#and a whole lotta booze

[sadly-im-vhena]

“YoUr BoDy iS a tEmPLe—“

Yeah well call me a crusader bc I’m boutta desecrate this temple

[simping-on-the-daily]

Some Kind of Angry Beaver

Summary: The Wolverine’s massacre has made you lose everything. Your friends are dead, you’ve left home, and the world’s hatred for mutants grows worse. You promise to yourself you’d have a few words to him if you meet again, and you do, at one of the shady bars where you both grieve your losses.

Notes: Reader is a mutant and was with Wolverine for a brief time, very very brief implications of sub!Logan. Not romantic anymore, and yes the title is from ERB deal with it. Worstie is a lot more sad and pathetic since this is early post!slaughter, gender neutral reader, not beta read we die like this universe’s X-Men, I wrote this in a day and it’s absolutely gonna show

Warnings: Logan killed some of Reader’s friends in his rampage, story is based on grief and death, mutant racism, Logan tries to kill himself but he comes back dw, and a whole lotta swearing

Before you met him, you had no clue what a wolverine was.

You’d barely heard of it, having skipped over it in some animal documentary to focus on more interesting animals, like sharks and alpacas. When you passed by a bar with a few cage fights, you heard the name Wolverine for the first time. When looking at the man’s body, admittedly luscious hair with canines and claws, you had assumed a wolverine was some type of dog or cat, before nailing it down to a wolf. Wolverine, wolf, they just added some more syllables to make a difference.

“It’s a weasel.” The man who you now knew was called Logan answered curtly upon your question, looking away from the bed which smelled of steamy intimacy from last night, and thus, turning away from you, who was on the other side, putting your clothes back on.

“That doesn’t seem very threatening,” You quipped back, putting your shirt on. “The fuck’s a weasel gonna do to the lucky guy?”

Logan gave a quick grunt. “They should be more worried about what I’d do to them.”

“If you can avoid their little collars, that is. Fucking bastards and their dampeners.” You said with a sarcastic sigh. The Senate was trying to make them more commonplace, and though the clapback was fierce, you were still a bit wary.

He gave a quick hmph, and that was that.

You stayed together for a few months. It was unforgettable, to say the least. Watching that man squirm under your touch was an accomplishment for the ages, and the moment you made tears come out of his eyes you did a little victory dance in your brain. You bought him dogtags and things you thought he might’ve liked, while he defended your honor in your ring, beating the shit out of anyone who dared to shittalk you.

“You shouldn’t have, sweetie,” You jokingly answered, upon noticing that his knuckles were still dripping red after passing by a beaten guy carried by his friends, making small comments about how dumb he was. You noticed some scars subtly close in, and turned away, pretending you saw nothing. “His ego can’t take another hit.”

“Can yours?” He answered, and your only response was a pinch of his cheek.

Of course, it didn’t last. Nothing bad happened, you simply just went in other directions. Logan kept hopping between different clubs with cage fights, and you settled in a small town and made a life there. You never forgot how it felt to touch him, but you’d seen him in action. Dude could do just fine.

You got a job, and got your own group of people. Majority of them were human, but like hell if that mattered. You shared good drinks of booze together and you cared for them. Brittney gave birth to a child, and god that kid was the cutest, fattest little fucker you’d ever seen. A few years had passed since you’d met Logan, and by then you were content. Your abilities were accepted, you’d gotten your own little found family, and you comfortably nested yourself in the community.

Brittney and her new fiancé, Ken were going to NYC for a vacation, and trusted the rest of you with their child. For the best, you know now.

“The X-Men are dead. You should be staying here.” Charlie said, crossing his arms to the couple. He wasn’t exaggerating, the X-Men were dead. Their mansion was ransacked and their bodies were fucked. You remember holding in the urge to puke, as the censoring on the news was done horrible, all the guts and gore visible. Jayden didn’t, you remember, running to the toilet and letting out a combination of a vomit and sob.

“We can’t just cancel. I promise, we’ll be safe.” Ken said, though it was obvious he was nervous. “That money can’t just go down the drain, and we’ve shortened it to just two days.”

“The fuck’s the point on going a vacation, then?” You spoke up, eyebrows raised. Brittney looked at me, before back to her now crying baby, probably from all the arguments.

“I have a gun for a reason.” Ken shrugged, and you and Charlie died down. You knew you weren’t gonna win.

“Just….keep Hope safe, alright?” Brittney’s query ended the conversation, as you nodded before giving her a hug. Charlie left the premises, and later you’d see him in the casino, trying to drown out the worry you felt.

You should’ve pushed more. You should’ve tied them to a fucking chair, drugged them with some sleeping pills or whatever. Anything to prevent what happened. But you can’t turn back time, that wasn’t your mutant ability, and now your friends are dead.

So many people were dead.

You spent three days in lockdown. All from some….monster, indiscriminately slaughtering everyone in a path that couldn’t be determined. New York was fucked, Brittney and Ken were fucked. You saw their names on a list of casualties. Jayden wailed for the loss, and you let out a few tears yourself. This shouldn’t have happened, this shouldn’t ever have happened.

The three days ended, but it felt a lot more like an eternity of Hell. Your town wasn’t touched, but you still saw so much blood as you left your home. Nothing changed and yet it all changed. This didn’t feel like home, not anymore.

When the news told you the culprit of this massacre, you couldn’t resist the urge this time. You puked in your toilet, tears running down your face. Your friends were dead to someone who you knew, who’s cheeks you gently pecked. The hands that you once held were used to slaughter Brittney and Ken and so many innocent people. Logan had killed your friends, had killed you in a way.

The bodies were returned, and you cremated the couple at their funeral. You still had some tears to cry, face blank as you stared at their urns. That was your second last day in that town. Everyone hated you now, your mutant powers were despised once more after Logan fucked everything up. No-one looked at you normally anymore. Their gazes were full of hatred and prejudice and pity and god you fucking despised it. With the knowledge that Charlie adopted Hope and Jayden had absolutely run out of tears, you left, wiping your face as the downpour consumed you.

You passed by, traveling across without a goal. You became closely acquainted with the train and bus, and you once more learned to hide your powers, something that you never thought you’d have to do again. Any progress people might’ve been working on towards total acceptance went down the drain, organizations quickly scrambling to make speeches about how ‘one mutant shouldn’t define an entire race’. You would’ve agreed, but the carnage was massive and you still saw dried blood on some walls from the Wolverine’s rampage is you looked closely enough.

After it rained again, you sought refuge in one of the nearby bars. It smelled of shit of booze, and you took a seat near the front.

“Whatcha want?” The bartender asked, gruff in his voice noticeable, and you thought for a second, looking at all the glasses behind him.

“Second heaviest thing you got.” He nodded, and quickly poured some beer in a glass. You had him a note before drinking.

You comfortably fell in the routine, sitting in silence, all the other conversations providing ambiance to your casual misery. Then, like a lightning strike to a tree, it just had to end.

The door opened again. You didn’t care, but when all the conversation stopped, you looked up. You retched upon seeing the fucker’s face, and moved farther away from the door until you were on the opposite end of the counter.

Logan either didn’t notice or didn’t care, sitting at the counter. “Fuck off,” The bartender almost snarled. “We don’t want ya kind here.”

Logan pulled out a few coins. “Not a paying customer?” He spoke, as if he was ignorant to all the shit he pulled just a few weeks ago.

The bartender grunted, pouring him a glass of wine that was obviously cheap and old. The mutant accepted it anyway, taking a long sip. He shouldn’t be enjoying himself, you thought with disdain, he should’ve been rotting in Hell without a drop of drink and no flames to light up a cigar.

The ambiance stopped, no-one wanting to talk while the beast was around. For some fucking reason, you didn’t move from your seat, and so you were just a few meters away from the ex who took so much from you.

After five drinks, you had enough. You got up from your seat and left some change behind as a tip. A more conscious you wouldn’t have tipped someone who was likely a mutant racist, but you weren’t really thinking. You wanted out, you wanted away from the monster, you wanted away from that bloody wolf.

You walked a few steps away from the building when Logan came approaching you. You paused in place, perhaps by the audacity of his actions.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widened, but you gave a small growl, turning them narrowed again. “For what?”

“I wronged you.” You always did need observational skills to become a good tracker.

“Their names,” You shot back with a snarl, “Were Brittney and Ken, and they were heading to New York. They did nothing to you. And you still killed them.”

“I did. I’m sorry.” He repeated, as if that would make it any better.

“I don’t care if you’re sorry!” You yelled out, pointing a finger towards the other mutant as you took a step forward. “You slaughtered my friends you fucking bastard! You lost your family, big whoop, what right does that give you to make mine too, you bloody prick?!”

You had thought about this type of scenario before. You wouldn’t give him a verbal beatdown, no, you were too classy for that. You’d say one sentence that would crush his resolve and leave him astounded as you walked away, knowing that your friends were at peace. But you were drunk and angry and your family was fucked over because of this one man, and so you went on, like a lion going overkill when it finally encountered their prey.

“I wish I never fucking met you! It’d be sooooo easier if you were just some psycho rando, but I fucked you! We slept in the same bed and I kissed you and god I fucking knew you. You were one of the X-Men, you were supposed to save the world, but all you do is make things worse!” You sobbed, dropping your hand to your side as they shook.

“And it’s god’s greatest wish that you die alone and scared, just like your fucking victims, but it’s also god’s little gift that you can’t die! And you just had to in-fucking-flict it upon all of us! All you do is make things worse for everyone, you ruined everyone’s life, you ruined my life, god fucking damnit!” You put your face into your hands and sobbed. You must’ve looked so pathetic, having this breakdown on the road in front of your murderous ex.

“I should’ve tried harder.” You murmured weakly to no-one in particular. “I should’ve stopped them. Shouldn't have relented when Charlie did. Should've done more……” Tears and hands muffled your voice. “But I didn't and now they're fucking dead.”

You finally looked up, and just like you, Logan's face was covered in tears. Good, you thought. Let him suffer.

“Should've been there for them.” You didn't expect him to talk. “Should've gotten off my ass and done something. And now they're ten feet under cuz’ I didn't.”

A stray sob escaped your throat again, looking at him, covered by rain and tears and now the moon was out. “Guess we both fucked up, huh?” You tried to smile, head tilted, with it only just looking broken and fake.

“They'd all be disappointed.” Logan confirmed somberly, as he thought back to Colossus and Professor X and Scott, all too aware of their hypothetical reactions if they knew of his actions.

“The X-Men were supposed to be heroes, weren't they?” You looked up at the stars, and held a hand up like you were trying to catch them. “But you were always the best at what you did, and what you did was never heroic. You told me yourself.” Answering your own question, your hand flopped to the side again. The stars didn't feel so luminescent, not right now.

Logan gave a small grunt, trying to wipe away his tears. “I know. I'll carry it for the rest of my life. It's what I deserve.”

“It's what you deserve.”

You spoke at the same time, before you gave a fake small chuckle. “God, you're fucking horrible.” You paused for a second, letting out another pretend giggle. “Thanks for telling me what a wolverine was, Logan. Cuz’ I know that you’re the fucking worst one.”

You lunged forwards and punched him in the cheek. It hurt like hell, and Logan didn't flinch, but fuck did it feel good.

“Fuck you, Logan. I hope you rot in Hell, you bitchin’ bastard.”

He only nodded, tears still cascading down his face as you stormed away and walked away, just like you did to your home.

You found yourself sitting on a bench, still raining and still wet from your encounter. Your ass was fucking freezing. Maybe you deserved it for being such a bad friend. You wouldn't be here if you had been there for Brittney and Ken. You had a lot of tears in your body, you realized, as you sobbed once more, grieving the loss of everything you once had. God, you hated beavers.

Logan hated himself too. That should’ve made you feel better, but it didn’t. You were still just as empty and sad as you were this morning, just this time you were drenched and drunk. You looked up at the stars again, and though they were still just as dull as they were when you encountered Logan, you still gazed anyway. They were all you had left.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Logan rushed into the dump he called a home, a retch stuck in his throat as he frantically searched. Your words were repeating once more, becoming one with the fucked up chorus that was his mind, mocking him for even considering that you’d want him back. It was a passing thought that he immediately disregarded, but the voices milked it, acting as though he’d been pining over you for years.

He’d never forgotten you, you were important to him. But you moved on, and so did he, and he tried to shoot his shot with Jean. But Jean’s dead, and you weren’t, and you hated him. As you should, he didn’t blame you, he hated himself. And yet it somehow stung.

The cacophony roared with laughter at his turmoil, and he clutched his head, praying they’d get out. He couldn’t handle your voice, he couldn’t handle Jean’s voice he couldn’t handle Colossus’ voice he couldn’t handle Scott’s voice he couldn’t-

Finally, he found it. He snatched the gun that was hidden in the sofa, a desperate last resort who times like these, when they wouldn’t stop. His finger stroked the trigger almost tenderly before putting it to his head.

“You know this isn’t gonna work, right?”

“Bro forgot he has a healing factor. Did all that killing make him braindead or what?”

“You don’t deserve to die. You deserve to live with this for the rest of your life.”

He knew that. He deserved all this pain, but Logan was never the paragon of morality. He was a selfish prick, who ruined everything he touched and yet he was the last one standing. But he wanted the voices to go, he wanted them to stop, and he wanted to stop crying because God it’s just been a dam breaking on his face since you yelled at him.

He was alone, and he was scared. Just like you wanted him to be. He embraced the trigger, and felt tranquil as the surge of bullets went through his brain.

It was only serene for a few minutes, but for Logan, the worst Wolverine who killed so many innocents, who ruined any chances of the world accepting mutants, who drunk so much it got his family killed and still drunk? Even a second of that serenity was a touch of heaven that Logan didn’t deserve.

[stargirlsmooch]

secret

abby anderson x fem!reader

when you're stressed out of your mind and turning into a little bit of a brat, your girlfriend puts you back in your place... shame no one can know about her. smut + fluff + a little angsty! 18+ 2.3k words.

!r is owen's sister, a world with no apocalypse coz yay, pussy spanking, fingering, a whole lotta love, sweet abby, dom!abby, kinda mean!abby too!

The frustration was mounting inside you- he never listens. Owen had promised that he wouldn’t invite anyone over, that he wouldn’t make too much noise, and that he would let you study in peace. So why couldn’t you?

He and his friends set up camp in the living room, covering every square inch of space and forcing you back up into your bedroom, away from the little haven you had been cosied up in on the couch. All day, you had been minding your own business in that little slice of focused heaven, your laptop perched on your lap and study notes floating around you… Then he came and messed it all up.

You were one for routine and comfortability- being forced out of that had made your head spin. Now, your sheets and notebooks were in complete chaos thanks to him, all crumpled and jumbled, making your jaw clench in anger uncomfortably.

Just as you were about to sit down at your desk and sort through the chaos, you heard the front door open, a glass smash and the overwhelmingly loud voice of your brother- “Abby! Fucking finally. Get over here.” 

Abby Anderson.

You couldn’t help the little lovesick smile that graced your lips as you heard her voice, kindly greeting all her friends and ensuring everyone was okay. She was always so sweet, even though there were a lot of people who didn’t believe she was. It was her rare smile and muscled physique that made people a little standoffish. 

The two of you had been in love with each other for so long that you couldn’t even remember when it started. From the moment you saw her, you wanted her… but so had your brother. 

And so that’s the driving reason (or excuse) your love for her was still a secret. The fear of shattering Owen’s heart was a constant nagging worry in the back of your head, stopping you from smacking a sweet kiss on her lips everytime you saw her. 

