#Mmmmaybe one day

[lukasadss]

And if I started another overcomplicated impulse project who's gonna stop me 🤨

[beeapocalypse]

getting haunted by a guy who has existed in my head for less than a week

[cloudysunflowr]

¡Deity Doodles!

Just a bunch of old doodles, I might one day render them~ Mmmmaybe haha!

•

Also, just two doodles of Sally and Wally angry. Just an idea of how the wrath of the deities would affect the world. I still gotta figure out the others ><

[hermitscratch]

Joel & Etho - 21, for the writing ? :3

Send me a pairing + a number! || Accepting

21. A kiss to shut them up, Joel/Etho, 957 words

[ Inspired in part by this lovely artwork by @plumadot ! ]

"So I've got a theory," Joel started.

It was a nice day; temperate in a way that heralded the approaching warm season. A lot of hermits were taking advantage of it to check the things off their to-do lists that weren't easily done in cold or wet weather. Etho had broken off from the others for just that purpose, but as soon as he mentioned needing coral, Joel invited himself along.

Which meant a return to form in the shape of them, once again, sharing a boat.

"Do I have to listen to your theory?" Etho asked. The answer didn't matter much when he was a captive audience, but their conversations up until this point had been general, casual nonsense. How they spent their morning, how they liked their steak cooked, what ore they'd most be willing to eat. Time killers at worst, amusement at best.

Joel scoffed. "Don't act like you don't want to know what I'm thinking," Etho felt an elbow land against his ribs without any real force. It might have been rougher, if they weren't currently faced away from each other. Joel liked watching the wake the boat left behind, so they were pressed back-to-back. "It's about your obsession."

"My obsession? Don't you mean yours?" He retorted. Joel snorted, and Etho could imagine the smug grin that'd be accompanying it.

"This projection is getting embarrassing, Etho," Joel said with thinly veiled glee.

Etho rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Just tell me about your theory," He said through a chuckle.

From behind him, Joel wiggled like he was trying to look over his shoulder. The boat rocked hard to the left, and Joel stilled before crowing, "I knew you wanted to know!"

Etho stopped rowing to peer over the boat's edge. The ocean here was deep, illuminated only faintly by magma pockets and the occasional rogue glow squid. They'd made a lot of headway, but there was still a ways to go to reach an untouched reef. "I wonder if I could swim back to shore from here..."

"I'll push you overboard myself if you don't let me get a blummin' word out," Joel griped, even as he fisted a hand in the back of Etho's shirt. It wouldn't do much if Etho decided to move, but the idea that Joel might want him to stay was more than enough for Etho to do so.

Not that Etho would ever tell him that; his ex-soulmate's ego was big enough.

"You're the one stopping, though?" Etho answered, rebalancing the boat and adjusting the oars to continue rowing. Joel's inhale was audible, and before he could argue, Etho urged, "Let's hear your theory."

Joel crossed his arms with a huff. Etho grinned. Joel was probably pouting and everything. "D'you remember what Gem said this morning?"

"Hmm," Etho had to think the question through. They'd been hanging out with Gem, Impulse, and Scar that morning, a lot of things were said. "Mmmmaybe?"

After a few minutes of fruitless sifting through snippets of conversation that Joel might have found noteworthy, he threw Etho a bone. "When we were arguing about who built a better cherry tree, still me by the way, she said-"

Ah. "'Just kiss already', or something?" Etho offered.

Joel clapped once, "Exactly."

Etho laughed, pitching his voice up in a mockery of Joel's, "Oh no, I'm not obsessed, I'm just chasing him making smoochy sounds and thinking a lot about Gem telling us to kiss-"

"That first thing was literally your fault!" Joel argued, "And I'm not thinking about it, alright? There's nothing to think about, it's just a thing that is!"

"What is?"

Joel seemed to shrink, curling forward so their backs were no longer touching. "If we kissed, the world would sorta collapse, wouldn't it?"

Etho stopped so abruptly that he almost dropped an oar. What? "Uh. No?"

"Of course you'd say so, it's stupid how bad you wanna kiss me," Joel scoffed. The turn in conversation was so jarring that Etho didn't even argue the point about wanting to kiss Joel. "But the stir it'd cause would be massive. Gem would explode. Bdubs would probably explode, maybe Grian? Scar and Skizz, definitely, we'd never hear the end of it."

Etho locked the oars and turned around in his seat. If Joel noticed, he gave no indication, plowing relentlessly forward as if he'd realized there was no going back now that he'd started. Etho recognized that habit from their time together in Double Life- an anxious Joel with no other outlet would ramble himself breathless.

"Your mask as well," Joel continued, "Nobody's seen you without it-"

Etho tugged his mask down.

"-that's probably grounds for server obliteration in itself-"

He put a hand on Joel's shoulder.

"-if the first time anybody saw your face was for a kiss like that, then-"

He turned Joel to face him.

And before Joel could say another word, Etho kissed him.

Silence. Bliss. Etho's lips were dry from the mask, and he kept the press of them soft until he felt Joel's stiff body melt, meeting Etho's lean halfway. He tilted his head, and he could feel the flutter of long lashes against his face as Joel's eyes shut. The world kept turning, and Etho let it, stealing a moment just for them.

It only ended when Etho pulled away, leaving a dazed Joel to process what had just happened. Etho didn't bother putting his mask back up when he grinned. "Still alive?"

"Wh- y-?" Joel floundered. Etho chuckled, and Joel scowled, even as a dusty blush painted his cheeks pink. Even as he turned to face Etho properly, dropping his head against Etho's shoulder. Even as Etho felt lips against his racing pulse.

"Oh, shut up, Etho."

[ebongawk]

40! 🫡

40. “One of us is clearly smarter than the other.”

"What are you doing?"

Eddie was crouched down next to the cabinet under the kitchen sink. The Walkman in his ears was blasting delicious guitar licks – thank you so much Kirk Hammett for being a fucking god on the strings – and it was loud enough that he hadn't heard the front door open.

But Chrissy's cheerleader screech was enough to interrupt the beautiful guitar solo in Battery.

Chrissy was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, her eyes wide and terrified as she looked down at the bottles in his hands.

Fuck. She wasn't supposed to be home yet! She ruined her own fucking surprise!

Like, okay. So he and Chrissy had been dating for all of, like, two months when her mother found out. And living in the Cunningham home post-major freakout had been a soul-sucking ordeal for his tiny, badass little girlfriend. When it became clear that, no matter what that walking hemorrhoid of a woman had to say, Laura Cunningham could not convince Chrissy to break up with Eddie, she'd kicked her out.

She'd literally kicked her own daughter out for her dating life.

What an absolute cunt. (And Eddie did not use that term lightly.)

Of course she was gonna move into the trailer. Neither Eddie nor Wayne would have allowed her to get put up somewhere that wasn't gonna take care of her. They weren't insane.

The only problem being that their beautiful Forest Hills home had been housing two half-feral bachelors for the past twelve years. It wasn't, as realtors might say, move-in ready.

Too fucking bad that Eddie didn't realize the actual state of their unintentional and overlooked squalor until beautiful, squeaky clean and shiny Chrissy was sitting in the '70s-style bungalow living room.

Okay. Okay. Benefit of the doubt, he and Wayne were tidy. Like, whatever, there were a few stray food wrappers littering the floor and the trash was about three days overdue for a haul to the dumpster and maybe his bedroom was more beer cans and cigarette butts than it was fresh linens. But, whatever. It looked clean.

And then Eddie really looked. He really saw the rust and mildew stains in the tub and stains on the carpet that gave it kind of a grimy feel and the walls he and Wayne had kind of dyed yellow due to indoor cigarette smoke.

So, after waiting three weeks for Chrissy to actually make all-day plans with someone that wasn't him, Eddie decided to take advantage of the empty house and fucking clean.

Based purely on hazy memories of what to use from when his mother was alive, of course.

