches closer to the priest.

And the closer he got, the more he wished he had listened to himself.

If he had just turned away, he wouldn't have had to notice the unusual and unplaceable noises bubbling up from the priest's direction. He wouldn't have had to realize the priest was sat next to a coffin, yet to be lowered into an undug grave. (A curious practice, but Marshall was not one to judge— Overture'd had to endure a rather tiresome series of curiosities as of late, and an unburied corpse in the middle of bumfuck Louisiana in the midst of a yet to be explained power cut would be the least of its problems.)

'Just the bones…. Gotta dig… Gotta bring 'em home.'

'Do you need help?' Marshall persistently asked, his voice muffled by the thrumming of his own heart in his eardrums while his eyes trailed over the coffin— splintered and shattered at the lid, the glimmer of the distant church lights barely enough to reveal the outline of an axe resting on the dirt at the priest's ankles.

'Have to do it, there's no other way. Gotta dig, gotta dig, gotta dig—'

'Hey!'

Marshall should have never stayed in town.

He realized that now, as the priest's obsessive muttering came to a sudden stop forcing Marshall to hold still too— yet he had already approached too closely, and realized that no dirt had been dug in at all, and realized that the priest's hands were instead stuck inside the coffin repeatedly plunging deeper and deeper into the rotting remains of the corpse inside, once white vestment covered in blood and gore and he stared up at Marshall with a faint glow in two milky white eyes and with a wide grin exposing bloodied and shattered teeth, much akin to a predator looking at its next prey.

'Just the bones,' he repeated, the nodding of his head nearly belittling— as if to convince Marshall this was how it was supposed to be, as if to convince him the Word of God was not to be neglected and his fate as a sinner was a gift to the Divine Light and as if to convince him as long as he would not struggle it would all be over soon.

'Gotta dig.'

Marshall could not move, lamb to the slaughter as the priest rose to his feet with the axe in his hand.

'Just the bones! Gotta take 'em home.'

taglist (opt in/out)

@velocitic, @deadrlngers, @euryalex, @ordinarymaine, @gurathins;

@mojaves, @shellibisshe, @dickytwister, @mnwlk, @rindemption;

@ncytiri, @calenhads, @noirapocalypto, @florbelles, @radioactiveshitstorm;

@strafethesesinners, @fashionablyfyrdraaca, @aemondtargeryen, @radioactive-synth, @katsigian;

@estevnys, @elgaravel

[wannaeatramyeon]

OMG UR RECENT ZACK LEE WORK IS SO GOOD I NEED MORE PLS AND YES WE LOVE ZACK !!!!! i love the other boys as well but zack hits diff esp bcz he’s one of the first characters introduced 🥹

Ty!! i'm glad you liked the last Zack piece! AGREED he def hits different, part of the OG group, just makes me feel a bit nostalgic for the simpler times. How about some Lookism boys first date HC? Including my faves as well of course

Lookism First Date HC

(Zack, Goo, Gun, Samuel, Jake, Johan - a lengthier Vasco gen + romantic hc here)

Zack Lee

Classic movie and coffee/meal guy (as seen with Mira)

Honestly probably the only guy that would opt for the typical teenage stuff (which isn't a criticism!!)

Will absolutely dress up and style his hair (also as seen with Mira)

But give him absolute and complete free rein? Would LOVE cheesy and domestic shit

Matching outfits, tandem bikes, couples cooking lessons, tour of Seoul so he gets to experience everything with you, farmers market, reenacting home life in IKEA (like 500 days of summer if you've seen it)

Builds up a lot of it in his head but tbh doesn't even care. Just spending time with you? On your own? <3

Would literally want to do anything and everything with you

Goo Kim

Theme/amusement park

Thrill seeking and high-energy to suit this blonde

Tbh a bit too much for a first date as it's an ALL DAY EVENT, but Goo's a bit much anyway

Face paint, character ears, character costumes - he would happily do the whole thing. Think Vasco at Notte World.

A little bit of cash flashing with fast passes and whatever bribery required to get to the front of the queue

Takes a LOT of pictures. More of the mascots and place than you two though

Buying and feeding you all the fun character foods + snacks

Gun Park

Spa. He is so high-end, exclusive, full spa experience

The downtimes we've see him with Goo are surprisingly chill and matches Gun's vibe more than Goo's

Jacuzzis, hot tubs, saunas, steam rooms, massages, manis, pedis - literally anything and everything so you're a puddle at the end of it

Uses it as an opportunity to relax as much as to get to know you

He appreciates a good body, but doesn't check you out as much as you expect and NOWHERE NEAR as much as you eye him up

Keeps his sunglasses on the whole time

Samuel Seo

Tell me this guy wouldn't be out to impress

Completely dressed up, flowers, chauffeur

And there's no way you would be paying for anything at all. He'll even pay for your shopping trip for the date outfit.

Books the most exclusive restaurant in town. Not just that, either opts for a private room or just books the whole place out just for you two

Definitely will involve a helicopter - either to get you A to B, or a night time tour of the city

Will definitely put out on a first date (no judgement). This man exudes sex, let's be honest

Jake Kim

Night time drive and stargazing

Look this might sound sketchy as hell for a first date but it's Jake, he's not a stranger

You already know him but this is your first official date. You both can talk to each other without the chaos of Big Deal and revel in the peace

Super intimate and surprisingly romantic. It's soft and comfortable, he'll be making you laugh a lot

Will take you to a non-sleazy lookout point to look at the stars and maybe share a beer

It's easier for him to be vulnerable with you especially under the cloak of night

Johan Seong

Hiking or picnic or just walking around a park

If this is a first date there is no way that Eden and Miro aren't coming along

The pups might know you already, but this is a big milestone and it needs to involve his babies

Awkward but so endearing. Very skittish. He's not familiar with this sort of situation and blushes a LOT

Absolutely rubbish at small talk or making the first move - you can tell he obviously wants to and likes you though

You best make the first moves unless you want to tiptoe around forever

[oneatlatime]

Just read your opinions on The Painted Lady (which were really interesting, especially since I last saw it when I was...12? Ish? And still had that kid perspective.) and now I'm curious: do you think the fact that you're watching these in a relatively short span of time is affecting your reaction to them? Because the show was originally broadcast over 4 years, so I wondered if this shorter watch would affect your reaction to the way some stuff is shown - especially re: your remarks about Imprisoned and The Spirit World, Part 1. (I agree, by the way, but you said stuff had originally been established - but for a kid watching at the time, it would have been at least two years ago, so I was wondering if you thought you'd see things differently if you'd watched it over a longer time.)

Have a good day! I love your analyses :)

Absolutely.

Both the fact that I'm watching these close together and the fact that I'm an adult are definitely granting me a higher-than-planned-for-by-the-writers detail retention rate. It's absolutely possible that this episode was so similar to Imprisoned on purpose, to remind kids of certain aspects of Katara's character that they were introduced to two-ish years ago (which is like 40 years in kid years). We'll know if that's the case or not if this facet of her character has any pay off later in the season - if there was a reason the audience needed reminding that she was like this.

It's one of the few ways that Avatar is solidly a product of its time. No one could have anticipated streaming or bingeing, and although home media was definitely around, the show was made for weekly broadcast on tv. Frankly, had avatar been made with bingeing in mind, I think it would have been worse.

On the other hand, season 2 didn't start with multiple episodes of season 1 being reenacted badly. So what changed? Did the writers lose confidence in their audience? Did they get audience feedback that season 2 was too confusing? Was there a larger time between broadcasting s2 & s3 than between s1 & s2? Did the writers anticipate a huge group of new watchers for season 3 who had to be introduced to the characters?

On the other other hand, kids aren't stupid. Anecdotally, if a kid chooses to be invested in a story, they absolutely will remember verbatim an episode from two years ago. I have never in my life (so far) met a child capable of casual investment.

[victimeyez]

The Aftermath

pt 3 of Professional//Victim x Prev x Next x

VOTE for the next chapter here UPDATE: CLOSED

After an intense "historical reenactment", someone needs to patch up Tommy.

TAGLIST: @suspicious-whumping-egg @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi   @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

CW: Drugged whump, medical whump, captive whumpee

~

“-dead yet?”

Tommy started to come to, and immediately began to take stock of his body. 

He was laid on his front, sideways in the backseat of the car, drooling on Caius’s lap. His memories of Darwin started to come back to him, and he closed his eyes against them sharply, as if to stop them from coming. 

Caius replied to the other voice. 

“He’s breathing. Looks like he’s waking up, actually.”