That justification lasted for a few years, kept your kisses private and your moans quiet until Abby had grown tired of it- she wanted to grab you and sit you down on her lap whenever she needed to, she wanted to kiss you in public, she wanted to let the headboard pound against the wall whilst she showed you just how much you meant to her. 

But she knew how much Owen meant to you, and he meant a lot to her too; a brother to the both of you. But that’s all he’d ever be, that’s as far as Abby’s feelings for him could reach.

After managing to last an hour with their obnoxious pandemonium, it got too much; it clanged around in your ears and drilled into your brain every time you tried to put pen to paper. The copious amount of deep “calming” breaths you took did nothing to stop the little bead of anger expanding in your stomach.

You convinced yourself that you were just going downstairs to get yourself a glass of water, your real motivation wasn’t to give Owen a stern talking-to and try to signal Abby up to your room… definitely not.

With every thump of your slippers on the carpeted stairs, your headache got bigger, their commotion growing so loud you winced as you slipped past them and into the kitchen where Owen and Abby were stood bickering about how to fit all the beer into the fridge. They were so engrossed in their little booze-war that they didn’t hear you come.

“Hello…” you said, drawing out the greeting to give them a greater chance of hearing you (over all the fucking noise). 

Abby turned around almost instantly at the sound of your voice, trying her hardest not to let her eyes wander away from your stunning face as she noticed your braless chest in her periphery… suddenly her mind was plagued with memories of you, your perfect heavy breasts bouncing in her face as your slick pussy swallowed her strap all the way to the hilt. She always loved how your head would tip back and a breathless moan would escape whenever she sucked hickeys onto your delicate skin.

“Hi, Abby.” You spoke again, watching her eyes focus back in on your face, her sweet smile pointed right at you.

“Hey. You doing okay? You’ve got that big exam tomorrow, right?” she questioned, trying to distract her brain but not bothering to turn back and continue her conversation with your brother. Instead, she met you in the middle, leaning against the counter next to the sink as you grabbed a glass and began filling it. 

“Mhm… trying to get some last-minute studying in but… you guys are kinda loud.” You said, whispering the last part of your sentence in the hopes it wouldn’t come across as too harsh (and that Owen wouldn’t hear you).

Your wishes never came true.

“Jesus… would you stop bitching? Put your headphones on or something.” Owen cut in just as Abby was about to compliment your hair, picturing the way your cheeks would always blossom into a pretty pink at her sweet comments. 

“Owen,” Abby said in warning, watching your little smile dim into a straight line and a frown overcome your face. She wanted to wrap her strong arm around your waist and pull you into her chest, letting you rest your head in her neck.

“What?” 

“Don’t be an asshole.” 

“I’m the asshole? She’s done nothing but-”

The door into the hall looked more appealing with each passing second that you looked at it, just thinking about being in a room where Owen was not almost made tears of happiness peek out at the corners of your eyes. So you made your way out of the room and back up into yours, the faint and continuous bickering slowly dying out until you managed to close your door and it went completely. 

Of course, Manny’s raucous screaming hadn’t been drowned out.

It was just as you were climbing onto your bed and opening up your laptop that you noticed your door had reopened and Abby was leaning against the frame, her biceps bulging underneath her long sleeve shirt, the cotton perfectly sculpting her arms. 

“You okay, sweetie?” she asked, closing the door and turning the lock before she sauntered up to you, standing by the edge, just out of reach.

You nodded your head and gave her a brief smile, before turning back to your laptop and typing in your password. Abby sensed the sensitivity surrounding you, climbing up onto the bed and sitting just behind you and resting her head on your shoulder. 

Turning your head, you gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, then laid your cheek on the top of her hair, letting it tickle your face as she squeezed your thigh with a gentle grip. Abby picked up her head a few seconds later, her gaze zeroing in on yours before it dropped to your lips, a little bruised from your anxious nibbling.

“You worry too much.” She murmured, too entranced by your beauty to speak properly. Abby leaned in and slid her tongue over your bottom lip, teasing your mouth open so she could properly cover it with her own.

Just as you were about to draw back and defend yourself, you heard your laptop slam shut and felt two hands grab your hips. She pulled you up and into her chest, like she thought about earlier, as she laid back on your bed. When you were comfortably straddling her own hips, she placed her hands behind her head and looked up at you, laughing at your cute annoyed expression.

“And you’re a distraction.” You whispered, leaning down to get another kiss, your wet lips needily slipping over hers as her hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. 

Your own hands wrapped around the sides of her head, holding her still so she had no way to escape the assault on her lips: you bit her bottom one hard, before flicking the top one with your tongue. The minute contact made her whine, low and deep in the back of her throat as you turned your attention to her cheeks, placing sweet little kisses on any free space you could find.

“Kiss me right.” She complained, giving your bare thighs a rough smack. You leaned back and shuffled forward, so your hips were placed directly above her stomach, and you could feel the ridges of her abs against your most sensitive parts.

Abby’s complaints ceased when she felt you rock against her, the warmth from your pussy leaking through the fabrics that separated you two. She leaned up on her elbows, wanting to offer her girl more pleasure, leaving her body for you to use. Once she heard that first pretty little moan slip out of you, she couldn’t stop herself from reaching for the hem of your shirt and forcing it up and over your head.

Closing your eyes, you felt her hands skim your front gently, from your shoulders to your stomach, then back up to your breasts that were wrenched free from the constraint of your bra; the cups pulled down away from your flesh as Abby sucked a nipple into her mouth. You took your hands from her neck and reached behind you, unclipping your bra and throwing into on the floor.

“Feels good, Abs.” You whimpered, as she gripped both your breasts harshly, squeezing them and licking at both of your nipples. You released a breathy moan when you felt her teeth dig into your sensitive skin. “Fuck…”

“Take these off, baby.” Abby helped you out of your little shorts, taking your underwear with them as you leaned back and let her yank them down your thighs. You sat between hers, facing her with your hands gripping the duvet by her ankles, your legs closed and knees up to your chest, blocking her view from your slick pussy. 

She held still, waiting for you to reveal yourself to her. But you wouldn’t.

When Abby reached forward, hands wrapping around each of your ankles, you pulled back further, her grip slipping off of you.

“Take off your shirt… then I’ll think about opening my legs.” 

Your girlfriend raised an eyebrow in disbelief, then grabbed your ankles again, this time managing to pull your legs apart and haul you back towards her so your ass was nestled perfectly between her thighs.

The force of her pull made you lose your balance, your back hit the bed and you laid there defenceless with your legs spread open. Abby landed a harsh slap on your pussy, her hand coming away dripping with your juices as a pained scream quietly rushed out of your mouth.

“Fuck, Abby.” 

“Don’t you ever try and hide this from me.” She ground out, her jaw clenched in anger as she pinched your clit harshly between her fingers, watching your puffy little hole leak. Abby slipped her finger inside you easily, picking up your wetness, before pulling away and sucking it clean from her skin, tasting you. 

“More, baby. Fill me up.” You begged, lifting your hips up off the bed, chasing her fingers.

“Anything for my sweet girl.” 

You felt the sheets growing wet beneath you as Abby rubbed your clit in small circles, slowing her pace whenever your moans got too loud or you got too close. She couldn’t take her eyes off of you; your pretty face blushing as you squeezed your breasts, the heavy flesh spilling out between your fingers and driving Abby insane.

“Fuckfuckfuck…” Two fingers slipped inside you, up to the hilt, unforgiving. The delicious stretch around her made Abby plunge them in and out at a ruthless speed, drawing loud moans from you every second. Your volume grew with every thrust, you couldn’t control it.

You could feel your high growing deep in your tummy, slowly flooding downwards as Abby scissored her fingers inside of you, stretching out your sensitive hole until it was almost painful. You leaned up to grab her wrist, to slow the torture, but you were met with another cruel slap against your sensitive skin.

Abby ignored your pleas, continuing her sweet torment on your pretty pussy, forcing you closer and closer towards the edge with every circle she drew on your clit.

“My girl. Aren’t you, baby?” She asked, punctuating every word with a rough thrust into your fucked-out walls. 

“Mhm, yeah- oh fuck- all yours, Abs.” You breathed out, moaning loudly at another severe spank. “I’m gonna cum.” 

Abby pushed harder, went deeper, rubbed faster; anything to get her perfect girl to where she needed to be. You clenched tightly around Abby, flawless white cream leaking out around her fingers, making her moan quietly at the sight.

It gushed out of you unexpectedly, soaking your soft inner thighs, as well as Abby’s hands. Your last moan peaked at the top of your voice, filling the room as she pulled you up and into her chest, letting you ride out your high in her arms.

“Oh my god.” You said, taking your time to catch your breath as you rubbed your hands up and down Abby’s back- the feeling of her muscles under your palms putting a secure feeling in your chest. I’ve got you.

“You feeling better, baby?” Abby asked, hoping she had at least relieved some of your stress.

“Mhm… much better.” The two of you pressed your foreheads together gently at your admission, closing your eyes, stealing gentle kisses whenever you felt like it and saying little ‘i love you’s. 

Held in your little dream world, neither of you heard the fury-filled footsteps until it was too late and your door was being pounded on- “What the fuck are you two doing?” 

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Husk with gender-neutral!reader relationship headcanons

Special thanks to @isuckatwritingsobenice, @nixie-writes, and a few other writers in the Hazbin Hotel community for helping me create a piece for one of my favorite characters from the 2019 pilot episode, Husk! :)

Warning: Husk's potty mouth and this is Hell, so indecent things are bound to happen but nothing to imply NSFW content.

Husk gave up on the idea of love years ago, preferring to drown himself in cheap booze and try his luck at the casino before Alastor pulls him away to do a job for him or some other shit because of his contract with the fucking asshole. Why else would he and Nifty be wastin’ time slaving away in a hotel that’s supposed to rehabilitate sinners? Least the pipsqueak gets to clean this place from top to bottom and away from the clients, and he’s stuck handling their drunk asses in the lobby bar.

Angel Dust has been the one who’s been trying to get into his pants since day one, but that’s a different story entirely. He’s persistent, Husk will give the prissy punk that much credit.

Though…he supposed it isn’t all too bad being here. Least since Vaggie hired you. Initially, the job offer she and Charlie had posted online was to manage the front desk, handle phone calls, and all of the other tasks required to be the hotel’s conceirge. However, since there still wasn’t enough staff to do everything, he would see flitting about carrying baskets of clean linens or giving tours around the hotel to potential clients, helping Vaggie with organizing meetings with the press, and so on.

He might be a drunk asshole, but if there’s one part in his body that’s still functioning besides his dick, it's his hearing.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s heard a snide remark from potential or current clients about your polite demeanor, if you’re actually a freak in bed, and a whole lotta other bullshit he did not want to hear when he’s still sober. He didn’t want to care but god fucking dammit it made his skin crawl at the idea of some asshole thinking they had a chance with you. You, who never seemed to lose your smile and would go out of your way to make Nifty’s day by belting out Broadway songs on top of the banister, completely lost in the character you were playing and not giving a shit about anything else.

Not gonna deny it, you had one hell of a voice. You could change the pitch of it so easily. From a high tone all the way down a low, smooth baritone that almost sounded like a siren’s song luring sailors to a watery grave.

When he actually musters the fucking courage (thanks to a lot of booze from earlier in the day) to ask if you’d like to go to a bar or even the casino, Husk thought you would reject him. After all, why would a someone like you would even want to hang around an old fucker like him?

But when he saw your face turn as red as a certain deer bastard’s suit and sputtered that you weren’t very good at the slots, though you were willingly to try your luck at the blackjack table as long it wasn’t a high stake one, Husk thought he had actually achieved the state of inebriation to where he was hallucinating.

However, he was proven wrong when you told him that you’ll be ready by seven to go to the casino. Since he’d been on good behavior and Charlie never had any issues with you as of late, the princess wouldn’t mind the two of you being out for a couple of hours as long as you kept your phones on you in case anything happened.

Alastor could care less since watching a tormented, loveless war veteran being bewitched by a beguiling songstress provided him with much needed entertainment~.

Upon arriving at the casino, Husk pulled you over to the slot machines. He showed you how they worked and how much money you should put in them, so you don’t lose all of it in under an hour. The old-fashioned ones with the levers weren’t so bad, though the rounds would go pretty quick if you weren’t paying attention to the denominations; same thing applied to the new tech ones, betting could go from 88 cents to up to two dollars.

In the end, you quit after trying three different machines and went to go find the restroom. Husk decided to go find a bar and order a couple of drinks. One for himself, and one for you. A couple of fellas, hellhounds by the look of ‘em, asked him if the ‘pretty little thing’ he was with earlier is with him or if you were single.

“They’re with me, so fuck off.” He grumbled.

“Ya sure about that, old man?”

Husker growled, feeling his hackles rise at the provocation, half of it he blamed on the booze. As much as he wanted to teach these punks a thing or two about showin’ respect….they weren’t worth ruinin’ his first date with you. First impressions made all the difference, least when he’d been alive. So he made a rude hand gesture and sat at the bar until he heard you call out to him.

“Everything all right, Husk? I hope I didn’t interrupt anything between you and your friends. The guys you were talkin’ to before they took off.”

He smirked. “Nah. If I knew them, they’d know how to play poker.” He stood up and grabbed his drink, handing over yours. “C’mon, let’s hit the blackjack tables and see how good you really are.” He said, leading you to your next stop for the night.

Turned out that you weren’t all talk. You were able to win five out of seven rounds, never showing any anxiety or indication that your hand was either good or bad. For kicks, Husk asked if you wanted to try the poker table. You agreed, but just to two rounds. If you weren’t comfortable continuing to play, please allow you to walk away. Husk agreed, opting to watch you from the sidelines as moral support instead of joining you at the table.

Three words could only describe what he saw next: holy fucking shit.

All you could do was smile sheepishly at him when he asked how the ever living fuck were you this good at gambling and didn’t say anything as the two of you left the casino with a hefty sum of cash.

“Would you believe me if I said I’d gotten banned from more than one casino when I was alive because I was just good at card counting?”

He stared at you for a long moment before he grinned widely, clapping you on the back. “I knew I had my eye on ya for a reason!”

‘Course, you’d never know that he wanted to show you that he’s one hell of a gambler at the casino instead of the other way ‘round. How he knew to play his cards right and treat you to something nice, show those little shitheads that a real gentleman knows how to win the game and a good-lookin’ partner all in the same night.

Still…gettin’ spoiled at a nice restaurant for a change wasn’t too bad…so long as no one from the hotel saw them. Especially Alastor.

And that was how your first date went. Nothing too crazy, least the two of you didn’t run into any trouble on the way back to the hotel. Husk walked you to your room, wished you good-night, and went to drink a little more before passing out in his own room.

Husk hasn’t been with anyone in an incredibly long time. There will be moments when he might seem harsher than usual towards you and tries to brush everything off, or chug it down with alcohol. He struggles to communicate with his feelings to someone else, so patience and respect for boundaries is key.

He does not tolerate any disrespect towards you, even if you try to tell him to ignore the sinner who is catcalling after you when the two of you are walking through the Pride Ring to pick up stuff for the hotel. If it happened at a bar while you’re on a date? Be prepared to have chairs go flying or Husk tearing a new hole in the poor bastard who pissed him off.

He is not a fan of PDA. He has a reputation to uphold in the hotel and on the streets. Behind closed doors, however, he will be more lenient. Cuddles and midday naps are exceptional, with him pressing against your body with his tail loosely coiled around your thigh and one of his wings acting as a shield or even a blanket.

