#and ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ask to tag i guess

[foldingfittedsheets]

I know you mention in the description how you're not my mom but

Are you my mom?

Y’know. As someone who went back to college later in life who is surrounded by very young adults who are just making The Worst Decisions I do often fall into a certain role. But it’s not really a mom role. It’s more like… well. I’m nonbinary so there’s not a good word. I hate “aunt”, and “uncle” doesn’t fit, so to my niece I’m “parsib”.

So I’m more like a cool parsib who’s just like. Yo, you know that’s a terrible idea right? You’re cool? Alrighty.

But then I still help you clean up the mess when the consequences hit if you ask nicely.

[galacticlamps]

I'm going to uno reverse card you and say: for the fic guessing game, 'light'?

lol that's fair

apparently I talk about light a lot (go figure) so have this one that happens to be in the middle of its story's 'Oh' moment:

But perhaps, somewhere along the line, Jamie had slipped, and now . . . well now, standing on the balcony of a palace on another planet, with the Doctor dipping his head nearer just to hide his eyes from the light - nearer, and not farther, which would've been just as easy - no, now he had to admit something was different. When it had changed or whether it hadn't at all and he'd simply been too fool to realize it before he couldn't say, and it didn't matter anyway - he knew it now, and that scared him.

-

And just for kicks, under the cut I'm gonna put a longer excerpt from a totally different fic that came up while I was ctrl+f-ing 'light' in my wips - mainly because it happens to be part of a scene from a longish 'the Doctor & Jamie reunite with Zoe in 6b' story which is nowhere near completion, but feels relevant given the boxset Big Finish released last week (not that I've gotten a chance to listen to it yet, but still).

Zoe sat across from Jamie, her elbows on the table, her chin resting atop her hands - but she wasn't relaxed. She stared at him intently, and actually narrowed her eyes as he watched.

"What?" he asked, already defensive, and following through on an old self-conscious instinct, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. With no mirror in sight, he looked to the Doctor to check if he'd somehow gotten something on his face already, but he looked just as baffled. Zoe hadn't broken her concentration yet.

"I'm trying to figure out if I'm older than you," she announced, still deep in thought.

"Ah--" the Doctor began, grinning wickedly, but whether he was going to answer her or merely tease they never found out, because Jamie shot an arm out lightning quick, as if to hold him back.

"No' so fast, you. Let the girl work it out."

He finished chewing and settled himself squarely in front of her for inspection. She continued to stare. "Y'know, I'm surprised you're having such trouble telling," he taunted. "After all, how old are you now?"

She opened her mouth at first to protest that she was under no obligation to announce her own age while he continued to keep his secret, but she still thought she might figure it out - and if she couldn't, she at least had the Doctor to rely on to make Jamie tell the truth.

So she shrugged. "I'm 41. But everyone here thinks I'm 39. I was born 39 years ago, of course, but counting chronologically from the time I left the Wheel with you in the Tardis, I aged two years before the Time Lords returned me to my own time. That was twenty-one years ago, now," she added, unable to judge if the faint waver of wistfulness in her voice was truly audible, or if it was just her own imagination. Thankfully, neither of them pressed her on it.

"Well, y'see, Zoe," Jamie began slowly, still chewing his last mouthful after she finished her explanation and sat waiting calmly for his reply. The Doctor leaned forward too, seemingly intrigued, though it must only have been to see what answer Jamie would try. "I was born in 1724," he paused and washed down his food with a swig from his glass, and for a moment Zoe had the grace to assume he was just working through his calculations, as she had done. "So I'm pretty sure I'm older than you," he finished, setting the glass back down on the table triumphantly.

All at once she felt a young girl again, a devilish light in her eyes. She wanted to jump across the table and tackle him - but that wasn't what Madam Presidents did. "Why, you--"

"They don't traditionally swear at their guests either, Ms. Heriot."

She turned on the Doctor, shocked. "You read my mind," she began, more impressed than accusatory, but he did at least have the decency to look sheepish.

He coughed politely. "Only to, ah, verify your math. And I'm sure you could feel my presence there, if you think about it."

"I could but I didn't know that's what it was. You've gotten so much better at it."

"Had to," he said simply, and shrugged, his eyes downcast.

Well, there was more to that, clearly, she thought, filing his deliberately nonchalant expression away for closer inspection later - but for now she was not about to be deterred. She snapped her eyes and her attention both back to Jamie.

"Still, we both know the Doctor obviously continues to value honesty and accuracy, so surely he'll tell me how old you are, even if you won't."

"Not if I ask him not to - right, Doctor?"

"Well . . . " he began, noncommittally drawing the word out so long that Zoe actually had time to wonder what his plan was for once he ran out of vowel. Jamie looked so genuinely horrified it was downright comical, and she had to force herself not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"We're married, Doctor," he reminded him, indignant.

"Oh, but it's Zoe," he complained, sounding every bit the petulant child she remembered he could be, all those years ago. "And as far as I can remember, none of the ceremonies we ever partook in had anything in the vows about obeying. Although I might be wrong . . ." he added under his breath, scratching his head.

"Charming," Jamie grumbled.

"Well, when we've had as many weddings as we have it can be quite a lot to keep straight in your head. You know, I sometimes wonder if we might qualify for some kind of an all-time record. If we hadn't the need to be covert about so many of them, of course."

"Stop that!" she snapped, and the Doctor turned back to her, the picture of confused innocence.

"Stop what?"

"You're trying to help him without helping him, just by distracting me. Naturally, I want to hear everything about all these weddings of yours, and I will see to it that you'll be having another one while you're here, like it or not--"

"Yes ma'am," Jamie quipped, mock-serious.

"--But first, I am going to find out how old you are, James Robert McCrimmon, and if you force me to use your husband to do it, then that decision is on you."

Jamie mopped his face with his napkin and came out of it smiling. He stretched and dropped an arm around the Doctor's shoulders, perfectly relaxed. Already, Zoe felt her heart sink, but she was careful to keep her composure.

"I'm only pullin' your leg. I'm 44."

"What, really? And you expect me to just believe that?" She raised an eyebrow in challenge but then glanced at the Doctor to confirm, and when he nodded she allowed her facade to crumble, rolling her eyes. Of course she had known when she'd first laid eyes on them that they'd be cutting it close, but Jamie still had quite a bit of that boyishness about him that had made it frustrating enough being his junior the first time around, and she really thought she might genuinely have enjoyed being just a hair older than him, for a change. After all, if you had to be ripped apart from your family and sent to separate timezones to live out your lives forever wishing for an improbable reunion, it might as well be good for something. But Jamie was far too smug looking now to be pretending, and Zoe knew it. "Oh, some people have all the luck," she groaned, dropping her arms and collapsing back dejectedly against her seat.

"Aye," Jamie said, leaning in over the table to follow her, "and some people live 22 years on Earth before they meet a time traveler, then spend 5 years with him before his people erase their memory and send them home to live another 5 before he's allowed to come pick them up again, and then force the pair of 'em to've spent 12 years so far working for them. Some people, eh?" he finished hotly, swiping his glass off the table again and raising it to his mouth in one fluid motion to take a long drink. But even so, his face was not so totally obscured from view that Zoe couldn't make out the amused curl at the corner of his lips, and when she caught his gaze again the glimmer in his eye was all fondness, just as it was with Doctor's and, she knew, her own.

Yes, no matter the circumstances, it was certainly good to see them again.

[nixariel]

CARMEN SANDIEGO (2019) + locations ║ Boston, Dubai, Moscow, and New Zealand [6/?]

[theflyingfeeling]

current level of boredom while being mildly poorly (=not poorly enough to just lie down doing nothing but poorly enough to not have the energy to do anything thought-consuming): tagging all my shippy asks/posts ✨💅

ps. if anyone knows how to use the mass post editor to actually mass-edit tags in a convenient way I'd appreciate the help 🙏 like, idk if it's even possible to find all the posts I have tagged as x and edit the tags of all those posts at once? 🤔 so far I only know you can find tagged posts on your own blog by adding /tagged/x at the end of your url and then editing the tags manually one post at a time 🥲

[safyresky]

Hello hi, sorry to bother. But i'm in the middle fo righting my own ANGST and everything is horrible but i had a thought!

Have you ever had the idea of an AU where Jacqueline just fucking dies at the day of darkness? Just straight up bleeds out to death and dies. Jack is a full on child killer and Blinter is now back to only one kid. CATASTROPHE for sure, and the entire rest of the story never even happens. Everybody would stay frozen for an ETERNITY, Jack would have to go to jail for actual manslaughter, the works. But this idea has me thinking about what would happen anyway.

Im sorry that this thought is just incredibly morbid and sad, but i'm in my fictional world FEELS atm, and im very curious as to what this would look like/mean.

Me reading this:

My fiancé when I read this out loud: ANDIE ARE YOU OKAY?? DO YOU NEED A HUG????

He then IMMEDIATELY ASKS ME WHAT I THINK WOULD HAPPEN, and he kinda let me use him like a rubber duck (because I've thought of a lot of "what ifs" on the day of darkness, but never this what if admittedly bc. Y'know. Magical healing springs and such) so here's what I've got for you on this fine angsty night! It turned into a bit of a drabble...whoops? Anyway.