Caius’s hand steadied him by his shoulder, which was mercifully numb. Actually, his whole body felt numb, and weak, when he started to stir.

“Don’t move too much. I had to break out the injectables to keep you from fully going into shock.”

“Is he going to bleed all over my car again? Caius, I swear to god-” 

“Rory, shut your damn mouth. This isn’t amateur hour anymore.”

“Is he stable?” Michelle asked. Tommy wanted to know that, too.

Caius drummed his fingers absentmindedly on Tommy’s shoulder. He could feel the pressure of it distantly, but without pain or feeling. It felt weird to be so disconnected from his body.

“Stable enough, until we get him to Sam. I packed all the holes in with bleedstop and he’s practically mummified in quickclot. We went through most of the injectables.”

“Sam’s gunna be pissed,” Rory added helpfully.

“He isn’t paid to get pissy. He’ll deal.”

“If this guy wants another session, he’ll have to come to us.” Rory continued to complain. 

“No, he can’t. He has a whole…set-up.”

They continued to talk while Tommy drifted in and out. 

                                                                            ~

Caius and Tommy were dropped off outside of Dr. Sam Snow’s hidden office. They had an old wheelchair in the trunk to put him in, but the last of the meds were waning. He was in a considerable amount of pain with the bumps of every little bit of gravel or crack in the road as Caius pushed him along. He grit his teeth and tried to keep his groaning to a minimum. 

Caius rapt on an unassuming alley door three times, and waited. Knowing Sam, it would be a few, so he leaned against the bricks and started scrolling through his phone.

They sat in whatever their version of companionable silence was, until there was a familiar grinding sound behind the door. Caius pocketed his phone and stood back behind Tommy’s wheelchair, right as the door opened, thick as a bank vault.

A man leaned out, with dirty blond hair too scruffy to look professional. Sam looked perpetually bedraggled.

“Oh good, my favorites,” He addressed Caius, before turning to eye Tommy in the wheelchair.

“That bad, huh?”

“Even worse,” Caius said with a rueful grin.

Sam stepped out long enough to grab the handles of Tommy’s wheelchair, and popped him onto the back wheels to get him over the entranceway stair. Tommy shrieked in pain, muted somewhat by his instinct to keep his lips closed. He grit his teeth, protective of his wounded mouth. 

“Shut up,” Sam said mildly, and pushed him through the doorway down a dimly lit hallway.

This part of the building certainly didn’t feel like a doctor’s office. To the left and right there were rooms long abandoned, filled with broken glass and furniture, painted in old graffiti. 

Caius followed, pushing the red button beside the door to make it pull closed and lock behind him. 

They took a hard right and came to a metal door that Sam opened with a badge and a code. It always felt so unnecessary, but Tommy could only guess at the value of the contents within. 

The door opened and Sam pushed him through, walking him past his office on the right and straight into a wide, square lab that the networks of hallways flanked. It was coldly lit, but bright inside, with a generous strip of window circling the room for open visibility. Tommy was pulled backwards into the familiar glass door, and it felt like the temperature dropped a good five degrees past the threshold. 

“You’ll want to put him on his front,” Caius offered, stepping in after them and parting off to the right to find the small group of plastic chairs tucked to the far side. 

“Yeah, don’t bother helping me or anything, I’ve got it,” Sam remarked with sarcasm, but he pulled Tommy out of the chair and across his shoulder to lay him awkwardly on the exam table. Tommy didn’t fight, and rolled off of his side onto his stomach and laid face down. The exam table had a little hole in the end that he could comfortably put his face in, like a massage table. 

He closed his eyes. At least Sam was usually pretty heavy-handed with the drugs.

He felt a tugging on his pant leg as Sam’s scissors started to work their way up his leg, snipping his clothes off for easy removal. Sam didn’t comment until he was laid bare, the remnants of his clothing cast aside. 

“What the fuck is this?!” Sam called to Caius. Tommy knew better than to mistake his anger being over his well-being - he was just pissed about the amount of work his injuries took him to fix. 

“Yeah, this guy went medieval on him. Had a whole bunch of like, historical torture implements. He bound him up in some type’a spiky chair, with extra attachments. He hit him with a cattle prod until Tommy pissed himself and blacked out.”

Sam made a sound of revulsion. 

“Did he at least pay well?”

“Ehhh,” Caius thought for a moment. “He paid a lot, but still had a first-time discount.”

“I hope he tipped like a motherfucker, because this-” Tommy could imagine Sam waving a hand over his mutilated body in a lazy sweep.

“-Is gonna cost ya.”

Tommy imagined Caius’s stupid shrug at that, too. 

Sam’s gloved hands felt warm while he probed him, looking over the injuries to gauge the severity.

“I can’t see shit with all the fuckin’ powder. He’s gonna need a saline rinse.”

Tommy knew it was coming, but shuddered anyways. He heard Sam unwind the hose and open the nozzle without finesse, standing back so he wouldn’t get caught in the spray. The saline was luke-warm at best, and Tommy shivered as the solution washed away the last of his body heat. He gritted his teeth to try to keep them from chattering, and watched as pink water poured off the table and lazily swirled around the drain built into the floor. 

It didn’t hurt much at first, but as Sam really started to blast away the dried blood and clotting powder, it became a grueling test of endurance. The pink water beneath the table started to become more clear, and then quickly turned to a red as his wounds started to reopen under the spray. He heard Caius say something from the corner, but he couldn’t make it out over the shower. It seems Sam couldn’t either, because the jet mercifully stopped. 

“What?”

“Can’t you give him a numbing gel or something?”

“Oh!” Sam exclaimed, and Tommy saw his feet retreat away from the table. 

“I plum forgot, he was being so good - Tommy, why’d you let me do that?” Sam mocked, but he returned and began working a thick ointment across his back. It took only moments for the gel to take effect, bringing blessed relief to every wound it touched. Tommy closed his eyes as the pain finally started to subside, and the paste left his skin feeling warm and completely numb. 

“I think you owe Caius a big thank you, don’t you?” Sam pushed, as he saw Tommy start to visibly relax under his hands. 

(Actually, I think I owe Caius a big shot to the face,) Tommy mused to himself, but he said nothing.

“His mouth is messed up, you’re not gonna get anything from him.” Caius commented, unamused by Sam’s playful mood. 

Sam groaned at the mention of more work, but finished rubbing the numbing ointment in without further comment. Tommy closed his eyes, and without the pain caging him in his body, he was finally able to drift. To go somewhere - anywhere -  where he wasn’t ass-up on a table about to be needled over. 

He was a little grateful to Caius, but it was…complicated. He remembered when he was first in, and so scared, and thought he might find some help in the other man. 

“We all have different roles here to make the business work,” Caius explained. Tommy was curled up in a ball on the sleeping roll Caius had brought him. 

“I’m your handler. I’m not your friend - I’m your boss.”

Tommy had sat up, leaning against the wall and hugging his knees. 

“What about the other guys?”

Caius sighed and sat down next to him, ignoring when Tommy scooted as far away as he could into the corner. 

“Well, they’re your bosses too. But it’s like - I’m like the manager, while they’re in corporate.” Caius seemed to struggle for a better explanation.

“Rory has a fuckin’ mouth on him, sure, but he could sell water to fish. He coordinates appointments, knows a bunch of market research and business shit, so that’s kinda his thing.

“Michelle deals with all the tech stuff, he’s a huge nerd. He uploads all the pictures and videos and stuff to the network, but it’s a hidden network, I don’t know, it’s all beyond me.”

“A network for…this?” Tommy asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah, basically,” Caius replied. “We’re franchise owners, technically. All this - and you-”

He turned to face Tommy fully.

“-Are our business.”

Tommy worried his lip.

“And your job… is to manage me?”

Caius smiled, amused, and adjusted his glasses.

“My job is to make sure you don’t break.”

Caius advocated for him, in a way. And he was nice to him, in a way. But he never wasted breath pretending he did it for Tommy’s good. He managed a balance of keeping Tommy at a low level of stabilization, in spite of everything, to protect his business asset. Abducting people was a huge risk, and not one they could constantly repeat if their other victims died or completely broke down.

He’d heard of other teams with assets like him, sometimes multiple at a time. But if they broke down for good, they weren’t interesting to use anymore and became worthless. Caius afforded him small mercies to maintain a tiny spark of morale, so Tommy continued to be valuable. 

Considering he was this far in, Caius seemed to be very good at his job. 

Tommy was snapped back to the present when the tip of a needle dug deeper than he was numbed, and he hissed with pain. 

