#aaron shepard

[randomheadcanons]

When Aaron and Mona meet, 1810.

Aaron liked Forsaken Bluff. It was a mostly sleepy little town that suited Aaron just fine. Additionally, because the town catered to supernatural folk, they often had warm blood on hand. That always made his journey back from the California territory of Mexico easier. It wouldn’t be long before it became a state territory, Aaron reasoned; it had too much value as a resource haven for the Union not to take notice and ultimately grab it for itself.

His time in California was good; he and Bruce always had a good time. He also took the opportunity to get to know the other vampires in the area; one never knew when it would come in handy, and Aaron liked to keep tabs.

But it was time to head home. He had some affairs to attend to back in Jamestown. He needed to check on his younger brother, Samual. Though younger was a relative term at this point; Samual would be about 45 now, Aaron mused. Far older than Aaron himself would ever get. And “checking in” as Aaron saw it, was probably far more unsettling to a human than a vampire. Aaron loitered around his family’s farm, of which Samuel was now the owner. He would hang around for a couple days, watching his brother, before leaving a monetary gift on the doorstep before disappearing. Aaron never left a note, nor did he stick around to see Samuel find the envelope. He simply left, trusting that Samuel would do what he needed to do with the money.

Hopefully invest, Aaron thought to himself with a snort before entering the saloon. While the stock market was less than 20 years old, Aaron sensed that it was going to be quite popular, especially as his contacts in New York were involved in the original market in Holland.

“What will you have?” The bartender asked. She was tall and tan. Her blonde hair was bound at the nape of her neck, the scar on her lip bending with her smile.

“A glass of A-” Aaron smiled, taking a seat at the bar.

The bartender grimaced. “Sorry darling,” She apologized. “I’ve got AB+ and O-“.

“O is fine,” Aaron assured, waving his hand.

The woman nodded. “Want anything in that?”

“Uh,” Aaron mused, “Bourbon, if you don’t mind.”

“Make that two,” said a new voice to Aaron’s right. He looked over and smiled.

Vampires, generally, were beautiful; it was a natural part of their arsenal to catch prey. When turned, a human’s most attractive attributes were heightened, to better draw in their next meal. Aaron was used to seeing beautiful vampires.

But this woman was something else entirely.

Her deep, rich, dark hair was coiled elegantly on top of her head, with wind whipped strands framing her face. Her equally dark eyes drew Aaron in immediately, and he knew that those eyes had seen centuries of life already. Her lips…her lips were a soft pink and would no doubt gain some color with the blood cocktail that was placed in front of her and Aaron.

She was alluring.

“Hope you don’t mind that I swooped in,” she said, picking up her drink.

Aaron blinked, “No, of course not,” he assured, putting 2 half dollars on the counter. “My treat,”

She smiled, craning her head over to a quiet table in the back. “That’s kind of you,” She said softly. “Care to join me?”

Had Aaron had a heartbeat, it would’ve skipped several beats.

He picked up his own drink before following her to the table. He beat her to it and pulled her chair out for her, which she took, tucking the seat of her dress underneath her as she sat.

The other nice thing about Forsaken Bluff, Aaron mused, was that he could move as freely and quickly as he desired without fear of repercussions.

“What brings you to Forsaken Bluff?” the woman asked, taking a slow sip.

“Passing through,” Aaron supplied, “Coming from California, and you?”

“Heading to,” she said with a smile. ”meeting some acquaintances there,”

“Are you traveling alone?” Aaron asked, some concern in his voice.

She laughed. “Yes.” She paused, taking another sip. “It’s 1810, after all. And I can take care of myself,”

”Of that I have no doubt,” Aaron agreed. “Where is home?”

“Italy,” she said, glancing out the window, “have you been?”

“Not yet,” he admitted. “There’s so much to explore here,” he said, gesturing around, then grinned. “But I have time.”

She nodded. “Plenty of time.” She agreed, finishing her drink and offering her hand. “I’m Desdemona de Leon,” she introduced herself. “And you?”

“Aaron Shepard,” he replied, taking her hand and pressing his lips to the back of her hand. Her eyebrows rose in bemusement.

“A true American then,” she mused.

Aaron nodded. “Yes ma’am, born 15 years before the War, turned in 1781.”

“Oh very young,” Desdemona commented.

Aaron shrugged and smiled easily, “Plenty of time to explore,” he agreed. She smiled back. It was like the sunrise Aaron hadn’t hadn’t seen in 30 years.

“Well, Mr. Shepard,” She said, standing up. Aaron aimed to follow before she lifted up her hand, “Please, no need to rise on my accord.” She said, holding up a half dollar up. She smiled. “Your next drink is on me. Thank you for your company.”

Aaron nodded with a smile. “Will we meet again?” He asked, eyes meeting hers.

Her dark eyes met his and a smile played on her lips. She opened his palm and lightly placed the coin in it before curling her fingers over his to close around it.

“I’ll make sure of it.” She promised.

And then she was gone. And Aaron was out of breath.

[puddlellama]

Do not forget Brianna Ghey.

Do not forget Nex Benedict.

Do not forget Aaron Bushnell.

Do not forget Luigi Mangione.

Do not forget Matthew Shepard.

Do not forget Brianna Boston.

[icalledhimpietro]

Evan Peters has never played Pietro Maximoff

He has been Peter Maximoff and Ralph Bohner

Peter Maximoff was really just Tommy Shepherd with an Americanized version of Pietro's name but his character matched more to Tommy Shepherd

Ralph Bohner seems like he was a one-off joke to get around not having Pietro in WandaVision.

Evan Peters is a great actor but he has never played Pietro in my opinion. I think his character in X-Men would have been much more successful if they had just done their research and named him Tommy Shepherd. I would've had zero problems with that because it felt like a true accurate portrayal of Speed.

Quicksilver, as a character, has been fucked over so many times with less than informed writing and I want people to know, I love Evan Peters. He's a great actor but character wise, he's never portrayed Pietro.

[longlistshort]

This tribute to artist Margaret Kilgallen was spotted in Los Angeles in 2014. The quote is paraphrasing what she said during an interview for the PBS program Art21. The full quote reads- “I do spend a lot of time trying to perfect my line work… when you get close up, you can always see the line waver. And I think that’s where the beauty is.” Kilgallen died of cancer in 2001, at only 33, but left behind a remarkable body of work.

You can currently see one of these works at Cantor Arts Center’s as part of the group exhibition, Day Jobs, on view until 7/21/24. The exhibition examines the impact of day jobs in the lives and work of several famous artists.

(Image courtesy of Cantor Arts Center: Margaret Kilgallen, “Money to Loan (Paintings for the San Francisco Bus Shelter Posters)” [detail], 2000. Mixed media on paper and fabric, sheet 68 × 48½ inches Courtesy of the Margaret Kilgallen Estate, photo by Tony Prikryl)

You can learn more about Kilgallen, her husband and fellow artist Barry McGee, and several other artists including Shepard Fairey, Mike Mills, Ed Templeton and Harmony Korine in Aaron Rose’s film Beautiful Losers.

[magnoliabutters]

KINKTOBER2023

y'all know i love me some prompts and i do be lazy so, naturally, i had to take part in @chestharrington's lazy ghoul's kinktober...

warnings: 18+ content, mdni, nsfw, kinky shit, the smuts & the fluffs, etc.

⚉ week one: making love w/ garrus vakarian

☣︎ posted

⚉ week two: sex toys w/ aaron hotchner

☣︎ posted

⚉ week three: anonymous sex w/ eddie munson

☣︎ posted

⚉ week four: free use w/ spencer reid

☣︎ oct. 29th

note: may the mass effect, criminal minds, & stranger things fandoms reap the benefits...

⚇ impromptu prompts ⚆ navigation ⚇

[agaytransrat]

YALL! I’m bored and since I can’t draw anything and still trying to learn my own art style! I found these little tiny templates :3 so I want you guys to give me an Outsider or Hamilton ship and I will draw it with whatever template you want! Don’t judge me because I’m using a template. I really wanna try and learn how to draw but I honestly suck and I’m still trying to learn my one art style. Anyways! That’s all I have to say :3

[emxcrt]

I do agree with you usually on how the writers start miswriting our beloved characters as soon as they give them those three years mostly off-screen because it's like they wrote the context for us in drips and drabs then keep forgetting to take that context into account in seasons 5 and 6.

Here however, I really do feel like the Jack who came back to the Island is still 100% convinced he'd make a terrible father figure. Let's be real, he already thought he was doing poorly, only got reassured thanks to Kate affirming how good he is, but then that went to shit and his relapse (I mean, I don't think he ever tried to be 100% sober) did cause hurt to both Kate and Aaron.

[We don't have access to Aaron's interior life but all kids require and thrive on consistence in their care and caregivers so...]

That there's a part of Jack, after those two years, who would still largely believe himself to be a lousy father is far from surprising to me 🤷🏾‍♂️

dont quote me on this but i've just rememberee that in "lighthouse" jack says something like "i would make a terrible father" and EXCUSE ME AARON ERASURE??? You've been a parental figure to that kid for at least 2 years? what was going on when they wrote that? am i hallucinating? see?? this is what i mean when I say that aaron and kate's storyline is just bad, so bad the writers themselves forgot about it!!

[peachglazewrites]

𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 ⸙ 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: abby anderson x f!reader 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: smut (18+ MDNI), use of words like cunt/pussy/tits/etc, alcohol mention, arguing, angst 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: fluff, making out, dry humping, top!Abby, vaginal fingering (r!receiving), mild dirty talk 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘: no use of y/n or any reader descriptions 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 10,225k

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: The one where you and Mel come home, and lunch just never seems to go to plan.

̗̀➛ master post

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ link to fic on ao3 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙸: XI

The pain in your leg the next day you expected. The pain in your head, however, is another story entirely. Whatever Owen was making needed to be studied. Nothing has ever made your head throb the way yours is right now, and you barely survived Manny’s birthday party.

Mel woke you up a little later than planned, the two of you sleeping through the shrill ringing of the analogue alarm clock set by your bedside, buried too deep under piles of blankets and a very affectionate Shepard-mix to hear it. The sun had already started peeking above the horizon line, sending warm rays of light across the room, battling the frigid air.

The two of you got ready in a hurry, not wanting to be back at base too late in the morning. You were scheduled for work in the afternoon, but were more concerned about making it back before the morning shift change than anything else. It was much easier to explain away your absence to the night-shift skeleton crew who didn’t really care all that much, rather than the day shift workers who felt like they had something to prove.