Speaking of feathers and fur, he does need to groom himself periodically, especially when it's molting season. You need to be gentle if you want to help him since his skin can be especially sensitive around this time of the year.

Actions speak a lot louder to him than pretty words. If you show him that you do care for him and will never betray his trust or loyalty, he will return it tenfold. He will do everything in his power to make you as happy as you have made him in this shithole.

Taglist

@angelltheninth

@isuckatwritingsobenice

@selineram3421

@nixie-writes

@dragonempress18

@ceoofdabicorpsensfw

@lbcreations-blog

@chroniccorvus

@food-theorys-blog

[notiddygxthgf]

12. three months

★ pairings: plug!wakasa imaushi x f!reader

★ synopsis: the one where you have the hots for your dealer, and Wakasa is always eager to please a customer. (don't let your bf stop you from finding ur hubby)

★ content warning: smut, angst, lotta porn w a lotta plot, car sex, dealer wakasa, cheating, oral sex, sneaky link, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, sex while high, consensual drug use, mentions of abuse, unprotected sex, so much more...

★ a/n: so.... I have definitely been on hiatus. So so so sorry about that my little pookie bookies. life has been so cray cray lately. ur fave premed student has been struggling ngl. but I'm back up on my grind and I'm cranking out these chapters again! This one took a while to write because its definitely not a writing style I'm used to, but I needed to get this out to get to the good good. waka girlies, u will enjoy this chapter... I'm not spoiling but, stay tuned!!! love u allllll

★ w.c.; who even knows bru

previous part | next part

BLACK STILETTO HEELS CLICKED AGAINST linoleum, one after the other – the sounds rhythmic and soothing. You could faintly hear the fabric of your pencil skirt rustling as your thighs rubbed together, strutting down the aisle of the office with confident ease. You ran these streets. Least, that’s what it felt like when you came down that aisle every morning after you clocked in.

Right. Let’s run it back.

Three months had passed since your last meeting with Wakasa. You had taken some time to mull the whole thing over, and while a part of you wanted to hate him, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Three months of thinking, eight months of loneliness, three months spent repeating the same day over and over again. Three months at a job you didn’t really like, trying to make ends meet after Takeomi had cut you off.

Three months without him .

The unopened message sat in your phone the way it had been since you’d sent it. It seemed like years, now, that you had been running your tired gaze over the small field of text below the drunken mash of letters you had sent.

Read 12:01 AM

Swishing the burgundy booze around the bottom of your glass, you rested your head against the cold, unforgiving surface of the bar table. 

You swiped your ID through the reader, punching out for the day. Pocketing the little card and lanyard, you continued onward. You came up to an elevator, same one you used every day. You pressed the same buttons to get down to the same door you left through every day.

Every day.

With a quick nod of your head, you greeted your coworker – who was on her way in just as you were making your way out. You weren’t too big of a fan of her, in all honesty. You felt she was too superficial. Then again, who wasn’t in a place like this?

You were making good money, though. That’s all that mattered.

The rush of cool air that greeted you as you pushed past the gold-rimmed office doors provided a brief respite from the stuffy office. The city streets stretched before you, bustling with activity as people hurried by.

You took a deep breath.

Heels clicking against the pavement with every step, you walked with a purpose. The air of confidence you strived to exude seemed to mask your internal turmoil – feelings you felt were much better left unsaid, feelings that had been bottled away in the cellar of your mind for the past three months.

Three months of repetition.

Three months of regret.

Three months spent trying to remember the intricate valleys and curves of his body, the small features you had come to adore.

Three months spent trying to forget him.

Though you had struggled initially with your feelings toward Wakasa, you couldn’t really bring yourself to hate him. You had spent a good quarter of a year mulling it over in your head, breaking your last interaction with him into microscopic bits and pieces.

You had concluded that he had done it to protect you.

You knew he had been right to an extent but, shit… a man of his standing should have been able to find a way to make it happen…

…right?

You hadn’t heard much about Takeomi since the fight with him and Waka. Not even a peep. You didn’t know whether to feel alarmed about that or not.

You felt like you were being watched from a distance. Always. It felt like you were trapped in a never-ending cycle.

With your phone in hand, you dialed the number for a cab. The familiar anticipation began to build again while you waited for the vehicle to arrive. 

On the streets below, the city lights flickered to life, casting an amber glow on the sidewalk. You looked around for a moment, and then something piqued your attention.

Vrrrr.

There was a deep, rumbling sound in the distance, one that seized your heart in its grasp. For a moment, you were right back where you had been eight months ago. Your eyes searched the street until they fell upon a motorcyclist who had slowed to a stop in front of your building. Well, not in front of it, across the street. 

The sight of the rider stirred a pang of nostalgia deep within you.

In that split second, memories flickered through your mind. Memories of stolen laughter, hidden kisses… Memories of hushed promises against soft lips, some broken and some kept. His silhouette triggered an unexpected surge of hope.

You strained to see the rider’s face, heart racing. You yearned for that familiar, lazy gaze – the warmth it once held. 

But as he popped the helmet off of his head, it wasn’t blond hair that fell over his shoulders. No, just regular old brown hair and a stubbly face. 

It’s not him.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your gaze fell. 

The cab’s arrival disrupted the moment, its tires screeching against the pavement until it came to a stop by the curb. With a weighted sigh, you climbed into the cab.

Your heart throbbed with a bittersweet ache. As the cab pulled away, you couldn’t help but wonder about the chances you wished you had taken with Wakasa, the what-ifs that lingered in the recesses of your mind. 

The cab carried you away from the scene, leaving behind the phantom of a love that had become a haunting memory.

-

The cold, yellow liquid felt refreshing as it burned its way down the back of his throat, that familiar acidic texture eating away at his stress. He sighed, setting the glass down on the counter.

As the bittersweet elixir numbed his senses, the pulsing beats of the club melted away, merging with the cacophony of laughter and chatter all around him.

Lost in a haze of intoxication, Wakasa let out a heavy sigh, setting the glass down on the counter with a thud. His friends eyed him up warily, faces etched with that familiar look of concern. He heard voices, people telling him to slow down, to regain control.

Of course, he paid them no heed. Glazed eyes reflecting a distant detachment, senses dulled from the liquor… worries numbed, just the way he liked it. In that numbing embrace, he found solace. Time and time again.

“I think you need a therapist, man,” Benkei whistled, nursing his own strawberry margarita. “If you’re still hung up over a hook-up this long after the fact, there’s something wrong with you.”

He pushed his friend’s concerns aside with an air of indifference and a quiet hum, too caught up in the muffled chaos of his own mind to truly acknowledge his worries.

“I think you need ‘ta hop off my dick,” He retorted, pursing his lips. “I know what I’m doin’, Kei. ‘M 27 years old.”

Benkei knitted his brows, muttering something into his margarita along the lines of, “Sure don’t act like it.”

“‘M fine, guys. Promise,” He smiled, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He knew he hadn’t been himself in a while, of course, but he would be damned if he admitted that. “What, a man can’t drink in peace?”

“No, Waka, the problem isn’t you drinking in peace,” Shin added matter-of-factly. “‘S the fact that that’syour eighth beer of the night.”

Waka glanced down at the half-empty drink in his hand – or half full, depending on how you looked at it – as if he, too were surprised at the number. “‘S Friday night, anyway. Go hard or go home.”

Waka thought he had put on a good show. He thought that, if Shin squinted hard enough, he could mistake him for a sober man. 

He thought wrong.

Shin shook his head, “It’s fuckin’ Thursday, man.”

Although he refused to acknowledge it verbally, he knew Shinichiro had brought up a good point.

Who was he kidding, anyway? It didn’t help. None of it did. The booze, the clubs every weekend, the faceless hookups and lap dances – none of it distracted him from the mess you had made in his heart.

Three months.

“It’s okay to admit you need help, Waka, y’know we love ‘ya,” Shin tilted his head. “Seriously.”

“Honest to God,” Benkei hummed.

The whole world knew he was a mess. Why couldn’t he just admit that something was wrong?

Waka ran his tongue over his teeth like the sharpened edge of a blade. He almost hoped it would draw blood. Anything to make him feel something.

“I…” He hummed, trailing off for a moment. “I think I need one more shot, then I’ll go home.”

Benkei shook his head.

Shin looked disappointed. Still, Waka couldn’t quite bring himself to care. 

Not even when his two friends had to carry him home.

-

[ 2:00 AM ]

Outgoing Message - 2:00 AM

You get home safe? 

.

Incoming Message - 2:00 AM

Yeah man. Thx 4 askin.

He holdin’ up ok?

.

Outgoing Message - 2:00 AM

He’s alr now, im staying w him tn

Gotta make sure he don’t puke in his sleep

Lol

.

Incoming Message - 2:00 AM

This ain’t healthy for him…

.

Outgoing Message - 2:00 AM

Ik… we gotta do smth man

.

Incoming Message - 2:00 AM

Ik, h8 2 see him like this

.

Outgoing Message - 2:01 AM

Idk i mean my lil sis is friends w her i think?

It may be time for ummm

.

Incoming Message - 2:02 AM

An intervention lol?

You know how Waka feels ab us gettin involved w his antics

.

Outgoing Message - 2:02 AM.

Not us.

I know a way

.

Incoming Message - 2:02 AM

It don’t involve Take’s ex girl, do it?

.

Outgoing Message - 2:03 AM

Jus follow my lead, alr?

.

Incoming Message - 2:03 AM

… I don’t like where this is headin, shin.

But I trust u.

Delivered.

-

[ USER CALL LOG ]

Best Bud (Waka)....... (Incoming) 5:00 PM (30 sec)

Lil sis (Emma) ………. (Outgoing ; declined)  2:10 AM 

Lil sis (Emma) ………. (Outgoing ; received) 2:11 AM (26 mins)

Benkei …………………. (Outgoing ; received) 2:12 AM (1 min)

Shibuya Pizzeria ……. (Outgoing ; received) 2:30 AM (1 min).

[ END OF USER “Papi Sano”S CALL LOG]

.

-

.

[2:05 AM]

[Automated]: you have 3 new messages. Play back?

[USER] Selected:

[NO] …

… [View Inbox]

…

[ Last 3 Months ].

[REPLAY>>] Message from ‘Pretty Thing’.

Transcription:

“ Hi Waka, It’s me… I know ‘s… [hiccup] been a while. I’m- Just. Wanted to let you know that I’m in the area. And, first of all… fuck you, for what you did to, to me, you– ugh. You bastar- [hiccup] -d. I’m calling to let you know that I’m much better off without you. Me and my girls are havin’ a ball… a… a ball here tonight. Without you…….. Ugh, who am I kidding. I don’t even know why I called you. You probably haven’t even thought about me in months. I know I’m g’nna [hiccup] wake up tomorrow and forget I even sent this message so– [hiccup] just do me a favor, okay? You owe me that, after breaking my heart the way you did. Just forget you never saw this message, okay? Delete it. It’ll be better for both ‘f us if we just pretended this never happened. Fuck. How do I delete a voice message? I–

[???]: Girl, who are you talking to?

I gotta go, Waka, but… [sigh] I miss you. Okay? Fuck, I really miss you. I would never admit that sober. Thankfully I’m gonna delete this message before you ever see it, so it’ll be like it never happened. Not like I would have remembered anyway. Okay. Which button is it again? Ah, wait, shi –”

[ End of Message. ]

[Automated]: Would you like to play the next message?

[ No. ]

[ Play ]

[Automated]: Replaying message from ‘Pretty thing’.

-

The harsh neon lights buzzed against the night sky tonight at the Eclipse. Even from where you were standing on the curb, you could hear the bass throbbing through the pavement, the vibrations in the air, the smell of sweaty bodies grinding a few yards away. 

YOU  |  I’m here babe wya

Hitting send, you pocketed your phone. You took a deep breath, tightened your grip around the strap of your purse, and then stepped forward. The moment you entered the club, a wave of sound and sensation enveloped you. The air was thick with perfumes and colognes, the faint aroma of liquor lingering somewhere – probably the ground. 

Disco lights painted the crowd in fleeting bursts of colors, highlighting dancing bodies, dazzling outfits, and sin. 

In all honesty, you had no idea why Emma had even thought to invite you out here tonight. It had been eons since your last trip to the club. But, still, she said some event was happening and she didn’t want to go alone, and who were you if not the world’s best friend?

You searched the crowd for her familiar face and, sure enough, there she was, standing by the bar on the far end of the room. Blonde hair down to her back and a sweetheart dress that revealed just enough cleavage for you to know she was scouting out free drinks tonight, she was hard to miss.

You couldn’t help but smile as she waved you down wildly, gold bangles glinting beneath the club’s kaleidoscopic lights. There was an old song playing, one you couldn’t quite remember.

Emma’s grin only widened after you approached the bar and took a seat next to her. You scooted a little closer, cupping your hands over your mouth and shouting, “You weren’t kidding about this place!”

She laughed, a sound that you could almost hear in your head despite not being able to catch it over the music. “It’ll be fun! You brought ‘ya dancin’ shoes, right?”

Your eyes darted over to the dancefloor, where bodies writhed beneath the bass of the music. The sensation you felt was somewhere between excitement and hesitation. “I ‘dunno if I’m there yet, Emma– It’s been a while!”

“What?” Emma shouted. She rolled her eyes, glancing down at the other end of the bar. “I didn’t bring you here to mope, babe, we’re getting plastered!”

On cue, the bartender returned with two green drinks in hand, furnished with tiny little umbrellas. He set them down in front of the two of you, reached behind the bar, and then set two more red cocktails down before you.

“Let’s get this party started!” Emma squealed, sliding one of the green drinks your way. She held her drink in your direction, “To girls’ night!”

You clinked your glasses together in a toast.

Taking a cautious sip, you allowed the sweet concoction to flood your parched mouth. It was coconutty, with a hint of lime and –

The liquor hit you like a punch to the face. You scrunched your nose up, coughing a bit. 

“Shit, that’s strong,” You remarked.

“It’s a Coco Loco!” She answered the question you had yet to ask. “With two extra shots of rum! I knew you’d like it!”

You weren’t really a fan honestly, but you didn’t want to tell her that. Not after she had just spent money on drinks for the both of you.

“It’s good,” You said anyway. 

Emma clapped a hand on your shoulder, “That’s the spirit!” She exclaimed happily. Her makeup was creased a bit around the corners of her lips, where you knew she had been smiling all night. “Melt the pain away, girl.”

-

Wakasa stumbled out of the car, pulling his arm out of Shinichiro’s tight grasp. His annoyance was palpable in the way he kicked the car door shut behind him, paying no mind to the driver as he pulled away. He stood now on the edge of a bustling sidewalk in the middle of what might have been the shadiest-looking corner in Shibuya. He took a long drag from his cigarette, tendrils of smoke melting into the midnight blue around them.

“The hell are we doing at a seedy joint like this?” Waka grumbled, voice a low growl of discontent. With a scowl, he readjusted the collar of his deep purple dress shirt. 

Shinichiro bounced on the balls of his feet, stuffing his hands into his pockets with a sigh. His breath materialized into the air in front of him, a cloud of white amidst the darkness. 

“Figured we’d let loose a ‘lil tonight,” He spoke with such casualty that it almost came off as a little dismissive. He nudged Wakasa playfully, a humorous glint playing in his dark eyes. “Find some loose local girls for a quickie, yeah?”

Under any other circumstances, he would have been jumping at the opportunity. Seeing as he had spent the last few months attempting to drink his regrets away, however, he was anything but chipper at the prospect.