However, Chrissy's abject terror and screamed exclamation at his actions had him second-guessing his existence for a second there.

"Uh," he said, using one rubber glove-clad hand to yank the headphones from his ears. "Cleaning?"

Chrissy blinked. "Cleaning?" The pure disbelief in her tone stung a little. Like. Okay. So he wasn't the most kempt boy in town. No need to be fucking rude about it, sunshine.

"Yeah?" He looked down at the plastic bucket he'd unearthed from under a pile of Wayne's Nam blues. Who fucking knew how long it'd been hiding back there. "That alright with you?"

"You're gonna clean with that?" she verified, pointing at the open bottle in his hand. The one he was about to dump intoaforementioned bucket.

"Yeah?"

"Eddie. Is there something already in the bucket?"

Clear liquid winked up at him, little specs of dust floating around in it. Because he'd rinsed the bucket, of-fucking-course, but, like, not all that well.

"I don't see what that has to do with the conversation," he replied after a second, feeling somehow like a kid who'd been caught about to stick a fork in a live socket.

"Eddie."

"Chrissy."

"Is there bleach in that bucket?"

She looked pointedly down at the already opened gallon of bleach next to the bucket.

"Mmmmaybe?" he squeaked, looking down beneath his knees. "I was going to clean the floors. I thought it'd be okay to put bleach on the tile since, y'know, I have no idea what color they're supposed to be, anyway."

Chrissy hummed. "And, um, were you going to mix that in with the bleach?" She gestured again to the bottle in his hand. Eddie looked down at it, still taken aback.

"I mean." He shrugged. "I, uh, remember my mom using vinegar a lot when she cleaned."

At that, her eyes softened. She let out a little huff of laughter before crouching down next to him, gently easing the vinegar from his grasp. He let it go willingly, still so, so confused.

"Eddie," she sighed, tangling their fingers together and bringing his knuckles up to brush her lips against. "What do you get when you mix bleach and vinegar?"

"A very powerful cleaning ingredient." Though his confidence was definitely waning at this point.

She let out an adorable little giggle.

"Chlorine, Eddie. You get chlorine."

Oh.

Well. That would've been objectively hilarious, actually.

"So I'm right," he verified, eyebrows raised. "It's a very powerful cleaning ingredient."

"Oh my God."

"Y'know," he continued, gesturing between them with his occupied hand. “One of us is clearly smarter than the other.” He winked, pointing at himself and mouthing 'me' at her.

She laughed, rolling her eyes and standing. Pulling him to his feet by their clasped hands, she took in his ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants with interest.

"What's with the sudden cleaning bug, anyway?"

Bashful, Eddie gave another little shrug, half-turning away under the guise of surveying the trailer around them.

"I just, uh. Just–– y'know, wanted you to, like, want to be here and shit. And if getting my hands a little dirty to make you feel more comfortable is what it takes, then––"

"Did I do something that made you think I don't want to be here?" she asked, her voice soft and timid all of the sudden. Taking on that expression that meant she was about three-point-seven seconds away from a thought spiral.

"No, sweetness, no," Eddie assured her, taking her free hand in his and pulling her close. "I just wanted to, like, do something nice. Make this place feel more like a home and not, uh. A tobacco-infused pig sty."

Chrissy relaxed against him, her ear at the perfect height to hear the gentle thumping of his heart in his chest.

The one that beat just for her.

"You don't have to do that for me."

"I want to," he stressed, maneuvering her until he could press his lips to her forehead. "And I was waiting for you to be gone to do it."

"Nancy and Robin are outside. I just forgot my wallet."

"Skedaddle then!" He let go of her hands, grabbing her wallet off the counter and shoving it into her arms. She let out a bewildered squeak as he shuffled her toward the door. "Out with ye! I've got a witch's brew to make! A solvent to make the walls shine!"

"Don't––" She gasped in delight when he swooped down for another goodbye kiss. Then another. And a third as he struggled to unlatch the door. "Don't mix bleach and vinegar!"

Door opened, a quick wave to Robin and Nancy as he said, "No promises!"

"Eddie!"

"Love you, sweetness! Have fun!"

"If I come home and you're dead I'm gonna kill you!"

ask meme

[ren-and-co]

Rebuilt The Past AU: Career

The AU is still in works, but the main summary is Fox got transported to the time BTD2 happened, except that he found his past self had a good ending and his supposed past victim became Ren's roommate. So Fox decided to make sure this past self don't follow the same path as him, with him becoming the older sibling figure for Ren.

I don't have much yet for now, but I got at least this fic to present!

Characters: Fox, Ren, OC Words: 659

-ˋˏ✄┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈

 It’s been a week since Fox stayed with his younger self and his first victim in Strade’s home, now enjoying what seems to be an everyday residential life. 

Three of them managed to dispose of the German’s body and left no tracks. Fox made sure of that already; he was the one who planned the whole thing.

Using his skills at copying the serial killer’s handwriting, the older beastkin forged a document stating that the current housing now belongs to Ren, and he had already paid the overdue taxes using some of Strade’s cryptocurrency and investment money.

So far, it’s been going so well. But he knew that without a stable income, they would be in a pickle.

“What to do…”

Fox sighed, the tired eyes had been reading the newspaper’s job section as he sipped his morning hot cocoa. He’s not yet used to the lack of tension in the air or the constant paranoia haunting him throughout the day. No cold atmosphere between talks between his underlings or the pitiful stares from his customers.

His ears suddenly perked up and twitched slightly, picking up a rustle from near him, and he instinctively lowered the newspaper to see what was up with those two young adults.

Polar, the victim's name, was resting on the couch in front of him, showing the younger beastkin a magazine while he was sitting on their lap, their head resting on Ren’s orange hair while softly mumbling right in the fox’s ear, fingers pointing at certain parts of the pages.

“...And people use smoke grenades too often, Glaz mains became cocky because of those kinds of players.” Fox species of beastkin are gifted with sharp hearing, so it was easy to listen along if he paid attention to the low mumbles. “Hereford is a pretty sucky map. Too many dark spots and enemies make it easy to blend in them.”

The younger beastkin hummed, slowly nodding. His eyes were barely able to stay open. “How about Favela? I like the map.”

“Too complex if I explain it right now. You’re sleepy as fuck.”

“Mmmmaybe.”

The lack of context in the conversation picked the Announcer’s interest, head tilted a bit. “What are you guys up to?” He raised his voice to catch their attention, and he could feel his heart drop a bit when both of them flinched.

Polar and Ren slowly glanced at the other beastkin across them, albeit the younger fox beastkin was slower. “We’re joining an esports team.” The human gave him a small smile. “There’s this new org that opened up an audition to fill in their R6S roster, so I’m teaching Ren the basics.”

Esports? That’s a new term for even himself.

“Do you get paid for it?” Fox kept the newspaper hanging to cover his face, but his leg bounced subconsciously, and his fluffy orange tail wagged behind his back.

“If you win, you get your portion of the prize money and get paid by the company.” The human swayed their body from side to side while humming, wrapping their arms loosely around Ren so he didn’t fall down. “The org mostly profits from sponsors, competitions, and content creators making the cash from their streams.”

The gears in Fox’s entrepreneurial mind started to move. Ideas started to form inside his opportunistic brain.

Maybe…

“So far, the org is still on their rebranding attempt; they’re currently nameless and in need of a new CEO,” Polar added, hand now gently patting the now-sleeping Ren. “They said that if the team got their main investor guy, they would let that man be in charge of the org.”

Bingo! 

His eyes lit up, the enlarged pupils seemingly glowing white from the excitement, with his grin became uncannily wide as if he was staring down at his prey.

“I have a proposal for them, from me personally.”

This was his first beginning as the face of one of the future big gaming org.