At least that’s what Mel said.

The trip back to base was rougher the second time around, an unfortunate side effect of your dual hangovers and the straining ache in your leg muscles. It felt like your calf was going to rip in two any time you flattened your foot, which was no help when it came time to jump across balconies or crawl through crumbled walls. Mel was patient as all hell though, offering an elbow for you to latch onto when it got especially rough.

You’d definitely need to rest before work today, maybe see if you can make one of those heated pads Abby had. A hot shower will help somewhat, and god, do you need one, anyways. You’ve smelled the aquarium plenty of times on Mel before, but the way you can feel the salt and musk clinging to your skin and clothes is another thing altogether.

You make it back to the gates around nine o’clock, just after the morning shift change. Mel takes the lead in signing you two back in, curving the prying questions of the patrolman at the station, a man you don’t recognise, but Mel clearly does. She slides the clipboard back to him with a forced smile when she’s done, tugging both you and Alice along behind her.

“They’re always so nosey. It was so much easier when we could plan around when Olivia was on duty,” Mel murmurs to you, walking up the stone path to the kennels.

“What happened to Olivia?” You ask, looking behind you, back at the guard booth.

“Got transferred out. I think she’s at the Serevena now.” Mel shrugs, unlocking and holding the gate to the kennels open for you and Alice.

Alice is an angel as you sign her back in, waiting patiently by Mel’s feet as the two of you talk to Aaron. Eventually one of the trainers comes by, clipping a lead onto her harness and leading her away, probably off to be bathed. She smells almost as much as you two do, the scent clinging to her thick fur.

“I miss her already,” you sigh, watching Alice trot off, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth as she pants.

“You spoil her too much,” Mel chuckles, holding out her elbow for you as you broach the stairs.

You slip your arm through hers, linking them together. The extra support is nice as you make your way up the stone steps, helping you take some of the pressure off your leg as you pull yourself along. “That’s funny, because I don’t think anyone else is taking their dogs out on mini vacations to abandoned aquariums.”

Mel’s eyes roll, a smile playing at her lips. “Alright, keep walking.”

You take it slow on your walk back to the room, shifting your duffel bag from one shoulder to the other to help balance the weight across your body, your limp becoming more obvious. You’ll definitely need to sit today at work, which isn’t ideal, but that’s just how life is for you now. No use trying to fight against it.

Mel trails behind as you walk down the hallway, pushing past the doors leading to the residential suites.

“It’s not that bad.”

“That’s because you’re used to it. I can still smell the algae, like it’s stuck in my nose.” You wrinkle your nose, scrubbing it with the back of your hand.

“Hey, you were the one who tried climbing that fake coral,” Mel says, raising a brow at you when you turn around, walking backwards to talk to her.

“If I wasn’t supposed to climb it, then why did it look so climbable?”

You bump your back into the next set of double doors, pushing it open with your hip. “You just hate fun.”

“And you love complaining,” she retorts, stifling a laugh as you wave her off, stepping into the hallway and letting the door close behind you.

“Hey--!” Mel’s voice muffles as the door clicks shut, separating the two of you. You snicker to yourself, leaving her behind to continue down the hallway to your room.

Well, you would, if there wasn’t someone standing in front of it already.

She’s wearing a pair of belted cargos, dark green long sleeve tucked into the waistband. Her pants are rolled at the ankle, high enough to fit her dark combat boots, the brown leather having been freshly waxed. Her signature braid hangs over her shoulder, the tail brushing the middle of her chest.

Abby.

The keychain burns in your back pocket as you slow to a stop, a pleasant warmth blanketing you at just the mere sight of her.

Abby knocks once more on your door, tilting her head close to the wood, listening. She chews on her cheek as she waits, sighing when there’s no response. Her forehead butts against the door for a moment, eyes closed, before she’s pushing herself back and turning away.

“Kind of hard to answer when I’m not home,” you say, smiling at the way her head whips up to look at you.

The little pout her lips were pressed into smooths out, twitching into a soft smile at the sight of you, eyes roaming your figure. Her shoulders drop, almost in relief as the tension seeps out of them. She takes a couple of long strides to get to you, hand already reaching out for your own, your name tumbling from her lips.

The door behind you opens, just enough for Mel to slip through.

“You’re so annoying,” she laughs, wriggling her duffel through the gap as the door shuts behind her.

Abby stops, steps faltering at Mel’s entry. Her hand slips back to her side, your fingers twitching as she pulls away from you. Her eyes are trained over your shoulder, no doubt to where Mel stands in the doorway.

It’s quiet. Tense. Nobody is moving or saying anything, and you feel the air of the hall get thicker and thicker as the seconds go by.

You startle when Mel places a hand on your shoulder, gentle and kind. You didn’t even hear her approach.

“I’m going to go shower,” she says, voice level as she looks at you, ignoring the other person in the hall.

Abby’s eyes flick to the hand on your shoulder, and you can see the cogs turning in her head as she stares, brows furrowing. You know this look, the one she gets when she’s unsure, confused.

“Okay, I’ll meet you down there in a bit.”

Mel nods, squeezing your shoulder as she walks past. She doesn’t spare a glance Abby’s way, looking down into her pocket to fish out her keys, taking her time in unlocking the door and disappearing inside the room.

The soft click of the doorhandle catching snaps Abby out of her thoughts, blinking them away. You fiddle with the strap of your duffel in the silence, moving to lean against the wall next to you, leg aching.

You break first.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Abby says back, face relaxing as she looks up, taking you in.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” She meets you at the wall, leaning her shoulder against it. Her hand comes out, and as if there was a magnet connecting you, you reach out too, hooking your index fingers together. “I came by last night to see if you wanted to come over, but nobody answered. Thought you were asleep, so I figured I’d come by this morning, but you still weren’t answering.” She looks you up and down, a small smile on her lips. “Now I know why.”

“Sorry,” you apologise, sheepish, squeezing her hand. “I should have left a note or something.”

“Where did you go?” She brings her other hand up, reaching across to swipe a thumb against a smudge of dirt along your jaw. “You leave base?”

“I—”

You’re interrupted by the door opening again, Mel pushing through with her shower caddy in tow. Abby tenses, hand falling from your cheek. She nearly steps away, but you keep your grip on her hand, pulling her back to you.

Mel locks up behind her and leaves the opposite way, making a point to turn her back to the two of you.

“I was out with Mel,” you say once Mel leaves, pushing through the doors at the opposite end of the hall.

Abby raises an eyebrow, letting herself be pulled closer when you tug on her hand again. “And you’re alive?”

You huff, a small smile playing on your lips. “I survived, yes.” You cup her cheek, feeling her smooth skin under your palm. “I don’t want to get into it here, though. But maybe if we got lunch? Tomorrow?”

Abby leans into your hand, lips pressing back into that little pout. It’s horribly cute.

“Why not today?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say she was whining, but Abby Anderson does not whine. Or so she says any time you tease her for it.

“I have work in a few hours and want to shower and rest beforehand.” Your thumb sweeps over her jaw, across her bottom lip where it juts out slightly. “Need to give my leg a break.”

A small kiss is pressed to your thumb, then a dull pressure as Abby nips at it.

“And this is why I’m saying tomorrow,” you scold playfully, dragging your thumb across her bottom lip. “I have a break in my shifts tomorrow, so you’ll get me for a couple of hours if you want to come over. We can grab some food, and I can fill you in on everything.”

You lean in, pressing a lingering kiss to her pursed lips. You’re both conscious of being out in the hallway, so you pull back all too soon. Abby still pushes back in for another quick peck, hand coming up to wrap around your wrist, holding it gently.

“Okay,” she sighs, breath fanning over your palm. “Tomorrow.”

⸙

Lunch doesn’t go exactly to plan.

You’d met Abby down in the caf, making small talk in line as you waited for your turn to order. Chicken noodle soup was on the menu today, the perfect meal for this particularly cold day.

Your soup now sits forgotten on the dining table, cooling off in the bag Abby used to transport it back to your room.

You also sit on the table, perched on the edge, Abby standing between your spread legs as you kiss.

One of your hands is caught up in her hair, the other pressed behind you, holding you up as Abby leans over you. She’s got a hand on your lower back and the other holding your side, thumb smoothing along your ribs. The kiss is slow, languid, feeling each other as your tongues touch, exploring.

Soft sighs and quiet moans occupy the space between you, the air getting heavier with your warmth. She feels so nice to touch, broad but soft, angles that curve and smooth under your hands. She’s lovely and beautiful and you want her as close to you as possible.

You shift towards the edge of the table, clenching your thighs around her own. Her hand snakes down from your lower back to hold one of your thighs, picking it up and pulling you closer. She hooks it up around her hip, and you can’t help the sigh that tumbles from you lips at the friction. There’s a warmth blooming between your thighs, a low thrum that has you melting against her.

Abby strays from your lips, slowly working her way down your jaw, smirking as you tilt your head to the side, giving her room to mouth at your neck.

“Abby…” Your nails dig into the wood of the table as she slides her tongue along your pulse point, sucking the skin into her mouth. “C-Careful,” you stutter, voice hiccupping as she moves on, grazing her teeth over a particularly sensitive spot. “Don’t leave more marks… embarrassing at work.”

“Nothing they haven’t seen already,” she murmurs, pinching the skin between her teeth.

A moan hitches your breath as you grip the hair tangled between your fingers, tugging. Why was that so hot?

“M’being serious.” You pull her up by her hair, butting your foreheads together. “Not where people can see.”

Abby’s smirk widens, pressing her lips back to your own as her hand wanders back down your thigh. “Okay, okay. Sorry.”

“S’okay”, you laugh, gasping as her hand gropes at your ass, using it to pull you impossibly closer. You sling your other leg around her, hooking your ankles together behind her, dragging her in to kiss her deeply.

The thumb that’s been brushing along your ribs inches slowly higher, and she can feel the way your breathing picks up under her palm. You bite back a noise when she runs it along the underside of your breast, sparks blooming and tingling down to your fingertips. She doesn’t stop there though, continuing higher and higher until she’s circling your nipple, feeling it pebble and harden through the cup of your bra.

“Oh,” you gasp, pressing your chest against her own, seeking more of the featherlight touch. Abby hums, hand shifting to cup you properly, thumb and forefinger slowly working you over.