Enjoy!!!!! I hope it kills us all dead!!! 😊😊😊😊😊😊

__

Jack succeeds in something he never intended to do.

He sees the icicles go right through his little sister's body, all three of them; he sees the blood. He sees the magic on his hand, he KNOWS that it was him. He sees Blaise and Winter make it out of the house.

He panics.

He leaves her there in the snow, and he runs, disappearing into his storm.

Blaise and Winter rush to Jacqueline. They see the blood. They see the icicles. They go into crisis mode.

Maybe they bring her inside and stop the bleeding, but it's too late. Maybe she bleeds out on the spot. Maybe one of the icicles actually hits her heart or another organ that is integral to being alive and she dies before she even knows what hit her.

It'd be nice to think that, wouldn't it?

However it may come to pass, Jacqueline dies. She's gone. Blaise and Winter lay her to rest in Roseterra, hoping that it was fast and quick and that she's being taken care of by someone warm and sweet in Rosehaven. Maybe Mother Gaia; maybe the Goddess herself.

What comes next is hard.

Both Winter and Blaise are overcome with emotion; they've just lost one child by the hands of their other child.

In one fell swoop, they've lost both their children.

Winter freezes almost immediately after the funeral. She's desolate in her sadness; lost not one, but two children because Jack is, in fact, wanted. She has no words. What can she say? All she can do is cry and sob it won't change a thing. It won't bring her back. Nothing can.

Blaise struggles. He now has to apprehend his own son for murder. Murder of his own sister; Blaise's dear, dear little girl.

It hurts.

It hurts to think about how this happened, given that Jacqueline adored her older brother, and he her. He taught her everything she knew up until...that point.

He knows what he needs to do. But he can't bring himself to find Jack and do it. There's just too many emotions. That's his son for the springs sake! But he killed someone. He killed his own sister, Blaise's little snow angel, and murder is murder and it's hard to think that maybe there's some good left when the brightest little sprite is gone thanks to his son. He's all out of hope.

Blaise knows what needs to be done. He knows what he needs to do.

And like he had centuries, millennia before that, he encases his heart in stone.

It's his duty to bring Jack to justice. And he will do what he needs to do to get it done. Emotions be damned.

So both Blaise and Winter are, essentially, frozen over.

And they begin to drift.

Both are frozen; both keep their feelings to themselves. they don't talk like they used to. They focus on their jobs and nothing more.

Winter does as she was meant to do. She keeps the season going. But the winters change. They are cold, so, so, so very cold. Bitterly cold. Temperatures hit negatives that should not be hit. Twenty, forty, sixty, all below zero. They're dry. So very dry. So very dry and cold and there is no snow; just hard ground, cold, cold, cold and frozen. A tundra with no snow.

The joy of the season is gone.

Blaise throws himself into his work. His duties come first. At home, he exists alongside Winter, both numbed by grief and their hardened hearts. At work, he does his governor duties in the morning, and devotes his afternoons to the search for Jack.

The search lasts centuries.

A week after leaving, Jack checks in, as he does in a better timeline, to see if Jacqueline made it. But here, in this timeline, when he pokes around for his dear little sister's link with him, it's gone. It's dead. The spot in his mindscape that once housed the bright blue thread is cold and dead. Empty. The wind howls; beyond the connection, there is nothing.

He knows what he did. He killed her dead. And he knows the consequences, of course; but he refuses to face them. He refuses to face any of the memories, the feelings, the everything that transpired when he flung his hand and shink shink shink and the deep, deep pool of red and the darkness where once there was light.

He stays under the radar. He avoids the Council; he hides. And he is DAMN GOOD at it. Blaise expends so many resources and cannot find the man anywhere.

The years turn into decades; decades into centuries. Blaise intensifies his search for his son, throwing everything he has, all his power as Governor, his connections to other Governors and powerful castors, The Council of Legendary Figures, the operation up North--but he cannot find the man who murdered his daughter. He cannot find his son anywhere, and were he able to feel anything, he'd be furious.

But his heart is stony; all he can focus on is the hunt. Doing his duty. Bringing his little snow angel justice.

"It won't bring her back," Winter says to him one day. Her hair is so frozen it doesn't move; her face cold.

Blaise doesn't reply. Ash floats off his sooty head. His face is stony.

Winter would sigh, if she could bring herself to. But she can't. All she feels is a sadness that is building and building and growing into despair.

The front door opens and closes.

Blaise doesn't look up.

Winter doesn't look back.

---

They drift further and further; they rarely see one another. Winter finds solace in the mountains. Longer and longer stretches. The storms surrounding Bianca's Range grow stronger and stronger. The peaks are obscured constantly, now. The drifting mists from the crystal springs themselves can't even break through the whiteout.

Longer and longer stretches.

One day, she leaves for her new home.

The house, silent before, grows more silent still. Long ago, they had dreamt of filling the house to the brim with little flurries and spitfires.

But that was almost three thousand years ago.

Now it is filled to the brim with ghosts.

---

Jack gets cocky.

Of course he does; Blaise hasn't found him and it's been centuries. He ventures out. Shows up to a Council meeting or two. Plots and schemes and harasses Santa after Santa. Tries to gain the recognition that should be his.

Denial can be quite powerful when you live in it for a millennium and almost a half. You trap the thoughts of what could've been, what you could've done together; what you could've experienced with her. First partner. First major snowstorm. Freeze drying. Taking back the season together. the things you could've done, together!

Down the thoughts go, into the deep dark recesses of his memory until they no longer emerge. He goes about his business, getting closer and closer to taking out Santa, and having some near-misses of his own with the man pursuing him.

But an opportunity comes up; one that's too good to let go. You cause a little trouble here and there, have these amazing standees made of yourself with your own holiday name, and suddenly the entire Council is up in arms. So you go; this will be a fun one to get out of, and maybe Mother Nature will be so distracted by the balance swaying, that she won't think to tip off the authorities. The Authority.

Jack admires Blaise's tenacity. The man has NOT stopped pursuing him. He understands why, of course. Fully. But before he can dwell on it, he shoves the thoughts down down down, as far under the ground as she was now, and continues to do his thing.

And that's when he hears about it. Well, two things.

First off, Santa is stressed. Work is too much and the wife is expecting and he is afraid. He is TERRIFIED even. Jack can see the fear on his fellow Legend's face. He's very familiar with it. He's seen it on many a Santa before. Many a poor soul freezing to death. Falling to their death off a slippery slope. Landing in a heap with three icicles deep through their chest, the blood pouring out--

Down. Down, down, down. Lock those thoughts away. Deep breath. Keep going. Escape Clause?

Escape Clause.

Now that's interesting. Even more interesting when the other Legends don't tell him what it is. That's fine. He's clever. He'll figure it out.

And he does.

And all it takes is a little messing about here, clever words there, frosty meddling on the side, turning Curtis against Bernie, the whole nine yards.

And the family.

Jack chuckles to himself. Humans. So easy to get them upset! Rile them up enough, cause a very upsetting scene, and voila! Trouble in paradise!

A brief segue before this, of course, to follow Santa and the redheaded brat to the Hall of Snow Globes. Waiting just behind the doors and watching the secret door spin; waiting for it to spin back around to get in. Ignoring the very familiar handiwork of the icy walls inside the space and going for the prize.

Bring the man aside at his lowest low, get him to say the magic words, and voila!

Jack was Santa now.

But it didn't bring her back.

---

Not that he thought it would, of course. He'd like to think she was six feet under his long lost memories, but that was a lie.

She was always there. In the corners of his eyes, gone when he whipped around. One room over, gone when he entered it. Ghosts of giggles past and whispers of whoops when she mastered a new technique. Always there. Always in the corners, just out of reach.

So maybe, he had hoped, just a bit mind you, that somehow, doing this would change things!

But it didn't.

She was still gone, and his parents?

As gone as she was when he flipped the script on Santa.

He had it all. He had nothing. And when Scott finally appeared, Jack would've willingly gave it all away and turned himself in--if the man hadn't cut him off.

It was infuriating.

A last ditch effort to fight him for the jacket; a guilt trip that went nowhere (stealing the coat was nothing compared to stealing a life), and they were back.

As if nothing had happened.

And Jack knew that his time had run out.

Blaise had caught up to him.

---

Mother Nature had told Blaise of Jack's presence as soon as she could. Told him he would be staying at the North Pole. He had a large window of opportunity. Mother Nature felt this could be it.

And so had Blaise. His stony heart grew loud; he wouldn't blaze in this time, no. He'd do what needed to be done.

He gathered the Elite Peacekeepers, the Peace Enforcers. The strongest of spell casters. The most ruthless of the fighters. He prepped his staff, making sure he had the right spells himself.

He covered all the exit points of the Pole; pulled some strings to keep his son from escaping.

Murderer, his head corrected.

His heart was silent.

Troops assembling, he made one last trek through the city, past the springs, through the Forbidden Forest and up the Valley to Roseterra.

Her mausoleum was well kept. It always was. Flowers bloomed around it; the most beautiful snow sat on the top, hugging the warm structure. It was all sorts of light blues and yellows, her name written clearly still after all these years.