[glittter-vamp]

Nights of Tequila | C.E

THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY OLD ACCOUNT.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol. Drunk Character. Fluff. Explicit Language.Mentions of strippers, vomit and body parts.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Chris comes home drunk from a night out waking you up in the middle of the night.

Word Count: 935

It was probably around 3am when you hear a commotion downstairs and dodger whining at your feet. You get scared for a moment, you were home alone with just the white and brown pup. Chris had went out to downtown Boston to celebrate his friends wedding which was next weekend. He was the best man and he rented out a presidential suite at some hotel to drink and play poker with the guys so you knew you weren't supposed to see him home until the morning or maybe afternoon depending on his hangover. You hear the commotion again and your heart drops to your ass. Out of all days for an intruder it would be when Chris is out and about with his friends. You decide to call him and after the first ring you hear a phone go off downstairs and then you realize who the hell it was. You huff slamming the phone on the bed and putting your slippers on and making your way downstairs. " I swear I'm going to kill you Christopher" You mutter under my breath as you go downstairs with Dodger following behind.So much for a guard dog. You follow the drunken voice of the man singing Doja Cat, surprisingly very well. He was in the kitchen. You walk into the dark kitchen, the only light coming from the fridge. Dodger makes his way over to his father who he surprises. " Dodger! I've missed you all night bud, here. Have piece of ham but don't tell your mommy" he loudly whispers to his dog giving him a piece of ham. You sigh and go over to where the light switches were and turn the lights on. " Uh oh" Chris says looking up at the lights and around the kitchen before he spots me. " Baby... I thought you were sleeping' he pouts. " Chris, it's 3 am. What the hell are you doing making this much noise. You almost gave me heart attack!" You say closing the back door which he had left wide open. " I'm sorry I didn't mean you wak you up honey, I was just getting a snack" He slurs and I look at the container of my pulled prok that I made yesterday in his hand.

" Chris, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be at Peter's bachelor party!" You cross you arms. " I was! It was fun until they brought out strippers, and I'm-I'm a loyal boyfriend! The only girl who can touch me is you" he says beggining to hiccup. ' Did you drive!?" You ask worriedly. " Nope! Scott brought me, he was getting grossed out by all the fake tits in his face and was the only one sober because he had flight to cacth at 10am. Who goes to a bachelor party and catches a flight at 10 AM? " He says laughing and tiping over a bit and you go over and grab him. " Alright, time for bed" You say grabbing the container putting it back into the fridge and heading upstairs with this drunk man. Luckily he made it right on to the bed. " The room is spinning" Chris mutters and You let out a breath. " You had tequila tonight didn't you?"You ask as you take off his shoes. He smelled like liquor and cigars. " Mmmmaybe" he chuckles. I take off his pants, button up shirt and the shirt he had under knowing he becomes a furnace when he sleeps and even more when he drinks. You then help him get into the bed. " Now, before I get into bed. Do I need to get a bucket?" You ask. " No, I just need sleep" he yawns. At this point his eyes were barely open. I turn off the lights and get into bed next to him hoping he doesn't vomit on he bed. He pulls me to him and kisses your neck cuddling you. " You're so good to me Y/N... I can't wait to be in Peter's shoes and marry you one day" he says. " Go to sleep Chris" you giggle and he nods shortly after he was out like a light but had quite the grip on me.

* * * * * * * * * *

Next Morning

" What the hell happened last night?" Chris asks coming downstairs into the living room where I was with dodger watching Modern Family. He looked like hell. Still in his underwear missing a sock, hair a mess and shielding himself from the sunlight coming in from outside. " You broke into your own house for my pulled pork and because you didn't like some strippers at the bachelor party and wanted to respect me" You say and he groans sitting next to me. " Did I puke?" he asks. " Not yet, it'll come" now lay down while i make you my famous hangover remedy. " Please anything but that" He says as you get up and have him lay on the couch. " You know it works" You say walking to the kitchen. " I told you I wanted to marry you last night, that should be get me out of drinking that horrible green smoothie" He says and you laugh. " Oh! That you remember?" you laugh. " I also remember saying you treat me good, after this... I might take it back" he groans. " Love you too! " you say sarcastically making the drink for him. That day you spent the entire afternoon nursing Chris and his hangover.

[peninkwrites]

Lines Drawn in Sand & Concrete - Ch 10 of ?

Wilbur is employed. Allegedly, he's also a big brother.

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 9

Ch 11

Mafia AU

~ Wilbur ~

Wilbur Soot has never had a job in his fucking life.  He loathes the thought.  Nonetheless, he cannot continue to abuse Niki’s goodwill, he cannot go back to his father and his stepmom’s money, and apparently he cannot kill himself.  Hence, he will become another cog in the machine.

This cog is one which flips burgers.

It had been the first place he thought to ask for an application, the burger van that parks on Riverside that he and Tommy had occasionally gotten food at, and he was almost annoyed with how quickly the man had hired him.  He had been slightly disappointed when Wilbur revealed the extent of his culinary experience was toast or perhaps pasta if he was feeling adventurous.  Nonetheless, even Wilbur in all of his general ineptitude could figure out how to make a burger under the watchful eye of his very tired boss.  Wilbur’s first day as a wage monkey passes quickly and slowly all at once.

Undeniably, the additional motivating factor in all of this is Tommy.  The kid had refused to keep staying at Niki’s after that first night, and that had been after even Niki had tried to insist, and Wilbur has no idea where he has been staying since.  He doesn’t know how he’s going to convince him to stay with him, and that’s if Wilbur manages to afford some shithole flat on a burger flipping wage.  

Wilbur returns home from his first day exhausted and smelling of grease, but nonetheless, his first stop is not the couch, but the basement.  The speakeasy is not as crowded as it was in its heyday, but there’s still enough of an accumulation of noise that Wilbur feels especially weary.  Ranboo opens the door to let him in, greeting him with raised eyebrows and a “you look kind of terrible.”

“Thanks for that, Ranbus.  I try.”

“Tommy’s here,” Ranboo nods over to the booth in the corner adjacent to the little platform Wilbur had been settling on with his guitar in the evenings.

Said booth is currently occupied by Tommy and, more surprisingly, Jack.  Wilbur recalls Jack usually following around that little mob prince, it’s strange to see him without the other, and clearly not for pleasant company, as right now Jack is trying to say something and Tommy is talking over him.  Well, not talking, just going “mimimi” over and over again.

“Hello?!” Wilbur interrupts loudly, voice a rough mockery of Tommy’s usual loud greeting.

Tommy immediately stands, replying in turn.  “‘ello?!”

“Christ, Wil, you make him worse,” Jack replies weakly.  “How the hell do you do that?”

“Do I?” Wilbur grins, sliding into the booth and trapping Jack there.  “Ayup, Jack?  How’ve you been?”

Jack eyes him suspiciously, doubting his sincerity, before replying.  “Alright.  Still weird seeing you around, mate.  I meant to ask, what, did you and the old Crow- Father have a falling out?”

“Mmmmaybe keep your voice down, Jack,” Wilbur says tautly.  Wilbur glances at Tommy, who, by some luck, has been distracted by the arrival of another kid and hadn’t heard him.

“What, Tommy doesn’t know-?”

“And I’d like to keep it that way, if you don’t mind.”

Jack frowns, calculating, before finally, he shrugs.  “Right, fine, your business.”

“Thank you.”

“Wil!  This is my old pal Eryn!” Tommy claps his friend on the shoulder, pointing to him like Wilbur cannot clearly see him standing there.

“Alright?” Wilbur gives him a nod.

“Alright.  Good to… meet you properly,” Eryn responds in turn.  “I’ve seen you play a bit.  You’re not half bad with that guitar.”

“Thanks.”  Wilbur finds the kid familiar in a strange sort of way.  He’s doing his best not to stare at the deep red scar up the kid’s arm, before he connects the dots.  Dark curly hair, a red bandana around his head, and red markings on his arm.  Wilbur hopes his ill ease doesn’t show on his face as he realizes this must be the friend Tommy had mistaken that corpse for down in the tunnels.