You can’t help the hitch in your hips, the way you grind up against her. Abby groans into the kiss, pushing it past your lips, shuddering at the friction. She presses forwards, using her height to pin your hips to the table, starting a steady roll against them.

The way you have your legs spread wide to fit her already has the seam of your pants digging delicious up against your cunt, Abby’s shallow thrusts adding to the pressure.

You’d give anything to lay out on this table and let her have her way with you, but you’re not so far gone yet to realise that’s probably not a good idea.

“We should—” A particularly sharp hitch of her hips has pressure focusing on your clit, a moan interrupting your sentence. “S-Should move to the bed… Mel will kill me if we…” you trail off, words dissolving into a soft whimper.

Abby grins against your lips, a small hum your only acknowledgment as she brings both of her hands under your thighs, gripping at the flesh as she scoops you up from the table. Your legs lock tighter around her, hands clinging onto her shoulders and the back of her head, pressing her as close as possible. She refuses to break the kiss, even as she walks you both to your bed, blindly crossing the room as she licks at the back of your teeth.

When her legs hit the frame of the bed, she lets you go, dropping you onto the mattress. You yelp as you land on your back, bouncing in place for a moment, helplessly glaring up at her. She just chuckles, kicking off her boots and crawling to meet you, your hands already coming up to grab at her face to pull her down atop of you.

She kisses you like a woman starved, like you’re the air she needs to breathe. She settles herself along your hips, legs thrown either side of you as she straddles you, careful not to burden you with her full weight. But you’re desperate for it, to feel everything, to be pinned down by her as she kisses you into oblivion.

Fingers tease under the hem of your shirt, dragging it slowly up your abdomen as she smooths her large hands along your stomach. Your muscles flex under her touch, twitching and rolling as she skims along the expanse of your torso. They inch up, up, and up until they’ve pushed your shirt to bunch up under your chin, exposing your chest to her wandering hands.

“So fucking pretty,” she murmurs as she pulls back, a string of spit snapping and falling to your chin when she looks down.

Her hands move to cup you, groping at you through the fabric of your bra. You’re helpless beneath her, left to shudder and arch against her touch, watching as she eyes you hungrily.

Abby angles her head down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your clavicle and sternum, any bit of exposed skin she can reach. She’s working her way down, down to where she’s pushing your tits together, exaggerating your cleavage as she teasingly thumbs at your nipples.

The sensation is dulled through the fabric of your bra, a frustrating ghost of her touch. It’s killing you, knowing exactly how those fingers feel, how good the rough pads of her thumbs would be pressing into the fat of your tits.

You arch your back more, hoping she would get the hint, but she’s too content in nuzzling against the swell of you, teeth grazing and nipping along the tops of your breasts.

Fine.

You remove your hands from where they’ve slidden down her shoulders, nails scratching along the rolling muscles of her back. She misses the touch immediately, a soft sound leaving her parted lips, the hum of it pressed into your skin. You ignore her, pressing your hands to the skin of your chest she’s not occupying, sliding them down and into your bra, scooping yourself up and out of your prison.

Abby moves, pulling back from where she was sucking a pretty pink mark into your flesh, watching with rapt attention as you expose yourself to the air, nipples getting impossibly harder from the rush of cold. You gasp, biting your lip at the sensation, the contrast between the frigid air and Abby’s hot, panting breaths that puff across your skin.

She shifts her position, settling on her forearms as she leans over you, tongue peeking out to wet her lips. Her gaze flicks up to yours, blue eyes wide and hungry, before they disappear from your view, head tilting down to suck one of your tits into her mouth.

Her tongue laves over the pebbled skin, flicking over the hardened nub with teasing strokes. It sends jolts of pleasure zipping down right to your cunt, collecting and pooling low in your gut, where your need for her builds. You can’t help but grope at your other breast as she grazes her teeth along where you’re the most sensitive, mimicking her nips and sucks with the pads of your fingers.

“Shit—Abs,” you gasp, hips stuttering up to grind against her own where she’s straddled over you. She grunts, bearing down to pin you against the mattress. It’s almost exactly what you want—what you need. If only she would just move.

“Please—"

She breaks away with a lewd smack, smirking up at you as she nuzzles your flesh, teasing. “What’s wrong, honey?”

That nickname makes you grow hotter, wetter, your underwear clinging to you as you listen to her drawl. The way a hint of an accent slips through, the one you’ve only ever heard when she’s angry or begging for you to fuck her.

“Shut up,” you groan, desperately trying to roll your hips. “You know what.”

“Do I?” Abby asks innocently, pitching her hips down, dragging them roughly along your own. She sneaks a hand up, running over the slick skin of your breast, pinching your nipple between her fingers sharply. You cry out, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth to muffle the sound as she dips down, soothing the burn with her tongue. She keeps her eyes trained on your face, that stupidly perfect smirk still on her lips.

“Abby,” you whine, throwing your head back as she sucks on you, her unoccupied hands dancing down your side, the light touch of her rough fingertips sending electric shocks through your system that make you squirm underneath her. The buckle of her pants sits cold across your stomach, stinging the hot skin of your bare stomach.

“Yeah?” She asks, muffled around her mouthful. Those blue eyes that are mostly black are trained on you, watching the way your own eyes flutter closed as she touches you, teases  you.

Her hand creeps to the hem of your pants, her hips lifting just a fraction to get under herself, fingers fiddling with the button and zipper there. You nod, lips parted, letting out a sound close to a squeal when she bites you, teeth indenting around your slick breast.

“Need you to t-touch me…” you trail off, sighing as Abby kisses up your chest, hot and wet as she pops the button on your pants.

“I am touching you,” she says, chuckling as you groan, frustrated.

“You’re so annoying,” you whine, tilting your head back to give her more room to explore. You let go of yourself, hands sliding back up her shoulders, gripping the strong muscles under her shirt. You bunch at the fabric, pulling it up and up until most of her back is exposed, free for your greedy fingers to fondle and touch.

Her nimble fingers slide down the zip of your pants, the small vibration buzzing around your clit. You gasp, nails digging into Abby’s back, breath hitching as she follows the movement down, cupping your pussy over your pants.

Your hips cant up, desperately seeking that friction as she presses her strong fingers against the fabric, it tightening and straining over your cunt. It feels good, but not good enough.

“Abs— Baby, please,” you whine, hand sliding up into her hair.

“… Please, what?” You feel that fucking smirk against your neck as she grinds circles around your clit, muffled through too many layers of fabric.

You frustrated noise catches in the back of your throat, and you tug on her hair, pulling her out from her spot hiding in her neck to press your foreheads together. You’re panting, but your brows are furrowed and lips are downturned and Abby knows enough to see that she’s getting on your nerves.

She finds it difficult to feel bad though when you flutter your eyes open, black consuming them as they glare up at her, breath puffing harshly against her own parted lips.

“Stop playing dumb. T-Touch me… fuck me.”

Her throat clicks as she swallows, mouth suddenly dry. She wets her lips and presses forwards, hand dragging deliciously up to where your pants are undone, fingers teasing the hem of your underwear. “Yes, ma’am.”

It’s teasing the way she says it, but the sharp twist it sends down to your cunt has you gasping, using the hand in the back of her head to pull her down, teeth nearly clicking as you drag her into a kiss.

She grunts, shuffling her hips back to give her space to move, hooking her fingers into the waist of your pants to pull them off your hips. You give her a hand, squirming and lifting your hips to help, kicking them off your ankles and onto the floor.

She settles back, hands roaming up your naked and trembling thighs, snapping the elastic of your panties against your hip, humming at the hiss that snakes from behind your teeth and into the kiss. She indulges herself in sliding her fingers over the gusset, groaning to herself over how you’ve soaked yourself through.

“Abs—” It’s broken off and muffled, a warning between breaths. She chuckles, dragging the fabric up so it bunches and pulls between your pussy lips, that rough friction over your clit making your whine. It’s obscene, the shape of you through the thin and soaked fabric, and you can tell she wants to look so fucking bad you’ve got her in a vice grip, keeping her exactly where you want her. Keeping her on track.

She lets go, pulling away and letting the fabric loosen as she dances back to the hem, fingers finally sliding down and under the fabric, dragging them down your thighs. They only make it down that far, being far too impatient to slide her hand up, curling through the course hair she finds there, wet and clinging to your pussy.

You thrust up, unable to keep still at the feeling of her finally fucking touching you and she grins, index and ring finger sliding down on either side of your swollen clit, dipping into your folds.

“Shit,” Abby breathes, pulling away to look down at you, past your heaving chest and to where her hand disappears. “You’re soaked.”

She drags down, brushing past your clenching hole to collect the wetness there, bringing it back up to your clit where she draws light, lazy circles. Your breathing picks up, stuttering breaths and embarrassing whines getting caught in your throat as you shift your hips, thrusting against her strong hand.

Abby shifts, moving from her spot on top of you. You make a sound of protest at the loss of her weight, the hand still clinging to her shoulder trying to keep her where she is.

“I’m right here,” she shushes, moving to press along your side, arm at a much better angle now. The pressure on your clit grows, her circles tightening as she picks up speed. You gasp, the small of your back lifting from the bed as you arch, moving your upper body to tilt towards Abby. She uses this moment to slip her arm under you, holding you to her.

“There you go,” she hums, letting you drag her down to kiss her again, tongue against tongue, teeth against your lip as she nips and licks. She’s practically leaning over you again with how you’ve got her, allowing to be moved and handled exactly how you need her, letting you have your turn at being strong.

Her forearm flexes as she flicks your clit, her own cunt clenching at the messy sounds that fall from your lips.

When you begin to grow restless, she strays, leaving your pulsing clit behind to inch down, sliding home exactly where she wants to be, wants to feel. She presses, lightly, just enough to feel you flutter against her, hips shifting up to suck her in.

“Fuck—Please… please, Abby.” You’re nodding against her, tightening and scratching at her scalp, desperate noises leaving your throat as you plead, kissing her messily.

She’s gentle, sinking into you and slowly working you open, splitting you on one finger, then two. Her fingers are bigger than your own, longer and rougher, and god can you feel the difference.

You writhe beneath her, breaking away from her lips to hide away in her neck, mouthing hotly at the skin there, inhaling her scent.

“Fucking look at you,” she murmurs, enraptured with the way your body moves against her, the way your hips just cant stay still. “So desperate for it.”

You whimper, nodding against her neck with a mumble of “--yes, yes, just for you.” against her warm, freckled skin.