Waka’s annoyance only deepened, brows furrowing. He took another puff of his cig, blowing out the smoke with a quiet scoff. “I’m over fuckin’, man,” he groaned. “I’m goin’ celibate… startin’ today, no more bitches f’me.” 

“Like I’d ever believe that from you,” Shinichiro snorted, a subtle grin playing at the corner of his thin lips. He slung an arm over Wakasa’s shoulders. The height difference between the two of them was emphasized as they walked side by side. “Jus’ give it an hour, Waka,” he urged, tone oddly persuasive. “If you hate it, we can leave. If you don’t have a chick’s legs wrapped around your neck by the end of the night, I owe you fifty.”

Waka sucked his teeth, irritation melting away with newfound curiosity. “Might do it ‘jus to spite ‘ya,” He retorted.

“Right. Wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Shinichiro replied, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. There was something in his tone that raised Wakasa’s suspicion, the slightest feeling that Shinichiro might be up to something. “And don’t be bitchy with me ‘jus because I won’t let you pregame a fuckin’ liquor bar.”

Waka shot Shinichiro a fiery glare, cigarette ember glowing bright, before flicking the thing onto the ground in one deliberate motion. “Blow me,” he muttered beneath his breath. 

The two men stood in front of the club’s entrance. Wakasa slowed, locking his gaze onto the club’s exterior. Then, with a reluctant sigh, Waka entered the building.

-

As the night wore on, you found yourself lost in the spell of the music, lost in the endless sea of dancing, grinding bodies. The colored lights were hot against your sweaty skin. You knew the makeup would be melting off of your face by the end of the night if you kept going on at this rate. Hell, your mascara had started migrating already.

Emma’s Just-dance-inspired moves were contagious. The two of you were dancing on one another, performing a routine you seemed to remember all too well for someone who hated playing Just Dance so much.

The club seemed to ebb and flow like a living organism tonight.

You had lost track of time a long time ago. The songs had begun to bleed together seamlessly. Somewhere along the way, you lost your sweater. The dress you had decided to wear was stuck to your waist, plastered down with sweat. 

Yet, in spite of this, you were having more fun than you had anticipated.

Your flow was broken only when Emma grabbed you by the arm and led you to an empty corner. The both of you caught your breath.

Cheeks hot and flushed, you sighed contentedly, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, Emma, but you were right.”

“You havin’ fun, girly?” She giggled, giving you a playful sock in the arm. “Told you you’d feel better if you got out of the house.”

You nodded, feeling slightly liberated. She was right. You were actually kind of glad that you came out of your shell for tonight. 

Emma raised a playful brow. “You want to get a refresher?”

With a nod and a thin-lipped smile, you let Emma lead you over to the bar.

The two of you took a seat for the second time that evening, taking a moment to cool down and catch your breath. 

Emma turned her attention to the bartender – the same one she had just tried to hit on 30 minutes ago, “Two waters, please,” She ordered.

You tuned the bar out after that. Feeling a little melancholic, your eyes scanned the scene. The lights, the bodies, the music, the drinks. It was all so… messy. Yet, still, there was that unmistakable electricity in the air tonight.

Just as you were about to turn back to Emma, your gaze locked onto a figure against the wall. Immediately the recognition set in, and your heart skipped more than a few beats. It seemed to stop altogether.

There, standing in the dim corner, the lights danced over his familiar features – pretty button nose, downturned eyes, arched brows. His hair was back in a messy bun tonight. Even now, he had that passive, unamused look on his face.

He looked exactly the same as he had the day he closed the door on you.

Well, if you want to be technical, you closed the door on him, but you meant that in the metaphorical sense.

His piercing eyes scanned the crowd with a touch of his signature indifference. He exuded an air of mystique, momentarily entrancing you all over again.

And even now, three months later, his effect on you had not wavered.

Emma’s touch on your arm brought you back to the present, breaking the spell he had cast. “Hey,” She asked, concern evident in her voice. “You good?”

Your eyes were drawn back to the entrance, and your heart sank when you spotted your blond, ex-situationship once again. Panic surged through your veins immediately, seizing your lungs. It felt as if the walls of the club had gotten much smaller, all of a sudden.

Waka was standing there by the entrance, only a few yards away, with Shinichiro by his side. He looked every bit as breathtaking as you remembered him to be.

And he was looking right at you.

He can’t see me.

I need to hide.

He can’t see me.

You whipped your head back around towards your friend, flashing her a faux smile. “I’m gonna,” You swallowed, voice unsteady. “I’m gonna go back to the floor.”

Without even waiting for a response, you turned abruptly and slid off of the barstool. Your pulse was racing as you pushed through the wall of bodies behind the bar and made a beeline for the dance floor.

Emma was calling after you. You didn’t care.

The urgency to put distance between you and your past had consumed you whole. The bass pounded in your ears, matching the rapid thrum of your heartbeat. The music drowned out her voice as you merged with the sea of people once again.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried your best to lose yourself in the rhythm. Your movements were a frenzied, frantic mess of anxious movements. This time, when the lights flickered over you, the shadows they cast brought back memories of your history, your mistakes. 

I will not let him ruin my night, you told yourself.

Yet, still, you dared one last glance around. 

It was to scout the area for a suitor. That’s what you told yourself. 

Subconsciously, however, you searched for Waka amidst the colorful, blurred throng. Your heart began to race again when you spotted him by the bar, head turning slowly, eyes flitting over the club scene. It looked like he was searching for something.

The realization hit you like a train.

He’s looking for me.  

a/n: aaaand we are back with another cliffhanger! I'm so sorry. i have been, so bad to u all lately. life has been crazy! I think I may be shadowbanned, idk, I still dk how tumbly works. anyway! I did not like writing this chapter but it was a totally necessary segway into the next one, which will be very very very very very... jus trust me yall will love it. you know the drill, leave comments, suggestions, anything in down below and I will like, cry reading ur messages as always. Next chap is gonna be my fave like everrrr omg...

I obviously do not own tokyo revengers or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

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[eldritcmor]

You knew it was coming

taskforce 141 and the midwestern gen-z reader(platonic)(of course) inspired by @meatonfork for the grim au. @thesharktanksdriver for the shark au I am a sucker for young and genz reader being an absolute menace

The team didn't properly meet you till a few days after the storm incident. Apparently walking into a communal space looking like you just fought the sky and grinning like a maniac leaves an impression.

Gaz was the first to approach you. Wondering why you looked like a drowned rat met a tazer.

You looked at the man for a moment as you munched on a granola bar. "Oooh! you mean the storm." "Yeah. Why were you out there by the way?" "Not much to do where I'm from so storm watchin' is a very fun pass time." "That was storm watching! you looked like you were in the middle of the storm!" "Relax, it was a baby storm. Hardly any damage."

Gaz tended to stick around you after that. Come to realize you're not much of a thrill seeker but your sense of what's a good past time and what is borderline dangerous are a whole lotta skewed.

you were on leave somewhere in south Cymru. News said there was going to be a storm rolling in off the sea. You went to find Gaz immediately.

His first experience storm watching was a chaotic event. Rolling waves and sheer winds. There really wasn't rain so much as a relentless force of water pushing down on you two. You were both drowned rats that day. Price was disappointed but Gaz couldn't fight his adrenaline fueled grin.

After that, you became fast friends and you started to show through on your brand of humor. Genz and midwestern humor creates a very dark sense of humor.

"Hey storm! Come see what we dug up in storage!" "If it's my hope and dreams, please rebury them. I abandoned those long ago."

Your not really good with communication on things but man, do you spam the man with memes and videos daily. Or just little pictures of cool shit you found while wandering around.

Soap leaned over Gaz's shoulder. "What's got you laughing so hard?" Gaz tilts his phone around. It's a short video. of someone zooming in a rock with long boop sound effect. There's a a stick bug on the rock. Just rockin'. Your voice comes through in a bare whisper "Get stick bugged, motherfucker."

Ghost didn't approach you so much as he caught you.

It was a dare. Sneak up on the legendary ghost and surprise attack him from behind. Nothing dangerous of course. Just a quick yank back and arm around the collar.

You got fucking thrown. It was amazing.

It was no longer a dare. It was now a past time. He once asked why you were doing this?

"Why?" The man stared you down as you stared up at him from the floor. "Why what?" *Why do you keep attacking me?" "Cause it's fun? and you haven't told me stop?" "Getting thrown usually puts a stop to it."

After that it became a game of hunt between you two. Of course there were rules or at least guidelines to it. no barracks, no showers, not during missions.

He found out about the knife collection first. One of his combat knives was missing and one the recruits pointed him in your direction.

He was a little surprised when you just whipped out the bag and opened it. His knife was right there on top along with about 30-50 other knives in the bag. The knife had been freshly sharpened and any mechanism for opening it cleaned and oiled.

when asked, you said an unattended knife still deserves some up keep

He just starts handing you knives when he comes back. sometimes it's cause he's too tired to do the maintenance himself. other times cause you looked like you need a distraction.

Probably the only one to really pick up on your cues. Not that the others are bad at it per say just they tend to catch it a little late. And due to the game of hunt you two keep playing with surprise attacking each other well cant blame him. A lot of your cues are non-verbal

Soap met you when you got caught swiping from price's stash of booze. By him who was setting up a prank that would involve Price's stash of booze.

No sir I don't know why all your booze tastes like apple juice.

You're like 5'3" to his 6'2". so he just kind of leans on you when ever he gets a chance.

At first you're uncomfortable with it but eventually it becomes a sort of reassurance.

He notices but doesn't comment when you start seeking more physical contact.

You have a weird little greeting if it's an off day or you're just feeling heavily nonverbal. You just thunk your head on his arm or back and rest for a second before moving on

You get so pissed one time and out just spills a whole entire tumble of curses. At first in Spanish, a few Ukrainian phrases, a whole litany of German and finally several very specific Gaelic and Scots phrases.

He asks about it later.

"Hey what was that earlier when you were mad?" "Oh! just things I picked up along the way."

He starts speaking Gaelic more often just to see what you pick up. Sometimes you ask what the words mean and slowly repeat them. other times you just go parrot mode and repeat back to him.

Language lessons over the coms are a thing.

He's the first person and nearly the only person you will hug routinely. he was the first one to show you that seeking physical contact to ground yourself was okay, after all.

Price knows your past. Especially that shit that you have been involved in when dealing with the more well strange side of humanity. It's why he asked for you in the first place.

Him and ghost probably notice the fact that you are incredibly calm in situations that would send most absolutely running off.

"Hey kid, you good?" Price rests a hand on your shoulder. The room was caked in gore and and dead bodies. "I'm good, captain." Your voice is monotone and light. He pulls you back a little anyway. "Go scout a little. I'll call this one in."

He asks about it at some point. You give him the no bullshit answer, cause well he's your captain. You've had your Fight or Flight response triggered so much that it's never fully turned down, so now it's just easier to compartmentalize through it and break later.

Was the first to witness such a break and immediate panic cause Oh no! crying recruit.

Eventually he figured out that hugs help.

you seek him out for ✨dad✨ hugs now, just when your feeling off or on the edge of a break. it usually sends you right into a break.

You fell asleep on his shoulder during transport to mission once. woke up to his hat jammed on your head and his gear propping you up.

You will look this man in the face and spout the most cursed fact known to you at the particular minute just to see if he knows it too.

If he doesn't well at least he learned something.

Is usually the one to catch you in the early mornings. just a simple nod in greeting as he sips his coffee.

you always try to steal his coffee. you never succeed

The only who knows that you have a pretty good sized weighted dino plush in your room. He got it for you after a breakdown and you decorating every report you turned in with a dino sticker.

Feel free to brainstorm btw, this is just storm being well storm.

[queeniethevampire]

"Queenie! Hi!~" Chiasa was happily bounding over with a large keg of something. "I know ya have a lotta blood, so I gotchya a whole buncha booze! Its the real strong stuff, too! Monster grade!~"

Queenie blinked. “Who told you?” She said a bit lost. However a smile formed. “Thanks but, if ya want me drunk. I think you might need more.” She said patting the keg. “Having said that this feels like I owe you something I and don’t have any spare vino on me.” She muttered tapping her chin. “And most of what I have is blessed wine, which I couldn’t keep on me.”

[ponstermenis-writing]

✩GETTING CAUGHT✩

johnny cade/curly shepard tim shepard / dallas winston

Tim loved Angela to bits, he truly did. But Jesus Christ she had not left the house in a week and it was actually going to kill him.

Darrel still wasn’t letting Dallas in the house on his own—he didn’t quite like him talking to the gang either. So now Tim still had the guy on his tail, but couldn’t do anything because his sister was always home. So, on a last ditch effort, he decides they’ll find somewhere else.

“Let’s go on a walk.” He says, tapping on Dallas’s shoulder. Dallas looked up from the couch—where he was no doubt flirting with Tim’s younger sister, the bastard—and gave him a weird look. They weren’t the ‘going on walks’ type.

”Huh?” He asks, looking at him like he’d grown two heads. Tim gritted his teeth, taking him by the jacket sleeve and dragging him off the couch. “We’re going on a walk.” He bites out, forcing the man out of the front door, yelling for Angela to lock it behind them.

They walked silently for a few moments—until, of course, Dallas had to open his big fat stupid ugly mouth.

“What the hell was that?” He asks, nudging him lightly.

“I need out of that house.” Tim sighs. “Usually Angela isn’t home for more than an hour. And now she’s here all the time because your girlfriend decided she was bored of her.” Tim groans loudly, enough so that a few alley cats come out to see what the commotion is. Dallas wastes no time in chasing them off.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard more complaints about my hygiene. God forbid there’s a single shirt on the floor.” Tim continues his complaints, not even sure if Dallas is listening. More often than not, he isn’t. “Usually she’s always on Curly’s tail. But now he’s never at home.”

“Maybe you should try bein’ cleaner.” Dallas shrugs. “Lord knows you need a few more showers.”

Tim turns to glare at him—sadly they were too far into the public eye to smack him. “Oh please, you take a single shower a month. There’s probably cheese growing on you dick, you nasty—“

”Wanna help me get it off?” Dallas interrupts, raising his eyebrows in at attempt to be endearing. He very much isn’t. Tim grimaces, walking faster just to get away from him. He spares a glance around, making sure nobody heard him.

Dallas catches up quickly, wrapping an arm around his shoulder—to any onlooker they’d seem like pals at best. Even if it wasn’t sodomy, Tim Shepard would never be caught hanging off of Dallas Winston like a broad.

“We outta get somewhere more private.” Dallas whispers, glancing around. “There’s been a lotta’ Soc’s runnin’ around our side of town lately.”

“Good.” Tim all but snarls, thumbing the switchblade in his back pocket. “I’m itching for a fight. ‘S been much too long, don’t you think?”

Usually, when either of them wanted a brawl they’d head out to the east side and beat the life out of each other. As of recently it’s just felt wrong to do—like they’ve gotten to close, their relationship is somehow more than just beating on each-other and stealing booze. Tim doesn’t know how he feels about it, he’d rather not look it in the face.

“Can’t.” Dallas mutters, pulling his arm off and shoving both hands in his pockets. “I gotta stay clean for the next couple a’ weeks. Darry still hasn’t let me back in and John’s worried he never will.” Tim can tell he’s upset—he’s probably waiting for Tim to ask about it—but he is no man’s solace, especially not Dal’s.

“Please,” Tim scoffs. “He’ll do anything if Cade begs him enough. You all bend at his will.”