“Sorry bud. Just checking to make sure you’re still with us.”

Sam continued poking him with needle after needle, circling every single wound with three triangulating punctures. This batch would take forever. 

Tommy suddenly felt a hand on his upper arm, and realized Caius had crossed the room to watch. 

“Which ones are these?”

Sam took a break to straighten his back for a moment. 

“Well, you haven’t given me a lot to work with. Lucky for you, I just got in this stem cell batch that’s just insane. It’s a more potent combo with extra immunomodulators. Moves weeks of recovery into mere days. I’m also putting our usual pre-scar steroids in, which should also help with the swelling and inflammation.”

“How did you lose your medical license again?”

“I was just too much fun. I’ll top it off with this new wound-food serum I got, it’s supposed to help the body keep up with the crazy-fast healing. I’ll spray him down with a second skin and he’ll need to keep that on for a week. He’ll need lots of rest and lots of food - no starvation punishments and no missed meals.”

“Did you check his mouth yet?”

“Oh fuck,” Sam answered. He started to move Tommy onto his side, but then stopped.

“Ah fuck it. Let me get him patched up here and I’ll take a look.”

It was kind of like getting a tattoo session done, if it were a full-body stick and poke. Sam was methodical and finished the injections before anyone else could have. The serum was applied generously (sloppily) and the second skin sprayed on. A second light with a blue tint was thrown on above the table, and the substance began to dry on across his body.

“Do you know how good you got it? This is cutting-edge stuff, the newest technology that won’t hit the hospitals for decades, if ever. Celebrities pay millions for this stuff.”

Tommy did not respond. 

“Luckily for you, everyone likes a blank page, don’t they? Gotta clear the board for the next guy.”

Tommy grimaced at the floor.

 (Think about - something else. The feeling of biting into a coffee bean. What it looks like, how it feels in your hand. The crunch, the bitterness. Focus on imagining the sensation. Nothing else. No feeling.)

“I’ll take a look at his mouth and whatever that thing on his jaw was, and I’m sending him home. Come back in a week for the second round of steroids. If it’s going well, we might be able to do the first laser treatment the same day.”

There was a numbed touch to his back, where apparently the second skin had finished curing on him, and he was rolled onto his back. He shut his eyes hard against the blinding overhead light. 

“Alright, open up.”

Tommy opened his mouth and Sam grabbed a penlight to examine inside. After a moment, he tsked as if chiding Tommy.

“Don’t you know better than to let strangers put things in your mouth?”

He moved down to do some poking and prodding where the fork had dug into him. He grabbed some now nearly-empty syringes and injected small shots along the edges of the wounds.

“These will be fine. Not even worth a stitch. I’m not going to put on a butterfly just because I want to make sure these heal from the inside out, but I don’t think they’re worth packing.”

Sam applied wound patches over each of the spots, working his fingers into the the edges of the patch until the adhesive melted on. 

“Those ones will be fine. As for the mouth, his tongue is punctured in multiple places and pretty swollen. I have steroids that will calm the swelling down and let it start to heal. Mouths actually heal faster than most other parts of the body, and with a little help those will close up fine. However-”

Sam turned, and started sorting through a couple drawers before turning back around holding a bottle. 

“Rinse four times a day with this solution. When you run out, switch to saltwater. But…he’s going to need to use a feeding tube for a week.”

At that, Tommy put his face over his hands and turned on his side, curling up to shield himself as best he could. The feeding tube was the worst, and he’d only had to use it once before.

“Yeah, I know bud.” Sam patted him on the shoulder with faux sympathy. 

“I’m putting him on a couple oral medications he’ll need to take twice daily AFTER feeding, always after. I’ll make up a care package.”

Sam started pulling various bandages and tubes out of cabinets and stowed them into a bag. Caius had luckily brought Tommy a pair of sweats and a hoodie, which he helped him into while Sam rummaged around. 

“What time next week?”

Sam waived a dismissive hand in Caius’s direction without looking at him.

“Whenever - just don’t be late.”

[slxsherwriter]

Might Just Save You Yet

Fandom: 2001 Maniacs, Robert Englund characters

Pairings: Hinted Buckman x female reader

Word Count: 2,905

Warnings: This whole movie serves as a warning

Author's Note: *throws hands up in the air* I guess this is a thing? Englund characters won't leave me alone. But really, as fucked up as this movie is, there's a charm to the character that there shouldn't be and damn it, Robert makes him likeable to a degree. Tagging: @slashingdisneypasta & @tinalbion Hope you guys enjoy! There are two other ideas coming for this fool.

When you woke up just as the two in front had decided to take the detour, you briefly wondered how the hell they had made it into college in the first place. The detour sign was not official, and it didn't take a genius to see that. Because the jagged wood, painted letters, and backward lettering itself, it could not have possibly been any more obvious. But, the three knuckleheads you had somehow gotten stuck with to make it down for Florida for spring break had decided that the detour sign had to be followed.

“Seriously? Are we really taking directions from a homemade detour sign?” Anderson chuckled softly.

“Ah, calm down. It's nothing you gotta worry about.” Nothing.. lord help you the man that you called a brother was an absolute idiot at times. How you were related remained a mystery.

“When we are all disembowed in the back woods with no one coming to ever find us, don't blame me.’

“Jesus Christ, way to be over dramatic. This is why you have no friends.” You rolled your eyes.

“Maybe if you were a little more mindful, you could actually get a girl to pay attention to you, Nelson.” The other two laughed as you gave it right back to their friend. You probably should have just stuck with your original plan to fly down to Florida. You weren't staying at the beach house with the boys. No, a week-long externship had come up at a clinic that exclusively worked with veterans, and you had jumped at the chance. It wasn't like you were going to do anything besides relax and maybe draw some while on spring break anyway, and the opportunity was too good to pass up.

Anderson had told you that they were driving through, so he and his friends would pick you up instead. He had said that he wanted to see you. Part of you suspected that Corey and Nelson, friends of his since middle school, had wanted to take another shot at hooking up with you. Like damn dogs, they continued to bark up that tree every so often.

“Like you would know what it took to get a guy anyway. You're an uptight bitch.” You swallowed a retort, knowing that nothing you said would help the situation. Anderson finally jumped in.

“Hey, hey. Okay, there's no need for that now. Everyone just calm down. Besides, look, there is a town right here.” He pulled up slowly, easing off the gas as you made your way through what seemed to be an abandoned town. Everything looked like it was right out of a history book. Maybe it was a reenactment setup? They had plenty of those scattered in odd locations. You had a few friends who took it very seriously and had brought you along on a few. Enough to recognize it.

“Seems like a ghost town.” Of course, as soon as that left your brother's mouth, the car pulled up to what appeared to be the center of the small town, and suddenly, there were people everywhere. Music was playing, and they were all cheering. Almost instinctively, you curled a little further down in the car. That was far too much attention for your liking. An odd sense naggled at your brain, but it was something that you ignored, attributing it to the fact that you were now all the center of attention.

“So much for a ghost town,” you mumbled, though the guys were too dumbfounded to really be paying attention. Still, manners dictated that you didn't entirely hide, trying to offer a polite smile.

“Welcome to Pleasant Valley!” The man that stepped forward had an air of authority to him. He paused as if waiting for a reaction from the four of you, and when he got none, he leaned forward with a small laugh. Everyone in the mass who had surrounded was cheering, and it died out just as quick when there wasn't a response. The guys were entirely caught off guard, and you were suffering from a little case of the nerves. “Well, don't be a wet ding dong, fellas,” he offered as he hurried around the side of the car towards your brother.

“Buckman's the man, mayor’s my game.” He was standing beside the car now and finally seemed to notice you sitting in the back seat, and that seemingly impossible wide smile broadened further. “Now, why don't cha'all here, give us a big howdy due..hmm?” His hand was held out to Anderson, and in the blink of an eye, the older man had practically yanked your brother out of the driver seat with ease. Shaking hands, your brother remembered some manners.

“Anderson Lee, nice to meet you, sir.” Corey and Nelson were exchanging looks that could easily be deciphered as get a load of this. He managed to introduce you as his sister, but when he attempted to offer the names of the other two, Buckman interrupted.

“Lee Anderson, Lee. My, my, my. What a beautiful surname. Ya'll ain't from the south now, are ya?” You decided to jump in.

“Yes, sir. Born and raised. We were raised in South Carolina. Anderson decided to go north to school. I stayed a little closer to home, in North Carolina.”