She quickens her pace, massaging your velvety walls as she sinks in deeper each time, working to that one spot inside you that she knows you’ll go crazy for. Her fingertips brush it, gummy and soft and you tense, a whiny gasp catching and fizzling in your throat.

“Right there—shit, holy shit—” You cling onto her desperately, gripping the bundle of fabric of her shirt in your fist. It’s maddening, the way her fingers reach so deep inside you, deeper than you can ever get by yourself, fucking against that one spot that has you seeing stars.

“Fuck,” she hisses when your teeth lock around her shoulder, biting down with an especially loud, muffled, moan.

Your legs widen, hips thrusting up and she hooks one of her strong thighs over your own, keeping you spread for her.

“A-Abby…” you whine, voice breaking and hiccupping as she fucks into you.

She licks her lips, breaths panting out as she watches her fingers disappearing inside your pussy, hears the lewd slap of her palm. She’s transfixed with the way your tits bounce as you thrust against her, fucking yourself on her hand.

“You’re so—” She grunts, interrupting herself to curl her fingers inside you on purpose, massaging at your g-spot just to hear you wail against her throat. She chuckles, breathless. “You’re so fucking hot like this.” Her fingers leave you to rub your arousal up your folds, the slick noises making your ears turn red as she plays in it, rubbing back down to thrust back into you. “You’re a mess.”

Slipping her thumb up, she brushes along your clit, circling it as she fucks you. It’s like touching a live wire, a cry leaving your lips as that heat in your gut swirls and swirls, cunt clenching around her fingers with an iron grip. “Oh fuck oh fuck…”

“Shit,” Abby swears, eyes threatening to roll back in her head. “S-Sucking me in… So tight.”

She’s being so mouthy, though you can hardly process what she’s saying. The timbre of her voice, the way it husks and drawls is what you’re getting off on, the way she’s getting whiner, breathless as she watches you.

“Mmph--!” You bite her shoulder again, breath hot and panting against her skin. “Gonna fucking—Abs, gonna cum—”

“Yeah?” She swallows, feeling the saliva pool in her mouth at the thought. “Gonna cum for me, pretty girl? Cum all over my fingers?”

You hiccup as you try to swallow, try to breathe, but it feels like all the air has been punched out of your lungs. You buck your hips, no rhythm left as you clench around Abby’s digits, something snapping in your gut as you cry out. Your body tenses, holding still as she keeps fucking into you, the slap of her hand meeting your pussy as you gush around her, soaking her fingers.

It gets too much, her still thumbing at your clit and you bring a hand down, muffling a whimper as you lock around her wrist. “S-Slow…” It’s all you can say, but she understands, removing the pressure from your clit and slowing her pace down, lazily fucking you through the high, hips canting up in shallow thrusts to meet her.

She slows to a stop when you sigh, hips twitching one last time before you collapse back, slumping against her.

A kiss is pressed to the top of your head, then another to your temple. They move down and across the side of your face as Abby pulls out, sweet and comforting. You whimper at the loss, moving with her to keep her inside but you shiver and fall back, legs like jelly.

“Did real good, honey,” she praises, the words blanketing you in warmth. You pull back slightly from her neck to look up at her, just in time to catch her dragging her fingers across her lips, into her the warm cavity of her mouth.

Your eyes widen, lips parting as you watch her, heart thudding in your chest as that familiar churning in your gut stirs, cunt clenching at the sight.

She catches your eye, dragging her fingers out with a wet smack, wiping them on her cargos. “What?”

You pull her in, kissing her deeply and licking that taste off her tongue, sighing into her mouth. “You’re making me go crazy,” you murmur, pulling her to lay back on top of you.

“Sorry,” she apologises, but by the way she nips at you teasingly, the stretch of her smirk on her lips, you can tell she’s not.

You’re laying against her chest afterwards, back pressed against her chest, her chin hooked over your shoulder. After a few minutes of catching your breath and soft kisses, Abby had gotten to work, gently cleaning you up and righting your clothes. Your pants still lay discarded on the floor, but the feeling of Abby’s hands smoothing up and down the bare skin makes you hesitant to put them back on.

“So where did you even go?” She asks, the rumble of her voice vibrating along your back. She watches as you play idly with her hand, turning it over and flexing her fingers. “What happened?”

“I came home to a note from Mel, asking me to meet her at the gates,” you begin to explain. “She wanted to talk.”

“And?”

“We left the stadium. It was a bit of a hike, but she took me to this place where she and Owen go a lot on their days off. An old aquarium down by the harbour.”

You can feel the muscles under you tense, her hand stilling in your lap where you’re fiddling with it. You tilt your head, pulling back from her chest to look at her.

“Abby?”

She blinks, snapping back from wherever she went. “Hm?”

“You okay?” One of your hands comes up to her cheek, fingertips brushing over it. You can feel the way her tongue moves in her mouth, running along her back teeth.

She nods. “I’m fine.”

You’re not so sure, but you know you won’t get much from her. “Okay…”

She squeezes your hand reassuringly, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“The aquarium?” It’s tense when she says it, like she’s holding something back. You want to pry it from her, know what’s making her act so strangely, but she’s got this guarded. You’d have better luck reading her mind.

So, you just nod, tentatively settling back in against her. “She showed me around and stuff, and then we went and just… talked.”

“About what?”

“Everything. The fight, why she reacted the way she did.” You hesitate, the words stuttering on the tip of your tongue. “You.”

“Me?” She shifts, looking down at you.

You shrug, pulling her hand up to rest against your chest, against your heart. “It was kind of hard not to.”

Her hand twitches in yours.

“So… what? You sat and talked it all out and now you’re friends again?”

You frown. “I mean, yeah? I guess.” That sick feeling of uncertainty bubbles low in your gut, makes your pulse race just a bit faster.

Abby scoffs, the action puffing a breath of air onto your neck, making you shiver. “Sure.”

“Hey.” You move, sitting up from her chest and turning to face her, hand still clasped to your chest. She moves with you, not wanting to let you go, to stray too far from her. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Just… hard to believe.” Her face is neutral, the tensing of her jaw as she grits her back teeth the only give away to how she’s actually feeling.

“Why?”

Abby’s expression shifts, a flicker of a scowl. “I don’t need to tell you why.”

You sit back, resting on your calves as you hold her wrist gently, fingers running along her pulse. Her gaze is unwavering, and it’s making you sweat, wanting to look away or apologise. But you don’t.

“Abby,” you start, pressing a small kiss to the back of her hand, locking your fingers together. “I think maybe we should talk.”

She sits a bit straighter at that, expression quickly changing to something more guarded, more concerned. “What about?”

A breath, a chance to back out.

“What happened with you and O—”

“No.”

It freezes you, almost stuns you a bit.

“What?” You ask, dumbly, not having expected her to shut you down so quickly.

She slips her hand out from yours, pulling it back towards her.

“We’re not doing…” She waves the hand in front of her, gesturing to the air between you, “…this right now.”

“But, I think—"

“What?” She interrupts, gaze steely. “Mel didn’t tell you? When you were talking about me?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Then how was it.” Her arms cross over her chest, muscles shifting and making her look bigger, more intimidating. She stares you down, nose slightly wrinkled as she frowns.

“We just— She explained her side of things, why she was so upset. She talked about the fight you too had about a year ago. That’s all.”

She scoffs at that, eyes rolling. “Right. ‘That’s all’, as if it isn’t my business.”

“It’s her business too,” you argue, sitting up straighter. Your cheeks feel hot, the air feels thinner. “And it’s not like you were going to tell me anything.”

“Because I don’t have to. You aren’t involved.”

“I become involved the second you started coming over, when we started hiding stuff from Mel. You and I both knew she wasn’t going to like whatever this is, I just didn’t know why.” You pull your legs from under you, pulling them up to your chest.

“Whatever this is?” She asks, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This.” You gesture between you, much like Abby before. “Us. What we’re doing.”

She pauses, brows furrowing as she looks at you, genuine confusion morphing her features. “Us going out?”

It’s your turn to pause, breath hitching in your throat. “Is that what this is?”

“Yeah? Aren’t we—aren’t you, like… my girlfriend?” She’s almost shy when she says it, having to push the words out. Not out of embarrassment of you, but almost like the words are too intimate to be said out loud.

“When…” You rack your brain, thinking back. “When did that happen?”

“When you came over? After your fight with Mel. What’re you talking about?” She asks, a twinge of hurt coating her words.

“What are you talking about? We never—I mean, we haven’t—”

Abby stills, eyes clouded with understanding. “Oh.”

You both sit there, marinating in the silence that follows.

She clears her throat. “I guess I just-- We’ve…” she pauses, eyes flicking to the pants discarded on the floor. “… we’ve been spending so much time together, having dinner and shit, so I thought—”

You blink, rubbing at your forehead as you try and get your thoughts in order.

“Abs, I’m not saying I don’t want to be, because fuck do I want to,” you breathe out, looking up at her. “But we haven’t talked about it properly. We’ve just kind of been… doing.”

Abby huffs, the ghost of a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

You nudge her with one of your feet, sliding it across the covers. “You know what I mean.”

The silence returns, stretching thin between the two of you, thoughts racing in your heads.

“You’ve been calling me your girlfriend this whole time?” You ask.

You watch as her ears grow hot and she looks away, drawing one of her own legs up, a protective barrier between the two of you, Between her and possible rejection. “I haven’t really—I don’t talk to people about my personal shit but, yeah.” She picks at her pants, a loose thread around one of the pockets near her knee. Her voice is uncharacteristically small as she says, “Sorry if that was… stupid or something.”

You shake your head, shifting closer to her. “It’s not. But usually you have to ask the girl you like if you want her to be your girlfriend.” You smile, sheepish and teasing, knowing that sympathy would just embarrass her more in this situation. Your own flush works up on your cheeks-- heart beating a little faster, like you can feel it in your throat.

Abbys gaze flicks to you, jumping from point to point along your face. She leans into you, unconsciously or not. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, so close it fans over her lips.

A hand coming up, fingers brushing over your jaw ever so lightly. Confidence blooms in her, revived from where it had wilted. It shimmers in her eyes, beautiful and addictive. “Well, I better go ask her then...”

You lean into her touch, eyes fluttering. “You should. Shouldn’t leave her guessing.”

“Hm,” she hums as she leans closer, lips brushing. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

You’re nodding, heart beating faster. “Of course, stupid.” Leaning the rest of the way, you shift on your knees to kiss her.