It’s true, he knows it is. Dallas is the best example. When a kid like that has been denied so much, you don’t wanna deny him anything more. As much as people explained Dallas as Johnny’s keeper, Tim knew well enough to know it goes both ways. He found it funny—A little guy like Johnny having the ability to boss around a thousand pounds of man, but not doing it just because he didn’t feel like it.

“Do not.” Dallas frowns. “Darry’ll only listen if the whole gang begs ‘im. I already pissed Steve and Two off earlier this week, and Pony’s been on a hating streak since he met me.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Tim teases, pushing past him. He’s sure Dallas rolls his eyes from behind him. “Whatever, you love having me around.” Dallas pokes and prods right back, he always does.

“Nawh.” Tim spares a glance back at him, Dallas raising a brow—he does that a lot now that Two-Bit taught him, he thinks it makes him look tuff. Tim thinks he looks constipated. “I like the beer you bring around, though. You got any?”

Dallas rolls his eyes, making two bottles clink from under his jacket. “Course I do. ‘Was waiting for you to ask.”

“Well? Hand me one.” Tim puts out his hand, Dallas pushes it away. “Did you hear anything I just said? I gotta look squeaky clean.”

Tim groans. The two push their way into the old car lot, it’s covered in trees and goes right into a deep forest where no one would find them. It’s not the best—its already freezing cold out as they get into the later months, the ground it wet and squishy from a recent rainstorm—but it’ll do.

Tim actually finds himself looking around to see if little Johnny Cade is spending the night outside again. He wasn’t sure when he started caring about what happened to him—sure, he’s a good kid, but he’s none of Tim’s responsibility. It must’ve been sometime between Dallas getting out of the cooler and seeing his dad chase him out with a hammer.

Angela lovingly called them ‘reluctant co-parents’. Tim and Dallas cared for their own like it was second nature—eventually they started caring for the other’s. Tim would make sure Johnny wasn’t rotting away outside and Dallas would make sure Curly didn’t sneak out for the sixth time that week.

It was weird but nobody ever brought it up. Johnny gave him weird looks when he drove him to Buck’s, and Curly was no doubt suspicious of them. But oddly enough neither of the younger boys seemed to care. Johnny spent more time at the Shepards and Curly finally started warming up to Dallas—they were about as warm to each-other as a winter in the Antarctic, but it’s as better than nothing.

They walked into the deep forest, blinking a few times to get used to the darkness. Very soon the two wished they didn’t go—while the beer helped, their wet shoes and the sound of clay squeaking beneath them got old very quickly. Tim was sure the bottoms of both of their jeans were soaked and dirty, but neither of them seemed to care.

“Tim, Look.” Dallas said finally, nudging him. Tim looked up from his bottle, squinting at something in the trees. Sure enough, a dingy little treehouse was nestled on a thick one, a long rope ladder swinging from it. The two shared a look.

Going into a seemingly abandoned tree house in the dead of night was most definitely not a good idea. But they were wet and cold, a little tipsy, and curious. Against their better judgement the two took slow steps forward—it wasn’t long before they could hear voices coming from inside.

“We should go.” Tim said, even as Dallas took hold of the ladder and tugged to see if it was secure. “This is probably some fucked up midget trap house.”

Dallas looked back at him and laughed. “You scared?” He asked teasingly, slowly climbing up. Tim didn’t say anything, but soon enough they were both clinging to the wet rope with a scowl— trying to climb as quietly as possible.

Luckily, there was a little porch that they could both climb onto—The treehouse has one tiny door and a window that was so dirty they had to squint to see through it. There was a light coming from inside, one that Dallas quickly investigated.

Dallas froze up the second he looked inside, wide mouthed with furrowed brows. He looked like he had just seen a ghost, eyes flitting around the room in wide-eyed shocked. “What?” Tim whispered, pulling himself onto the porch. Dallas didn’t respond—he glanced down at him, taking a step back so he could also stand.

Tim cupped his hands around his eyes and peered in—also rather shocked with what he saw.

…

”You’re such a momma’s boy.”

“Yeah? Atleast I have one.”

“I’d much rather have none at all than one that beats on me.”

A low blow, but then again the two were known for it. It was weird how the could make jokes about each other that no one else could. It was somehow less offensive when it came from the other.

Johnny and Curly were, once again, lighting up in their dingy little tree house. They huddled up together under Curly’s stupid leather jacket for warmth—Johnny had left his at his folk’s place and he wasn’t dumb enough to go get it. Johnny had his legs atop Curly’s, the two leaning into each other and nursing the second blunt of the night.

“Do you listen to a thing I tell you? She doesn’t beat on me.”

“She yells at you all the time and chases you out of the house.”

”That’s different.” Johnny frowned, not looking up at him.

”Didn't she lock you in a cupboard when you were little cus’ she caught you stealing bread?” Curly raised a brow, handing the weed back to him. Johnny didn’t take it, looking at him weird. “How do you know about that?” He asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“You told me. Like, last week. You were so high of your rocker you probably don’t even remember.” Curly laughed. Johnny deflated, finally taking the blunt and sucking in a long drag before blowing it back out in his face. “I gotta stop getting high with you. You know too much.”

”So do you. You know more about me than my own brother.” Johnny makes a weird noise, Curly elects to ignore it.

“Whatever.” He mutters, leaning slightly off of him. “But my mom doesn’t beat on me, that’s different.”

Curly just rolls his eyes, glancing down at him. “Whatever you say, Hansel.” He laughs so hard at his own joke he coughs, Johnny staring at him like he’s crazy. “Han—Who?”

”From Hansel and Gretel? That old children’s book about teaching kids to not steal.” The explanation doesn’t seem to help, Johnny looking more and more confused by the second. “You seriously never had to read that?” Curly asked incredulously. He remembered it only because Angela got so scared that she wouldn’t eat at restaurants for a year in fear that she would eat a witches food.

Fun times.

“Who’s gonna read it to me Curly? My mom?”

“…Fair enough.” He mutters, snatching the blunt from him in an attempt to busy his hands. They are quiet for a long while—Curly nurses the weed the whole time, it’s a miracle he didn’t choke. Johnny eventually gets tired of it, reaching over to try and pluck it from his mouth. Curly grabs it quickly, licking his fingers before he can pull back. Johnny makes a loud gagging sound, pulling away like it burnt him.

“You are such a freak!” He yelled, rubbing his hand in the boy’s shirt. “You’re gonna be on death row one day, mark my words.”

Curly leans in to him, smirking as he blows smoke into his face. “Nawh, I don’t believe in that.” He says—he’s just messing with him, but Johnny raises a brow and he feels like he has to keep talking. “I’m this close to becoming one of those hippies who go on strike for everything.”

”Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going on a toothpaste strike too?” Johnny asks, looking down at Curly’s mouth. Curly pulled back, rolling his eyes. “Ha-fucking-ha. You’re hilarious.” He muttered in annoyance, trying to discreetly check his breath. Johnny just laughed, leaning back into him. “ ‘M just messing wit’ you. But yeah, I am hilarious, aren’t I?”

“I wasn’t—“

The door bursts open a moment later, swinging on its hinges. The two quickly turn their heads to face it. Curly doesn’t even realize who it is until Johnny yells.

“Dallas! What—“ He cuts himself off, pushing off of Curly.

They are both acutely aware that Dallas had no clue either of them were smoking weed. Especially not together.

Shit.

This is where he dies, isn’t it?

Dallas takes Curly by the lapels, lifting him up off the ground. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?! You little—“ Tim quickly pulls him away, Curly hitting the ground with a thump. “Watch what you say.” Tim bites, barely loud enough for the two younger boys to hear.

”I’m sorry Dal, I—“ Johnny begins, trying to pull himself to his feet—probably to run. Tim holds him down, somehow being the level-headed one here. “I know you told me not to! I just—“ Johnny practically smacked Tim’s hand away in favor of pleading with Dallas.

Dallas freezes, interrupting him. “Told you not to? What?” He asks, incredulously. He and Tim share a look. He couldn’t remember ever telling Johnny not to—it’d be kind of hypocritical, seeing what he and Tim get up to.

“You told me not to—not to get high! Didn’t you?” Johnny asked, just as confused as he was. Curly and Johnny watch Tim and Dallas stare at each other. They both look at the younger boys, then to the blunt fizzling out on the ground, then back to them. Dallas breathes out a sigh that could only be in relief, practically collapsing to the ground.

“Oh, Thank god!“ He cries, putting his hand in a prayer motion. Johnny and Curly shared confused look, trying to understand what was going on. “Oh…” Tim mutters, looking between the two.

“You guys aren’t mad?” Johnny asked, furrowing his brows in an attempt to pick out what exactly is happening to Dallas. “Oh, no, I’m livid.” Dallas says, glaring at Curly. Tim kicks him lightly, hard enough to make Dallas finally stand back up.

“It’s just, we thought you were—“ Tim cuts himself off, seeing his younger brother’s red face. ‘Are you??’ He mouthed incredulously, Curly not responding.

Culry and Johnny share one more look before seemingly figuring it out—both of their faces burn red, immediately turning back to their older counterpart.

“You thought we were fucking?!” Curly yells, looking incredulously at his older brother.

Sure, they experimented—once or twice… but it wasn’t a set in place thing. They were both so high every time they did it that they barely remembered. Or maybe neither of them wanted to. They ever talked about it after it happened—not the first time, not the second time, not any of the times after that.

“Ew, Dal! You thought…?” Johnny frowns, kicking Dal lightly. Dallas shrugged, he and Tim were just as embarrassed as they were. “What was I supposed to think? You run off for hours at a time together, you come back wearing his jacket—“

“Wait—I didn’t know that.” Tim interrupted, raising his brows at his younger brother.

“I can’t believe you think that low of me! I’d never—gross!” Johnny rambled, seemingly losing half of his respect for Dallas. If he weren’t also roped into this, Curly would love it.

“Hey! I’m right here!” Curly frowned, glaring at the boy. Johnny glared right back. “So? Back up of you don't want to hear it.” He bites back, uncharacteristically sharp—at least, to Tim and Dallas. Curly was used to it. “You sure didn’t want me to back up when I—“

Johnny shut Curly up with a loud smack, sending the two into a long bickering match.

Tim and Dallas watched silently, sharing a knowing look. Sure, they didn’t beat each other like they did—but they certainly weren’t kind. “Jesus…” Dallas muttered, watching them. “They really are just like us.” He laughs, Tim agreeing alongside him.

That pulled both of the younger boys off of each other, once again staring at their older counterparts.

“Shut it, Macklemore! We are not!” Curly yells first, Johnny nodding in agreement. Dallas frowns, glaring down at him. “You little—“ Dallas begins, getting a smack on the back of the head by Tim. Tim holds Dallas back, giving everyone a moment to think and collect their bearings. Johnny and Curly share a petrified look—Tim bets they realized just how similar the four of them are.

Dallas doesn’t let them think about it much longer, circling back around to the reason they were here.

”You’ve been smoking weed?!” He yells, pulling Tim off of him and running up to Johnny. It’s not his turn to get grabbed by the front of his shirt—though he’s much gentler with Johnny. “With Curly Shepard off all people?!” He adds, making Johnny deflate a little. Tim sees it, placing a hand on Dallas’s shoulder, oddly pliant.

“Hey, at least they weren’t…” he trails off. Usually he has no problem saying it—Sex isn’t something to be weird about, especially not when you’re a Shepard. But it felt weird saying it now, hanging awkwardly off of his tongue.

“Stop saying it!“ Johnny yells—his cheeks are burning, trying not to look at anyone else in the room. Dallas let’s him go softly, turning back to Tim.

“Why are you so calm about this? I feel like I’m the only one yelling!” Dallas whispers to him. Tim glances back at the two, grimacing. “Who do you think he got the weed from? Besides, I already knew.” He replies, trying to sound casual. Which was, decidedly, the wrong move.

“You knew?! Why didn’t you tell me?“ Dallas yelled, grabbing him by the shoulders. Tim lightly shoved him off, eyeing the door. The two step out onto the porch, leaving too very confused boys in their wake.

“I didn’t tell you because this is exactly how I knew you’d react! You’re scaring that poor boy shitless!” Tim whisper-yells. He doubted the two were sitting obediently inside—Sure enough, when he glanced at the window behind Dallas’s head he could see the two whisper to eachother.

“Why do you care? You said it yourself, Johnny is my responsibility. Not yours.” He says, pausing to glare at him. “I’ll make sure he’s okay how I see fit. You can worry about yourself.”

Tim sucked in a sharp breath. He really was hoping this wouldn’t be a topic the two of them ever touched on. So he did what he did best, deflect the blame.

“Yeah? Lord knows you aren’t doing a good job at it! He’s terrified of you!” He bites back, crossing his arms and straightening his back. He and Dallas are almost the exact same height—it’s hard to loom over him, which just so happens to be his only intimidation tactic other than beating.

“And Curly isn’t?”

Tim stops yelling to stare at him, brows furrowing.

“Curly and Johnny aren’t the same.” Tim replies defensively. “Johnny gets enough yelling at home—“

”So does Curly.” Dallas interrupts. He knows he’s found Tim’s weak spot. And like always, he was going to keep poking and prodding at it. “Don’t throw stones in a glass house, asshole. At least Johnny likes me. Curly stays cus’ he has no where else to go.”

”He likes that you don’t hurt him. You said it yourself, he’ll do anything for your attention.” Tim bites back.

Dallas scoffed, rolling his eyes. “We’re getting off topic.” He mutters. “Johnny and Curly have been swapping smoke for months, and you’d better not make me the bad guy for yelling at him.”

Jesus, they really do sound like a married couple.

“You act like we weren’t doing the same thing at their age.” He knows how dumb that sounds—he and Dallas are both only two years older than one of them. That wasn’t too long ago—the only thing that’s changed in the substance.

“Yeah? And look where that got us.”

“You’re a dick.”

”So are you.”

…

“Somehow I feel like we’re the ones who walking on something.” Curly mutters.

The two watched through the window as they went from bickering to shouting once again, Johnny covering his ears as he watched. Curly spares a glance his way, frowning.

“We outta get out of here before we get dragged into it.” He says, nudging him.

It’s an escape masked as an offer—a helping hand amidst the yelling and fighting that they are both so achingly used to.

“Okay.” Johnny mutters, letting the other help him to his feet. They try to sneak past—the older boys are too busy fighting to notice. Dallas has his back to the door and Tim is staring right back into his eyes. Unluckily for the youngest two—Tim spares a glance at the door just as they are leaving, making direct eye contact with Johnny.

He tries to angrily signal for the two to get back inside, hopefully before Dallas notices. That plan is foiled when Dallas immediately noticed his weird expression and spins around.

“Where the hell do you two think you’re going?” He asks angrily, causing Curly to stop halfway on the ladder.

He could run. He could drop down and run all the way home, Tim wouldn’t even be pissed. But leaving Johnny alone with an angry Tim and an even angrier Dallas didn’t sound like a good idea.

“Get your asses back inside.” Tim and Dallas say in unison—they don’t even seem to notice it. Curly spares a glance back at Johnny, whose prettified gaze in staring at Dallas and only Dallas. He lets out a sigh and begins climbing back up.

“C’mon John.” He mutters, the two of them shuffling into the room and shutting the door behind them. Johnny practically collapses to the floor—it’s not common for Dallas to be mad at him. It never ended well when he was. Curly knew that too, leaning back against the door.