"I've got him now," Blaise said. "I'll bring you justice, snow angel. I love you."

He presses his forehead against the writing, his hand warm on the inscription. His eyes pricked, but no tears fell; they hadn't in years. He placed his flowers down, the orange lilies and red roses contrasting beside the fresh blue roses and white lilies, little red snow berries in between.

Good, he thought. Winter's okay.

And without a second thought, he kisses the tomb and turns to leave, the moment he had been waiting for for fourteen hundred years finally coming.

---

The Elfficers get him; the Council has him in their grasp. There is no escape. And before anyone can do anything, the Peace Enforcers come in, a stony man leading them, a staff glowing in his hand. His face is steely. Determined. Familiar. Older.

"That's enough," he says, his voice hard and full of a cold rage. "It's over."

"I know," Jack replies, as the Peace Enforcers spin circles of magic and capture him.

He's brought in, finally. Blaise does Santa a kindness and thaws his relatives. He doesn't say anything to the man. Leaves before he can see the family celebrate, together. He doesn't need to see that. He doesn't want to.

Outside, he taps his staff on the floor. It glows a multitude of colours, and Jack can feel so many magical traps and seals settle on him.

The fight is over. Neither sprite have any of it left in them.

And Jack is brought to justice.

He escapes, of course. Multiple times.

But Blaise catches him each time, patching the flaw.

The rehabilitation programs don't work. He keeps trying and trying to escape and a prison, a prison akin to the mortal ones, is made just for Jack.

There are a few more escapes, but they lead nowhere. He's caught each time. Until finally, he stays put. Makes himself comfortable, freezes the building solid with him inside. Brought to justice. (But it didn't bring her back).

Up in the mountains, Winter manages a sigh when she hears the news. Brought to justice. But like she had known the weeks after her darling little girl had passed, like she had told Blaise what felt like eons ago but also, like it was just yesterday, it hadn't brought her back.

And Blaise sits in the empty home, the dust and cobwebs clogging up the surfaces and corners. A sad wind blows through the desolate halls, echoing from bare room to bare room, wailing. He sits at the faded and worn chair at his desk.

He brought Jack in. He caught his daughter's killer. He brought justice.

But it didn't bring her back.

Jacqueline was still gone.

Winter was still gone.

Jack was gone.

They were all still gone, so far gone, and Blaise knew deep down, that he, too was gone.

And nothing could bring him back.

Nothing could bring any of them back.

Not even him.

---

(Comfortably hidden away in the East, The Man chuckles to himself, leaning back in his plush armchair and throwing his feet up on the ottoman below him, a roaring fire crackling in the fireplace. He chuckles to himself. He had heard the news. Blaise had lost everything.

The Man's lips quirked into a sneer of a smile. A simple curse was all it took; and a little bit of time, and boom. Blaise's life? Ruined. The Man closed his eyes, satisfied at last.

He had done it.)

[tuiyla]

"#and people can be so fucking performative about mertina but that's another topic"

can you talk more about that? I have noticed some people on reddit resenting Faberritana’s popularity because three of them are white (and one is viewed as the epitome of pretty privilege) and another is a slender, lighter-skinned and mixed-white Afro-Latina (aka Hollywood’s “acceptable” version of a black woman, akin to Zendaya) and while that’s a discussion to be had, imo some in the fandom take it too far and suggest that racism, colorism and fatphobia are the main reasons why they're the four most popular female characters on Glee in general and idk that also rubs me the wrong way.

Yes of course, because it can be a controversial topic but honestly fuck whoever takes issue with me saying this.

Like, let's start off with this: I get that the Faberritana thing can be annoying. I myself find it grating, particularly when I see stuff from the height of the Glee fandom 2011-2012 and it's very clearly centering on Faberritana, at the expense and exclusion of the two other main girls who are less conventionally palatable for, let's be honest, racist and fatphobic reasons. And Glee itself was very, very bad at centering them. So like, I Get It. Faberritana feels like elevating the three white ladies of the group and "allowing" Santana to also take on that fan favourite role. I'd wager, because of the queer storyline and yes, Naya's undeniable conventional attractiveness. Although I do take issue with the baffling backlash people like Zendaya face because shifting the blame onto women of colour for Hollywood deeming them more screen appropriate is in itself fucked up. Particularly in Naya's case because her mixed heritage was constantly ignored to boil it down to something more easily consumable, such as in the context of Glee her being the token Latina and her Blackness all but erased. But anyway.

The answer to this being this, like you say, taking it too far and creating a counter movement is just all wrong. To me. Not only because putting some women down to elevate others NEVER should be the fucking case oh my god it's 2023, but because appreciation for Mertina being born out of spite towards Faberritana enjoyers is... not real appreciation. I could start stanning St Berry sooo hard but if it's just because I find Finchel more and more repulsive, that ain't gonna be the great win for St Berry I sometimes see people posit Mertina appreciation as. I know this sounds strange but it's the fandom equivalent of trying to make an ex jealous via your rebound. You're not actually taking the rebound's feelings into consideration. Alright okay out of left field simile but you get where I'm coming from.

I think that's what annoyed me the most in my reddit days, which, *shudders* are thankfully over. This childish need to counterbalance to take extreme. X ch is popular? Well I don't like them so there must be a moral reason as to why they're The Worst, actually. Y ship is well-liked? I'm going to passive-aggressively show appreciation for Z shit all while implying that all who support another ship hint hint wink wink are Wrong and basic. I think all who spent time on the sub will be able to relate to this. But like I say, that's not real appreciation. If you feel like showing appreciation for, say, Mertina because they're statistically less like to be talked about with the same fervor, good! Please do that. But make it come from a place of authenticity or I, for one, will not be able to get fully behind it.

It's slightly different on tumblr. One, because you curate your own dashboard and experiences and I've fortunately seen the love get spread around a lot more. There are entire blogs I associate with loving Tina (hello tumblr user @tina-cohen-chang) and though Mercedes love is less "centered", I guess, it's ubiquitous as far as I see. And sure, some chs will always be more appreciated than others, but I don't see people throwing a hissy fit about Artie not being even close to being as popular or Klaine, or similar things. Liking the Glee boys is basically synonymous to liking Klaine + Sam + Mike but people never used the term Klainesike so I guess that's okay. And to be clear, it is okay! Like who you like, call it what you want. I'm happy to see things like Tina week or the relatively smaller but constant portions of Mercedes love. It's never the people complaining about Faberritana supplying it, though, which is why it's so performative. You don't have to be a content creator, no one does, but also no one owes you anything and supporting less fan favourite-y chs out of pure spite just makes you look like an ass.

Circling back, even with all this said I too find the unironic use of the Faberritana portmaunteu cringe and I do think Mertina deserve more appreciation. And I think there are layers of racism as well as the show's own issues playing into why that isn't the case. They were less featured and that in itself is a problem. And that's worth investigating within fandom circles. But that's never what happens when the people of reddit complain about Faberritana's popularity and instead it just becomes this resentment party where no one wins but they give themselves brownie points for even pretending to like the Black and Asian women of the show. Congrats I guess, real win for intersectional feminism right there. Really kicked racism in the gut with that.

Basically it just becomes grating, far more grating than unironically using the term Faberritana, when people get into petty passive-aggressive counter-movements in fandom. It becomes not about love for Mertina but bitterness that chs they happen to not like are popular. And I know I just said in my reply that I don't vibe with what I perceive to be inauthentic appreciation of chs, but I also don't like when fans start policing within fandom. So I'm not doing that with anything I'm saying, in fact what I'm trying to get at is to enjoy and let enjoy. Heaven knows I don't have the energy to spread all my Glee love equally and that's okay. I do try to express the love I have for chs other than Santana, or other than my usual suspects but at the end of the day, I know what I like and I like it because I want to enjoy it. Getting sort of off topic, anyway, so just like stop be an ass about people's love for things and mind your own business. If your own business is liking thing X then that's great, enjoy the fandom content and create your own if you wish, but why be mad about what people like about a 10 year-old show, particularly if you're too lazy to actually have those discussion about race and gender and other larger societal issues. You know?

[water-fan-art]

I’ve had covid for the last week and I’ve gotta go back to work tomorrow. At the start I joked that I would get so much drawing done, and all I’ve done is this Jasper doing an incorrectly drawn navy salute

[mismess]

How was howdy shot?

Howdy and his family got into some deep financial troubles, and in order to keep the family and farm they owned running Howdy needed some extra money fast.

Along came a former classmate of his named Ricky with the promise of extra cash as long as he was willing to work for him, iiiiinnn the business of dealing drugs... Which eventually the business partnership evolved into a much more involved partnership...

Once Howdy no longer needed the extra money and he and his sister had the farm running smoothly Howdy wanted to break ties with Ricky and the business, but Ricky didn't want him to leave and threatened to shoot if he did.

Ricky had no intent on firing that gun that day, he regrets it, but he also made no attempt to get help. Fact of the matter is there probably was time to save Howdy. But Ricky was too concerned about saving his own ass.

Howdy is still considered a missing person.