You kiss, sweet and languid, sighing as that warmth fills you, the buzz from before, the tingles that chase all the way to the ends of your fingertips. You shift and move, half leaning across Abby’s front, hands placed against her chest as you lean up against her.

“I’m sorry,” Abby murmurs, in between presses of your lips. “For snapping at you.”

You breathe out, pulling away to look at her. She has that wrinkle in her brow, her jaw tensing as she looks away. You reach your hand up, palm cupping her cheek, thumb swiping under her eye. She closes them, tilting her head into your hand.

“You’re alright. But I do think we should talk.” She tenses under you-- you can feel it at every point where you touch. “Not right now,” you rush out, Abby relaxing a fraction. “Later. When you’re ready.”

She lets out the breath she’d been holding, deflating under you. You pull her head down, pressing a tender kiss to that furrow in her brow. “Okay?”

“… Alright.”

She looks apprehensive still when she opens her eyes. Unsure. You know you’re asking a lot from her, but you hope that she trusts you enough to let you in.

“Hey.” You kiss her lips, noses bumping against one another, distracting her from her thoughts. “Do you want your gifts?”

She perks up a bit, curious eyes sparkling, that frown smoothing out. “Gifts?” Her head tilts, and it takes everything in you to not tell her how much she looks like a puppy in this moment.

“Mmhm,” you nod, kissing her once more before sitting up. Her hands stay connected to you, not willing to fully let you go.

You lean over her on the bed, down to where your duffel lays. Its half kicked under the bed, contents spilling out of it. The pants you wore yesterday were shoved in the top, wanting to do this load of laundry separate from your main due to the smell.

A hand drifts slowly down from your back as you lean down, thighs clenching together as it settles over the covered flesh of your ass.

“That’s not what I was talking about,” you say, rummaging around in the pockets of pants, finding the keychain and coin buried within.

You lever yourself back up, moving to kneel again. Abby’s hand still on your ass, she pulls you in, bundling you on her lap. You giggle as she shuffles you around, ducking your head to not hit the top slats of the bunk. You settle, legs caging her in on either side, perched comfortably inn her lap.

“Don’t get too excited, it’s nothing crazy.” You feel the need to preface, downplay the items in your hands.

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” she says, hands on your hips, thumbs working along the fat there.

“Hands out, eyes closed.”

She only removes one of her hands, the other squeezing you gently from it’s spot, like it’s welded there. She holds it up between you, palm flat and facing the ceiling. Her blue eyes slowly shut, looking at you until the last second.

Her lashes brush across the tops of her cheeks, littered with freckles and tiny, silver scars. The light of the room cast shadows across her face, highlighting her prominent nose and the soft curve of her jaw. A couple of strands of hair hang in her face, curling along her temples, accentuating her cheekbones.

She grunts in surprise when you kiss her, a sweet peck on her lips. They twitch up, a smile gracing her features.

“Was that one of my gifts?”

“No.” You sit back, setting back on her thighs. “Just thought you looked handsome.”

She swallows, neck muscles tensing with the movement. A steady heat rises up her neck and across her face, darkening her tan. “Thanks,” she mumbles, flustered.

Smiling, you hold up the keychain, shaking it a bit to get the glitter and starfish moving before settling it in her palm.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.”

She blinks them open, pupils contracting in the light as she looks down. The keychain, her name surrounded by a swirling background of golden glitter sits pretty. You feel nervous, scared she won’t like it. It’s silly. This is your thing, she doesn’t care—

“You found my name?” She asks, smiling as she picks it up with her other hand, holding it up to the light, watching the starfish swirl in its tank.

“It was the last one,” you say, looking shyly between her and the keychain. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she says immediately, looking back to you. Her eyes are gooey and warm, her hand resting back on your hip. “Thank you. I’ll put it on my gym bag so I don’t lose it on patrol.”

You flush. “You don’t actually have to use it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She asks, genuinely.

You shrug, shy, looking down at the keychain, watching the glitter slowly sink to the bottom. “It was more of a ‘thinking of you’ gift than a practical one…”

She smiles, hooking the clasp around one of her fingers, letting it dangle. “Well, I’m using it.” Abby leans in, kissing you. “And you can’t stop me.”

You can’t help but smile, watching her shake the keychain once more before putting it in her pocket.

“I have something else.”

She raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Eyes closed?”

“I worked hard for this one, don’t spoil it.”

She closes her eyes, holding that same hand out, fingers twitching slightly as she waits.

You place the coin in the centre of her palm, warm from your own, plain face up, the fox hidden underneath.

“I don’t know if you have this one already, but...”

She opens one eye, peeking down at her palm before opening both. She doesn’t know what she’s looking at at first, but then her eyes widen slightly, looking up at you, then back to the coin. She shifts it in her grip, flipping it over to take in the fox, the 2002, the Mississippi stamped along the top.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, holding it closer to her face, looking at the details. “I don’t have Mississippi, yet.” She shakes her head, almost in disbelief. “Can’t believe you found one. I’ve been having no luck for weeks.”

You let out a small breath, relieved. “I’m glad. I dug through two whole registers worth of coins. I think my hands still smell like copper.”

The way Abby looks at you, you hardly know how to deal with it. You’ve seen her look at you like this before, soft and affectionate, but this— this is so much more than that. It makes your heart thump like crazy, breath stuttering.

You fall back with a yelp, Abby taking you down with her as she pushes forwards, careful to not put too much of her body weight on you. Giggles escape you as she kisses messily all up the side of your face, pressing her nose along your skin. You wrap yourself around her, arms coming up to loop around her neck.

“Thank you,” she muffles against your cheek.

“i did good?” You ask, locking eyes with her when she pulls back.

“You did.” She smiles, genuine and beautiful, nearly a grin.

You smooth her hair back, scratching your nails along the scalp. She hums, closing her eyes at the feeling and slumping down, burying her face in your neck.

“How much longer do I have you to myself?”

You tilt your head to glance at the clock on the bedside table.

“Another 2 hours.”

She breathes out, settling in, rolling the two of you over so you’re on your sides. “Good.”

“Abby, our food—”

“We can reheat it.” She murmurs, moving so that one of her arms is laid out across the bed, her bicep at the perfect height for you to rest your head against. “Just lay with me for a bit longer.”

You huff, a tiny laugh, settling down against her, tucking against her chest.

“Okay. Just a bit longer.”

⸙

The mess hall is busy this time of day, just before twelve when all the major shift changes happen. It’ll be a revolving door of starving soldiers, lookouts, medics, and farmers for the next few hours until it slows down, just to pick up again around dinner.

You try to avoid coming here when it’s so busy, but your shift just ended and you’ve been on since midnight, not having a chance to sneak away for a single bite to tide you over.

It’s rice and beans today, something plain but filling so that when you scarf it down you won’t die. The stall also had the shortest line, which was more of a deciding factor than anything else.

The container sits warm in your hands as you scan the busy room, hoping for a spot at a table with people who look vaguely friendly, or someone getting up to leave.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a crop of brown hair and familiar kind eyes crinkled in laughter, over at a table off to your right. You let out a relieved huff. Owen. He’ll let you sit with him.

As you work through the crowd you spot more people at the table, a few you vaguely recognise from prior lunches, but two that you know incredibly well. Manny sits next to Owen, facing you, dark hair pulled back and beard freshly clipped. He’s got his arm wrapped around Owen, laughing together about something.

Across from them, a strong back that you know quite intimately facing you, is Abby. She’s hunched over her food, legs spread wide across the bench seat. She paints a pretty picture, and you have to give yourself a second to calm down, remind yourself that you’re in public before you head over.

“—we nearly left him behind. He was running behind the truck waving for us to slow down, and every time we’d stop so he could catch up, we’d drive away again before he could hop in,” Manny laughs, grinning as he looks over at Abby. “You remember this?”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “Yeah, I also remember getting in trouble for wasting time.”

You shove yourself beside Abby, perching on the small bit of bench next to her spread thighs. “Abigail Anderson getting in trouble? What has this world come to.”

Abby barely startles, fork scraping against her bowl at your appearance giving it away, whipping her head over to glare at you. “What the f—” She stops, eyes softening slightly when she recognises your teasing grin. “Oh, hi.”

You laugh, nudging her shoulder with your own. “Shove over, you’re hogging the bench.”

“Well sorry,” she says, playfully rolling her eyes as she scoots over, giving you room. It’s not a whole lot, and your arms bush against each other as you move, but neither of you say anything.

“Hey, doc.” Manny greets, giving you a tiny salute and a knowing grin.

“Manny, hey,” you smile back, looking over to him. “Owen, long time no see.”

“I know, sorry. Duty calls and all that.” He smiles back at you, apologetic.

“No sweat, I get it. Haven’t exactly been very social, either.” You shrug, shifting your container down in front of you, pulling your spoon from your pocket and digging it into your rice.

“Where’d the hell did you get that from?” Abby asks, looking down at your container.

“Uh…” You twist your body, pointing over your shoulder to one of the kitchens next to the makeshift thrift shop, over at the back of the hall. “Over there. The line was the smallest.”

Abby turns to look with you. “Shit. I always forget that place is there. I waited in line for fifteen minutes for a salad,” she grunts, tapping her fork on the edge of her bowl. It makes a fragile ringing sound that gets swallowed up by the rest of the noise in the mess hall.

“Tony’s salads are good though. There’s a reason there’s always a line,” you say, picking up a spoonful of rice and beans and lifting it to your mouth.

Abby watches your movements from the corner of her eye, stuck on the steam rising from the spoon.

You pause, looking over at her and huffing a laugh, lowering the spoon from your mouth. “You’re drooling, Abs.”

“No, I’m not.” She wipes at her mouth anyway despite her protest, grunting. She looks away, frowning down at her wilting salad.

“You want to swap?”

She peeks over, checking if you’re serious. You roll your eyes and smile, eating the mouthful already piled on the spoon before sliding the container over, grabbing her salad bowl and dragging it back towards you.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” You interrupt, quieting her protests.

That was a lie. You didn’t really want to swap, but Tony’s salads are good, and you don’t think you could put up with a whole lunch watching her pout like that.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, picking up your discarded spoon and planning her mouthful. You feel her leg nudge against your own, her foot moving to hook around your ankle, hidden beneath the cover of the table.

You dig into your salad, humming as you take your first bite, covering your smile.