“Eryn, come on, join us, join us,” Tommy slips back into the booth, pulling his friend along with him.

“I was… I was actually here to see Niki, so, I might move to the bar,” Jack nods in that direction, indicating Wilbur should move so he can get out, but Wilbur does no such thing.

“Really, Jack, you don’t have any time for an old friend?” Wilbur feigns a pout.

“You I have time for,” Jack gives Tommy a suspicious glance.  “Less so him.”

“Aw, Jack, I’m offended!  You’ve offended me, now, what if I was in love with you?!” Tommy feigns horror.

“What–  What if you were– What would that change, exactly?!”

“Well, hopefully it would make you be nicer to me, for one.”

“Why?!”

“Because of love, you stupid bitch!” Tommy shouts.

“Wil, Wil please let me out.  Please.  Let me at least get a drink from Niki,” Jack’s hands were clasped together as if in prayer.

“No need,” Wilbur says teasingly.  “Niki!  Could we have another round, please?”

“You got it, Wil!”

“See? No need for you to go anywhere!”

Jack actually jumps when Tommy reaches across the table and grabs his hand in one of his own far grubbier ones.  “Please, please Jack, why are you trying to leave me?  What about the kids, Jack?  Do you expect them to grow up without a father?!”

Jack leans in, speaking half through gritted teeth.  “Why do you do this to me?”

“Because it makes you like this,” Tommy grins.

“I simply don’t understand how you’ve gotten so many people to put up with you!  Like, Eryn, Wil, Ranboo, and Tubbo too for like a million years!”  With one name, the tone at the table dies.

Tommy lets go, leaning back in the booth, scowling.  “You’re a real dick, Jack, d’you know that?”

Jack seems genuinely guilty.  “Look, man, I didn’t… I mean–”

“You’ve done it, Jack, you’ve lost me.  Not in love with you anymore!” Tommy pulls Eryn out of the booth, loud and mocking, but clearly masking real resentment.

“Tommy, really, I didn’t– I wasn’t–” Jack tries halfheartedly, but Tommy has already made his escape, his friend Eryn in tow.

“Nicely done, Jack.”

“Come on, man I wasn’t…” Jack slouches down in the booth, gloomy.

“What even happened there, anyway?  I thought him and the little mob prince were like attached at the hip before?” Wilbur takes a drink.

“I’d quite like to know too,” Niki appears, taking Tommy’s seat on the opposite side of the booth.

“Don’t look at me,” Jack raises his hands defensively.  “I don’t know.  Tubbo and I don’t exactly talk about feelings.”

“Really?  All you two do is talk back here, always whispering,” Niki says mockingly.  “You never thought to ask why he stopped talking to his best friend?”

“Well,” Jack turns defensively to Wilbur.  “Have you asked Tommy why he stopped talking to Tubbo?”

“Why would I know?”

Niki and Jack exchange a glance.  “Well, Ranboo doesn’t tell me anything, so we thought maybe you’d… have some idea?” Niki says with a shrug.

Wilbur frowns.  Niki and her little brother.  Jack and the kid he was responsible for.  Of course he would get roped into it as Tommy’s stand-in guardian or whatever.

“Tommy doesn’t tell me shit, man.  All he does is talk about nonsense and act like he’s tough,” Wilbur says grumpily.  “What about you, Niki?  What d’you mean Ranboo doesn’t tell you shit?  He follows you around like a tall, nervous shadow.”

“Yeah, but you don’t understand, Wil,” Niki glanced carefully over at Ranboo, wiping down tables across the room.  She lowers her voice.  “He did that when he was a kid, but for a while there he was… I dunno, adjusted.  He had Tommy and Tubbo to hang out with and they went out together.  Now he just… he doesn’t do anything.  It makes me worried.”

“Have you asked him about it?” Jack asks.

“Have you asked Tubbo?” She shoots back.

“Well, I asked if he wanted to talk about it, and he said no, sort of,” Jack says uncomfortably.

Silence, all three of them gloomily thinking of their charges.

Wilbur, for once, looks for something vaguely positive to share.  “I, uh.  I’ve started my job,” he offers.  “It doesn’t pay great, and it’s only part-time, but… maybe I can get a shithole flat instead of breaking your couch?”

“That’s great, Wil!  Where?” Niki asks.  Her pride seems sincere, and Wilbur would expect nothing less of her, but it still feels special to him.

“Some burger van over on Riverside.”

“You’re working at a burger van, Wil?” Jack scoffs.

“Big talk for a man who was a bellhop until about five minutes ago.”

“I wasn’t a bellhop!” Jack snaps back, clearly a sore subject.

“Mhm, sure.”

“And I was– I was just surprised.  You of all people seem adamantly opposed to… I dunno, everything a business represents.”

“Well, that’s not really true!  I mean, I love Niki’s bakery!  And the speakeasy,” Wilbur tries to defend himself.

“Yeah, but it’s not something you have to work at, right?  You… you don’t like work, Wil,” Jack sounds a little amused.  Niki poorly covers a laugh.

Wilbur frowns, offended, but unable to defend himself.  “I just… I don’t like that sort of work.”

“And what work do you like, Wilbur?” Niki teases lightly.

“Maybe I’m just meant to be an entertainer!  You know, a musician.  A-A storyteller!” Wilbur nods to the stage, proud of himself for thinking of something.

“I’m sorry my patron’s tips aren’t enough to make rent, Wil,” Niki gets up from the table, mussing up Wilbur’s hair before returning to her post at the bar.

Wilbur, rather than pout, continues on Jack Manifold.  “So, you said that shit to Tommy, bit fucked up, for one, and… you have no clue why Tubbo stopped putting up with him, or whatever?”

“I– I dunno, man,” Jack says sheepishly.  “I… I didn’t mean to say some shit, I just didn’t think about it.  Tubbo… he’s gotten weird.”

“Weirder than being JSchlatt’s son, you mean?”

Jack gives him a look.  “Don’t call him that.”

“Christ, everyone’s treating this kid like a saint, last I heard, he took over for his old man, is that not worth critique?” Wilbur says drolly.

“Maybe you should shut up about shit you don’t understand, Wil,” Jack says icily.

Wilbur raises an eyebrow at him.  “Actually, I’d say I of all people can understand the mob-prince lifestyle.”

“Don’t– Don’t act like that’s even remotely the same!” Jack gets more and more irritated the longer they talk.  “Phil was a good man–– complicated ––and maybe not always good, but he did right by us.  And by you.  Schlatt is– Schlatt was different.  For the rest of this city and for Tubbo especially,” Jack doesn’t look at him now, clearly lost in some separate train of thought.

“But he did take over after Schlatt died, correct?” Wilbur, perhaps against his own better judgment, still prods the issue.

“Yeah, and I’m in it with him,” Jack gives Wilbur a hard stare, so much stronger, so much more iron-willed than Wilbur remembers, of the gangly teenager delighted to have his first job.  “So, if you take issue with it, you take issue with me, yeah?”

Wilbur nods, redirecting back to their initial topic.  He buries the urge to light a cigarette in Niki’s building.  “So, he’s gotten weird, then.  Weird how?”

“I think he’s trying to act tougher, but I guess I know him better than that, so instead it just looks like he’s scared of everyone and everything, and part of me is worried the other lads, the shadier ones, that they can see it too,” Jack opens up perhaps too easily, like he’s been desperate for someone to share this with.  “You’re more right than I’d like you to be,” Jack says quietly.  “Sometimes he acts like… I mean, I was never around JSchlatt, thank god for that, but Tubbo will act like… like he’s trying to copy someone else, and obviously it’s Schlatt, I mean, who else would it be?  I think… I think he thinks, it’s the only way he can do this, y’know?” Jack gives Wilbur a nervous glance, as if expecting him to exploit Jack’s honesty.