“Then ya crossed over to the other side, I see. Well,” he hummed and glanced towards you for a second as he tipped the front of Anderson's hate. “Well, we might just save you yet.” Anderson wasn't sure how to take the comment judging by the confused look on his face. The crowd moved in a little closer as Corey and Nelson got out of the car, leaving you the only one in it. Which meant you had to get out. Slipping from the car, you held your bag close. Buckman turned his attention from Anderson back to you.

“You see, ya'll arrived just in time to be our honored guests at the Guts n’ Glory Jubilee!” The banner was hard to miss. Red, white, and blue, it hung just over the crowd that had gathered behind Buckman. The cheering started all over again, and you couldn't help but smile. Was it a little off? Maybe. You could have arrived in a backwoods town, one of those off grid sort of deals. Or these reenactors were seriously into their business. Either way, there was a light atmosphere. That nagging worry remained in the back of your brain, ignored still.

Corey was murmuring to Nelson, causing you to reach out and smack at his arm.

“Don't be rude.” They rolled their eyes, but their attention was diverted when a scantily clad woman walked up to the mayor. You blinked for a second as the woman instantly flirted with the two beside you. Buckman had shifted over you subtly in that time, inching closer as the boys had their full attention on Miss Peaches.

In a whirl of activity, more individuals showed up, including the car that you had met up with at the last gas station. While your timetable was tight, you didn't want to be disrespectful or rude. At least that was your reasoning for staying while the boys were only thinking with their lower brain.

It wouldn't be so bad, right? The air was crisp and clean. The heat hadn't fully set in just yet, leaving you comfortable in the quiet outdoor setting. There was a rush towards the hotel because apparently rooms were waiting. Another oddity. You had slipped towards the back of the pack and opted to enjoy a little peace, finally away from the boys. Besides, this seemed like a lovely spot to settle in and maybe do a little sketching.

“Well, darling, just what are you doing out here?” You had found a spot under one of the trees closer to the edge of town. Settled down, you had lost track of the time that had passed. It must have been at least a couple of hours, judging from where the sun was overhead. Buckman was standing just a few feet from you, hands in his pockets and observing.

“Oh, I'm sorry, sir.” Smiling, you hoped that he wouldn't have seen the act of you seeking some solitude as an affront to the hospitality that had been offered. “Been with my brother and his friends for a day and a half. Wanted a little peace, and it's just so nice out. Well, I wanted to take advantage. I didn't mean any disrespect to you or Mrs. Boone by it.” There wasn't a hint of anger as he strolled closer.

“Ain't nothing to be worried about. Just wanted to make sure everything was alright. Everything is alright, isn't it?” You relaxed further against the tree after having gone a little rigid when he first found you.

“Absolutely.” You wanted to ask what the deal with the setup was, but figured if it was one of those off the grid communities, you risked offending him. So, with all those southern manners you were raised with, you offered compliments instead. “You seem to have a little piece of paradise here. The town, the land. Seems like it really lives up to its name.” Buckman stood just a little straighter at that, hands coming from his pockets.

“What a sweet talker you are.” You laughed. “We pride ourselves on our little town. It's very kind of you to notice all the work that we put in.”

“Give credit where it's due.” It had made a great subject for your artwork.

“Well, I hate to interrupt a lady at peace, but dinner is going to be ready soon, and Granny Boone is expecting all our guests.” That was the moment that you realized that you hadn't eaten since yesterday. Quickly, you tucked away your pencils and closed your sketchbook. A brush of your pants had you free of any debris that remained on the ground.

“Dinner sounds wonderful.” You were surprised when the man offered his arm out to you. Deciding there wasn't any harm to it, the offer was taken. The walk back to the hotel was pleasant. The man asked questions every so often, centered around you. There was a certain charm about him that you found endearing and oddly attractive. Maybe it was because it was harmless. You wouldn't be here long, and surely nothing could come of it.

“Sounds like a noble cause, helping those that have served their time.”

“I don't know if I would call it noble. It's…just the right thing to do.” Buckman hummed for a moment before opening the door to the hotel for you. “Thank you.”

“It's not something most these days seem interested in, is all. Focus seems to be elsewhere for most.” That was something that couldn't be argued, and you conceded the point. “Why don't you go on and sit down, now. Dinner's almost ready.”

“Anything I can help with?” Just as you asked, an older woman appeared, all smiles just like Buckman had been.

“I won't turn down a helping hand, even if it is a guest. You mind setting the plates out, dear?”

“Not at all.” You took what she had in her arms and she motioned to send you away towards the table, only catching the briefest hint of low tones as if the two had waited for you to step away to talk. It was either your imagination or truly a private conversation. Shaking your head, as if the negative feeling could be physically removed, you worked on placing out the plates and silverware that the woman, who you assumed was Granny Boone, had placed in your arms.

Dinner was a fairly quiet affair. While Granny Boone was kind and funny, she most certainly took no shit and reminded you a bit of your mother. The cooking had been fantastic, and you had made sure to mention such.

Now, the boys were having dessert, Granny was playing the piano, there was an arm wrestling contest going on, and you were content to sit curled in a corner, working in your sketchbook once more. Instead of the town, you had decided to focus on the people in the room this time. Granny, in particular, since she seemed to be genuinely enjoying what she was doing.

Slowly, bodies leaked out of the room, though one slipped in after being absent. Buckman. He sat nearly atop the piano, sipping from a jug and just observing. While the music continued, the other noise quieted down slowly. Until you heard footsteps approaching. Nelson, of all people. The hoped that he wouldn't bother you if he wasn't acknowledged was squashed instantly. A little liquid courage was apparently the only thing needed for him to change his opinion of you being an uptight bitch.

As soon as the arm was around your shoulders, you shrugged it off and stood up. The two at the piano watched cautiously. You could see them trying not to gawk, and it just caused a rush of embarrassment to hit you.

“You can keep your hands to yourself. How many times does it take for you to realize that I'm not interested nor will ever be. Just because your friends with my brother doesn't mean I have to put up with your shit, Nelson. And, as far as I remember, your last opinion of me was that I was an uptight bitch. So, even if you were the last option on the face of this planet, it wouldn't happen.” Before he could attempt any retort, you walked from the room. The urge to run had been resisted by the skin of your teeth.

Stepping out into the cool night air was a relief. There wasn't enough light out here for you to finish your sketch, but that didn't matter since it meant that you were alone. Sitting down on the steps that led up to the hotel, a heavy sigh threatened to cave in your chest, and you buried your face in your hands for a moment. Breathe, just breathe. The mantra repeated over and over. God, did you hate confrontation like that. And to do so in front of practical strangers?

A soft weight rested against your shoulders, startling you.

“Easy,” Buckman nearly whispered. A blanket, he had wrapped a blanket around you. “Didn't mean to frighten you. Just thought ya might want something to keep the chill off ya.” He was being polite and not bringing up what had just happened.

“Thank you…” Another sigh and the wood creaked under his weight before he settled at your side.

“Some boys just don't learn their manners.” The comment brought a little, depreciating laugh before you could stop it.

“Understatement of the century.” A quiet chuckle was his response. “I'm sorry about that. My brother's friends have a habit of not thinking anything through.”

“Nothing you gotta apologize for, ain't any of that on you. They just need their mommas to tan their hides a bit more so they start respecting others.” You both fell silent as the small noises of the night started to echo out. Insects, birds, the rustle of trees and branches. It had always been pleasant and relaxing to listen to after the day had ended. The silence between you was comfortable, not awkward, and not one that you felt compelled to fill. He didn't either, it seemed. After a few more minutes, it was finally broken.

“I uh, see ya got that little book with ya. What were you working on in there?”

“This?” While you were always drawing, you didn't often share openly. But, there was something about the moment that pushed you towards it. A sense that he could appreciate it. “Nothing much. Just a little sketchbook.”

“Mind if I take a look?” He held out his hand but didn't move to grab the book, waiting for permission. After a second of hesitation, you wanted it over.

“The last one isn't finished yet….” The one of Granny Boone. The first few pages were random little ideas without too much detail since it was a relatively new book. The next three were from today. Two of the town and the last being what you had told him wasn't finished.

“Granny is gonna love this,” he finally spoke softly, amusing lacing the words, but they were genuine rather than mocking. “Ya felt that inspired by our little town?”

“There's certainly a draw.” You missed the giddy grin that overtook his features for a passing moment before it was schooled a little more into a more normal smile.