“Since when did you two become so friendly?” Owen pipes up, looking between the two of you over his canteen. He’s teasing, meant it as a joke, but you can feel the shift in the air.

Abby tenses beside you, leg moving away from where she’s hooked it around your own. You look to her, mouth still full of lettuce as you chew, checking in on her. She’s not looking at you, just at Owen.

It’s been a week since you tried to talk to Abby about what happened, why things ended between her and Owen. And while she hasn’t come to talk to you yet, keeping everything close to her chest, you can tell that she’s been thinking it over. It’s like you’ve pulled it to the forefront of her mind, and she can’t get it to fully go away.

This right now? It isn’t helping.

“What, I can’t have friends?” she asks, digging around in the bowl for another spoonful. She chews on it angrily, not looking away from Owen.

Manny clears his throat, shifting in his seat, looking between the two of them. Mediating from a distance.

Owen blinks, lowering his canteen. “I didn’t say that. Of course you can have friends.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“There is no issue.” He clarifies, not backing down from her. You can tell he’s used to this, her attitude. Handling Abby when she gets like this. “You’re just… busy all the time. You both are.”

“So?” Abby’s barely blinked, spoon hanging in the air between the bowl and her mouth.

“So, I didn’t realise you two had time to hang out.” Owen shifts, addressing you now. “I mean, I only really see you during meals.”

Oh, Owen.

You can’t help but wince. You may not know the whole story, but you remember enough from what Mel has told you to know that that was not the thing to say.

“Wonder why.” Abby grunts to your right, unable to hide the roll of her eyes.

Owen shifts back, hands vaguely gesturing in front of him. He looks from her to you, and your eyes widen a fraction as he drags you into this further. “What did I do?”

“I don’t—” You make eye contact with Manny, cutting off your sentence when you see him shake his head slightly.

“Just butt out of it, Owen.” Abby drops her spoon in the container, spilling some rice onto the table. A single bean comically tumbles out, bouncing to rest in the table between you all.

A beat.

A second one.

A third.

“Fine. I don’t know why I even bother, sometimes.”

Owen stands up, taking his canteen and his trash from the table, stepping over the bench to leave. Apart from a quiet “See you later, man” from Manny, nobody says anything.

Manny looks silently between the two of you, you focus your gaze on the lone bean in the middle of the table. The other half of your group have turned away from the three of you, trying their best to stay out of whatever was going on here.

Abby sniffs, picking her spoon back up and digging into her food.

You drag your gaze back to Abby, studying her side profile. She’s tense, her whole body is as she chews, glaring down at the empty spot that Owen left. You swallow, hesitant as you reach out, placing a hand on her arm.

“You okay?”

She stills, looking down into her food. One of her hands comes up, scrubbing at her forehead as she sighs. “Yeah. Just— not in the mood.”

You pull your hand back, nodding. “That’s okay.”

She takes only one more bite of her food before she stands up abruptly, pushing the container away from herself. “Got training. I’ll see you later.”

You’re not sure who she’s talking to when she says that, but she doesn’t say anything else as she leaves, boots stomping on the concrete beneath her as she departs. You watch her exit through one of the double doors to the stairwell, door slamming shut behind her.

It’s just you and Manny left, sitting quietly at the table, food forgotten between you.

“She really likes you, you know.”

You look up at Manny, slightly startled by the break in the silence. He’s smiling, something small, comforting.

Warm.

“You’re all she talks about. I think I’ve learned more about you from her than yourself.” He chuckles lightly. You give in, smiling shyly and laughing along.

It quiets quickly once more once the laughter dies out. You chew on your lip, thinking, mulling over your words.

“She won’t talk to me. I’ve been trying to get her to open up about what happened with Mel and Owen, but she won’t.”

“Ah.” Manny folds his arms across the table, leaning closer to you, settling in for this discussion. “Do you know any of what happened?”

You nod, just the once. “Mel told me some stuff; about the fight they had. But she told me I’d have to ask Abby about the rest. About what happened between her and Owen.”

He hums, nodding as he listens, scratching at his beard.

“Abby is… she is a very private person. Has a lot going on up here.” He taps his temple. “It’s made her life difficult, and unfortunately has a lot to do with what happened between her, Owen, and Mel. It’s hard for her to… untangle it.

“Her anger, it’s not really about her and Owen, but also is at the same time.”

You sit there, trying to wrap your head around what he’s telling you. It’s kind of difficult to understand, but you think you get it. Kind of.

“Do you think I should ask again? I’ve given her time to come to me, but she hasn’t, and I think it’s really getting to her. Eating away at her”

Manny frowns, giving you a helpless shrug. “I wish I could tell you. But if she’s going to talk to anyone, it will be you. Depending on when you ask her.”

You sigh, letting out all your breath. You look down at your salad, no longer feeling hungry.

“Thanks, Manny.”

“De nada. Don’t let it get to you.” He reaches out, taking your hand. “Like I said, she is obsessed with you. None of this anger is for you.” He squeezes gently, reassuring.

Deep down you know this, know that Manny is right. But there is a part of you that can’t help but take this somewhat to heart.

And while you would never want her to feel like she has done the wrong thing by wanting to keep the things that trouble her close to her chest, you want so desperately to be the kind of person she trusts with those things, the one she goes to.

You just hope that one day she’ll feel comfortable enough to open up to you, even just a little bit.

«« previous  ꩜ next »»

[randomheadcanons]

Aaron goes Home

a lil blurb with no editing!

Time had gotten away from Aaron. In his defense, time didn’t really mean anything to him anymore. Five years felt like one; ten like two. Time stopped meaning so much when you yourself stopped aging, and so you stop keeping track. 

Also, he had been working. Both his human job as a contract coder and continuing his work of helping newly-turned vampires not go on a killing rampage while helping them adjust to their new eternal lives. 

Regardless, it was time to make a trip to visit family. 

His family was buried together in a nice little historic cemetery near the middle of the Jamestown District. Aaron always made sure that there was money in the city’s coffers to aid in the upkeep of the cemetery and keep it well kept. 

The surrounding historic Jamestown had a quaint walking tour led by the local historical society which ended at his desired location; the cemetery, and Aaron always took the time to meander with the last group of the day, right as the sun was setting. He liked to make sure they had their facts straight, and it was nice to see the young tour guides take an interest in the history of the town. 

This particular tour guide was bubbly and well informed. Her chestnut hair in a high ponytail bobbing along as she earnestly told fun facts interspersed with the historical facts. She was engaging, and the people on the tour (mostly middle aged folks), were intently listening. 

The tour guide, who introduced herself as Samantha at the beginning of the tour, brought the group to a stop in front of the cemetery. 

“Jamestown Church” Samantha began, “was constructed from brick in 1639 and is one of the oldest surviving remnants built by Europeans in the original thirteen colonies.” 

She went on as Aaron studied the church. He and his family would go there for services when he was a boy, sometimes three times a week. His family was buried in the graveyard on the grounds. He was never one for religion, especially now. Though he did find himself reminiscing about playing on the grounds and through the pews with his older brothers. 

Because it had not been an active church since the 1890’s, Aaron had no issues being able to step foot on the grounds, which he was thankful for. 

The tour group wound its way deeper into the cemetery and through the headstones as Samantha gave facts on each of them, until they stopped at a headstone that Aaron immediately recognized. 

It was his. 

Or rather, his family’s. 

He had paid for a nicer tombstone that had all of their names and dates engraved on it, replacing the one that church provided when the last member, Samuel, was buried there. Aaron, of course, was not in the ground, but it had been assumed that he had been taken by coyotes or a mountain lion when he was turned. Aaron’s name was the first added to the tombstone by his father, more of a symbolic gesture than anything, but Aaron appreciated it. 

“And that ends our tour” she paused, “On a personal note,” Samantha grinned, “This tombstone, the Shepard’s, are my ancestors.” Aaron blinked. “Samuel Shepard is my 5th great grandfather.” 

Aaron blinked again and stared at this human girl. She couldn’t have been more than 17, doing this summer job for extra money. She had the subtle jaw line that reminded him of Samuel, though clearly her other features were from her mother’s ancestry. But her eyes were the same light brown of his brother’s. 

Had he really been away for long enough that he didn’t know that he had a surviving niece? Was he even sure that Samuel had a family? He must've; or maybe just had too good of a time in a brothel? Aaron needed to dig into this when he returned home to Chicago.

As the tour group dispersed, Aaron approached Samantha. 

“Wonderful tour,” He said earnestly, holding out a $100 bill as a tip. Samantha’s eyes widened. 

“Oh,” she said, shaking her hand, “this is too much of a tip I can’t-” 

“Take it,” Aaron said, putting it in her hand, “I insist.” 

“Well thank you,” She said, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. 

“It must be something to know your family is buried here,” Aaron mused. 

She nodded with a grin. “Yeah it’s neat,” she continued. “I really only started reading about them after my dad did one of those ancestry DNA tests and found out we had ancestors buried here. They evidently used to have a farm on the outskirts of town.” 

“Very neat,” Aaron nodded. “Nice headstone,” he said, tilting his head. 

Samantha nodded again, “Yeah, the historical society got a huge anonymous donation like 100 years ago to clean up the cemetery and replace some of the headstones, the Shepards included.” She shrugged, “Hope they like it.” Aaron nodded, “I’m sure that they do.” he promised before backing up. “I hope you have a great night, Samantha,” he said with a wave. 

She gave a small one back, “Thanks, sir.” she said, before she turned back to the group, accepting any tips that they offered her. 

Aaron nodded to himself as he walked down the historic cobbled stones. He made a mental note to start checking in on Samantha every so often, in the same way that he did with Samuel, all those years ago. 