[zoophagist]

The guest presses a fingernail to the vein on his throat, but does nothing to open it. He simply taps against it, a clear rhythm of two-one-two-three. His lips move, as if casting a spell, but he doesn't actually voice what he thinks: Water, may it be just water, may it do nothing to quench his thirst, nothing at all. "Sure, sure. Take your fill. Your teeth and nails are strong enough, right?" he says and smiles slyly.

He does not even answer; instantly Renfield's mouth is at the guest's neck. The savagery of teeth biting down into skin is thrilling, uncomplicated by any scruples as he twists and tears to make up for their bluntness. In the release of this beastly hunger there is even a quieting of his guilt, his embarrassment. To bite down and make the flesh part feels so very good.

Lips and tongue work over the broken skin eagerly to suck up the thick, red stream of LIFE coursing through the veins of such a powerful being — life that can be his, can be Renfield's. How wonderful it is to be rewarded, how excellent to take—

Water? The first pull slides over his tongue and down his throat and it tastes of nothing but clear, bland water. He falters, and the instant of stillness cannot but make his confusion obvious to the body under his mouth and hands. But surely this can't be... So he drinks and drinks, more and more heavily, waiting for the spark, the metallic tang of blood to slake his thirst, and he clutches more forcefully at the man, and he bites again, and again, and again, desperate, dizzy, starving. It is a frenzy, far beyond what the guest's offer could be understood to justify, but still his jaw works and his teeth sink and all there is in this gore is water!

Renfield makes an animal noise of frustration, and he thinks to himself, 'This is a trick. I have been lied to again and it is a damned trick!' Are they all so cruel, he had wondered only moments ago, and now the answer is clear as flowing water: yes. All cruel, all selfish, all temptations and takings and never justice. This useless, inert water may do nothing to warm his weakened, blood-starved body, but his fury does.

And that is when he begins to CHEW. "Liar!" He growls as he makes his teeth meet in the guest's neck and he starts to pull.

[anarcho-sexual]

UH I just read a comment thread of people insulting you for *checks notes* not agreeing with Hamas, and you just kept replying asking them to explain their viewpoint so you can learn, and I just think you are an absolute legend for that

That's all

Lol thank’s mate! It was entertaining the way everyone responded to that but I sorta get it. The whole conversation about Palestine is naturally heated, especially now. I really did want to learn & I’m still always open to learning more though!

[staybabblingbaby]

Best Friend Protocol #8 (SLEEP part)

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: You're Felix's childhood friend, and you and he have been planning a visit to see him for his birthday for what feels like years now. Unfortunately, SKZ is a very busy group, and the week-long vacation you'd planned for doesn't seem possible. Until Felix decides to ask his bandmates a favor...

Word Count: All images, so N/A. Unless someone wants to make these accessible but I don't really know how.

Notes: I guess we're doing extremes today lmao. Sorry, I had ideas and I was bored ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Enjoy (ﾉ>ω<)ﾉ :｡･:*:･ﾟ’★

Warnings: She/Her Reader.

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks

Additional Note: I have come to realize that my handle does not lend itself to an easy name. Feel free to just call me Babs. Does it stand for Babble? Baby? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ :) Also I am still soliciting title suggestions and interaction requests. Just fyi.

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

Worm List! @thatgirlangelb ( (づ￣ ³￣)づ) @hyeon-yi , @missvanjii, @velvetmoonlght, @hanniemylovelyquokka @vegetablesarefuntables @scribblesnsketches05

Perma Tag List: the lovely @mbioooo0000 <3

[fizzy-blood]

Hello! Saw your wish for more creepypasta requests so here I am! I was wondering if you could do a piece with Jeff the Killer, Laughing Jack, Ticci Toby, and Eyeless Jack where their S/O finds them killing someone and just shrug their shoulders and act like everything was normal

I thought it'd be funny for them to just have a like very chill S/O

Thank you in advance!❤️❤️

And don't forget to drink water and eat something! Can't have ya' getting ill on my watch😊

JtK, LJ, Ticci Toby & EJ with a super chill murderer S/O🔪🫀

Woahg... That's a lot of characters! Crazy- also, thank you for sending in the ask! I love making the reader a creep/killer so much (Y'ALL ARE SO SILLY FRFR) and yes. Go drink some water. ALL OF YOU.

Warning!: [Violence, murder... Tbh what are you expecting from this ask? ]

Jeff the Killer

He's not really scared or anything (why would he be?) But he is a little surprised!

You always seem so calm... I doubt he expected you to be an actual killer, even if he knew that you lived at the mansion and worked under Slender! (Or maybe you do your own thing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

But I do think he'd be a little excited by this

And let's be real... He'd probably try to take you on a killing spree at some point as a date of sorts...

He'd also probably ask if he could tag along with you to watch you do your work (and probably help)

He's not gonna make a super big deal out of it but he will definitely take notice!

Laughing Jack

Another who isn't scared! Again... Why would he be?

I don't think he'd really react much to it... He'd just acknowledge the fact you kill and move on with his day

But he does find it funny how you acted

The fact you just shrugged and didn't try to hide what you were doing was amusing to him

But again, I doubt he really minds that you kill people... It's just a normal Tuesday at this point...

Ticci Toby

Now... He was a bit more shocked by this.. Again.. Not scared... Just... Shocked

You always acted so calm, chill... He would have never guessed that you were actually capable of such things-

If anything he thought that you only hung around the place because you were doing some other work for Slender... Not that you killed people..

But he does laugh a bit at how you just shrugged and carried on with what you were doing

He gets used to it pretty fast!

Eyeless Jack

Now.. Again.. Not scared.. But he's actually concerned for you...

To be fair he's concerned for most of the people in the mansion... That place is dysfunctional for a damn reason...

But with you? Someone who almost never does anything violent... Who is almost always calm... It's just so... Out of character for you...

He gets more concerned when you just shrug it off... Acting like this is normal for everyone... But he eventually watches you leave and carry on

You then started bringing organs to Jack's room to help him restock his cooler... But he still isn't too happy about you doing that...

Overall just kinda... Sad for you...

And done! I randomly found these dividers and I'm pretty sure I reblogged them shortly before writing this... And I currently can't remember who made them... So... Oops..

But I hope you enjoyed it! My asks still open if anyone has a request!!

-Fizz

[tiddygame]

hello im sorry i wrote more for @myriadblvck ’s streamer au ghoap

I time travelled and around 4,000 words magically appeared in a document titled: "you didn't juju on the fucking beat soap" I think I was possessed by something. anyways here’s that:

tw: is it a panic attack? is it just typical ghost angst? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ just be careful it's mostly fluffy (ghost is mean to himself cause he almost kissed soap on the forehead)

also i just realized after i wrote this whole thing, this is based on my general knowledge of dog tags… as an american. writing about the british military. so if you know your shit about the british military, uhh sorry in advance. my bad. from a very brief search i think a lot of it’s the same or at least same enough but this might hurt for people that know a thing or two. whoops!

fun fact: did you know for a brief stint (iirc, >40 years from around 1960s to 2010ish) the american military was printing soldiers’ ss numbers on their tags? yeah can’t imagine why they switched back to serial numbers.

Ghost had been pacing outside of his office for three minutes before he actually entered. When he did, he didn’t say a word. Just sat down in one of the chairs, fidgeting. It wasn't that uncommon of an occurrence, he was normally either gathering his thoughts before talking to Price about something more personal or hiding from what/whoever he didn't feel like dealing with.

When it came to mission debriefs, he was clear and concise. However, personal matters were a different story, and based on the way he anxiously opened and closed his hand, he'd guess this was a personal matter.

Price didn’t ask. He knew that whatever it was Simon needed to say would come out eventually. For now, he continued filling out paperwork and trying to figure out what it was that had Ghost so worked up.

Honestly, there wasn't much guesswork involved. Chances were, it was probably yet another leave request. He knew from Gaz (who was such an awful gossip he sometimes wondered how the man made it through interrogation training) that Simon had been visiting some social media person he had taken a liking to.

(Look, yes, Price knew about Twitch and live streaming and everything. He’s not actually that old. However, as long as he kept up the front of the old man who complained about the keyboard on his phone being too small, he didn’t have to deal with social media. Sure, it caused all of them to joke that he was geriatric and on his last legs, but he was able to convince Roach that he doesn’t know what TikTok is, meaning he wasn’t in charge of reviewing all the bullshit he and Gaz posted. A fair trade if you ask him.)

He also knew that Gaz was convinced the two were in love to the point that he and Roach had a bet going to see when they would get together. Price thought it was rather stupid, but he had to admire their ability to keep it under wraps; if the lieutenant found out they’d been placing monetary bets on his love life, he had a feeling he would need to find replacements for the 141.

Regardless, Price hoped that one day Simon would tell him about the friend but, until then, he was happy to fill out any paperwork that would get the poor man off base. God knows that idiot needs a vacation.

Simon was bouncing his leg, messing with his fingers, and staring off into space.

Three of his nervous habits at once? He must be even more worked up about this than Price thought. But, he was a patient man. It was about seven minutes of companionable silence before Simon spoke.

“I need replacement dog tags. I seem to have lost mine.”

Price looked up. He could see the chain around his neck and the outline of them still under his shirt.

"You do?" Price shuffled his documents around, eventually finding a blank piece of paper he could write on.

"Yes sir."

“And do you know what happened to them?”