“I'm touched that you see such charm in our town. And lord, is there some talent here.” Well, there you go again, the heat rising to your cheeks. “Not too many see the town like this.” There was an odd note to his voice, then that caused you to look up. You couldn't place the emotion then. Longing? Desperation? Nostalgia? Either way, it settled there, making the usually peppy and excited mayor seem melancholy until the smile returned, brushed off as if it had been nothing more than a fly on his shoulder.

“Hard to see why. Nice southern hospitality, peaceful, little off the beaten path to make it feel separate from the rest of the world.”

“Glad you think so, darling.” You glanced back out towards the town once more before your world went black.

[airas-story]

Repercussions of Folly

“I made a mistake,” Tony said. Stephen paused, taking stock of Tony’s tone of voice. Not desperate or terrified, so whatever his mistake was, it wasn’t about to break reality or anything like that. 

“What did you do?”

Tony was quiet for a moment. “I made Peter and Harley paintball guns. And because that wasn’t enough, Ned and MJ showed up.”

Stephen grimaced, that was definitely a problem. “Yes, that would be—“

“Oh, that wasn’t the mistake. That was the prelude to the mistake,” Tony interrupted.

Stephen put down his book, because Harley and Peter with paintball guns was bad enough. How was that the prelude to the mistake? The two of them had probably already made a mess of the training grounds, ambushed half the Avengers, and accidentally ingested the paint somehow.

How he didn’t know, but he also didn’t doubt it.

Tony had hopefully foreseen that though and made the paint non-toxic for just that inevitability.

Peter and Harley were absolute menaces. That wasn’t even taking into account how much worse they were when being egged on, which both Ned and MJ would do, though for different reasons. Ned because he genuinely thought it would be a good idea, MJ because she liked to court chaos.

“What did you do?” he asked again. Because things could only get worse if that wasn’t the mistake.

“Look, DUM-E was feeling left out!” Tony defended, but the defense fell short. He knew exactly what he’d done and knew Stephen wouldn’t have any sympathy for him. “I couldn’t stand it. He was moping, dragging the fire extinguisher around like a teddy bear and making those little sad beeping noises he does when I throw out the oil-tainted coffee.”

“And just like when you throw out the coffee, you need to learn to resist. You don’t drink oil-tainted coffee to make DUM-E feel better, just like you don’t give DUM-E a paintball gun he can use.”

Though Stephen was, he admitted, curious to see how Tony had managed that when DUM-E had only the one claw. But he also didn’t put it past Tony to manage it.

“But, Stephen—“

Stephen shook his head, despite the fact that Tony couldn’t see it. “No. You do not give DUM-E paintball guns.”

“U felt left out, too.”

Stephen groaned. “Let me guess, your lab is a mess.”

Tony was quiet for a minute. “Maybe the whole compound? They wanted to join Harley and Peter and the others.”

Forget half the Avengers. Stephen was suddenly quite certain that every single one of them had fallen prey. 

“Why, exactly, are you calling me?” Stephen was not, under any circumstances, going to be present at the compound until all paintball guns had been confiscated.

Absolutely not.

“Well, you see… I was hoping that, as my loving husband, you would help me with the whole ‘there’s paint everywhere’ issue. I’m making everyone who participated clean the training area by hand.” As he should. “But… uh, it’s a really big compound and there’s a lot of paint.”

“And why would I do that?” Stephen asked. “The mystic arts are not a cleaning tool.”

Tony scoffed. “You say that, and yet I saw you reenacting Fantasia.”

“That was once,” Stephen defended, automatically glancing to make sure that Wong wasn’t there to give him the evil eye again. “And you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t do the same in my position.”

Tony scoffed. “Of course I would.”

“Wong explicitly told me I was an idiot for that.”

“But he didn’t say you couldn’t do it again,” Tony pointed out.

That… that was actually true. It’d been implied, but Stephen was a professional when it came to ignoring implications he didn’t want to accept. Which Wong knew. Which meant that if he hadn’t specifically said not to, then really, it was almost the same as blanket permission to.

“Plus,” Tony added. “I’m having a hard time grounding everyone. Well, everyone minus Ned and MJ who I have no authority to ground. I need you to be the disciplinarian.”

Stephen scoffed. “No. Disciplinarian duties belong to you, because you’re the one who let this happen.”

“Exactly. They’re not going to take me seriously when I… might have joined in.”

Stephen closed his eyes. Of course, of course Tony had joined in. Stephen almost felt bad for all the other Avengers stuck in that compound with Tony and the kids. …Though if he had to guess at least half of them had given into the inevitable and joined in as well.

Children, all of them.

“Fine. But the moment someone tries to get paint on me, I’m banishing them somewhere unpleasant.”

“I have confiscated all paintball guns,” Tony defended. “If anyone gets paint on you, it’s not my fault.”

Stephen scoffed. “Oh, it’s your fault. If I’m pretending to be the disciplinarian, you’re going to get a lecture with the kids.”

“Fair enough,” Tony admitted. “Now come save me from the repercussions of my own folly.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

please please can we have a sneak preview of the next part of maroon? i need them to have a happy chapter soon it’s killing me 😢 (in the best way!)

well since you asked so nicely <3 <3

snippet below the cut

“Don’t be sorry,” he interrupts, trying to fight the grin wanting to spread, “I’m just glad it makes sense, since I was only… Well, it just sounded good, you know?” 

It’s exactly as he saw you. You had the power to kill him, to let him back in. To lay your weapons down as you gave up the fight or set your aim directly on his chest.

Selfishly, he’s hoping for the latter. He’s hoping you paint a bullseye right across his sorry existence, make him your chosen once more, especially after tonight. 

“You used to do that a lot back in the day,” he forces out around a lump in his throat right as the realization hits. This scene is a familiar one; if you were to replace the small makeshift studio he’s built in his home with his bedroom back in Hawkins, Indiana, it would be a frame-for-frame reenactment of how many afternoons went between the two of you, “I think at this point, you deserve writing credits on half our earlier shit.”

[chriscdcase95]

(Wednesday, having been sick the past day or two, is just now getting better. The phone in her and Enid’s room rings, to which she goes to answer.)

(She and Enid were put in charge of watching Pubert, but while Wends was sick, Enid took Pubert on an outing. So she already knows who’s on the other line.)

Wednesday: (groggily answering the phone) “Speak.”

Enid: (on the other end) “Um, so…Nighty-light ?”

Wednesday: (pinches the bridge of her nose, but is otherwise calm) “Don’t…you don’t call me that in a public setting. We’ve been over this fifteen times.”

Enid: (on the other end) “Actually it was twenty seven, but that’s not the point. It’s Pubert…”

Wednesday: (narrowing her eyes) “What about him ?”

Enid: (On the other end) “So you remember that Reenactment they were having ?” (Wednesday’s eyes widen and her head perks up. There was a Civil War Reenactment for the past week, commemorating  the “Nevermore’s Red Bath”; a weeks-long siege in which past Addams’ are said to have held down the fort against confederate raiders.) 

Wednesday: “Enid…where is Pubert ?”

(Enid hesitates for a second before sighing)

Enid: “Xavier was participating and offered to show him-”

Wednesday: “I’m on my way.”

(Wednesday hangs up the phone.)

(We jump cut to Wednesday getting off a bike, and making her way down an encampment, where an antsy Enid is waiting for her.)

(There are in a forested area five miles off the school; there is a makeshift camp down the bank, where the third day of Red Bath occurred. The sun is disappearing over the horizon.)

Enid: (following Wednesday closely behind) “He’s at the-”

Wednesday: “I know where he is, get your phone out, this needs to be on record!”

Enid: (momentarily confused) “Record bu-”(realizes what Wednesday is insinuating, and sighs) “Of course.”

(At the camp, fourteen confederate reenactors are bound by their wrists to these makeshift posts from the trees. Union reenactors – Xavier, Ajax and Eugene among them – look on mortified and bewildered at Wednesday’s four year old brother, and what he's preparing to do. When they see Wednesday and Enid, they look a little relieved.)

(Wearing a set of Union soldier coat pants, and a sweater vest (adjusted for his size), Pubert has red paint around his eyes, which are still wet and dripping, like bloody tears. Pubert is cosplaying as his ancestor of that era – Ezekiel “Tanhide” Addams.)

(Presently, Pubert is sitting before a fire, heating up a very real bowie knife over the fire, sharpening it on a bronze cutting stone. The other participants are too scared to take it from him.)

Wednesday: (amused) “Ah, so that’s where it went.”

(Enid glances at Wednesday with a flat expression.)