“They’re so angry at us they synced up.” He tried to lighten the mood—it definitely didn’t work, but Johnny smiled up at him anyways. “Maybe their cycles are next.” He says between gasping breaths. Curly let’s himself laugh, falling onto the ground beside him. Soon they are both giggling together like little girls, acutely unaware of the two just outside.

…

Dallas was still whispering angrily to him. He didn’t care to listen, it was just the same shit over and over again. He stared through the window—at first it was to make sure the two didn’t make another escape attempt, but then he was just watching them. His gaze softened, the two joining each other on the floor and laughing together.

He and Dallas were like that once. Back when they were just two asshole kids. Before humiliation and anger brought they both to a fighting stop.

“I just—what are you staring at?” Dallas asks incredulously, annoyed that Tim wasn’t listening. He didn’t respond, staring longingly through the window still. Dallas eventually looks too, his gaze softening all the same. “Oh.” He muttered.

The two boys were huddled up together again, whispering to each other like little kids. They looked so calm, happy. Like they were meant to be like that. Like the world couldn’t see them.

“Look,” Tim sighed. “I get that you don’t want Johnny smoking, I really do. But if you want them separated—you’re gonna tell ‘em.” He said with a sense of finality, uncrossing his arms. Curly looked at him through the window, frowning but not pulling away.

Tim would’ve pulled away if the roles were reversed. Curly stays holding on.

”I don’t…” Dallas muttered, leaning his forehead on the wooden frame. “I don’t want them separated, okay? Johnny seems a lot happier—I don’t wanna take that from him.” He breathed out a sigh, glancing at Tim with pleading eyes. “I just don’t want him smoking that stuff. We both started with smokes, then weed, then beer, and then…” Dallas frowned. Tim wasn’t used to seeing him sad, he was too quick to anger. “He’s got addiction in his blood. Poor kid already worried about turning out like his father.”

”Really?” Tim asks, letting himself chuckle.

“I know. I don’t see it at all, even when he’s angry.” Dallas laughs too. “Still, it’ll save a lot of heartache if he stays off. Y’dig?”

“Yeah, I dig.” Tim smiles for the first time in the last hour. “I’ll back you up, man. I don't need Curly getting any worse.” He finally says. The two share an appreciative look with each other. Dallas barely reaches for him—almost like he’s going if for a hug—but he glances back inside and quickly puts his arms back down.

Tim rolls his eyes, opting to wrap an arm around him and lead the two back inside. Johnny and Curly pull away from each other when the re-enter, looking up at them. Jesus, they really do seem scared.

“I don’t want you smoking that stuff anymore.” Dallas says first, crossing his arm. Tim drags his arm off of him, crossing his arms as well. “You either, Curly.” He adds. Johnny frowns. “But—“ he begins, shut up when Dallas holds out a hand to silence him.

“We’re not mad, okay?” He starts—Tim wants to add ‘just disappointed’ for shits and giggles, but decides this isn’t the time. “You two can still have your little spot, just no more smoking weed, okay?”

Johnny and Curly share a confused look—like they’re a shocked there’s an agreement at all.

“You’re not mad?” Curly asks, almost incredulously. Tim and Dallas look to each other and nod. “Not unless it happens again.” Dallas says—like a challenge—glaring down at Curly. Curly’s brows furrowed, looking between the two. He places a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and they both stand.

“Tim?” He says finally. “Can I talk to you?”

Tim and Curly split off to one corner of the room, Johnny and Dallas whispering to each other in the other. Curly spends a long time just staring at him, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. He speaks with a sense of urgency.

”You’re not gonna tell anyone are you?”

He doesn’t say exactly what Tim would be telling, but he has an idea what he’s eluding to. “Nawh.” Tim smiles, ruffling the boys hair. Curly doesn’t even attempt to fix it, furrowing his brows again—he never did that before he and Johnny met, it was the smaller boy’s quirk, not his.

“You won’t tell anyone about the tree house, will you?” He asks, again. Tim shrugs. “I don’t see why I would.” He pauses to glare down at him. “I’ve got no reason to tell. As long as you cut back on the weed, that is. I can’t defend you two if it happens again.”

Curly smiles—in the way every Shepard boy did when they didn’t want to be caught smiling. “Thank you.” He whispered, barely loud enough for his brother to hear. Tim ruffles his hair again, glancing back to Johnny and Dallas.

The two boys were hugging—he didn’t even realize the younger was wrapped up in Curly’s too big jacket. Tim spared one glance back at his brother, grabbing his by the shoulders and pulling his close.

Hugging each other wasn’t something they did. But at that moment it felt right. It felt right even as Curly’s ringed fingers gripped his sleeves, even as he buried his face in his older brothers chest.

There was a new air of hope when they all stepped out, climbing haphazardly out of the tree house. They joked, they walked through the woods light on their feet—Dallas and Tim trailed behind, pretending it was because they didn’t know where to go. They liked seeing the younger two boys poke fun at eachother like they used to.

“Y’know.” Dallas finally spoke, quiet enough for the other two not to hear. “I’m surprised you didn’t want them separated.”

Tim raises a brow. “Why would I?” He asks, though he knows the answer.

”Seeing as we thought they were, y’know…”

Tim shrugged, bumping into him purposefully. “It’s none of my business what they do behind closed doors.” A pause. “Though if I ever hear it, I’m definitely gonna ask them to get out.”

Dallas laughed, loud enough to make the younger two glance back at them.

”Besides,” Tim begins the second they turn back around. “Johnny cooks when he’s over. I can only handle so much of Angela’s over-cooked and under-seasoned chicken.”

Dallas smiled. “Darry was the one that taught him, y’know.”

”Really?”

”Yep. He learned just so he could make me a big ol’ New Yorkian breakfast for my sixteenth birthday.” Dallas says, pride in his voice as he watched the boy. Tim smiled as well, nudging into him. “I guess I have you to thank, then.”

Dallas smirked, leaning closer to him and taking one of his lapels between two fingers—tugging him closer.

“I guess you do.”

[slashingdisneypasta]

That things to incorporate in smut post got me thinking. In a roundabout way that’s prob only indirectly smutty. Ok, say Jim had managed to acquire a younger girlfriend (which he totally thinks gives bragging rights because let’s be real, he’d be forever going on about it), pre-chow time. Post…well, look at how obviously different he moves. Not just the limp, but the caution. He’s more AWARE now that he’s an old guy *coughwithmoobsbutilovethatforhimcough* Very mortal. Very missing half his parts. GF still has more than half her life left, barring any unfortunate circumstances.

I think he’d be an absolutely tragic nightmare combo of clingy/flirty/tell him still think he’s hot/you can be the sexy nurse, but then when the phantom pains get bad enough to make him really THINK about it, he’s all cranky from wounded ego. No, he DOESN’T want a massage (because that’s a thing you can do for phantom limbs, apparently). He’s not taking his pants off for THAT, thanks. Maybe tries to spin it into something dirty, like “but if you’re asking for more fun reasons…” Before he just gives up and goes back to sulking. Says just hand him the booze and go away, he’s got things to drink about for awhile.

OMG YES- AND PROSTHETICS TOO! If I make smut for Jim, or Long John Silver, or Captain Hook- will absolutely be putting detail in about that. Thank you for the reminder!

And, yes!! He is a lot more cautious and grounded in the second movie! Obviously- because of trauma (I mean- look at my last post.). And I like how you're suggesting that only getting mauled by a croc made him realise he's old. Like, the general aging process did not do it for him (Which honestly makes sense, considering how he watches the coach get attacked in Final Chapter- he's watching like he's invincible. That would n e v e r happen to him right?? Sure, to his father and his mother and his aunt- but not him. Nooo.); he had to lose his limbs to get humbled. (Crazy person.)

Once again- yes! XD I totally agree on how he'd be after that with his S/O 😅 She can play sexy nurse, fine, but as soon as the concern gets real she's got a grumpy old man on her hands. He doesn't need anyone worrying over him, he's a grown ass man and (At least this is my HC) he's been on his own for a l o n g time (I mean he's a sleazy alcoholic low-life illegal poacher- I doubt he's got a whole lotta trustworthy friends.); he can take care of himself. He'd be stubborn as fuck, very very used to doing shit on his own; Gritting and bearing it; D r i n k i n g his problems away. Accepting help? Pff, nah.

I couldn't help it- I had to write a little something for this XD

Jim Bickerman x YoungerGirlfriend!Reader || Oneshot

Plot: A typical night trying to make Jim take care of himself causes a couple revelations for you both. Mostly for you, because he's too damn stubborn to believe you.

Warnings: Very evident age-difference relationship (Its a major theme this time). Insecurities regarding aging and prosthetics. Unedited.

Tagging: @marinerainbow , @masqueradeball and @slxsherwriter

Its a stand-still. You imagine a tumbleweed blowing by in the untidy above-bar apartment; between the ratty old couch and the beer-damp coffee table, and across old jack bottles and a loose-strand mat thats seen far better days. But your focus is stead-fast on Jim across the room by the window. You're half concerned he's going to try and climb out of it to get away from you.

Well- not concerned-concerned, not in a way where you're worried he's going to hurt himself (Thats his prerogative), but more because then he'll escape. And you wont be able to get his damn leg off.

"Jim." You start, a very firm frustrated tone moulding itself to the sound of your voice; not taking your eyes off of the old cowboy so he knows you mean business. "The doctors said you need to take it off at night so the wound can b r e a t h e. If you don't, it can suffocate and get worse. You could lose more of your leg."

"Yeah, well, then it'll get worse! I'll lose more, wont I?" He exclaims, giving a shrug and you throw your arms up in frustration at this quick responce. This man!!- "Its my leg and I'll decide when I take it off."

"Just let me help you, you old coot!"

He waives his hand and the new hook around and shrugs. "I'm fine! Don't need aany help, thank you very- hey." The sudden dark tone that enters his voice creep in as soon as you move to approach and makes you halt immediately in your tracks as he sets you with a very stern look. Jim points his hook prosthetic threateningly at you. "You stay right there."

Well, it would have been threatening if you didn't know him so well. He was not going to hurt you, so you take another step. "Or what?" You ask, shrugging.

"Don't be cute." He warns, a growl in his voice and a snarl on his face.

"Whatever do you mean?- Oh, come on, Jim!" Mid-sentence, Jim had turned around and opened the window. "Its dark, its raining, and its slippery. how do you suppose you're gonna climb down??"

"I already left a ladder out there, assuming you were gonna start this shit again t'night." Of course he did. "Just gotta slide to it. Hm... " The way he's peering out the window suggests that he kind of forgot, though, the exact location of the ladder on the other end of the porch cover below the window sill. Would that stop him, though? No-

Ughh. You groan, and drop your face into your hands out of exasperation.

~

You managed to compromise- he gets to keep his leg on but you convinced him to take off the hook, so long as you handled opening his beers for him. Now you sit side by side under the window (The cool air from the rain is nice after the heat of the stand-off and negotiations). Carefully, you pull the tab on a can of gross beer and pass it across to him. "... so. Same time tomorrow night?" You ask, a worn-out smile on your face.

He chuckles darkly beside you, taking a sip of his drink. "Probably. 'nless you plan on leavin' me alone?"

"No." Nice try on that wishful thinking.

"Then yeah. Same time, same place then."

"... you know you have to give in eventually," You pipe up again, turning your head to look at him, leaning your temple on the wall. When he looks back, you flash him a sleazy smirk (You learnt from the best). "I have better stamina then you do."

That unlocks a real chuckle from him, his shoulders jumping and a smile flickering across his face in a way that makes your smile turn genuine. "Yeah, well, you might be right about that princes but I'm a lot older then you- I know things a lotta you don't, right?" He looks away from you. "And I don't anticipate you stickin' around here forever, so eventually I'll be home-safe." Your heart falls, and the smile slowly disappears from your face listening to him- but he doesn't seem to make any note of it as he flashes you a dirty look of his own. "No matter how good your stamina is."

"... what, on earth, do you mean?"

Jim gives a shrug. "Well sweetheart, just- you're a sweet young little thing. I'm uh- well," Chuckling, his eyes move away from yours again. "I'm a little past my prime, hm? Pretty sure I know how this story plays out. Eh?" There isn't a self deprecating vibe about what he's saying, he just sounds certain. And that baffles you all the more.

You straighten up. "No?? Well, you'd be wrong. Because, I- I- "

"Aw, sweetheart, you don't needta reassure an old man. I'm fine with all this is. Sure, I like ya, but I know what I am, hm? A little bump in the road, right? I'll be fine when you go off an- "

Oh you have never wanted to smack someone so bad. "Jim!" You exclaim in exasperation and a lick anger, cutting through the absolute bullshit. "First of all- " You take the beer out of his hands, set it clearly out of his reach, and then sit down very firmly in front of him; hands on his shoulders. Holding his attention. He looks bemused, and you wish he'd wipe that little grin off his damn face. "Second of all, listen up. I'm serious, here. I'm not going anywhere, not as far as I'm concerned right now. You're a pain in the butt sometimes but I really don't know where this idea that our relationship has an expiration date is coming from. When we met you were in this- what changed??"

"Well," He chuckles, sounding like he thinks whatever he's thinking is just obvious before he looks meaningfully down at himself. "Uh, I'm not exactly g.i. joe fresh outta the box, am I sweetcheeks? Don't even got all my pieces anymore."

Your jaw drops, and for a moment you don't know what on earth to say. You feel like you cant even breathe. Is that what this is about?? Oh- for gods sake. Setting your face in a frustrated frown, you get up- only momentarily- and climb on into Jim's lap; wrapping your arms around his neck and getting comfortable with a sigh.

"Listen," After taking a deep breath, you force your voice to be low and soft, and start again. "You're hot. How can you not know that?? I knew you were crazy but I didn't know you were out of your mind."

A slow, mirthless grin spreads across his haggard face. "... uhuh. Now I think you're just trynna get in my pants, hm?" Oh, he's deflecting. You refrain from the urge to roll your eyes, but come on man. How transparent.

"Maybe I am. Know why?"

"... " he sighs and rolls his remaining eye.

"Cuz you're hot!" You insist blatantly, putting your hands on either side of his face now so the tips of your fingers disappear in his short grey hair. "Please believe me, I'm nuts about you."

"Sure... "

"Everything about you is perfect. I like you; how you are and how you look." You say gently, tilting your head to the side. "... which is why, no matter how difficult you are or what you do to yourself, I'm not going anywhere. You can refuse help all you like, be as stubborn as you can old man, but I'm in this for long haul. So unless you don't want me, anymore, in which case I'll leave and thats fine, I- "

He had let you speak and do whatever you wanted this whole time, only interrupting when you paused, but when you move to get up and off him now Jim uses his one good hand to catch you and keep you where you are, with a finger in one of your belt loops. "Hmmm, now why would I want that?... "

Happily, you settle back down, wrap your arms back around his neck and lean your forehead against his. "... do you believe me?"

...

...

"... Not really." He says bluntly with a cheeky grin, making you groan in defeat. Stubborn. Old. Goa- "But I believe you believe all that crap right now- so I'll just enjoy the ride, huh? Long as it plays out."

Closing your eyes, you give a drawn-out sigh. "... you'll see."

"Maybe."