Wilbur nods slowly, thinking.  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.  I can’t say I don’t understand the temptation.”  He takes another drink to supplement his yearning for a cigarette.  “You still seem under the impression that he’s better than Schlatt, yes?”

“Yeah, by a fucking mile.”

“Better how?”

“...what?” Jack stares at him, unnerved by the question.

“What about him is better than Schlatt?  ‘Cause far as I’ve heard––rumors, you know––Schlatt’s old boys are getting in scuffles with the Badlands every other day, and people are getting caught in the crossfire, like always.”  A pause, Wilbur waiting for Jack to respond, but he doesn’t.  “So I ask you, Jack, better how?”

“He’s not bullying every fucking business in the neighborhood, Niki’s included,” Jack offers his defense quickly, clearly relieved to have thought of it.  “He’s not taking fucking hostages, he’s not executing anyone in the street–” Jack cuts himself off, clearly having thought of something, something which Wilbur now catches on to.

“Right.  Car bomb,” Wilbur nods, as if satisfied, and nonetheless he moves on with ease.  “Still, makes me wonder how he’s making his money, eh?  Are you privy to that as his right hand, Jack Manifold?  You need money to oil the gears of this grotesque little machine, don’t you?”

“None of your fucking business, Wil.  Just leave well enough alone, alright?”  Jack digs his heels in, in a way Wilbur knows his teen-aged self never would have, so he finds himself respecting it more than feeling annoyed.

“Damn right, Jack.  Damn right,” Wilbur raises a toast to his old friend, and tries to avoid these dark alleyways of thought he’s found himself so temptingly drawn to.

Nonetheless, well into the night, when the Secret City has finally close its doors, Wilbur helps Ranboo wipe down tables while Niki stows away their earnings.

“So, Ranboo.  I’ve asked you this before, and I’m deigning to ask again:  What do you do for fun?”

Ranboo looks up at him, pausing in wiping down the table, eyes wide.  “What?”

“What do you do for fun around here, man?  I swear, you never go out.”

“I’m… I’m not exactly big on… big social gatherings, or… or speakeasies other than this one,” Ranboo murmurs, returning his attention to the table.

“What about your friends?  Tommy doesn’t seem to hang out with you as much, and… that kid Tubbo, he doesn’t either.”

Ranboo gives him a scrutinizing look.  “Did Niki put you up to this?”

“What?” Wilbur laughs, genuinely surprised.  “No, no actually, she didn’t.  I think she knows you well enough to be more direct than that.”

Ranboo shrugs.  “Dunno about that.”

“Anyway, she didn’t.  I was just… curious.  Tommy, he says he has friends, I mean he left with that Eryn kid for one, but he spends a lot of time hanging around with me.”

“I dunno.  Tommy and I… it’s different, hanging out without Tubbo, and Tubbo’s been… preoccupied.”

“With being a mob boss, right?” Wilbur watches Ranboo carefully for a reaction.  The kid doesn’t wear his mask around the speakeasy anymore, but Wilbur still struggles to read him.

“He’s not… I don’t think I’d call him that,” Ranboo mumbles.

“What would you call it, then?”

Another shrug.  “Surviving?”

“Surviving,” Wilbur repeats it, as if adjusting to the idea.

“Yeah.  I mean, he’s doing what he can, y’know?  It’s all we can do, I think,” Ranboo offers.

“Guess so.”  Wilbur exhales a soft laugh.

“What?”

Now Wilbur shrugs.  “Surviving,” he says it like it explains the joke.

Ranboo gives him a bemused look, unsure of how to respond to it, so instead he just moves to the next table, leaving Wilbur to his musings.  Surviving.

~

Wilbur had been quite amused by that notion of survival, and maybe that had something to do with his own blase take on the matter.  He and Tommy dare to venture into the tunnels under the city once more.  Perhaps they should’ve been deterred for good by a dead body, but some nagging curiosity––boldness on Tommy’s part, maybe something more suicidal on Wilbur’s––made them return.  It didn’t take much.  Boredom is one hell of a motivator.

“I dunno, I wanna… I wanna figure out what that fuckin’ sound is.  I keep on thinking about it,” Tommy shifts restlessly, staring at the stairwell he’d all but dragged Wilbur to.  It had been Tommy’s idea this time, which Wilbur found surprising.  “And, I’m not scared of shit, so, I’ve got no problem going back!”

Wilbur gives him a look, staring doubtfully at the door marked DANGER: MAINTENANCE ONLY.

“And I got this!” Tommy says brightly, holding a knife in one hand, a torch in the other.

“Right, a toothpick.”

“Fuck off before I stab you!” Tommy snaps.  “Either way, it… it freaked me out, seeing the dead guy down there.”

“And that’s why you want to go back?”

“No!  More like, whatever did that, I… I don’t think we’re gonna like, catch a fuckin’ murderer and fight him off with our bare hands, I just… I don’t like knowing he’s creepin’ around under the city, I guess.”

“So, you’re not planning on stopping this mysterious killer, what are you planning on doing, then?  Talking to him?”

“No!” Tommy says irritably.  “I dunno!  Maybe… look for clues?”

“Right.  Clues.”

“Are you coming with me or not?”

Wilbur gives one last doubtful look at the doorway back into darkness.  “Yeah, fine, fuck it.  Might as well.  I wanna look for that platform, though.  That is still my goal, alright?”

“Fine, fine, you nag like a fuckin’ mother.”

They return to the dark, flashlights in hand, hesitating at the bottom of the stairwell.

“So, d’you wanna try going the other way?” Tommy tries nervously.

“No, the platform I’m looking for, it’ll be that way,” Wilbur nods in the direction they’d chosen previously.

“Right, right the direction with dead bodies and weird noises and shit…” Tommy grumbles.

“What makes you think the other way will be any better?  If you wanna find clues you wanna go where the dead bodies are, right?”

More mumbled grumbling Wilbur can’t be bothered to decipher.

“Still don’t get your obsession with tunnels, man.  Are you a mole?  Perhaps?  A mole person? Hm?” Tommy starts chattering again after those two seconds of quiet become unbearable.

“Right, yes, a mole person.”

“You look it.  Maybe you should live down here, eh?  Instead of breaking Niki’s couch?”

“I’ll have you know I am… I am working on getting an apartment!” Wilbur says grumpily.

“Oh?  How many burgers d’you gotta sell to do that?”

“What, like I work on burger commission?”

“I dunno how burger salesmanship works!  I’m self-employed.”

Wilbur laughs, staring ahead down the dark tunnel, their flashlights not piercing far enough through the black for them to see anything beyond the walls immediately ensnaring them, the pipes and wiring covering the walls like the roots of some great long dead tree.  He considers broaching the subject now.  “Well, actually, since I’m not a mole person and I’m currently working on getting a flat, like, probably not for another month or so, would you like to try not being homeless, perchance?”  He has no idea how to bring it up in a way that Tommy is of any inclination to accept.

“Still fuckin’ creepy down here,” Tommy mutters, once more desperate to break the silence when Wilbur didn’t reply.

“Yeah.  It wasn’t exactly welcoming in its heyday, if I’m honest,” Wilbur admits.

“Then, yet again, since you’re not here to look for a murderer or do any of the cool shit I’m here for, I ask you: what the fuck are you looking for down here?”

Wilbur considers this, and he decides to give away a few closely held truths.  “A little before I left the city, I fell on the tracks.  Someone dragged me off, so I was a little banged up, but I lived.  Might sound a bit odd, but… I’ve got a lot of memories associated with that platform, and I thought maybe I could go back,” Wilbur shrugs.  “See it again, see if it’s… I dunno, if it looks different to me now?”

Tommy stares at him, baffled.  “You wanna… you’re looking for the spot that you almost got yourself killed?”