Pubert: (in-character, singing a little tune) “I was a highwayman/Along the coach roads I did ride/With sword and pistol by my side..”

(Pubert decided the knife is hot enough. At his side is an apple, which he picks up.)

Pubert: (in character, still singing) “Many a young maid lost her marbles to my trade/Many a soldier shed his life blood on my blade…”

(Pubert slices through the apple effortlessly; the heat of the knife causes the juices to steam a little, even as he takes a bite. He glances at his observers and spits out an apple seed.)

Pubert: (in character, still singing) “They finally hung me in the spring of twenty five/but I’m still alive…”

(Pubert gets up, advancing towards the prisoners; cosplaying as the captain of this troop.)

Pubert: (stops singing but is still in character) “Which is more than I can for you lot.”

Participant: “Kid, listen! This is just a reenactment! It’s all just fun and games-”

Pubert: (in character, but snapping) “Fun and games ? Your fun and games burned a hospital and an orphanage! Carved up that poor girl and left her as a message!” (chuckles) “Well, messaged received, mi amigo.”

(The other players looked around bewildered. As vicious as the raids historically were - we’re talking “Blood Meridian” levels - they obviously didn’t reenact those parts.)

Enid: (Whispering to Wednesday) “Aren’t you gonna stop him-?”

(With an amused expression, Wednesday holds up a finger to silence her. Conceding defeat, Enid sighs and shrugs.)

Pubert: (in character, now holding the bowie knife under his prisoner's neck) “So you like scaring people ? That’s good. I need a scarecrow. You and your troop are gonna be my message!”

(Pubert takes hold of the participants hair, holding the knife at his cranium, as if about to scalp him. It’s then Wednesday steps in.)

Wednesday: “Pubert!”

(Pubert stops, looking quiet, humbled. Like a toddler caught stealing cookies. The other participants sigh in relief.)

(Wednesday sits on her knees before Pubert, wiping the red paint off his eyes. She silently looks at the paint for a moment, before speaking.)

Wednesday: “You know…If you want it to look real, you’d need to add a shot of green into the paint. Blue would make it purple.”

(Wednesday looks at Enid)

Wednesday: “Enid, I wouldn’t normally ask this but-”

Enid: (non-plussed but going through her bag) “Way ahead of you.”

(Moments later, Pubert, is wearing more real-looking “blood” as war paint, with Enid putting on the finishing touches.)

Enid: “Aaand, there we go!”

Wednesday: (opening a pocket mirror for Pubert to see) “What do you think ?”

Pubert: (still in character, but now pressing his hand affectionately to Wednesday’s cheek, and his forehead to hers) “You’ve always been good to me, Morrigan. If only these swine had a sister like you; they wouldn’t be as stupid.”

(Moments later, Wednesday looks on with a proud expression, wiping a tear from her eye. Enod records this on her phone, nonplussed, but with the ghost of a smile on her face. Pubert is once again pacing, back and forth before the prisoners.)

Pubert: (still in character) “I want you to know what you’re here for. What you’re fighting for, and what you’re dying for! A lost cause! Nothing! The death throes of dying era, from which you will never rise! When history looks back at you, that will be your legacy-”

(They are interrupted when the sound of the horn over the horizon, indicating that today's game is over. The participants sigh in relief, while Pubert looks irate.)

Ajax: “Okay, so I guess that’s a wrap every-”

Pubert: (in character, chuckles humorlessly) “You must have been born yesterday, son. That’d be re-enforcments you hear. More for the fire…”

Eugene: “Pubert, it’s getting late, shouldn’t we-?”

(Pubert inhales and exhales deeply, smearing the “blood” all over the face. He stretches' his arms, and cracks his neck, before tossing the bowie knife into the air, and catches it by the handle.)

Pubert: (in character) “Puede que me vaya al infierno, ¡pero esos nueces de mantequilla se irán primero!”

(With a makeshift torch from the campfire in one hand, and bowie knife in the other, Pubert lets out the best war cry a four year old can muster, and he runs towards the sound of advancing participants, in a Banzai-like charge.)

(Enid and the other freed participants are busy untying the “prisoners”, while Wednesday looks on at Pubert; her proud smile widens as the sounds of other participants screaming in terror and disbelief could be heard.)

Enid: “Should…shouldn’t we go get him ?”

Wednesday: (shrugs) “Ah, let him tucker himself out.”

[mask-of-prime]

VG: Along Came Vitani

"King Simba, as you may know, this year's Ukumbusho celebration is coming up." announced the elephant matriarch. "Indeed, it is." the King agreed. "Well, I've just been thinking about how this will be your last one as King." she then chuckled, "I remember scrambling to make your very first one perfect. We've made new traditions, and we even watched a new Lion Guard form. We've come a long way, haven't we...?" "We sure have." Simba smiled in deep thought. "I want this show to be better than the last few, something to end with a bang for you and Queen Nala." Suddenly, out of the blue, Simba gave a hearty chuckle. Ma Tembo noticed. "...Simba?" "I know the perfect way to add a little spice to this upcoming show," Simba leaned in, "Could you imagine how silly the new Guard would feel with those manes on? We should put Timon and Pumbaa in charge of art direction, to add a little torture." "You know we've since moved on from worrying too much about tradition? They don't need to make them wear those." "They don't know that." Simba grinned. "You don't think the girls will refuse?" "They're too intimidated by my authority to say 'no'." "I do prefer that we stick closer to historical accuracy, I suppose we can, your highness..." Hopefully the girls had a sense of humor, perhaps the fun event could build their bond with the elephants...