“I believe they were knocked off during the fight from the last mission. I didn’t notice until later that night when we were back at base.”

Price paused and looked up from where he had been writing.

The last mission had been an odd one. Ghost normally stuck further away, their eagle-eyed lieutenant typically stayed at long to mid-range, watching for hostiles and making sure whoever else was in the field wouldn’t get caught off guard by someone they hadn’t seen.

During the last mission, he decided to engage at close range, a far cry from his usual approach of sniping hostiles from the shadows.

At one point, their lieutenant had been tackled and almost strangled. The fight had pretty much ended, his attacker was the only one left there. Ghost, being The Ghost, dispatched him with ease, but it stuck out to Price. Ghost may prefer to stay further back, but that didn’t mean that his hand-to-hand combat skills were lacking by any means.

He remembered thinking at the time that it was a clumsy mistake, that Ghost would have had to be intentionally trying to fuck up to get knocked down. He assumed the man had just been caught off guard, but he knew that theory wouldn’t hold up to any scrutiny. Ghost isn’t one to get caught off guard.

What was stranger yet still was Ghost specifically pointing it out in his mission report, calling even more attention to it.

Price set his pen down and leaned back in his chair.

“You planned this?”

“I plead the fifth,” said the British man.

Price just continued to stare, curious to see if this was actually going where he thought it was going.

“Is this off the record?” Simon eventually asked.

“Of course,” almost everything the 141 did was of dubious legality. Not reporting a conversation about possible wasted assets was far from the worst thing that had been swept under the rug.

“Then yes.”

“Why?”

Simon didn’t answer. Price waited, giving the man time to gather his thoughts, but based on the way his mouth opened and closed before he slumped in his chair, it seemed he didn’t know what to say at all.

Price had an inkling he might know what this was about.

“You know, Gaz likes to keep me informed,” Ghost looked up at him, somewhat panicked yet resigned, like he already knew what Price was going to say.

“He tells me you have a certain someone you’ve been visiting?”

“Yes.”

“Is this person a friend or…?” Ghost once again paused, calculating the potential consequences of his available responses.

He didn’t answer.

“Hmm,” Price paused, wondering how far to push before he continued, “You want to give this person your old dog tags?”

“Yes.”

Of course he would pre-plan “losing” his dog tags. Price mentally chuckled, leave it to Simon to be such a sap that he wanted to give someone his dog tags yet still make sure to follow protocol so he never actually risked going without them.

He had to hand it to him, it wasn’t a bad plan.

Price had a smile now, knowing his grumpy hard-ass lieutenant had a sweetheart he wanted to be sappy with.

“Romantic or platonic?” Price tried again.

“… I don’t know,” he’d never seen Simon look quite so… forlorn.

Hmm… That would explain his hesitancy.

He was pushing how much Simon was willing to divulge.

“And does this person know the significance of you giving them your dog tags?”

Well, curiosity killed the cat…

“No, they don’t.”

…But satisfaction brought it back. How interesting, the plot thickens.

“Do you plan on telling them?”

There was a long pause, after which it dawned on Price, “You want to give them your dog tags because they don’t know.”

It wasn’t a question, he already knew. Simon somehow slumped further, attempting to hide his face as if he weren’t wearing a balaclava.

His grumpy hard-ass lieutenant. Absolutely smitten with someone yet too shy to say anything, deciding on a quiet confession, one they likely wouldn’t pick up on.

Price chuckled, jotting down the necessary information he would need when he got his hands on the right paperwork, polishing up some of the details of Ghost’s story to make it more believable, before reading off what he had written to Ghost to make sure he got everything right. Ghost nodded once, and that was that.

“Replacement tags will probably be here in two to three weeks.”

“I would like to request leave for two to three weeks from now.”

Price handed him the form, having already grabbed it. He noticed how the man seemed to calm at just the thought of getting to visit his mystery person.

Oh, he thought to himself.

I am definitely joining Roach and Gaz’s bet.

<><><><>

They were lying on the daybed in his streaming room, or, well…

No, that’s not quite right.

Simon was lying on the daybed.

Johnny was lying on top of Simon.

His computer was still softly playing quiet (non-DMCA) music from where his stream had just ended. Instead of turning it off, he had decided to unplug his headset and leave it on, the music just loud enough to be heard.

Simon was sleepily scrolling through his phone, trying to pretend like he hadn’t almost dropped several times while dozing off, desperately trying to stay awake. Johnny had watched his struggle and decided to lay down right on top of Simon, not even trying to pretend like he was trying to fit on the remaining space on the daybed. Why would he when Simon was right there?

It was meant to be a joke, having thrown himself on top of him to annoy the man into sleeping on an actual bed (he claimed he wasn’t tired but the comically loose grip on his phone and the waking world said otherwise.) However, unfortunately for said sleepy man, Simon was very, very comfortable.

His head was resting on Simon’s chest, arms under his back like he actually was just a pillow, one hand reaching higher to feel where Simon’s hair had begun to grow out slightly.

I wonder if he would let me help him cut it…

Simon had said he was like a clingy cat, his free hand running through his hair in the same manner one would pet a cat to prove his point. The joke's on him though, he likes it.

Simon had tried to stop but Johnny didn’t let him, threatening to tickle him if he did.

(“I’m not ticklish, I just don’t want you throwing a tantrum.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say,” he was definitely ticklish, and one of these days he was going to prove it.)

At some point, Simon had given up on keeping a grip on his phone, letting it drop to the side. They would probably have to go digging through the cushions to get it out of whatever crevice it had fallen to. As of right now, the idea of ever leaving his spot was comical at best.

The sun had begun to set, orange and pink tinted light filtering through the sheer curtains, making everything look more like a dream. Or maybe it was just the proximity to the man below him that was making him feel so serene.

Johnny took a second to inhale and exhale slowly, appreciating the moment. He hoped that this memory, this beautiful tranquility with Simon, would be something he cherished for a long time to come.

He knew that they had things to do. Soon, Simon would be catching a flight at some ungodly hour, headed back to save the world yet again. But for now, he was happy to nap away in their own little bubble. He never was a religious man but here in the arms of Simon Riley, he was tempted to think heaven was real, and that it was right in front of him.

“I almost forgot,” Simon mumbled, not sounding any more awake than he looked, reaching up for the collar of his shirt. Thankfully, the hand that was running his hair remained. He didn’t like proving the cocky bastard right, but he probably would have thrown a tantrum had he tried to remove it.

“They had some fuck up along the line or something and accidentally printed me an extra set of dog tags. I was just gonna toss ‘em but thought you might want—”

Johnny was now wide awake, sitting up and yanking the chain out of his hands.

“Don’t you fucking dare throw them away, of course I want them!” Simon’s face reddened, a frequent treat for Johnny now that he had gotten more comfortable going without the mask. Simon might have been good at keeping a poker face, but without his mask, he was a blushing mess.

He wondered if the blush was from his obvious jubilation at the gift or if it was because he was now straddling the man. Such pesky details, however, (even ones that would keep future Johnny awake at night) were far less important than examining the necklace in his hands.

It was obvious this was the older set, the metal worn and dented in some spots though the writing was still clearly visible.

“Calm down, I’m not going to take it from you,” the gruff tone was severely undermined by the aforementioned blush. It was hard to sound tough while half asleep on a daybed and being used as another man’s pillow.

Johnny stared at them for a little bit longer, feeling every dent and wondering the story behind how they got there, before putting them on.

He smiled at the man under him, “How do I look?”

He was going to joke, asking if he looked like a rough and tough soldier ready for war, but something in Simon’s eyes made him stop short.

He was looking with… with… Reverence was far too intense of a word for the softness of the moment but it was the only word that came to mind.

Simon reached up with his hand, grabbing the tags, his knuckles grazing his chest.

Well, that’s just fucking unfair.

Simon was supposed to be the blushy one. Not him, goddammit!

Though, he thinks when they make eye contact, they end up tied for who is blushing the most. They stare for a while, maybe it should have felt awkward but it was too adoring for either to feel any form of uncomfortability.

Neither moved.

It was Johnny that broke first, smiling at him, yet again tracing all of the scars he could see. It was his new favorite hobby, especially when Simon would blush making the scars on his face all the more visible.

He took one more second to sleepily appreciate the man before him, then went back to using him as a pillow. His hands went back to where they were before, one under Simon’s back and one playing with his hair. His head, however, did not fall back to his chest, instead resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

Simon’s hand returned to running through his hair, his other now coming up to rest on his back, rubbing up and down a few times before the sleepiness from earlier fully returned with his hand stopping somewhere around the small of his back.

Johnny leaned up slightly and gave a chaste kiss to the part of his neck that he could reach, then settled back to where he was. The hand in his hair paused.

“Thank you, Simon.”

A second of delay, and then the hand continued.

“You’re welcome, Johnny.”

Simon shuffled slightly, getting comfy before—

A kiss, on his forehead.

He couldn’t stop the blush and smile if he wanted to. He snuggled closer before drifting off to sleep.

When he woke, he was in his bed, practically tucked in. His window had been opened slightly, blackout curtains that had been drawn closed now swaying slightly with the breeze. When he focused, he realized he could smell petrichor and hear heavy rainfall outside with the occasional grumble of thunder.