Tommy is more right than he realizes, not that Wilbur plans to share that.  “Yeah, I know it probably doesn’t make much sense, but yeah,” he shrugs.

“You’re fuckin’ bonkers, man,” Tommy shakes his head.  “I followed a crazy bitch into a bunch of dark abandoned tunnels, tracking down a murderer!  Hm, my own bravery amazes me sometimes–” Tommy jumps, grabbing onto Wilbur’s arm as the sound of concrete hitting concrete echoes toward them.

“It’s okay, maybe… maybe we kicked some rocks and it… it echoed weird or something,” Wilbur tries to console him, nonetheless his own heart is racing.  He peers carefully into the gloom, first ahead of them, and then just to be safe, he turns back, pointing the flashlight the way they had come, but nothing emerges.

“No, no Wil, we did not make some magic fucking echo shit, that was something down there,” Tommy hisses, nodding in the direction of the noise.  “That was something else kickin’ rocks about, alright?!  Instead of looking for your favorite spot to die or some shit, why don’t we turn around a-and– and you can buy me a burger!”

“Is that supposed to tempt me?” Wilbur teases.  “And don’t you have your knife?”

“Thought you said it was a toothpick!”

“Hold on a second, just be quiet, let’s listen.”

Tommy actually obeys, and the two of them focus, still searching into the darkness, listening closely.  No other sounds echo, no footsteps, no shifting stone, nothing.

“See?  It was probably nothing.  I think we’re a few blocks away from my platform,” Wilbur says optimistically, even as he really isn’t sure how close they are.

“Oh, now you’re all for fucking around with serial killers, hm?”

“This was your idea, Tommy, if you remember.”

“I’m the idea man, you’re the– the other man!” Tommy says irritably.

“What’s the other man?”

“The guy that pussies out and tells us to leave!”

“Isn’t that what you’re currently doing?”

“No, I’m waiting for you to do it!  I’m not scared!”

“Fine!  Fine, you big baby, if you want to go back, we’ll go back!” Wilbur rolls his eyes and turns around.  His flashlight shines brightly off of a white mask smiling at them, a few meters away.  Wilbur screams, Tommy somehow doesn’t, although Wilbur can feel his white knuckled grip on his arm and hears his shaky breathing as Wilbur’s echo dies out.

The figure doesn’t move.  Wilbur realizes that Tommy has stepped in front of him, putting himself between Wilbur and the figure, and he drags Tommy back behind him instead.  Tommy doesn’t protest.  The figure still doesn’t move.  It is currently standing between them and their exit.  The only reason they haven’t started running in the opposite direction is that they know there is no true escape for them there.  The only guaranteed way back to the light is a five minute walk behind that white mask.  It had been following them this whole time.  Wilbur hopes Tommy can’t feel that he’s shaking.

“Look, we’ll– we’ll just go, alright?” Wilbur says in what he hopes is a strong tone of voice.

The figure doesn’t react, but it doesn’t step toward them either, merely watches, eerie and uncanny.  That smile, both an expressionless void and a malevolent grin mocking them.  Wilbur feels sick just from the sight of it, hairs standing on end, a primal warning telling him that face is a threat.

Wilbur side-steps toward the opposite side of the tunnel, backing up so he’s almost against the tunnel walls, keeping as much distance between himself and that mask as possible, Tommy still kept behind him.  The figure merely watches, turning slowly to follow them as they circle to the other side of the tunnel.

“Wil,” Tommy whispers shakily.  “H-He’s got a gun.  He’s got a fucking gun.”

Wilbur doesn’t reply, glancing from the white mask to where the figure’s hands should be.  Barely visible even with the flashlight, Wilbur sees the faint gleam of dark metal.  Wilbur keeps moving, stepping in a wide arc around the man.  If Tommy weren’t here, Wilbur thinks he would’ve been a lot stupider.  He buries the urge to say, “you know, everyone is looking for you,” or “you sure do discriminate in your choice of victims, don’t you?” or even, “does trespassing warrant a bullet?  Newsflash, dickhead, you’re trespassing too.”  He doesn’t say a word, hyper-aware of Tommy one step behind him.  His back is now to the direction out, still facing the figure, while Tommy looks ahead.  Wilbur takes a step back, Tommy leading the way with his own torch, still holding on tightly to Wilbur’s hand.

Wilbur’s heart drops when, as they finally get some distance between themselves and the figure, it takes a step forward.  Wilbur takes another step back.  It follows.  It doesn’t come any closer, though, merely matches pace.  They’re making sure we leave.

Wilbur doesn’t tell Tommy the figure is following, merely keeps facing it, hardly daring to blink.  Wilbur stares intently at that white mask, one without an expression for him to read.  Wilbur realizes, with a tiny shred of relief, that the figure probably can’t see their faces.  Wilbur is shining a light in their eyes.  The figure has their voices, but not what they look like.  Small mercies.

Tommy whispers back to him, “still following?”

“Yeah,” Wilbur says softly.  The figure can surely hear them regardless, the tunnels so large and echoing, their footsteps on the cracked concrete filling up the silence, Wilbur only now recognizing the additional echo of this person’s footfalls, which must have been not far behind them this whole time, never letting up, merely following, slow and careful.

Then, to Wilbur’s shock and horror, Tommy looks back over his shoulder and shouts, “stop following us, you fucking creep!  We’re leaving your tunnels, so you can fuck off!”

“Tommy?!” Wilbur hisses.  “Have you lost your fucking mind?!”  Wilbur turns his back to the figure just for a moment to shake Tommy, and as he does so, he hears a laugh.  It’s a man’s voice, his laugh irritating and wheezing.  Wilbur turns back around sharply, but the figure hasn’t gotten any closer.  The laughter dies.  The figure takes another step forward, one step closer, as if ushering them on to their destination.

Wilbur doesn’t need any more encouragement.  He walks faster, now looking ahead, glancing over his shoulder at the figure often, but more focused on a quick pace to get them the fuck out of there.

“Stairs!  Oh, stairs, I fucking love you,” Tommy says, voice weak with relief as he spots their exit.  Wilbur is right behind him.  The figure stops a few meters back, and Wilbur allows the metal door to swing shut on that eerie mask in the darkness.

Tommy had taken off up the stairs at a sprint, Wilbur staggering to catch up.  They both stop, breathless in the alleyway outside.

“H-How fucking long do you think he was following us?” Wilbur says once he’s calmed his racing heart a bit.

“He laughed at me.  He fucking laughed at me,” Tommy scowls.  Then, surprisingly, perhaps awfully, he looks to Wilbur.  “What do we… what do we do?”

“What do we do?”

“I mean, we– we saw ‘im!  The guy who’s been beating up homeless people and killing criminals and shit,” Tommy nods back to the door, still tense, like he’s half expecting it to open and the killer to come out.

“We can’t do anything.  And I dunno about you, but I don’t trust the pigs to do shit,” Wilbur says, oddly enough, the first person to come to mind of who he wants to do something about it is Technoblade, but he’s preoccupied several states away.  He gives the door another wary glance.  “Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here, go somewhere with more people.”

Tommy is quick to agree.  “That was… that was so fucked.  What the fuck were we thinking, going back down there?!”

“It was your idea, remember?  You were actually looking for some shit like that, if I recall.”

“I wasn’t looking for the actual fucking guy!” Tommy blusters.  “Are you fucking bonkers?!  Nah, I was just– I dunno what I was looking for, but not that freaky bitch in a mask!”

Wilbur almost can’t stop himself, words tumbling out as he senses an opportunity.  “You cannot be on the streets, Tommy.  It’s too fucking dangerous.  Sleep in the speakeasy, if you really don’t wanna be in Niki’s apartment.  And– And once I get my flat, you should come stay with me.  Pitch in rent, if it makes you feel better, just fucking hell, don’t get stabbed on some park bench by some stupid dick in a smiley mask.”