[chrrywvea]

okay top gun but it's halloween party time🎃

'86 group!

the costumes:

mav : vampire (i am fully going with "interview with the vampire" on this one) the fangs stay on the WHOLE party even though he is struggling with the snacks

ice : a very disgruntled frankenstein (but he slays it 100%). the mood gets slightly better as he watches mav curse over the green face paint aaaaall over his hands after having painted him. a smol vampire stumbling around their living room while simultaneously having a slight lisp because of the fake fangs is a funny sight indeed.

goose + carole : all the couple costumes, oh my god. carole has doooozens of spares.

princess peach & mario? check, definitely goose's favorite. baby brad tumbling about as yoshi♡_♡

johnny & baby? goose absolutely practices the lift with mav, who ends up with quite a few bruises. he gets a lot of beers & a drive home, but, if he's honest, he'll do anything for his best friends anyway.

that halloween ends with a very happy carole. ideas for bradley?

gomez and morticia addams? double check. the white face paint required a triple wash but they SLAYED that. bradley as pugsley is the vibe<<3 carole has a secret dealer for the best halloween wigs.

slider : this man is not at ALL for halloween. nope. not happening. ice manages to convince him with the promise of good food and a lotta booze. surprisingly, he even comes in costume! as a secret nerd (which i see him as) we are gonna get batman.

...

or he-man?

that would be for the kids-free party°○°

mav almost faints when he walks in with that and ice laughs so hard he has tears streaming down his face. the rest of the class is just impressed honestly, it's not bad! not to mention that he doesn't need the muscle suit...

wolfman & hollywood: PARTNER OUTFITS!

mean girls? that was a bet they lost to slider... them legs were fiiiine in those skirts.

buzz and woody!<3 they argue for hours on who's who & end up with wolf as buzz and hollywood as woody👀

the twins from the shining, they chose that themselves and NO ONE knows why.

ghostbusters! best partner outfit of that year, they all had to admit it.

listen i did not think about the timelines when which movie came out😆 this is chaos.

enjoy<3

part 2?

[missshezz]

Title: Grief

Summary: When the jar tips and pours out the emotions you placed inside, Rick is there to comfort you.

Rating: All Audiences

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, friendship, found family, bit of a character study, set during Rick’s time after his kidnapping

————————————————————

Whenever you saw Rick Grimes your heart bled anew.

Not because you were in love with him and there was no chance of him loving you back because he had a woman and child waiting for him, but because he reminded you of your brother, Derek.

It wasn’t their being of equal height or possessing the same lean body and sleek muscles.

Nor was it the mop of dark curls threaded with silver that crowned Rick’s head or the beard he’d forget to trim until you’d start calling him Grisly Grimes.

It wasn’t even the roll of his shoulders as he swung a shovel or axe, his slow, easy gait as he crossed the compound or the way he sat a horse.

Sure, Rick wore his gun-belt low on his hips like Derek did, favored plain white t-shirts or simple cotton button-downs, and preferred cowboy boots over sneakers or work boots.

Yes, he could be a muleheaded jackass, had a helluva temper when riled, and lacked the sense to duck a punch.

He was also kind, considerate, and compassionate.

Loyal to those who earned his trust and respect.

Rick was a born leader. People listened to him when he spoke. Followed him without question.

Asked his advice on matters. Worked alongside him because he wanted the same thing they did: a future.

All things they used to do before your sister-in-law, Charity took sick and died.

Leaving your brother to raise your niece and nephew.

Another thing he and Rick had in common.

Something you discovered while he recovered from the injuries he sustained after blowing up a bridge to stop a horde from reaching the community he had been leader of.

Like Derek, Rick had been an officer before the shit hit the fan.

Married young, had a son he lost in a tragic turn of events.

His wife died giving birth to a little girl he chose to raise as his own.

Rick got shot in the line of duty and ended up in a coma before the virus spread through the country like wildfire. He miraculously survived his injury despite the hospital collapsing before he could be medi-vac’d to the medical facility established in Washington. He went on to become the leader of a group of survivors he referred to as his family.

A family he swore he’d get back too.

They suffered an endless array of nightmares together, relying on each other to get through some dark and desperate times, and working together in order to create a future worth living.

Same as you and the people in your community.

During a severe thunderstorm he confessed his sins, admitted his failures as a father, husband, brother, and friend.

Told you he killed a whole lotta people in a war he should’ve never started.

Said he deserved to rot in hell for all the suffering he caused.

Your heart, broken still from Derek’s death, shattered further at the myriad of emotions — anger, guilt, sorrow, and loneliness most prevalent among them — carved into his face, and burning in the depths of his eyes.

Eyes the same rich shade of blue as Derek’s.

Crinkles appeared at the corners of those eyes as he smiled at something your ten-your-old niece, Faith said to him.

She was the only one who could coax a smile or laugh out of him.

Same as she could her father.

Well, you amended as Faith ran off towards her friends, before Derek took to marinating himself in the shit that passes for whiskey in this place.

That was where your brother and Rick differed.

Rick exorcised his demons by working himself pass the point of exhaustion every night.

Derek chose booze, pills, and to sleep with every woman in the camp.

Married or not didn’t matter to your brother.

Neither did Faith and Ryan.

No matter how much you begged, he refused to seek treatment for his alcoholism. Even threats to take Faith and Ryan and go to one of the other compounds fell on deaf ears.

Nothing and nobody could stop Derek.

Her brother was a massive, unmanned train on a collision course with another train.

One loaded with a ton of explosives.

Twenty innocent men died because I couldn’t figure out how to derail Derek.

Husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons.

Who hadn’t known your brother was so drunk he couldn’t see straight.

You don’t realize you’ve started crying until you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder and hear a soft, “Hey.”

You can’t bring yourself to look into Rick’s eyes.

“Thinking ‘bout your brother?”

You manage a nod.

All you can offer since the lump in your throat prevented you from doing much else.

“The hurt won’t ever go away but I promise it’ll get more bearable in time.”

You appreciated his stone cold truth over the carefully worded commiserations of the others.

You could deal with honesty.

Half-truths only made the hurt worse.

This world was cold, cruel.

All of them had suffered.

None in your mind more than Rick.

Losing a friend, sibling, parent or spouse was terrible enough.

To lose a child?

Well, that was simply unimaginable.

His son’s death would haunt Rick for the rest of his life.

For him, it was his greatest failure.

The ultimate sin.

Yours was your inability to stop your brother before he got himself and others killed.

A choked sob escaped you as the jar you stored your emotions in after Derek’s death tipped over and everything inside poured out.

Your knees buckled.

You’d have sunk to the ground if not for Rick catching hold of you before you made a real spectacle of yourself.

Not that you cared.

Grief dug raw wounds in your stomach, tore fresh holes in your soul, and shredded what little remained of your heart.

The hurt was so deep you thought you’d drown.

Not that you would.

You wouldn’t descend into the abyss like your brother did.

Faith and Ryan needed you.

You’d go on living beneath this shroud as the rain poured down, down, down.

For now, though, you’d let yourself weep.

Your head tipped forward, forehead resting against Rick’s chest as you let your tears flow free. Rick’s chest vibrated as he mumbled something. He shifted, settled you more comfortably against him, and rubbed your back in slow, soothing circles.

As Derek had done before his heart had gone hard, hard, hard.

“So-sorry for cryin’ on your shoulder,” you managed once the choking sobs stopped.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” Rick produced a rag from his pocket that he handed to you. “It’s clean.”

You take it with a soft, “Thanks.”

He stayed as you wiped the tears away, not saying anything, but letting you know he was there if you needed him.

As you stood together under the dark clouds that gathered during your breakdown, you realized you might not be in love with Rick Grimes but you did love him.

As a brother.

One you decided to help get back to his family.

No matter what.

[calciumdeficientt]

ELLIE CONEY HCS WITH HER TOXIC YURI GF HCS RN

Ouuuuuugh ellieeeeeeeee save me Ellie. Please save me. Lotta love for jock ocs. Even more love for ocs that are just,,, awful, compllicated people

ELLIE CONEY HCS

Winner of the 2006 most hompohobic lesbian competition. Shes bitter, and angry and so far inside the closet that if she’s not careful someone is gonna pick her up and donate her to the Goodwill. She thinks all men are a scourge on the earth, even more so gay men. This comes on account of the fact her dad divorced her mum to run off with another, younger man and start a new life. Leaving his current family destitute and her mother reliant on booze to stay alive. She became a proto-mother very young and therefore wants absolutely nothing to do with motherhood, children, or any of that sort of stuff. She had to raise kids when she was just a kid herself, she’s had quite enough of them. He dad’s betrayal created a deep seated hatred for queerness as well as for men.

Ellis is a young trans girlie, when her father left, her mother drank herself to the point of memory loss. Sort of like a lobotomy. The disintegration of their nuclear family allowed her to change her identity without much pushback from her mother. She was able to start puberty blockers pretty young on account of saving a lot of her money from birthdays, Christmas ses ect. Her parents sort of forgot about her because she was the oldest. She never got presents, just money and she saved all of it for a rainy day. Her dad was also into some pretty shady shit, so he had a stash of money in their house that she stumbled across and used to begin her transition.

Traditionally feminine girl, she likes bows and pink and glitter and honestly, the reason she’s not cheer captain is because she’d run that squad like it was the navy. She views anything and everything masculine as a threat and has very rigid ideas on what should and shouldn’t be accepted as valid expressions of femininity. Despite being a member of the jocks clique, she hates their guts, The only one she’s even remotely close to is Juri, and its because he’s secretly a very effeminate dude. Her repulsion of boys runs so deep that if she can help it, she will hide out in her dorm room all day until she is literally forced to go to class by a prefect.

HATES. Blood and guts and dirt. Shes the kind of girl to faint during biology class. The only reason she’s passing is because she makes Beatrice do all of her assignments for her. They’re kind of friends, both of them are manipulative bitches. They get on pretty well. It’s also. Another key reason she hates the jocks, they’re all essentially, sweaty, bloody, dirty animals and she’s not down with that like at ALL. Ellie can barely manage A Nightmare on Elm Street without getting squeamish and whining for it to be turned off.

Owner of a very extensive, very precious collection of scrunches. Her collection is her prise and joy, and as she ages she finds there’s lots of other, equally childish and girly stuff that she can collect. This eventually ends up in her becoming a particularly intense disney adult. You can’t really blame her, she didn’t have much of a childhood, but it infects EVERYTHING in her life. Her whole house is disney, her car is Disney. Her SOUL belongs to the mouse.

Shares a dorm with Lenora, and these two fuckers HATE each other. Ellie hatred of Lenora manifests because she’s a masculine woman who also happens to be comfortable in her identity as a lesbian; and Lenora hates Ellie because her phoney ‘girl’s girl’ act doesn’t extend to her, in fact she’s personally victimised by Ellie a LOT. They’re a real enemies to lovers type deal, and not just a snide comment in the hallway or a dirty look before they go to bed. It’s full blown fights and pranks dialled up 10000 notches. They pounce on each other like feral wildcats and have to be pulled off of each other almost daily. Ellie once put rat poison in Lenora’s water and she was VERY sick for a good few weeks, and in retaliation, Lenora slammed a locker shut on Eliie’s hand and completely shattered her wrist.

It’s the literal definition of toxic yuri, but they keep gravitating back towards each other like they’re magnets. Secretly, Lenora lets her win fights because her childhood dream was to get beaten up by a pretty girl at least once. They’re so terrible for each other but its hard to deny that they’re a really cute couple, aesthetically anyway. If you get to know them you’ll realise that you should never hang out with them again. They’re poisonous, and that toxicity radiates off of them like they’re a drop and run canister of weapons grade uranium.

[mad-maximoff]

𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝟐

Warnings: Language, Forceable touching

Word Count: 3,914

Why in the sam hell does it have to rain? Every goddamn time I go out on a nightly investigation it piss pours. The lower east side down poured more than the upper east. Everything bad that can happen happens here 10 times worse.

I had the shittest sleep on top of this rain. My sleep schedule is fucked up with these stakeouts. I have to find her. This Cherry. A common fake name for any hooker. Cherry's are normally perceived as red, delicious and sweet. So trying to find a redhead or any broad in red lipstick is like finding a needle in a haystack. I changed out of my usual 'detective' clothes to something casual. Jeans and shirt. Nothing fancy. The night was young. If I was to find Cherry I will have to get my ass in gear. I grabbed a coffee before my search. Using the deceased phone, I kept calling Cherry's number. Either left on voicemail or when I would open my mouth to speak she'd hang up. Probably a safety precaution, if a John or pimp gets ahold of their phones. Though as a man looking for information, it's getting pretty damn tiring.

"Fuck! Goddamnit!" Straight to voicemail again. I slammed my foot into a newspaper vending machine. It backfired immediately as it jolted up my toe to my thigh. I cussed worst almost causing a scene.

"Poor baby. You want me to help you ease that pain?" A crap-dyed blonde heavier than me beckoned me over. She was dark as midnight, maybe if her hair did not look like skunk she'd be not too bad to look at. Hot pink lipstick and blood red fishnet bodysuit. Covering only the essentials thank god. "No sweetheart, I'm okay. You know what? Do you know anyone named Cherry around here?"

"Darlin' I know a whole lotta of Cherry's! Need to be more specific. Asian? Black? Puerto Rican? White? You Latinos always like the paler ones huh?"

"Haha! Not looking for anything like that. I suppose I do. She hung out with a girl named Rose. Rose wanted me to return something to her."

"Oh! You mean that Cherry! The motha-fuckin' FT! Haha! You can try to return her shit but she will not return the favour, honey. Try Pianos. She and Scarjo like the live entertainment." Scarjo? I've heard that name somewhere. Have I picked her up before? Must have. I reached into my overcoat pocket to pull out a crisp 20-dollar bill and handed it to the blonde. "Here, I might as well give you something for taking up your time and business. Thank you."

"Oh shit! Anytime honey, if you need anything else ask for Miss Elsa!" Her voice trailed on as I hopped back into my car. "Thank you!" My tires squealed as I sped off down 4 blocks west.

·:*¨༺ ♱ ☠︎ ♱ ༻¨*:·.

Pianos was a ghost town. Not a soul in sight. I was wondering if Miss Elsa's advice wasn't worth the 20. I sat at the barstool near the exit to examine anyone who left or came in. No one I recognized. No one I knew named ScarJo. However, that name resonated with me somehow.

I joined the police academy like every lower-class Guatemalan boy from the Bronx. For the stupid reason. The wrong reason. To make this city a better place. You come to realize after a few too many bad crime scenes you cannot do anything to help New York. Some of the shit I saw would turn any man's stomach, but hey, the pay is good and when I retire I'm set for life. I hate to shit-talk any of my fellow officers but I'll tell you this. All I'm spending my money on is bills and booze. Not pushing it up my nose or swinging my dick around to every pair of tits I see. No, no. I see more corruption in the force than out of it. At least the gangbangers and hookers have standards and couth. None of these jackoffs do. It's tiring being the 'good' cop, even more as a 'good'  detective.

I got a scotch from the bartender focusing only on the contents in my glass swirl around. Every circle, every turning the liquid would go. Until my hand stopped its motion, throwing it back. Pianos was starting to become more alive. Different people piled in. No one would fit the bill of an ordinary 'hooker', though, with the golden age of the internet and Onlyfan-like sites popping up everywhere, one can never judge a book by its cover. I tried to ring up Cherry's number again. To see if I would hear a ring in the club.

*Mailbox Full*

"Fuck!... Hey, get me another!" I slammed the phone down to raise my empty glass. As I shook the empty crystal glass to the light something caught my eye. Not a thing but more or less someone. She looked as if she jumped right out of the pages of a Tank Girl comic strip I used to read as a teen. Gothic, tiny frame, in a short black dress. Her dress had a skeleton's body printed on, and under was a pair of fishnet garters creeping up her thighs. What caught my eye to most was her hair. It was black with thick chunky white highlights. It wasn't badly done, it looked professionally done. She looked soft. Her hair I mean. Her face was young but young in the sense I had to urge to ask for her ID. It reminded me of how I used to look before I became a cop. Painted on under the heavy eyeliner and bold black lips. Hope.