There was a note on his nightstand. As he expected, it was Simon’s handwriting, apologizing for not waking him up before he left. It said that he had made breakfast for him (pancakes, with enough for when his sister would inevitably try to steal them), that he made sure to lock the front door, and left the window cracked.

He giggled sleepily at the last line. Regardless of the context, it always made Simon anxious to have the curtains open, much less to leave a window open. But, he also must've known how much Johnny loved the rain and set his worries aside, just this once, so he could wake up to the rain.

He set the note down and flopped back onto his pillows, his hand felt something cold and he remembered.

The dog tags.

John MacTavish is no stranger to crushes and heartbreaks.

He's had high school sweethearts, been in and out of love, he knows his way around the world of dating. Which is why he most certainly does not squeal and kick his legs while holding the tags like some kid with their first crush.

He did it like a grown man, thank you very much.

He grabbed his phone and sent Simon the worst pun he could think of; it was tradition at this point to send him some god-awful joke before his flight.

Simon has probably already forgotten about the whole exchange. He probably woke up and assumed he threw them away when he noticed he wasn't wearing them. It was probably stupid, an insignificant gesture with no meaning. But to Johnny, it felt like everything.

He sighed dreamily at the ceiling and felt the cool metal once more. Thunder roared outside. He thought about how he had felt in the man's arms. Thought about how much he wanted that again.

God.

His phone dinged and he immediately reached over to grab it.

I'm fucked, aren't I?

<><><><>

Elsewhere, Ghost was in an airport terminal, having far too much time to think.

Over the weekend, it was almost impressive how many times Ghost had talked himself into and back out of giving Soap his dog tags. He really hoped he hadn't made a mistake.

Simon felt the spot that Johnny had kissed and wondered if he remembered it. Wondered if he had meant it.

Simon thought about how Johnny had looked cradled in his arms when he carried him to his room, the way he had reached out for him when he laid him in bed. The way he had grabbed his wrist and clung to it, grumbling when Simon tried to pull it back.

If asked, he'd say that he had woken up late and that's why he was so far behind schedule. He'd keep the part where he sat there, kneeled in front of Johnny's bed, waiting for him to fall back into a deep enough sleep to pull his arm away all to himself. After all, it would have been rude to wake him up, no?

He had made sure to plug up his phone and, upon seeing the forecasted weather, hesitated before opening the window. It was only barely cracked, just enough for the sounds of the outside world to shamble in, but not so wide as to worry about water damage. He stared at it, convincing himself not to worry and that Johnny would like waking up to the fresh air.

He turned back to make sure the man was still asleep, still comfy, but stopped for a moment. He approached the bed and hesitated before running his fingers through his stupid haircut, almost wishing the man would grab his arm and give him an excuse to stay.

He didn't. Simon did, however, lean in to give him one last kiss on the forehead as some stupidly sappy goodbye, before his brain turned back on and he ripped himself away.

What the fuck is wrong with you? What? He grabs your arm in your sleep so you feel entitled to be able to kiss him?

Simon backed away, staring at the hand that had just been in his hair. He felt dirty.

For fuck’s sake, relax. It's not that big of a deal, you did it earlier; the man fell asleep in your arms, a forehead kiss isn't too much of a stretch.

He went to the kitchen and scrubbed his hands for a while, only stopping when he thought about how much water he was wasting. He still felt dirty.

Not a stretch? You don't get to decide that. How would you feel if someone tried to kiss you while you were unconscious? If they said that they felt they should be allowed to do so because you fell asleep?

He had started making pancakes. Something quick, easy, and reheatable for when Soap woke up. Like making him breakfast would make up for trying to kiss him in his sleep.

Why can't you just be normal?

Eventually, and after a run-in with Soap’s hell-spawn of a twin, he had to leave. The time on his phone showed that he should probably already be halfway to the airport by now but he has always been a selfish man.

He had snagged some paper and left Soap a quick note, hoping the apology would make him feel better about worse sins than not waking him up. It didn't.

He stared at the man for a second, admiring him, before he reminded himself that he was a fucking creep and left.

The storm left the flight delayed by 1.5 hours. Ghost had sat waiting, wireless headphones on and connected, but not playing anything. He had far too much time to think.

Simon thought about how Johnny had looked, his dog tags around his neck, silhouetted by the fading light, the sun behind his head as if even the stars knew they could never compare to him.

He stood and started pacing. Amongst the screaming children, feuding families, and people who think they're entitled to listen to their music without headphones, one middle-aged man having an existential crisis didn't stick out.

He thought about how he had never understood weighted blankets so well until Johnny had thrown himself on top of him. It should've hurt. He should've been annoyed. Instead, Simon selfishly hoped he would never get up.

It took him a while to put his finger on what he had been feeling exactly. Finally, he realized.

There, in that moment, he had never been so happy to be alive. It was a startling emotion to discern amongst the swath of negativity he normally felt. It startled him so much, he had snapped out of his reverie and stopped short in his pacing. When he checked the time, he saw he had one missed text from Johnny.

Soap (art streamer): i was trying to think of an airplane joke but none of them landed

Simon chuckled and sat down; he almost forgot about their dumb little tradition.

Ghost: Disliked.

Soap (art streamer): everyone is so mean 2 me 💔

Ghost: It is not my fault your pun was so Boeing.

Soap (art streamer): well i thought i could wing it

Ghost: Did you look up what giving do-

Ghost: About the tags, you

Ghost: I think you make me want to live

Ghost sighed and fell back further into his seat, coming to a conclusion that his subconscious had long ago discovered.

I'm in love, aren't I?

Soap (art streamer): speechless huh? finally, the Wright reaction to my comedic genius

Ghost: Absolutely awful, Mactavish.

Soap (art streamer): :D

Took you long enough, dumbass.

<><><><>

Soap’s twin spent a good bit of time staring at her brother's new accessory.

“Is something wrong?” he challenged, hoping she wasn't in a bothersome mood.

She failed miserably at hiding her shit-eating grin but didn't care.

“Nope!” she replied.

She had run into Ghost early that morning before he left.

"Detergent."

She was pretty sure he never even learned her name, just jumped straight into calling her detergent.

"Ghoul," she greeted, glaring at the man.

Being required by law to not trust him, she checked on her brother as he was still gathering his things and noticed the necklace.

“You gave him your dog tags,” she accused, like she was framing him for murder.

“Yes, I did,” he replied casually, as per usual robbing her of the fight she so desperately wanted to pick.

“Did you tell him what it means?”

“...What does it mean?”

Damn, he was good. If she wasn't convinced that he was the devil incarnate, she might have fallen for his feigned ignorance.

“100 bucks and you buy my silence.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“200 then.”

“It doesn't even mean anything.”

“Hmm. Well, I suppose you might be right… JOHN!” their neighbors were probably going to complain.

“What the fuck are you doing?” ooh he was getting panicked now.

“If it doesn't matter then you won't mind me telling him to look it up,” she started walking to his room, “JOHNSON!”

“Fucking Christ, woman! Just— Fucking— Here.”

He pulled out his wallet and started counting bills. Damn, that was easier than she thought.

“What did you say? 100?”

“Nope! That was before inflation. Now it’s 300.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? You said 200!”

“So you admit you tried to scam me?”

“Just take the 100 and g-”

She didn't even get to yell, he reached for more before she could finish taking a deep breath in.

“Just shut the fuck up! Here! Three fucking hundred!”

She was tempted to raise her price further, but she was no gambler, she was a strategist. She knew a defeated man when she saw one. If she played this right, she could extort money out of him for a long time to come.

Something, something, vampires not fully killing their victims and all that.

She took the money, counted it, and then held out her hand to shake.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Wraith!”

He didn't shake her hand.

“Christ, both of you are awful.”

He packed his stuff and left, broke, broken, and defeated.

She ate as many pancakes as she could, rich and victorious.

She thought about how much power, how much blackmail she had in this moment.

“I’m fantastic actually,” she walked to her room.

I am going to be so fucking rich by the time they get their shit together.

[slashingdisneypasta]

MultiVillains x Reader || Reactions

Topic: You move into an apartment in a dodgy neighbourhood.

Characters Included: (Rarin'-to-Fuck) Buck, Dr Peter Andover, Erik Destler, Freddy Krueger, Bonus!Jason Voorhees, Ian Essko, Bonus!Madame Blavatski, Inkubus, Jim Bickerman, Bonus!Reba, Doom Room's MC, Minister Kratski, Stuart Lloyd, Wayne Jackson, Bonus!Norman Tyrus and Bonus!Dale Acton.

Tagging: @ghouletka , @grav3yardgirl , @marinerainbow , @masqueradeball , @thecourtofgraywaves , @yesthetrashbin and @your-mxnd-is-mxne .

Rarin'-To-Fuck Buck: *Stays right by the window where he can see his car so it doesn't get stolen* "Uh... nice place... " (You: Thank you! I was so jazzed to find it on the market!, it has a dishwasher and everythin- ) "I was kidding Y/N this place is a fucken dump. Lets go- "

Dr Peter Andover: "... no." (You: What. But- ) "We have rooms at the clinic, you can stay there." (You: I cant live at the clinic- ) "Ohhh yes you can."