Tommy must truly be afraid, because his first impulse isn’t to argue.  Instead, he nods, grudgingly, but nonetheless.  “Fine.  Dunno about paying rent, but I’ll take up part of whatever shithole you’re gonna get.”

“And until then, Niki’s?”

Tommy grumbles for another moment, before nodding once more.  “Fine, I’ll stay at Niki’s, fucking hell, you’re acting like you really are my big brother.”

“What, just ‘cause I don’t want you to get stabbed?”

“Yeah. Very brotherly of you.”

“We may as well be.  We’re trauma-bonded after that bullshit.  We must be,” Wilbur sighs wearily.

“I don’t get trauma.  I’m the Tommyinnit.”

[fipindustries]

had a hilarious argument with a witch friend of mine the other day about mage the asencion. I was insisting that the technocracy were objectively in the right and she insisted that the traditions were the good guys. At one point she insisted that chaos was righteous because its fair, chaos doesnt discriminate i asked her if she was quoting that scene in the dark knight and she looked all gulty and said " mmmmaybe"

[isthispokemonlefthanded]

could you do one but flip the image horizontally please? I’d like to test if people really do pick based on what side is closest to the front (unless actively using a hand)

Mmmmaybe

One day. when I have the energy

[theycallme-thejackal]

Jackallllll

Maybe a follow up to Coney Island maybe?

Mmmmaybe?

Pairing: Lenny Bruce & Midge Maisel Rated T

Part 1 | Part 2

Midge has barely managed to dry her tears when Kitty comes running in.

She climbs up onto the bed on Lenny’s other side, cuddling into him, and he grunts a little. The doctor told Midge that he had some bruising to his ribs in addition to the gash on his forehead, now clean and stitched up.

He doesn’t seem to mind though as he holds his daughter close without taking his other hand out of Midge’s grasp. He buries his nose in the top of Kitty’s blonde hair. “Are you okay, Daddy?”

“Yeah, I am,” he promises. “A little banged up, but I’m okay.”

She nods and holds him a little tighter.

The doctor comes in a moment later, followed by Midge’s parents. She stands, but when she tries to walk away, he grips her hand a little tighter.

He has a concussion, so they want to keep him overnight, and Lenny is clearly irritated but doesn’t argue. When the doctor leaves, he turns to look at her. “Midge...” He says quietly.

“I’ll take care of her,” she promises.

He seems to relax a little, and he shakes his daughter gently. “Kit, you’re gonna stay a Midge's tonight, okay?”

“No! I don’t wanna leave!” Kitty whines, squeezing him a little tighter. This time he hisses in pain.

It takes a lot of convincing, but eventually Kitty relents, and Midge squeezes Lenny’s hand before taking his daughter out of the hospital.

---

The little blonde is clearly tired by the time they get back to the apartment, and Midge is grateful Moishe and Shirley have her kids for a couple days. She sets up Kitty in Ethan’s bed, tucking her in and pulling out one of Ethan’s books to read to her.

But it seems Kitty has no interest in story time. “Are you Daddy’s girlfriend?” She asks, looking up at Midge.

“Um...no, I’m not,” Midge answers.

“Oh,” Kitty murmurs a little sadly. “I think he really likes you,” she says a moment later.

“Well I like him too,” Midge says. “He’s a really good friend.”

“But do you like him, like him?”

Midge laughs quietly. “Your daddy is one of my favorite people in the world.”

“He kept saying your name today,” Kitty says a little sleepily, her eyelids starting to flutter. “When we were waiting for the amb’lance...before he fell asleep.”

Midge feels a tightening in her throat at the revelation as Kitty nods off, still clutching her toy. She slips out of the room and heads for her own bedroom, where she sits on the bed and cries for a long time.

It was terrifying when she found out about the morphine, but when he quit, she thought she was past the potential to lose him. That all of it was behind them. She thought she had all the time in the world for them to fall back into each other.

She never expected this.

---

He's dozing when she gets there. She doesn't want to wake him, but as she moves a chair closer to his bed, it screeches against the floor, and he groans as he wakes up. "Midge?" He grumbles. "What are you doing back here? Where's..."

She bursts into tears again. He just stares at her, obviously surprised by her emotional state. It's a few moments before she's able to compose herself enough to speak. "I don't know if this is the right time," she breathes. "It's probably a terrible time, but Kitty was asking about us, and I..."

Her lip quivers as she gets choked up again. He reaches for her, taking her hand and tugging gently until she's lying in bed beside him, her arm draped carefully over his waist as both of his slip around her. “I thought we had time. I thought eventually we would work things out and we didn’t have a time limit on it because you got clean, and then today you...”

She buries her face in his neck, still conscious of his slightly battered state as she grips his hospital gown. "Lenny, I don't want to just be your friend," she whispers. “I haven’t wanted to be just your friend since before Carnegie Hall, and I almost lost out on the chance to ever tell you that.”

He sighs through his nose and kisses her forehead. "I don’t want you to just be my friend either,” he agrees. “I told you, Midge...I’ve got too much to live for now. There was no way in hell I was going to leave you today.”

She tips her head up and kisses him softly, a little desperately, and he cups her cheek in his hand as he kisses her back.

She pulls away after a long moment and gazes at him, her heart feeling full and happy for the first time in a long while. She traces her fingertips gently over his jaw. “I should let you get some more rest,” she whispers.

He kisses her once more before loosening his embrace so she can slip off the bed. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

He reaches for her again, taking her hand in his. “Thank you for taking care of Kitty,” he breathes a little tearfully. “I’m...really grateful, Midge.”

She grins softly. “Any time.” She leans in for one more tender kiss before leaving him to sleep.

---

The next morning, though, Kitty doesn’t want to go to school, and considering what she went through yesterday, Midge can’t fault her for wanting to come get her dad from the hospital.

She takes Kitty to Lenny’s apartment, where the six-year-old proves to be very self-sufficient in terms of getting ready for the day while Midge rifles through Lenny’s things to find a phone number for her school. She calls them to explain the situation and then heads to Lenny’s bedroom to find him some clean clothes to wear home. Just as she’s zipping up his small suitcase, Kitty finds her. “Miss Midge?”

She looks at her, dressed in a sweet purple dress and little mary janes. “You can just call me Midge, sweetie,” she replies. “Do you need help with something?”

Kitty holds up a couple of elastics. “Can you help me with my pigtails?”

Midge grins and lets Kitty lead her to the bathroom. She brushes her blonde tresses into smooth pigtails, tying them off so they’re nice and even. “You look very pretty,” she says, giving Kitty a little tap on the nose.

She giggles. “Can we go see Daddy now?”

“We sure can.”

[cloudysunflowr]

¡Deity Doodles! Just a bunch of old doodles, I might one day render them~ Mmmmaybe haha! • Also, just two doodles of Sally and... – @cloudysunflowr en Tumblr

hey in this link,i can't see Eddie in any of these pictures,can you show how Eddie looks

Of course!!

This is his ref sheet I use :oD

Also— funny enough, a sketch of my oc Mathew and Eddie! :oD

And more sketches that I might finish digitally! :oD

Honestly I forget to post sketches of him and since he comes into play later I dont draw him that often :oP But I should! Hes my third favorite! Hahaha!

[ralfmaximus]

Just Hear Me Out

Lost Deep Space 9 episode idea... one day the Ferengis are reviewing old 20th century Earth media for clues about how to exploit humanity (ROA #74, Knowledge is profit) when they discover Christmas TV specials. Specifically the ones depicting CHRISTMAS SHOPPING and possibly BLACK FRIDAY sales. All of humanity reduced to crazed consumerism. Video of parents fighting each over for the last Barbie at Toys'R'Us.

Rom: To the death??

Quark, rolling his eyes: No, not to the death you moron

Nog, smugly: This media is from before the Federation, when they fought nuclear wars among themselves and--

Quark, looking closer: Well... mmmmaybe?