____

Vitani paced uncomfortably as the sun continued to rise. She didn't understand this whole 'Ukumbusho' hoopla she heard buzzing around the Savannah. She just knows Simba told her to get ready to do it. It must've been an endurance test of some kind. Maybe like a Mashindano? Who would be involved? She knew the word meant 'remembrance', perhaps a day to remember the fallen animals of the past? She just didn't know... She perked up as she saw Kiara making her way down from Pride Rock. She repeatedly retracted and tapped her claws on the ground in a wave pattern before getting up to catch up with her. Perhaps word from a thorough individual like Kiara would clear things up to settle her growing anxiety. "Kiara, what's this Ukumbusho Tradition I'm supposed to do? I asked your dad and he just started laughing." "It's an annual performance commemorating peace between the lions and elephants." the future queen beamed, "You're reenacting the historical peace treaty between the elephants and Askari's Lion Guard, speaking the original lines they once said, singing --" "What?!" Vitani scoffed, "Do I look like I've got a theatrical bone in my body? No..." "Come on, Vitani. You can't turn this down. Every Lion Guard has to perform in the Ukumbusho! Kion did a couple of times, and he knows he's not much of an actor, but he still had fun!" Vitani turned away and rolled her eyes, "What does Simba take my Guard for? There is no way I'm performing a musical with elephants..." "I know it sounds silly, but this will really help you and your Guard be taken seriously by the pride. I know you want to secure your place in the Circle of Life... Please...?" Kiara frowned, silently pleading Vitani. Vitani relaxed her expression and sighed. She really did want to ensure trust within the pride. "...Fine, but I'm gonna complain the whole time, and you owe me big time." The princess smiled warmly. That was a deal. She just knows Vitani can do it... ____ The Guard arrived to Mizimu Grove. Looking around at the odd display of the elephants scrambling to get their lines right as Timon and Pumbaa painted sunburst symbols on their foreheads. "Ah! The royal Guard!" the elephant leader greeted warmly, "Such an honor to have you participate in this year's Ukumbusho! We hope you've been told everything you need to know about this performance." The Guard looked at each other with uncertainty, but lied. "Sure!" Shabaha suddenly said. "Though, something's not right, here." Ma Tembo tilted her head. "What is it, ma'am?" Vitani asked, frowning. "Well, it's just that... Traditionally, oh... how do I put this? Well... the lions from Askari's time were all... lions. You know... male?" The Guard's stomachs dropped. Some gritted their teeth awkwardly. "What do you suppose we do about that?" Imara arched a brow. "Yeah, we're not exactly the most traditional Lion Guard there is." Vitani looked up at the elephant, "First all female Guard, first non-royal blood leader, first to be the older sibling of a monarch..." "I know, and I respect that." Ma Tembo nodded, "But now is the time to dip your paws into our customs." "What do you want us to do," Vitani straightened, "dress in drag?!" ____ They did just that. The sun was setting. Timon and Pumbaa took creative liberties in the girls' attire. They stitched together fake manes seemingly made out of various types of leaves -- some non-red leaves being painted in a limited amount of red paint on impulse -- and... "Wait, is that hair?" Tazama grimaced. "Well, yeah, how else are we gonna give off that convincing feel?" Timon put a paw to his hip. "Besides, we had to do something with all of Simba and Kovu's shedding mane hair! It's getting hotter out here, ya know?" added Pumbaa. The Lion Guard all exclaimed in disgust, shuddering realizing they'd all been wearing clumps of fur from other lions. Pretty soon, the afternoon had been filled with unwanted contact when placing the manes on their heads, memorizing confusing script instructions, and occasional bickering from Timon and Pumbaa. What a night this was going to be... ____ Rehearsing songs over and over, wearing disgustingly made wigs, working with animals so different from what they know. It all made Vitani seethe. She kicked at the dirt beneath her. "These elephants and their stupid traditions, needing to remind everyone bit by bit how something happened..." "Yeah, like, why not just... remember it?" Shabaha squinted, scratching at her mane until a few leaves became crinkled and fell off. "Yeah, if I have to get micromanaged over my lines again, I'll just about start a rampage." Kasi bristled. "You? You'll look funny up there, chasing big elephants like a little mongoose." Imara smirked. "Oogh, that would just ruin the show, wouldn't it?" Tazama quietly added, secretly wishing for some kind of excuse like that to pop up. She'd been withholding panic at the thought of being watched and judged by several spectators. A fear she'd developed early on in life. ...That. Right there. Tazama had struck gold. Vitani perked up, a brainstorm forming. She chuckled devilishly, grabbing the Guard's attention. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea, actually..." Vitani perched on a rock. "But... isn't this supposed to be his last Ukumbusho before he retires?" Tazama frowned. "'Retire' doesn't mean 'die', Taz." Vitani glared, "He'll watch the show go right... one day, but certainly not from us." The Guard looked intrigued now. Shabaha grinned with an unnerving emptiness in her eyes. "Yeah," Vitani nodded to herself, "They wanna laugh at us up there? We'll give them a reason to laugh. We'll make this the worst show anyone's ever seen, so we'll never have to do this show again." An uproar of cackling and cheers in approval filled the sky. ____ The moon was on the horizon. Ma Tembo took this time to check with Vitani on the Guard's rehearsal progress. She'd pulled Vitani from where the Guard was practicing, and took her to the area where the elephants rehearsed to show her what she and the Guard would be interacting with. "The royals should almost be here." Ma Tembo began as she looked at the placement of the moon. "...Are you and the Guard ready?" "I'd say we are." Vitani nodded. She hid a cunning grin as she looked to the direction of the entrance to Mizimu Grove. "Very good." the elephant closed her eyes in relief, "So good to see such an effort from the new Lion Guard to rebuild the herds' trust. I thank you for that." Vitani gulped. That was a good point. She'd forgotten how much she'd hurt the relationship between the Guard and the Pridelands' herds after being rude to them all. Of course Ngurumo provoked her first, but she still regretted her lack of control in that situation. "Heh, yeah." she finally responded with a shaky voice. ____ Vitani was conflicted, now. Was she to continue with the Guard's hijacking of the Ukumbusho, or was she to follow orders to earn Ma Tembo and the herds' trust? If she wanted to follow through with the latter, she had to fix things fast. But she just didn't know what she wanted. She cleared her throat, "Um, Lion Guard. Do you think, maybe...? Uh..." "Hey, 'Tani!" Shabaha interrupted, "I think I got my improv skills down! Was just practicing with Kasi." "I-" Vitani stammered. Speaking of which, Kasi approached with a slight frown. Imara was by her side. "Um, so Imara's voice gave out when getting ready to sing." Vitani gawked, "You didn't..." The Strongest nodded silently. "Imara, you were supposed to do the solo!" Vitani put a paw to her head, "This is a nightm-" "See, now we have an excuse to voice our protest. The stupid costumes, now the tedious singing rehearsals destroying our voices. I can't wait for this show to blow up in the elephant's faces!" Shabaha grinned. Vitani was suddenly thrown back into why they were sabotaging the play in the first place. She looked on with a scowl as a crooked grin met each ear. She was driven insane by the confusing events of the day, and it was all thanks to these elephants' traditions. One little joke wouldn't hurt the elephants, now, would it? ____ The entire pride and Ma Tembo's herd all arrived to Mizimu Grove on time, waiting patiently for the celebration to begin. They all murmured amongst themselves, proud family members of the actors about to approach. It was Kovu's first Ukumbusho. He expected a boring reenactment and at least seeing his sister up there playing the star of the show, supporting her all the way, and having something to laugh about and remind her about over and over again. He was fully unaware of what tonight's show had in store... The elephants marched forward, taking their places. Ma Tembo stood on Jukwaa Rock while her fellow elephants lined up in columns, facing each other. Mtoto played his usual role as the Strongest, holding the Branch of Peace. His mother, Mzazi, once again played the Bravest elephant, as Zito was the Keenest of Sight, and Johari was the Fastest. Suddenly, hushes silenced the crowd as Ma Tembo cleared her throat. "We would like to dedicate this performance to King Simba and Queen Nala, who made these last few performances throughout the years a special and memorable time. Without them, our yearly tradition would have ceased, but their restorations to the Pridelands have managed to bring this day of remembrance back for future generations, and have even crossed two Lion Guard teams within their reign. We honor their efforts and thank them for their leadership, as they retire later this year." ____ In the distance, dark figures listened as they hid crouched in the hills that bordered the Pridelands. They took very well to the news of the King's retirement. "Looks like the Pridelands is gonna be up for grabs, boys." said a gravelly, masculine voice. ____ "We shall commemorate the end of an era with an Ukumbusho performance with the new Lion Guard. Welcoming the era of our future Queen's reign, with our progressive casting." bellowed Ma Tembo. ____ "A queen?" the voice scoffed, "Have the Pridelands gone soft? They're making this too easy for us." ____ The Guard was starting to run a little late. Before Ma Tembo could fret, the girls descended from the top of the stage, grinning. The matriarch wiped a brow with her trunk in relief. The Guard looked to the audience and saw their fellow pride sitting within a crowd of elephants. They saw the King, Queen, and Princess smiling cordially, an amused Tiifu, and Zuri and Kovu both smirking at the Guard donning drag outfits. The Guard turned to Ma Tembo, who gave them a polite gesture to go on. The song began normally... until the Guard began to add a improvised twist to their lyrics and performance that came with it. Ma Tembo's smile dropped. Vitani mocked Simba's mannerisms by mimicking his signature grin and flicking her makeshift mane with exaggerated grace throughout the song. The girls picked up on Vitani's direction of mocking men, and began to follow suit with their own observances of stereotypical male lion behaviors: Kasi started to brag with a condescending tone, Imara overdid it with the intimidating gait and muscle flexing, and Shabaha... went an odd route -- mimicking the spraying pose males did, which resulted in Mzazi covering Mtoto's eyes from such obscenity. Tazama found herself growing overwhelmed as the sea of eyes stared her direction. She was the center of the attention, one of the stars of the show. She hid behind a paw in humiliation. Concerned, restrained laughter buzzed through the audience. Ma Tembo took notice. She scowled gravely, "They're trying to ruin the play..." "You think?!" Zito replied, incredulous. Ignoring Zito's typical rudeness, Ma Tembo blew her trunk loudly to put an abrupt end to the chaos, but to no avail. She was drowned out by the Guard still being carried away. ___ In the hills... "What kind of display of dominance is this? Look at these fatherless lions bowing to these sexist lionesses." said the gravelly voice, foolishly thinking the Guard in their attire to be real male lions. "Yeah!" said a younger male voice, "We don't even spray like that!" "Not the point." grumbled the first voice. "They're less funny than lioness comedians." said a third, monotone voice. He scratched at the scruffy, dark fur on his chin. "New plan..." the first voice began, "Forget the king stepping down, these wimps make me wanna take the Pridelands faster. I say we plan our raid soon. Very soon..." The younger male grinned while the scruffy male nodded in approval. ____ "Lion Guard! Stop at ONCE! Mtoto! Don't encourage them -- oogh!" Ma Tembo shouted to no avail. The Guard was still carried away in their act. Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, Simba erupted with laughter. Encouragement from the King caused a shockwave of laughter to overwhelm Mizimu Grove. Kovu, having gone a while without a proper laugh, cackled hard towards the sky. "Kovu!" Kiara hissed, sensing Ma Tembo's distress despite stifling her own snickers from a few of the jokes. She then looked to her friends. Zuri and Tiifu looked at each other, wide-eyed and utterly speechless, until they looked over at Kiara. They gave a shrug at Kiara in resignation. Kiara guessed this was happening, now. Eventually, cheers from everyone ended the show naturally. The Guard, not expecting such positive uproar, ceased their act as they stared on in surprise. They turned to each other, biting their lips. They then shrugged, and bowed towards the audience with smiles. Suddenly Shabaha's frail mane fell off. ____ The figures in the distance witnessed the mane fall from one of the lions. "Wait a minute..." the first male snorted, "Those are lionesses!" "I was wondering why that dude was thinning so badly..." said the young male. Ignoring the stupid comment from his cohort, the first male chuckled. "Looks like there won't be as many obstacles as we thought..." ____ Backstage, a certain elephant scowled at the Guard, who were all hunched in both submission, and still in surprise from the audience's reception. "You girls took a reenactment of peace and turned it into a vulgar, radicalizing display of division! Now the elephants think it's humorous to stereotype lions what with those offensive caricatures you put on out there!" the elephant matriarch's voice bellowed, "Have any of you got anything to say?" Vitani's mouth ran dry, "I-" "Ma Tembo! Ma Tembo!" Mtoto called as he barged in. "Mtoto?" Ma Tembo lifted her trunk. "The play was a success! Everyone loved it, especially the King!" "WHAT?!" said Ma Tembo and Vitani, in unison. "I heard they want to see the new Ukumbusho again every year, with Vitani's Guard as the stars!" Ma Tembo, unprepared for such a drastic change in tradition, and the Guard, who never wanted to take the stage again, all swooned from an overwhelming mix of emotions. The Guard made a small thud compared to Ma Tembo, who made the ground shake upon collapsing. ____ ((Author's Note: The title, plot, and a few lines are based on Mel Brooks' The Producers: "Along Came Vitani" is a pun on the "Along Came Bialy" number. When working on the plot for an Ukumbusho episode of Vitani's Guard, it dawned on me that Timon and Pumbaa would make a prevalent appearance in this episode, and for source material, I'd gathered the plot of the Producers as the voice actors for Timon and Simba (Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick respectively) played as Max and Leo in the 2005 adaptation (another thing is that Timon and Pumbaa actually referenced The Producers in TLK 2 with the "Fat, fat, FAT!" line). In earlier concepts for the past few years of toying with Vitani's Guard having their own Ukumusho episode, the Guard was originally going to begrudgingly put up with Ma Tembo's request to have them perform, and they were just gonna get over their nerves and perform normally despite the humiliation of singing and wearing silly prop manes. This was long before I stuck with making hypothetical full-on stories and around the time where I was just drawing concepts and providing context in the description. The use of the Producers-like plot of the lame play turning out successful against the protagonists' wishes added a LOT of material to work with