Erik Destler: "Oh, this is near to the brothel I used to- Ehem. I mean, Y/N this is a very nice, uh... home... you found, here... " || He wants to sweep you away but also he doesn't want you questioning him on that first bit XD So I guess he's just gonna have to stalk you all the time ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ With love. For your safety.

Freddy Krueger: "You couldn't find an actual house?? Oh, and wouldja look at that! Guys with guns. *Waiving out the window* Hey fellas- " (You: Newsflash Fred its not the 60's anymore old man and you cant just b u y a h o u s e !! And put your hand down- )

Jason Voorhees: *Nope. No- Jason will not let you stay here XD He takes one look around, picks you up, and leaves.*

Ian Essko: "What filthy-fucking-hell... Oh! Wait wait wait- " (You: Don't you dare take out that black light Ian.) "What? Afraid of what you'll find in this house of horror!??"

Madame Blavatski: "Oh- this is nice. Lovely. I lived in a home just like this in my stripping days in Russia! Very lovely, very good. And you have drug dealers just two doors down, which is convenient. I already visited, they're very nice boys, and I bought you welcome-to-area 'blow'- da? They even gave discount!" *head pats*

Inkubus: *He's very calm, listening to you talk about it and show him all around, until the very end* "Y/N, love, may I ask something of you right now?" (You: Oh- sure? ^^) "Wonderful. Uh, don't be here between eleven and 3 tomorrow." (You: Why?- ) "Mmm, no particular reason... do you think these beams are good and flammable?" || If it is not clear- the man is going to burn your apartment building down so you don't live here, anymore.

Jim Bickerman: *He's been walking around peering out the windows shaking his head. When he finally looks at you waiting for his thoughts, he flashes a big smile.* "We're going gun shopping." (You: Oh no we are NOT- )

Reba: (You: So! ^^ What do you think?) "... well I noticed the police station a block away, I liked that feature."

The Doom Room's MC: "Well its better then my place, at least."

Minister Kratski: *not getting outta the limo*

Stuart Lloyd: "Y/N I saw some hooligans just down the street with switchblades. I don't think this area is safe." (You: Oh don't worry, I have a plan! ^^) "*Genuinely relieved* oh, great. Wh- what is it?" (You: I got these really big ass boots from the charity store- and I'm going to keep them just outside my door so everyone walking by thinks a lumberjack lives here!) "... ... Y/N- "

Wayne Jackson: *He's very quiet. Just wandering in and out of rooms, lookin' around* (You: ... Wayne, is everything okay?) "... preeetty sure I lived here in the 70's. Cant be sure, though." (You: Oh- ) *Pulls an open door away from a wall* "Ah! I did! Heheh, I made that w in bullet holes."

Norman Tyrus: "... no." (You: Norman- ) "Nope." (You: Not another place, Norman- ) "You're moving. You're not staying here." (You: I'm gonna stop showing you my new places.) "How about ya just find a place that doesn't have bullet holes in the front fucken door?" Dale Acton: "OH!!! I know those guys upstairs, I used to buy coke from them a couple years back! Until a deal fell through at least... hey, don't tell 'em you're with me. You'll be fine. We probably shouldn't be seen together, though, so uh... bye babe- "

[beckbucket]

♦ just following orders ♦ (jedi! reader x wrecker)

summary: when wrecker's chip activates on bracca, he lunges for you instead of one of his brothers

warnings/tags: angst, order 66, inhibitor chip activation, choking, crying, pain all around, jedi! reader, no use of y/n, gender neutral reader

author's note: this was heavily inspired by this post by @zoeykalluss ! i haven't written in a very, very long time... but i couldn't find any satisfactory wrecker whump, so i guess i had no choice but to write it myself ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ un-beta'd, so be kind!

Ever since the painful day that your squad of troopers turned on you, you hadn’t truly felt safe. Constantly looking over your shoulder and constantly moving forward had become the routine- until you met the boys of Clone Force 99. 

You barely escaped your ship after Order 66 with your life. After a lifetime of living on Coruscant with the Jedi Order, you found yourself on shady Ord Mantell with no credits and extensive injuries. In exchange for a discreet place to sleep, you’d agreed to research missions for Cid to pursue. Your whole body constantly ached, but it was better than having to fight for scraps in the street. She never asked you to be involved in the action. That is, until Cid suggested one day that you should travel as backup with her “team”. Funnily enough, she never actually mentioned that the team was made up of clone troopers...

When you were first introduced, you nearly bolted from Cid’s bar on the spot. Somehow, the unexpectedly kind words of their largest member somehow convinced you to stay. You honestly never thought you’d ever be able to look another clone in the eyes, let alone work a mission with them. Over time, though, you came to appreciate the many quirks of the team- especially of one batcher in particular. 

Though he looked brutish, Wrecker was the most caring soul you’d ever met. He didn’t have the exceptional intellect or enhanced senses of his brothers, but Wrecker had a special gift for reading people. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that he had a midichlorian count off the charts! His joy bled over to everyone around him. After your life as a Jedi had crumbled, you finally felt hopeful. Falling in love with him followed easily. You’d agreed to join them permanently, which led to your latest mission. 

You and the other batchers tried to get some rest, while Tech piloted the Marauder down to the surface of the junk planet. You could feel Wrecker’s large form behind you in your shared bunk, strong arms curled around you. Something in the air felt off, but it wasn’t worth disturbing anyone’s sleep over. You cracked a bleary eye, and through your blurry morning vision, you could see the other batchers safely sleeping. You nuzzled back against your partner, enjoying the few quiet moments you had before the team had to move out. After all the pain that had happened in your life, Wrecker was the one person you felt truly safe with. 

Wrecker’s force signature was bright and warm, a constant anchor in the back of your mind. But since you dropped into Bracca's orbit… something felt strange in your connection. While Tech had done extensive research on the Jedi order, none of the boys really understood what it meant for you to be connected with the Force. You didn’t want to panic the team based on a hunch, so you tried to keep your feelings to yourself. Those days, with all the suffering throughout the galaxy, something always felt wrong in the Force. 

-

Hunter and Rex led your team down the dim hallways of the ship’s wreckage, Omega and Echo following close behind them. Wrecker followed up the rear of the formation due to his larger stature. Ever the gentleman, he always insisted that you stay safely in front of him. 

The sounds of your feet hitting the metal flooring was the only noise to be heard on the abandoned starcraft. Rex’s insistence that the chips needed to be removed created a tension that the group couldn’t seem to shake. The knowledge of the inhibitor chips loomed like a dark shadow over the team, just like the dark shadows obscuring the path to the ship’s medbay. 

A quiet grunt broke the silence, coming from the large man behind you. 

Every head whipped around to look at him, and Wrecker paused, rubbing the side of his head. 

“-’ts just a headache”, he awkwardly chuckled. His attempt to break the tension didn’t set anyone at ease. He’d never been much of a liar; it was clearly bothering him more than he was letting on. 

The rest of the group continued moving forward, but you paused to look back at your lover’s face. He met your eyes and tried to smile, but it was more like a grimace. Looking at his tanned face, you felt a disturbance in the Force. 

You started to speak, but the feeling was gone as quickly as it came. You wanted to wonder if it had anything to do with the inhibitor chips… but you quickly shoved that thought to the back of your mind.

"There’s no reason why the chips would suddenly engage for no reason", you thought to yourself, shaking your head. Trusting too heavily in Force visions and hunches was foolish. Wrecker’s eyebrow crooked in confusion as you hesitated, but you tried to give him a reassuring look.

Rex’s muffled voice broke your thoughts, calling you both to move forward. The rest of the team had already ventured forward to the next room. As you walked forward to cross the threshold, a cool shiver ran up your back. You tried to shake it off, and continued to rejoin the group. 

The faint red emergency lights around the floor provided just enough illumination to make out the layout of the large room. Clinical furniture and medical equipment had been toppled and cast around the room haphazardly. In the center of the room was an older med chamber, dusty but largely undisturbed. Despite the room’s eerie appearance,

Rex stopped and nodded at the group- that dusty equipment could do the job. Hunter spoke up first, his gruff voice addressing the group. 

“Which one of you wants to go first?”. A sea of awkward and anxious expressions looked around at each other. After a moment, the smallest batcher stepped forward. 

“How do we know that this surgery is safe?”, doubted Omega. 

“Just because Rex’s surgery went well doesn’t mean that you all will be okay”, she added, the worry clear in her voice. Her eyes flickered to Rex, but he didn’t provide any reassurance. 

Tech started to speak, but a low grunt interrupted him. 

All eyes were on Wrecker, who was again holding the side of his head. Unlike earlier, he remained silent, his closed eyes slightly twitching. 

You could feel the pain start to roll off him through the Force, as he held a tight grip on his head. 

“Wrecker?”, you worried, nerves creeping up into your throat. 

You took a step towards him without thinking, reaching for his face, but he didn’t move. Something was very wrong for him to be so quiet. 

You cradled the smooth curve of his jaw in your hand, running a thumb across the side of his cheek. He let out a low moan, clenching his jaw but otherwise remaining motionless. 

Suddenly, another cold chill ran up your skin. A deep sense of danger surged through the Force. It startled you into drawing your hand back, your heart jumping up into your throat. 