Anyway it's good clean fun for awhile and they all have a chuckle over the silly hyoo-mans and their ancient inferior capitalistic rituals. Quark fires off a message to the Grand Nagus about how he ought to check out these weird old files from 1980s Earth and forgets about it.

Next thing we know, all of Ferengi culture is obliterated with Christmas Spirit. Every Ferengi is seen wearing ugly christmas sweaters & scarves (no matter the temperature) there are actual CHRISTMAS TREES on DS9, like crammed into every corner & crevice and O'Brien has to put lockouts on the replicators before any more get made.

Quark starts selling Egg Nog and fights with Nog over the unpaid use of his name, finally agreeing that since it's an Earth drink it's actually the hyoo-mans that own the rights to 'Nog' and we better shut up about it before THEY start charging Nog for the use of his name.

There's no Jesus or anything, but Santa Clause has somehow become the human God Of Crass Commercialism and Quark simply will not take off the Santa suit.

Almost everyone -- especially the humans -- are baffled by this Christmas thing but the Ferengis are STUFFED with knowledge and chatter eagerly about reindeers, hot cocoa, cookies, and CHRISTMAS SALES.

The Bajorans become increasingly concerned and eventually file an official Federation complaint when they see Gul Dukat in a Santa hat, jingling evilly around the station.

"Quark," an exasperated Sisko says, "you do realize that even in our 20th century Christmas lasted only one day a year, and was celebrated for only a few--"

"I know that, and you know that, but the Nagus has decreed Christmas is now a year-long Acquisition Ritual that must be observed or else--"

"Or else WHAT"

Quark points at a suspiciously Nagus-shaped Elf On A Shelf® parked in his bar, which is obviously a surveillance device. Whispers to Sisko in real fear "...it's Jingle Jail for bad Ferengis."

A nearby Christmas tree morphs into Odo. "A what jail?"

[anglophiletraveler]

In My Life - Six Sentence Sunday!!!

So, I wanted to post a one shot for Valentine's Day, but started on it too late. I'm almost done with it now, but now I'm not sure if I should save it to use as a chapter in the story or to post it as a one shot!!!

****

Caroline gave Demelza a call before Valentine’s Day.

“Hello darling, how are you?”

“Caroline, hiya!  I’m fine.  I’ve just been doing a lot of practising, trying to get ready for the next chair auditions.  What are you up to?”

“Trying to find out what Dwight has planned for Valentine’s Day tomorrow!  He’s keeping pretty tight lipped about the whole thing and it’s driving me bonkers.  He won’t tell me if we’re going out or if we’re staying in, or what I should wear.”

Demelza was laughing at her friend.  “Oh I bet this really is driving you bonkers.  He won’t give you a clue at all?”

“No!  The twat!  What about you?  What are you and Ross doing tomorrow night?”

“Um, I have no clue really.  We really haven’t talked about it much.  I’ve been trying to think about what to get him.  I mean, do guys even want something for Valentine’s Day?  Did you get Dwight anything?”

“Yes, I bought him a bottle of cologne.  Did you find something for Ross?”

“No not yet.  I’m off tomorrow so I still have tomorrow to look around.”

“Well, if you hear of any hint from Ross tonight as to what Dwight has planned for us tomorrow night, please let me know.”

“Alright will do.  Ta!”  Demelza got a kick out of Caroline’s curiosity.  She was bad as a child at Christmas!

***********

Seamus heard the garage door open and started barking like mad.  Demelza stopped playing the cello and looked at her watch.  “What the hell?  It’s 4:00?”  She got up and looked at Seamus, “What’s daddy doing home from work so early?”

Just then the back door opened, and Ross bellowed, “Honey, I’m hoooome!”

Demelza walked over to him with a smile, “Hiya, what brings you home so early today?”

Ross gave her a quick peck on the cheek, “Well, Happy Valentine’s Day to you too!”  He set a bag down that he’d been carrying so he could take his coat off and hang it up.

“Ross, we wished each other Happy Valentine’s Day this morning before you left for work.  What’s in this bag?”  She tried to take a peek, but Ross grabbed it from her before she could take a look.

“No peeking!  Aren’t you the one who always complains about me trying to take a peek at my gifts?”

“Which you do all the time.  So, I’m waiting for an answer to my question.”

Ross smiled and gave her a quirky grin, “What question might that be?”

“You know very well what question Ross…   why are you home from work so early?”

“Am I early?”  He looks at his watch.  “Oh look at that, I guess I am a little early.”  He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in for a nuzzle on her neck with his now full beard.  Demelza started giggling at the feeling that she was beginning to have.  Ross pulled back, “I’m sorry, are you laughing at me when I’m trying to be amorous towards my beautiful girlfriend?”

“Mmmmaybe!  But that doesn’t mean you have to stop what you’re doing.”

“Oh really?  Do you like it when I kiss you there?   How about here?  Hmmm?”

Demelza had laid her head to one side to give Ross more access to explore her neck and other ticklish places.  “Mmmm I do, I do.”  All of a sudden Ross completely stopped kissing her.  “Hey, why did you stop nuzzling my neck!”

“I thought you wanted me to tell you why I came home early?”  Ross couldn’t stop grinning at her.

Demelza sighed.  “Oh that.  Alright, why did you come home early?”

Ross grabbed the bag and pulled her to sit down on the sofa.  “Come here, love!”  He pulled out a box elegantly wrapped in white paper with a beautiful red ribbon and bow on it and handed it to her.  He had the biggest smile on his face.  “Happy First Valentine’s Day, my love!  I came home early to give you this and to get this evening started.  Go ahead and open it.  You’ll never guess in a million years what it is!!”

[callmearcturus]

Perfume Diary: Prada's Paradoxe Intense

Oh buddy. This is a unique one.

This thing is Williams and Sonoma Cottagecore. It's Bog Witch but on the runway. The Met Gala features mori kei.

The backbone of this scent is MOSS. There are other notes on top of it, mainly jasmine and a very mild amber, mmmmaybe frankincense smoke? But the core of this is the moss base note. It's very powerful too, surviving on my clothes and skin for most of the day before even starting to fade.

This could be someone's signature scent. It's not for me but Wow.

[pikipekarmy]

in person raid nite

I'm back in Buffalo for several days and tonight is Raid Night so I'm planning to join in. But. It's not a walking route, despite there being a few areas where one could easily walk between a number of gyms in a reasonable amount of time. No, it's a DRIVING route, and it means I absolutely have to drive as the gyms are all at least ten minutes apart on foot. And what's more they've had to update it since last week, which was the maiden outing of this particular route, because someone who lived near one of the gyms got angry at the traffic and popped out and started hassling people, and was apparently rather threatening. So one of the gyms is getting cut from the route, and the next gym, there are specific instructions on where NOT to park, so as to avoid this person.

Yes Niantic we are SO excited to GO OUTSIDE and PUT OURSELVES IN PHYSICAL DANGER yes what an opportunity!! Are we getting exercise? NO we are doing this in our CARS because it does not make sense to do it on foot apparently.

So hurrah for increased fossil fuel usage, that's definitely what they were hoping for when they got rid of the ability to do raids from any distance whatsoever. Double thumbs up on that.

We'll see how it goes. I do not plan to do more than mmmmaybe three raids. I wish I could see in advance what the raids were going to be, but Campfire performs so poorly for Raid Night, it's not like I can look an hour ahead of time and decide which gyms I'm strategically going to wait near to raid. Most gyms, the eggs do appear an hour ahead of time, but not on Raid Night! You're lucky to get fifteen minutes.

Putting a flare on has also in my experience literally never worked, but we'll see if anyone does tonight.

If I were going to be in town more I would offer to at least carpool with somebody, but I haven't met most of these people in person yet and I am going to miss any social meetups they are actually going to try to have, so it's not worth making the effort for this single instance. Maybe this winter though...