I got up from my stool to follow a distance from her. Something told me I had to. The tiny strides she took with her platformed boots were soft on the floor. Her body cascaded around the club floor leaving behind only the scent of cherries. Wait! Cherries! That's it! She's the girl! The girl stopped at the front of the stage giving pleasantries to people from her left to her right. An announcer ran out onto stage introducing himself and attempting to get the crowd riled up.

"Ladies & Gentlemen! Without further ado! Please put your hands together for ScarJo!" My ears perked hearing the name. The gothic cutie cheered as the song played. I pictured a drag queen named ScarJo. Perhaps a gal I picked up in Greenwich. They all picked the same damn song. 'You Don't Own Me' By Lesley Gore. However, this was the much newer version with some rappers I do not know. Out came a striking familiar face. Caramel auburn hair suited her nicely. Especially in latex knee-high boots and fishnet garters.

"You don't own me, I'm not just one of your many toys. You don't own me, don't say I can't go with other boys..." She lip-synced the song along as she bent down over a chair. Scarlett Johansson. I remember now. She was an undercover cop when I was still a metre-maid. Until she got too deep into the prostitute game. It swallowed her whole. Word on the street is she quit hooking entirely. Or so what the rumour detailed. If that was true, then what else would she be doing here? Not prancing around in latex in front of crowds. Her body levitated over the seat of the chair as her arms folded on each other. Her lips mouthed the words like any other performance, with cheap red lipstick.

"I don't tell you what to do, So just let me be myself...That's all I ask of you!"

She fell to her knees landing on the stage floor. Her upper body dipped as her lower half bucked in the air. The goth cheered more loudly than any other audience member in the crowd. Scarlett's eyes locked with the dark-haired girl. A cheeky smile swept across her face as she sprung her body onto her back. Hips arched in the air in her monstrous heels.

"I'm young and I love to be young! I'm free and I love to be free! To live my life the way I want, to say and do whatever I please!" The song finished out with Scarlett's leg swinging open in a 'V' shape. The crowd erupted in praise. The woman I was searching for jumped in her tall boots, clapping over her head.

"Dude! That was fucking amazing! I told Scar that song would be a killer!" She turned around shaking a girl's shoulders amid the crowd. Her voice wasn't something I pictured in my mind. Strangely, I pictured her voice to be soft and sweet. Her voice was monotone, more throaty. Raspy. I followed behind her growing in distance. Her feet halted at the bar. She rotated her boots around, looking at me from top to bottom. "Sorry baby, I'm off tonight. If you wanted to follow me around you should have done that last night." She laughed leaning her arm over on the bar.

"No, that's not why I'm following you, Cherry."

"Hmph...who are you?" She asked.

"I am Detective Oscar Isaac. I hate to spoil your night but I believe your friend Rose is the 19th victim of the Smiley Face Killer. I wanted to ask you some questions in private." I wanted to play it cool to not allow her to cause a scene. Her jaw cracked open. Her heavy black eyes pointed down at the floor. "Oh god...are you sure? Maybe you got her confused with another girl?!" Cherry's voice shook. "No, I'm so sorry. We retrieved her phone and your phone number was on her phone. You are a hard woman to get ahold of."

"Ha...if I had a nickel...well what would you like to know?"

"Well, do you know where Rose was last night? I hate to be frank with you but they think she passed around 1 am or 3 am."

"R-Rose was here for a bit. She left saying she was heading to The Core. She was meeting someone outside there."

"A John you mean? Inside the Core or outside?"

"Pfft! Yeah, a John. Outside of Core? No. Cate never liked Ro. She had to meet outside"

"Did Rose say who he was? Anything distinct about him?"

"Nope. She didn't say a thing. She was her usual bubbly self." She leaned her back against the bar counter folding her arms roughly into her chest. She tilted her head to hide her tears to probably not mess up her face. "Rose said she loved us and left."

"What about yourself? Were you here all night?"

"Um...yes and no. I was here watching a local metal band with Scar then I had an online client to attend to."

"Where did you go with this um...online client?"

"Russian Tea Room. Funnily enough, I got bought for dinner and conversation these days, no fucking required officer. You can see the app and the texts back and forth." She whipped out her phone with the bright screen saver illuminating her face flipping the screen to me.

"N-no need just needed to write it down. Hey, if you need anything. I mean if you feel unsafe or something feels odd with a client please do not hesitate to call me Cherry." I handed her one of my cards. Her pale fingers were small grasping the card and flipping it front to back. Gleaming her jet-black nail polish

"Sure. Thank you, Detective."

              ·:*¨༺ ♱ ☠︎ ♱ ༻¨*:·.

I left Pinaos with no intention of being out any more than I had to. I stopped at the curb before hopping into my car, and lighting a cigarette. I had two measly drinks, nothing that would bring my BAC to a DUI-level charge. I know my limits. I'll drink more when I'm more comfortable at home.

"Hey! Hot stuff! You know that's bad for you!" Another raspy-voiced woman yelled out from behind. I turned exhaling a puff of smoke. It was Scarjo.

"Pendejo! You're one to talk Johansson!" Her leather boots clicked along the concrete. "Fuck, no one's called me that in a long time Officer Issac."

"Detective, Scarlett."

"Oh excuse me Mr. Big-shot. What? I left the force and they upgraded you up to your big boy panties or what?" Scarlett exhaled another puff of smoke directly in my face. Her cheap red lipstick left a stain on the tan end of her cigarette.

"No Scarlett. Pedro and I both got promoted at the same time Detective Bling and Wilson got gunned down." I pulled the collar of my coat over my neck. The cold breeze downtown was sharp. I could not imagine what Scarlett was feeling in the fishnets. "That's a shame. I saw that on TV. Did I see you talking to my girl Cherry just now?" Scarlett flicked the butt of her cigarette into the street.  

"Oh, your girl now? Are you two a thing or are you her handler?" I inhaled my last puff before the smoke shot out of me, coughing up a lung. Scarlett cackled, with a mixture of cigarettes and a hint of vodka escaping her breath. "Are you asking if I'm Cherry's pimp?! Hell no! And I'm not dating her either. She's just a girl I met when I first went undercover 4 years ago. She just turned 14 and I held her under my wing. Just in case things got dangerous."

"14!? Cherry was 14 when she started?!"

"I dunno. I met her when she was 14. It didn't mean she started this life at that time."

"Jesus H Christ..."

"Yeah I know, thank god they call her an FT." Scarlett swayed her hair over her shoulder, adjusting her fur coat. I turned with a puzzled thought and the same expression. "About that, what the hell is an FT? Another girl called her the same thing."

"Oh shit, sorry. I'm so used to so many people knowing the lingo I keep forgetting about everyone else. Cherry is an FT, which in layman's terms just means Fucking Tease. She doesn't put out. Meaning she doesn't actually fuck. When she was younger she'd get paid to do strip shows. Men would pay to see her strip but not to be caught with actually fucking a minor. She was the gateway drug for most businessmen. Nowadays, those same businessmen have created a platonic repertoire with her. They pay for her championship, not for sex."

"So she's not a hooker but more or less an escort?"

"Basically at this point, Isaac. But, since she hangs around hookers for so long, she got labelled as one. But, you didn't ask my question, why were asking her questions?" Scarlett followed me as I trotted closer to my car. "A girl she knew was found dead this morning. Her name and number were in the deceased phone."

"Awe shit, you think Smiley Face did it?"

"Pedro and I think so. You hear of Smiley often?"

"Mostly ghost stories. Cate Blanchett is the only one who has seen Smiley and walked out alive. She owns the Core. But, for the love of god, don't bring up you're a cop and don't look at her face too long. I learned my lesson while I was undercover." She lifted her fishnet top to see a C-curved scar across her torso. "She loves Cherry though. Wants her to work for her. But she's not the only one who wants Cherry." 

"It seems you have pissed off the infamous Cate Blanchett. She's a stone-cold bitch."

"Well, yes, but once she lets you in she's a nice woman. The one woman you have to look out for is Mama Ciccone. She's a real scary pimp. She turns out girls and profits millions. She's a cold-hearted bitch from hell. She runs girls from Wall Street to the red light district. She wants Cherry. Not to turn out, but wants Cherry all the herself."

"I heard of Mama Ciccone, I swore I read she was dead."

"Evil doesn't die Oscar. It just finds better ways to hide."

"Good to know, you take care of yourself Scar. And watch Cherry too." I unlocked my driver's side sliding into the seat.

"You know I will, bye Detective."

·:*¨༺ ♱ ☠︎ ♱ ༻¨*:·.

*Cherry's Pov*

Rose is dead. I could not believe it. She was so young. She just started in this game. Not even a week. How is this possible? I suppose it wasn't meant to be.

Rose and I always texted our locations and schedules just in case. I knew tonight she had to be somewhere I enjoyed and loathed the most. The world thought this place was closed in the 80s due to the AIDs epidemic, but the owner held on underground waiting to reopen after Covid. Plato's Retreat. It used to be the biggest swinger joint in New York in the 70s, but, as of late it's basically a bath house. People still swing yes but it's mostly girls like me with men in saunas. I personally don't like Plato's due to too many grabby men not knowing my limits.

Plato's was busier than the last time I weaselled in. Though, I think the last time I was here I could not legally get a driver's license. Only a damn permit if I wanted. Hell, it's New York. You're pretentious if you think you could get around in New York driving. Though, maybe getting my license could get me out of New York. Not forever, just to visit. I have never left the city in my 18 years.

This was Rose's most popular spot. She'd walk around in a lacey white bikini acting younger than she was. It was cheap, and that's a lot coming from 'someone' like me. I've seen what men do when they find out how old you really are, it's strange to be the age you lied you were. I almost feel like an old model. Ready to be put out to pasture.

There are a few rules in Plato's, all a very standard of any establishment such as this. Some however have changed due to the digital age, but one rule remained. Everyone must be either partially or fully nude. I chose partial in black swim bottoms. I hate to say in my line of work that I am some kind of germaphobe but it's easy to catch something if the workers do not fulfill their duties properly. Working at night isn't my only life. It's just my job. I started in the public saunas. Mostly, liver-spotted old men rosey in the face. Big and jolly. Except the jolly part is what it's in the wallets. Most out of breath just sitting down. I can just jiggle my tits and these men will bust. None were steering my way. Too busy conversing over the stock market. Something I love to eavesdrop on. I'd love to have some extra cash to throw into the stock market just to see if I get more or lose it all. It's basically the wealthy version of a casino.

"Hmm...seems to me these gentlemen aren't paying you mind huh, Cherry?" I shuddered at the voice that broke through my concentration. It was hers. A woman I have been hiding from for years. Always around every dark corner. Waiting for me to be alone or to be away from Scarlett. Mama Ciccone. I figured she'd be here in this neck of the woods, it's her turf. She highrolls with the big boys. Pimps more like. Grown men still act like little boys with guns. She's a real terror.

"Maybe because you showed up." I cocked my head to see Ciccone. The last time I saw her she had burnt orange hair, now she's gone back to her roots. Back to her platinum blonde. Breaking Plato's rules completely. Wearing a forest green suit and her stable gloves. In the 5 years I have run into Ciccone, not once have I seen her hands uncovered. She was older maybe late 50s or early 60s. All the work she's gotten done to her face and body you would think there would be a procedure for hands. Shows her true age under the botox.

"Oh now, now Cher. I hate to watch you milk these duds. Why don't you come and party in our private lounge? You can make easy cash." Ciccone leaned her arm, brushing my back.

"I don't think so. I'm just picking up...the slack...Rose was s-supposed to be here tonight." I got up fixing my hair to cover my chest. Feeling her eyes stare me down.

"Oh, you mean the same Rose chopped up by Smiley? Sorry to be blunt darlin' but that's what happens to cute girls all alone." She rose following behind me. I choked pretending to cough. I could not believe how heartless her attitude was. "How'd you know?" I pivoted my heels back to see her face-to-face. For all the rumours I've heard about the infamous Mama Ciccone, I imagined she'd be taller. Funny to think we were the same height. She doesn't seem as scary up close.

"Darlin' have ears everywhere. Even some ears with badges. Listen, my ears tell me you're still an FT. After what? 4-5 years?! Ha! I've never in my 40 years of work heard of a virgin hooker! Or has it changed? Has my little Cherry popped?" She leaned in hooking her clothed hands to my sides. I pulled away in disgust. "Not interested. I know you must be pissed I'm still quote on quote a 'fucking tease'. " She snickered at my remark as if I was telling a joke. Did I fucking stutter? I don't think so. "No honey, not pissed. Intrigued would be the word. See, I pick up so many girls a week and most of them are not like you."

"What? Worn out? Been around the block? I hate to tell you this Ciccone, but it's 2024. Most girls my age have a handful of exes under their belt." I turned down a corner to a barely lit hallway. It leads to the changing rooms. Don't get me started on the filth there. Wearing flip-flops in those showers would not save you. Ciccone's hand reached from behind to my arm yanking me against a wall. "And that's why I want you. I don't want you as one of my girls. I want you. All to myself." Her small frame pressed against my body. Her suit burned my bare skin. The expensive silk or the peachy musk of her perfume. It made my head throb. Her hand left my arm, dropping lower to caress my hip bone. "Come on Cherry, sweet young thing needs someone like me. Someone who can protect you and love you." I was too busy watching Mama Ciccone's facial expressions to feel where her hands were. Ex-girls who made it out alive working for Ciccone said to always watch her face. Sometimes the botox doesn't always hide true emotions.

"Sweet of you to think that but I'm not a gal that needs protecting-..." I gasped sucking air through my teeth. I should have watched her hands more than her face. Not knowing she slipped her lace hand under my bikini bottoms. "Real love...right? Yeah...yeah...love."

[theceruleansnake]

Welcome to the hot fresh blog of The Cerulean Motley Crew (and possible future projects! Will update as time goes).

Here you can find fun tidbits and updates as I go along!

If you wanna check out the first project, read it here!!

[talesofourworlds]

Have you ever lost someone close to you? Who was it? How did you cope with it? (Jade and Raven)

"I've lost plenty of my men in combat, though for the most part I wouldn't say we were close as close could be. But yes, I have lost someone close to me before. By my own doing. I think by this point, we know how I coped with it. Luke, Ion, and Sync would not exist if it weren't for how I coped with the loss of Professor Nebilim. Though I will say, I at least knew when to step back from that desire to try and resurrect her. I learned to cope with it better than Dist ever did."

"Lost my whole brigade durin' the war. All good men and women. Better than I could ever be. But... Casey still hurts the most."

"Guess I cope with it like I cope with a lotta things. Put on a smile 'til I can pretend it don't hurt so much. Either that or booze. That can help with a lotta things."

[youareanidiot-org]

When was the last time you drank?

You know how

There's a difference between civilian irkens and soldier irkens?

There was a bit of time where I was basically a glorified civilian

Red and Purple were pulled outta Elite training early to start their augmentation so all the invaders had free time after they graduated(? is that the right word) while we all waited for the new Tallest

Most of us were able to help out or fill in the roles of soldiers or commanders or whatever!

but i got put in a complex and got told to wait for the tallests order

Probably cuz I'm short :/

It gave me a whole lotta time to goof off tho! So I goofed off and got some booze

Only drank maybe once or twice

its not really all that fun to do alone