Louder, you tried to coax an answer out of the larger clone. 

“Wrecker…,” you ask, concern shaking your voice, “What’s wrong?”. 

Wrecker’s warm presence in the back of your mind was gone in a split second, replaced with a null, dark void. Sharp panic ran through your veins as another disturbance rippled through the Force. You stepped back, watching how Wrecker’s form became even more still. 

His vode around him tensed, watching your reactions with caution. From the corner of your eye, you could see Hunter step in front of Omega to shield her. Your clouded brain didn’t understand- what would he shield her from? 

Wrecker’s arms dropped lifelessly to his side as his eyes slid open. You could sense the other troopers starting to move, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Those deep brown eyes that you loved had glazed over, no sign of the laughter they usually carried. 

Like a droid powering up, Wrecker straightened to his full height while looking around the room. You were reminded of just how imposing he really is, towering over you and the other clones. His gaze finally fell on you. You both stood at a standstill, a few seconds seeming like an eternity. 

Without warning, Wrecker suddenly reached for his blaster. Your breath caught in your throat, fear bubbling up in your chest. Hunter was one step ahead of him, rushing forward to pull the weapon from his hands before he could wield it against you. 

His deep voice was gruff when he grunted out against his brother, but his gaze didn’t leave you. 

“Jedi are traitors”, Wrecker growled. 

He lunged for you, but you were able to jump back just in time. Hunter called out before Wrecker could reach for you again. 

“Wrecker, stand down!”. The leader brandished his blaster, stepping forward to provide you some cover. 

“This isn’t you,” he protested. 

“That’s just the chip talking. You don’t really believe that”. The large clone hesitated at the sound of his brother’s voice. For a moment, you could feel a small flicker of Wrecker’s Force signature in the back of your mind. 

You froze, searching for any sign of the man you loved behind those dark eyes. A deep snarl cut that hope short as a warning left his mouth. 

“Good soldiers follow orders”.

--

another chapter soon to follow! please enjoy and share your thoughts :) i will finish posting this work here, then clean up the final product for ao3 :3

[supertrxshwrites]

Maneater

Jason Todd x Reader

Part II

( idk heard this cover from a movie “no hard feelings” and I started to write this little fic I guess..it’s not great but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ just something fun I might write more idk)

Jason asks you to be his date to a gala Bruce is throwing for Wayne enterprises. You didn’t think much of it, you’ve been best friends for years and you had a history of dating people and once it got serious you would panic and break it off. Afraid you’d ruin it. With Jason asking you to be his date you didn’t take it seriously, you thought it was just him being nice and letting you tag along.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────────

“You want me to be your plus-one to a gala?” You ask in disbelief

“My date y/n” he says correcting you with an eye roll

“Sure..whatever..same thing..A GALA?” you say quickly your body full of excitment like you’re about to explode

“Yeah, I thought it’d be fun” he says laughing nervously.

You never took Jason to be the suit and tie type but he cleans up nicely. His hair slicked back a bit, a black tux and he even brought you flowers. As you stand in the door wearing your pajamas you can’t help but stare taking in how good he looks.

“Are those for me?” You ask pointing to the flowers.

“Oh uh yeah” he says handing them to you with a nervous smile.

“Uhm I’m ready I just have to put on my dress and take these rollers out”

you say letting him in. You place the flowers down and run to your room to finish getting ready. Jason looks around your apartment, he looks at pictures on the wall of you guys from high school. There’s some of you when you were a kid and a few of your parents. After a while he checks his watch.

“Hey y/n I don’t wanna rush you but“

before he can finish you step out in a sleek black dress accompanied by a cute little black purse. Jason’s words get caught in his throat but he coughs a bit to play it off.

“Wow..you look-“ a smiles creeps across his lips

“Beauti-“ you cut him off before he can finish.

“Maybe we should get going?” You say walking towards the door. As you both walk to the parking lot and he follows along your side being sure to hang back slightly just to make sure you were safe.

“So what car did Bruce let you dri-“ you’re barely given enough time to finish your thought before you realize.

“You drove your bike here?!” You whip around to look at him.

“What? it’s fun and we’ll get there faster” he says grabbing his extra helmet.

“It’s gonna mess up my hair” you pout a bit.

“Yeah so will sliding around with no helmet now hold still” he says gently pushing your hair back and putting the helmet on you and handing you a jacket to put on then helping you with gloves.

“You good?” he asks as he puts on his gloves and helmet.

“Yeah” you say with a nod a bit giddy about the ride.

“Good.” He smiles before slapping the visor on your helmet closed and getting on the bike turning a bit to help you on. You wrap your arms around him and he kicks to start the bike and quickly closes his visor before you guys speed off flowing into traffic, weaving in and out of the lines between cars. Your heart begins to race at the adrenaline of being on the bike, The way Gotham looks at night with the lights of cars on the street and how the city is just bursting with life gives you such a feeling of freedom you can’t help but smile under your helmet. You guys stop at a light and Jason turns his head a bit his voice slightly muffled form the helmet.

“You okay back here?” He asks reaching back and tapping your leg.

“Yeah I’m okay” you nod

He nods back before the light turns green and you guys finally arrive to the gala. He helps you off of the bike and helps you out of the gloves,jacket and helmet careful to not mess up your hair. He takes your hand helping you up the stairs of the large museum like building,

He places your helmets by the door with the coats. You spin around taking in how nice everything looks and how everyone’s dressed. Piano is softly being played in the background as a woman sings while everyone mingles.

“Hey you mind sitting tight while I find Bruce?” He asks as you sit in one the bar seats

“Sure” you smile before turning to the bartender. You’re ready to order when suddenly a guy slides next to you.

“Hey man I’ll take a G and T and whatever the lady’s getting” he says turning to you with a smile.

“Oh I’ll take coke and rum I guess” you say to the bartender.

“So what’s a place like you doing in a girl like this” he says with a goofy smile.

“Oh my friend he asked me to tag along so I’m here” you smile before your drink is placed in front of you on a small napkin. You take a small sip looking around taking in the party.

“Well I don’t see him anywhere, I mean seriously what idiot would leave you alone..look at you!” He says gesturing at you

“We’re best friends we aren’t together I’m just his plus one” you laugh a bit before taking another sip.

“Oh really?” There’s a devilish smile plastered upon his face after hearing that.

“Uh yeah but I’m not looking for anything serious” you say swirling your straw in your drink.

The guy leans over to whisper something in your ear and that’s when Jason spots you from across the room. He had just finished talking to Bruce about something and he turns around to see some fucking greaseball leaning over you whispering in your ear. He felt like he was going to combust. You were supposed to be his date and now some idiot is all over you and you’re letting him. He strides over angrily.

“What the fuck y/n?” He snaps at you

“What? We’re just talking” you say confused a slight smile on your lips.

“No you’re flirting there’s a fucking difference” he says clenching his jaw staring daggers into the guy which was his cue to leave.

“Jay, what’s your problem? You brought me here as your plus-one where people are mingling..I’m not your girlfriend!” You say frustration plaguing your tone.

“Yeah I know..you’re not very good at commitment” he says under his breath

“What?” Your brows furrowed.

“Nothing.” He says looking down at the floor for a moment

“No Jason what the fuck did you just say?” You’re angry now your voice raising.

“Fuck! I said you aren’t good at commitment. You don’t think I listen when you tell me about the “flings”You have?” He says doing air quotes.

“These guys that you “date” only to what leave once it gets serious and when someone wants to actually take you out on a date..you fucking turn around and flirt with a fucking stranger” the anger in his voice is dripping from each and every syllable of each word.

“Jay I didn’t kn-“ he cuts you off before you can finish

“Whatever.” He walks away probably to find Bruce or one of his brothers.

You let out a deep sigh before gesturing for another drink to the bartender. That’s when the piano starts up again, it’s not as quiet as earlier when the woman was singing earlier. That’s when you turn around and notice Jason is sitting at the piano. He clears his throat the mic ringing just a bit before he smiles nervously a silent apology to those who were standing by the speakers. He plays and begins to sing along.

“She only comes out at night, The lean and hungry type.

Nothing is new I’ve seen her here before

Watching and waiting

Oh she’s sitting with you but her eyes are on the door”

Each word hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“ So many have paid to see, what you think you’re getting for free.

The woman is wild a she-cat tamed by the purr of a Jaguar

Money’s the matter

If you’re in it for love you ain’t gonna get too far”

As Jason sings an older guy sits next to you.

“Wonder who hurt that guy” he laughs before turning to the bartender. The pain from what Jason said to you finally sinking in. Each word stinging.

“I wouldn’t if I were you, I know what she can’t do

she’s deadly man she could really rip your world apart.

Mind over matter

Oh the beauty is there but a beast is in the heart.

Oh here she comes watch out boy

she’ll chew you up oh here she comes she’s a maneater.”

Jason finishes the song, there’s some applause before he walks away and out the way you guys come in. You get up to follow him when you realize he left your helmet.

“Shit” you swear under your breath as you quickly run out and down the stairs. Jason slaps his visor down and drives off leaving you at the gala. Tears prick your eyes as you realize how royally you’ve fucked up.