[maramrafat]

21 century and we still Gazan people live in such places. 🇵🇸🍉

Can you help us rebuild our life ?! @fancysmudges @brokenbackmountain @just-browsing1222-deactivated20 @mothblossoms @aleciosun @fluoresensitive @khizuo @lesbiandardevil @transmutationisms @schoolhater @timogsilangan @appsa @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @visenyasdragon @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @brutaliakhoa @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamarrud @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @camgirlpanopticon @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi @sygol @junglejim4322 @heritageposts @chososhairbuns @palistani @dlxxv-vetted-donations @illuminated-runas @imjustheretotrytohelp @nabulsi @ibtisams-blog @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @vakarians-babe @7amaspayrollmanager @failing-society @fallahifag @sayruq @humanvoreture @kaapstadgirly @sar-soor @dimonds456-art @plomegranate @commissions4aid-international @nabulsi @soon-palestine @communitythings @palestinegenocide @vakarian-shepard @ghost-and-a-half @90-ghost @appsa @marnota @palestinegenocide @apocalyptic-isolation @commissions4aid-international @communistchilchuck @7amaspayrollmanager @kaapstadgirly @annstreetstudio-blog @feluka @marnota @toughknit @flower-tea-fairies @the-stray-liger @riding-the-wavez @vanessahudgens @communistchameleon @troythecatfish @theonlymagicleftisart @4ft10tvlandfangirl @el-infierno-esta-en-mi-mente

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Parry but thwh fell out aftee darry and him had a fight because he laughed at some kids, KID Greasers jumping, (he laugher out of awkwardness) and darry took it as a sign he though it was ok and processed it as a threat ti the gang ESPECIALLY Ponyboy.

They fought alot. It was scary because Both Soda and Pony where homd, and classes and plates got broke, shattered, and lots if door slammimg and threats where thrown at each other. Things where said to a point

darry cried.

Hm, ok, so this isn't EXACTLY this but I saw this ask and my brain was like minific! so...minific. Hope you like it!

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

“I’m telling you man,” Paul is saying, “the giants have got it in the bag this year, have you seen their defense?”

“No way,” Darry shakes his head, “the Bears are consistent and they’ve got Wade as QB, no way they aren’t taking the superbowl.”

“Wade is fine but he’s not better than-”

He’s cut off by the door slamming open. Normally Darry would have half a mind to yell at whoever slammed it because mom always blamed him and Two for it when Steve and Pony were the biggest culprits, but any thoughts of teasing are forgotten as Steve sprints down the hall without even a hello, Soda right on his heels. Darry’s used to the gang bursting in at all hours of the day and night, it’s how their house works, but something about this feels off. His suspicions are confirmed when Steve hurtles back out again a second later holding the first aid kit. 

“Whoa!” Darry grabs Soda’s shoulder before he can follow, pulling him to a stop, “what’s going’ on?”

“Joey Dubois got jumped,” Soda gasps out, chest heaving, “it’s pretty bad.”

“Aaron’s kid brother?” Darry’s heart drops, “But…but he’s ten!”

“Yeah,” Soda’s grim, “I know.”

“You need any help?”

“Nah. Pony’s sittin’ with him right now, and between Dally and Tim Shepard we got enough muscle keepin’ Aaron from doin’ something he’ll regret. ‘Sides,” Soda shoots a cold glare at Paul, “your buddy here shows his face and he’ll probably lose some teeth. Aaron’s gang is out for blood.”

He claps Darry on the shoulder and then he’s gone, jumping off the porch steps and running after Steve.

“Shit,” Darry sinks into a chair, previous conversation forgotten, and buries his head in his hands. Joey Dubois. He can see the kid in his head, a little guy with a mop of dark curls and a grin that spelled trouble. Him and Pony buddied it around sometimes, and Darry had always thought it was funny when his own kid brother would complain about having to put up with Joey always following him around. Lord knew Pony followed him and Johnny and Soda around the same way. The thought of the bright eyed kid being jumped nearly made Darry sick. He was hardly the first real little kid to ever be jumped in their neighbourhood, and wouldn’t be the last, but it didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

“So anyway,” Paul says, like Soda hadn’t just interrupted and told them about a literal child being jumped, “Wade isn’t as good a kicker as Tittle–”

“--Paul” Darry grits through clenched teeth, “I don’t want to talk about football right now.”

“What?” Paul scoffs a little, “why?”

“Did you not hear what Soda just said?”

“Some kid got jumped. So what? Happens all the time."

“He’s ten.”

“Dar,” Paul laughs a little, “it’s not a big deal. Yeah he’s ten but so what? He was probably asking for it.”

Darry's jaw tightens..

Usually, his friendship with Paul is easy. They get along better than Darry gets along with just about anyone, they have the same interests, share the same sense of humour and the same desperation to get out of Tulsa Oklahoma no matter what it takes. Sometimes their friendship is so easy that Darry forgets what Paul is, forgets where he comes from. 

Paul Holden is a west side elite, as soc as it gets. And sometimes, like right now, he’s so fucking patronizing Darry could smack him. 

Say what you want about him, but Darry Curtis is not stupid, nor is he naive. He’s seen things on the east side that Paul could only dream of, for all he pretends to be normal, comes to their house and bums around the east side like an actor in a movie, looks at Darry’s world,  his friends and his family like they’re an intriguing thought experiment instead of Darry’s very real life. And people can think what they want about him but Darry Curtis is not ashamed of where he comes from. There’s a lot of shitty things about the east side, but there’s a lot of good people here too, and Paul doesn’t get to sit there in his letterman jacket with his madras shirt and act like Darry reacting to a ten year old kid getting jumped is some crazy, childish thing. 

“You do realize,” he can hear his voice rising, “that my own baby brother is only twelve, right? And that the only difference between him and Joey is luck? I know you have no skin in this game so you don’t give a flying fuck about anything, but you could at least pretend to care.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” Darry demands, “Like someone who cares about little kids getting hurt in my own fucking neighbourhood?”

“Like you’re a fucking greaser!” Pauls bursts out, and then suddenly it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Darry recovers first.

“Get out.”

“Darry-”

“I said get out.” 

“Darry I’m sorry I-”

“No,” Darry advances on him, trying so hard to control his temper he’s literally shaking, “no you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to come here, to my house, in my neighbourhood, meet all my friends and my family, and then look down on me for it like I’m some sort of trash.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Paul begs, “I-”

“Yes you did,” Darry cuts him off. He can feel hot tears welling, the way they always do when he’s so furious it’s hard to think, but he forces them back, “you meant it, and I’m fucking glad you did because guess what? I am a greaser, and I wear that title like a badge of honour ‘cause at least it means I ain’t nothin’ like you!”

“You didn’t seem to want that title when I gave you that shirt did you?” Paul spits back, moved to anger himself. Good. Darry can face Paul's anger a lot easier than his repentance. “Or when you started hanging out with me and the rest of the guys from the football team, or when Tammy Crenshaw asked you to Sadie Hawkins!”

“Whatever,” Darry sneers, “I thought you were better than this but once an asshole always an asshole, huh? I can’t believe I thought you changed. You’re the same shallow, entitled, socy asshole you were back in ninth grade.”

“Fuck you!”

“Get outta my house,” Darry shoves him, hard, “and don’t ever fucking come back. I never wanna see you again.”

“Go to hell!” Paul storms down the steps, “and hey, tell that kid brother of yours to watch his back. Since you apparently think I’m such a piece of shit, I might as well prove it.”

The words hang heavy in the air. For a second, Darry almost can’t understand them strung together like that, the threat almost ludicrous coming from someone he’d considered one of his best friends, the only guy from his circle of west side football buddies he’s ever allowed into his house, ever introduced his family to. For all they’re arguing in this second, for all Darry doesn’t know if he could ever forgive him for his words and his cavalier attitude, he’d never believe Paul capable of doing something like that, of hurting his brother.

But Paul just said it. And Paul Holden never says anything he doesn’t completely mean.

Darry sees red.

The next thing he knows the skin of his knuckles is splitting against Paul’s nose and he’s screaming louder than he can remember screaming in a long time.

“You touch either one of them and I’ll kill you! You hear me? I’ll fucking kill you!”

He doesn’t realize he’s got Paul by the collar of his shirt until he feels multiple pairs of hands yanking him back, someone else tearing Paul away from him.

“That’s enough,” Soda’s back. He shoves Paul, lighter than Darry had but enough that it’s clear he means it, “you better get outta here Holden. Looks like you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

Paul spits at his feet. 

“You better watch your back Curtis.”

Soda’s eyes flash. He’s only fourteen but he’s grown half a foot this summer alone, and right now he looks nothing but tough, cold and fierce.

“Unlike you I’ve got six buddies to watch it for me, so I think you’d better watch your back pal.”

The hands holding Darry release him, Steve moving to flank Soda, Dally and Ponyboy on either side of him, all of them- even twelve year old Pony- just a little in front of Darry.

“Beat it Holden,” Steve tells Paul in that low, deadly voice he only uses when he’s real mad, the one that’s ten times scarier than any of his hollering, “if we have to ask again we won’t be so polite.”

Paul's last glare is cutting but he leaves, eyes like quicksilver as he turns away, and Darry finds himself hoping he’ll run into Aaron Dubois or his gang on his way back to the west side. 

When he's out of sight Dally spits on the ground and lights a cigarette, eyes cold and dangerous.

“C’mon, Dar,” Soda claps him on the shoulder, his smile only a little dimmer than usual, “Johnny and Two went to go see if they could russell up a car for the drag race tonight, and you know mom won’t let Pony watch unless you come with us.”

Darry follows his friends- his real friends- down the street, ruffles his brothers’ hair, and quietly mourns a person he thought he knew.

None of the gang ask what happened, not even Ponyboy. Darry doesn’t tell them, and if he sniffles a bit on the walk to the old rodeo grounds where the race is taking place, well, at least he's quiet enough that no one could possibly notice.