Speaking of years of work, some of the lines are extracted from headcanon dialogue in old conversations with friends when we first spitballed concepts for this episode. They were just too good to keep out ❤️ Lastly, you may see that I gave Mtoto's Mom a name. Mzazi means "parent", and I thought it would pair cutely with Mtoto's name meaning "child"/"baby" just feels weird seeing all the characters calling her "Mtoto's Mom" verbatim. Also, Jukwaa (meaning "stage"/"podium") is the name I decided to give the prominent rock that centers Mizimu Grove. I thought the multiple meanings would cover its purposes seen in the show. I'm just surprised such a distinct structure was never given a name in canon Weird way to start International Women's Month with the Guard acting as male stereotypes upon crossdressing, but here we are. I was unaware of the theme of the month but it's gonna keep being ironic as more gender themes are explored believe it or not lol))

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me As Tumblr #13

Leviathan: Secondhand embarrassment is pure agony and I wish a lot of comedy didn’t rely on it

I cannot deal with it, I have to literally leave the room

Solomon: It’s a sign of being extremely empathetic

Leviathan: Thanks! I hate it. How do I uninstall?

•

Solomon:

Depression tips

• kill the gods and eat their flesh to rise above human chemicals into horrifying immortality

Raphael: We need to talk

•

Simeon: Still don’t really understand how some people have trouble just being nice

Mephistopheles: Oh my gosh you’re such a nice person. Hey everybody come look at how much of a good person this is.

Simeon: I literally cannot comprehend how you got offended by this but thanks for proving my point anyway

•

Belphegor: When I get comfortable with people I start using them as pillows and foot rests

Beelzebub: When I get used as a pillow or foot rest I feel loved

Simeon: I am both of these people

•

Satan:

You know how there’s a theory that no two people see color the same way.

Does that mean color is like

A pigment of your imagination

Mephistopheles: YOU FUCKING DIDNT

Simeon: Huehuehue

Leviathan: #even that fucking laugh is a pun #i hate you all

•

Asmodeus: I’M HOME ALONE AND MY FAMILY FORGOT TO TELL ME THAT THERE ARE PEOPLE PAINTING OUR HOUSE SO I’VE BEEN REENACTING LES MIS AND I JUST VIOLENTLY THREW OPEN THE WINDOW TO YELL ‘CANNONS’ AND THE POOR GUY NEARLY FELL OFF HIS STEPLADDER

Asmodeus: DONT YOU DARE REBLOG THIS I MIGHT GET SUED

•

Leviathan: Sometimes I wake up with a very urgent thought on my mind and it’s usually pretty dumb like ‘je suis un pomme’ or ‘root beer fairytales’ but this morning I woke up and sat there for a second and all I could think was

Tis I,

The frenchiest fry

•

Belphegor: I am decayed. My lungs are full of thorns and mildew, my bones are held together by vines. I am fragile, be gentle with my corpse.

Lucifer: Get out of bed you’re going to school whether you like it our not.

Belphegor: I refuse.

•

Mammon: OMG so I just figured out the word “hurt” is past, present, and future. You will be hurt. You are hurt. You were hurt.

BECAUSE IF SOMETHING TRULY HURT, IT NEVER REALLY STOPS

Belphegor: you poetic little shit

Satan: It’s because…. It’s an adjective….

Lucifer: You will be stupid.

You are stupid.

You were stupid.

•

Mammon: Therapy got a drive-thru or summ?

MC: Welcome to shrink in a box can I take your disorder?

•

Leviathan: Why the fuck does English have a word for the act of throwing someone out a window, defenestration, but not for the day after tomorrow

Satan: Because you’re not looking hard enough

Overmorrow = the day after tomorrow

Ereyesterday = the day before yesterday

Example: I defenestrated my younger brother yesterday. I shall defenestrate my older brother overmorrow! Because I hate my family and also windows!

•

Satan: Synonyms are weird because if you invite someone to your cottage in the forest that just sounds nice and cozy, but if I invite you to my cabin in the woods you’re going to die.

Asmodeus: My favorite explaining the difference between a butt dial and a booty call

Lucifer: It’s called connotations

Asmodeus: Try this one on for size:

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”

“Sorry, daddy, I’ve been naughty.”

Raphael: Great news! Language is now banned

•

Leviathan: Helpful grammar tip! Farther is for physical distance, further is for metaphorical distance, and father is for emotional distance!

Simeon: Who hurt you?

Leviathan: My father did you not read the post

•

Beelzebub: Isn’t it weird how you can actually feel pain in your chest and stomach when something really hurts your feelings

Solomon: This is actually because it activates your vagus nerve! Basically your body goes “we are so upset! We must be injured! Where???? On the inside guts! Those are confusing and hard to differentiate!!! Confusing guts are hurt!”

Leviathan: Great! How do I uninstall it?

•

Satan: Part of new internet grammar. Using question marks not to denote questions but upturns in voice, so that a tentative statement gets a question mark but a flatly delivered question doesn’t.

Mammon: Why would you do this

Leviathan: It just seems right?

•

Mammon: In a constant state of ‘how dare you assume I know what I’m doing’ but also ‘don’t you dare question me or what I’m doing’

Leviathan: “I have no idea what I’m doing and you can’t stop me.”

Simeon: Artists and writers have a lot to say about this post

•

Mammon: Why my hand shaky?

Barbatos: Your Skelton is ready to hatch

Mammon: This is so fucking ominous thank you

•

Asmodeus: Life is a highway

Asmodeus: Explain

Asmodeus: Wanna ride it all night long

Lucifer: Why did you reply to yourself?

Asmodeus: I refuse to share the spotlight but I like the meme format

•

Beelzebub: I haven’t ate anything since 11 bruh I’m starving

Thirteen: Damn an u how old now?

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