[silly-mox]

What Fandoms I write for and who -

Marvel -

Yelena belova

Loki

Wolverine

Deadpool

Hawkgirl

Natasha Romanoff

Doctor strange

Wanda maximoff

Pietro maximoff (specifically Aaron Taylor Johnson)

Remy lebeau

Daredevil

Sentry

Tony Stark (maybe, I kinda hate him)

Spider man/Peter parker

Cyclops

Shang-chi

Bucky Barnes

Hockey -

Quinn Hughes

Jack Hughes

Marc Andre Fleury

Brad marchand

Jeremy swayman

Pyotr kochetkov

Joseph woll

Mitch marner

Vince Dunn

Sidney Crosby

Macklin celebrini

Will Smith (hockey, duh)

Kris letang

Evgeni Malkin

Brock boeser

Ethan Edwards

Nico hischier

Dylan Larkin

Alex Lyon

Auston Matthews

Luke Hughes

Seth Jarvis

(many more players! I also will take requests)

Formula one/indycar -

Kimi raikkonen

Sebastian vettel

Nico Rosberg

Sergio "checo" Perez

Carlos sainz

Max verstappen

Charles leclerc

Jenson button

Fernando Alonso

Esteban ocon

Pierre gasly

Jack doohan

Pato o'ward

Logan Sargeant

Oscar piastri

Alex albon

Lando Norris

Lance stroll

Yuki tsunoda

Colton herta

David malukas

Christian lundgraad

Marcus Armstrong

Kimi antonelli and Ollie bearman (platonic only)

Eurovision -

Joost Klein

Baby lasagna

Tommy cash

Kaarija

Jann

Maneskin (damiano and Victoria)

Lukas from Katarsis

Danya from ziferblat

Kaj (literally all of them)

Go-jo

Bojan from joker out

Erika vikman

WWE/AEW -

Rhea Ripley

Damian priest

Christian cage

Edge

Dominick Mysterio

Mcmg

Nick Wayne

Eddie Kingston

Jay white

Kenny Omega

Kyle Fletcher

Will ospreay

La Knight

Hook

Orange Cassidy

Iyo sky

Tiffany Stratton

Gunther

Hangman Adam page

Young bucks

Jon moxley

Wheeler yuta

Swerve Strickland

Willow nightingale

Toni storm

Mine shirakawa

Mjf

Speedball Mike Bailey

Harley Cameron

Mariah May

Joe Hendry

Ethan page

Chyna

Shawn Michaels

Mick Foley

AJ Lee

Cm punk

Drew McIntyre

Seth Rollins

Sheamus

The gunn brothers

Kip sabian

Mxm

Maxine dupri

Finn Balor

(and a lot more! I take requests and obviously will make a post for who I do not write for)

Horror movie characters/ horror characters -

Ghost face (stu macher and Billy loomis)

Hannibal lecter (2013 Hannibal)

Will graham (2013 Hannibal)

Mark Hoffman

Maxine (from X trilogy)

Lisa Frankenstein (x OC or platonic if reader only)

Jennifer check (another x OC or maybe reader depends)

Tiffany Valentine

Frank from Abigail

Patrick Bateman (depends)

Dennis crim

Umbrella academy -

Five Hargreaves

Ben Hargreaves (umbrella vers, maybe sparrow)

Klaus Hargreaves

Hazel

Victor Hargreaves

Diego Hargreaves

Lila pitts

Jayme Hargreaves

Sloane Hargreaves

YouTubers -

The boys (juicy, Eddie, mully)

Sam and Colby

Chrismd

Clooless gang (pezzy, grizzy, puffer, droid)

Smii7y

Sidemen (Harry, Simon, Josh.)

Alpharad

Yumi

Cjya

Blarg

Hasan piker

Mortal Kombat

Johnny cage

Reptile

Kenshi

Bi-han or sub zero

Raiden

Scorpion

Smoke

Kitana

Miscellaneous movies and show characters I'll write for -

The boys TV show (soldier boy, Billy Butcher)

Top gun Maverick (Bob, hangman, rooster)

Twisters 2024 (Javi, Kate, Tyler)

Pokemon horizons (friede)

Stranger things (Steve, Robin, Nancy, Billy, and Eddie)

Death of a unicorn (Shepard leopald, Ridley)

Final destination (Erik, Bobby, Erin, Ian, Rory, Olivia.)

Spencer charnas from ice nine kills

[morphean42]

Rewatching Falsettos, as one does, and I noticed in Four Jews Marvin and Jason have Shepards staffs, while Whizzer and Mendel have straight sticks.

Marvin is trying to keep his Tight Knit Family together, he’s attempting to “shepard” them according to his will. He most certainly views himself as the leader of the TKF, though the religious part is questionable. His stick is a Shepards Crook, large enough to fit around the neck of a sheep and move them where he thinks they should go. Interestingly, Moses is depicted as having a Shepards Staff often, so this may connect to Marvin’s sort of “I’m the leader” mentality as well. However, when we see the Red Sea split in the song, Mendel is the one in the front. This could sort of show how Marvin views Mendel (Moses receives the Ten Commandments in the Torah) as the person to look to for guidance through life— he is his psychiatrist after all— but still desires the control the role of Moses would give him.

Jason, having the same type of staff, reflects how similar they are. We see throughout the show Jason’s fears of becoming his dad, as he already shares so many similarities with him. He has the potential to turn into Marvin, to try and control those around him as if they were sheep, but he is still young. His staff is smaller— he can’t fully force anyone around yet. One might say his stick is what’s called a Leg Cleek, intended on hooking only the back legs of sheep. Jason doesn’t have the ability to steer, but he can still grab onto those around him. Often, Moses is depicted as having the same sort of curved staff, and something interesting to me is this connection between Jason and Moses. Moses, according to the Torah, dies within sight of the promised land— Jason also seems to have everything he could want within his grasp (a father who loves him, a family that doesn’t fight so much anymore, Whizzer back in his life) before losing it with the death of Whizzer Brown.

Whizzer and Mendel don’t have these curved staffs, instead having simple walking sticks. This shows how they are sort of outsiders in the show— Marvin and Jason are father and son, while Whizzer and Mendel are the additions, the “step-fathers” one might say. They don’t fit quite into the group, but the sticks are still important.

In the Torah, after a plague, Moses’s brother Aaron has a rod that sprouts ripe almonds to prove the tribe of Levi’s right to priesthood. Obviously the story is a little more complicated than that, and while I can’t claim his rod was specifically not a Shepards Staff but rather a straight one, most art depicts it without a curve. Whizzer and Mendel represent this sort of ‘miracle’ almost, they save Marvin and Trina respectively. They both allow their lovers to be happy, the opportunity to be themselves outside of the marriage that was ruining them.

Ironically, almonds can represent faithfulness. Marvin was not faithful to his wife, obviously, but in a way through Whizzer became faithful to himself. He leaves Trina to be who he truly is— a gay man. Whizzer and Mendel baring this type of stick proves how they bring a faith into the lives of these two broken people, restoring their happiness.

So anyway, Four Jews in a Room Bitching is a dope ass song and even the fucking sticks mean something in Falsettos— I’m going insane.

I apologise if I’ve completely misrepresented the religious stuff, I wasn’t really raised with religion at all and am just now starting to connect with it.

[allforthegaymes]

I have to wear kt tape which means blorbos have to wear kt tape.

It becomes one of Andrew and Neils many little rituals.

The second they get back to the dorms after a game they tuck themselves away. Thanking god that theyre both short enough that they can fit comfortably together in the dorms tiny bathroom.

Sometimes they shower together beforehand, sometimes Neil sits on the closed toilet lid and idly talks about the dumb call Kevin made to him mid game that lost them a shot on goal or the way Allison had tossed the ball towards him and it hit his chest pad before landing in his net.

Sometimes Andrew sits on the floor, leaning against the cabinets (“yes Neil, sitting on the toilet lid is still gross” he snarks as he slides to the floor). And he’ll talk about whichever cave diving horror story he watched during his economics class instead of watching the lecture.

And Neil will hop out of the shower, shoot a glance at the fogged up mirror and tug a pair of boxers on despite still being half dripping wet. And Andrew will raise his eyebrows and scrunch up his nose at the idea of wearing wet boxers but wont say anything out loud, Neil already knows and does it anyways because he loves the reaction he gets.

Andrew will already have a dry towel tossed on the ground for them to sit on, the fan brring above their heads as the steam slowly gets filtered out.

Neil always does Andrews first, tapping twice gently against the side of his neck so Andrew will stretch out, letting Neil weave the kt tape across his shoulders and arms. Two taps to the elbow so he’ll lift his arm a bit higher when the tape stretches across his bicep.

One tap to his other shoulder so Andrew knows to shift his body and aim his other side towards Neil, and the process starts again.

When Neil finishes up and Andrew has stretched this way and that to make sure the tape is holding properly, having gone and gotten his arms nearly torn off from a striker too close to the goal trying to make a shot. The tape the best recovery help option for a man who had taken one look at the massage brochure abby had offered him and left the room.

Once Andrews done, Neil goes next.

They work quietly when Andrew is getting his done, but both start to chatter up again once its Neils turn. Debating back and forth which call of duty is better and whether Neil is allowed to have an opinion on it when hes only played zombies with Aaron.

A long strip from the bottom of his foot up to the back of his heel. A shorter strip wrapping around the ball of his foot, covering up decade old calluses and blister scars from his old shitty shoes.

Twin strips weave around the front of his knee, supporting the muscle, and like clockwork Neil will lean back on his arms and groan at the pressure being lifted.

Theyll sit in silence for a few moments longer, until Andrew complains about the lingering steam in the room making his shirt stick to his back and Neil will laugh loudly at him as he scrambles to stand up and tug Andrew up with him.

They’ll scurry back to the bedroom to get changed, Andrew grumbling about the obnoxious pair of Ninja Turtles sweats that Neil pulls on, ignoring the hypocrisy as he tugs a pair of Batman ones over his own hips.

They’ll drag their tired selves out into the living room, toss themselves onto the couch next to where Nicky is sprawled out, the taller man groaning at the sight of them and letting himself roll of the couch onto the pile of blankets on the floor to let them take his spot.

Aarons already half asleep in a bean bag, he’d ended up playing nearly the full game earlier that night, but a controller is still tightly held in his hands as he navigates through the call of duty game he’d recently gotten his hands on, a quiet gasp escaping his mouth at the reveal of Roach being killed by Shepard.

He turns off the game immediately after with a loud groan, dragging his hands over his face before he turns to the rest of them to start complaining about the plot.

Neil sleepily tucks closer to Andrew, the blonde absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over the edge of the wrap around Neils knees, humming along to show Aaron he’s still listening as his twin continues his rant.

[depressedraisin]

Homosociality etc. in Harold Pinter's Betrayal (1978)

References:

Aaron Botwick, (2018) "Whispering Together in the Dark: Rereading Samuel Beckett's Homosociality through Harold Pinter"

Ann. C Hall, (1993), "A Kind of Alaska: Women in the plays of O'Neill, Pinter and Shepard"

Nils Hammarén & Thomas Johansson, (2014), "Homosociality: In Between Power and Intimacy"

Photographs:

Penelope Wilton, Michael Gambon and Daniel Massey in the original production of Betrayal at the Royal National Theatre, 1978. dir. Peter Hall

Robert Sean Leonard and Helen Hunt in the latest production of Betrayal at the Goodman Theatre, 2025. dir. Susan V. Booth

[khozee-gorl]

Cloud World (Shepard with Wildflowers, #2), 2023

By Aaron Morse

Acrylic on canvas

60 x 48 inches